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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10748 ***
+
+THE
+WORLD'S
+GREATEST BOOKS
+
+JOINT EDITORS
+
+ARTHUR MEE
+Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
+
+J. A. HAMMERTON
+Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
+
+VOL. III
+FICTION
+
+MCMX
+
+
+
+
+
+_Table of Contents_
+
+DAUDET, ALPHONSE
+  Tartarin of Tarascon
+
+DAY, THOMAS
+  Sandford and Merton
+
+DEFOE, DANIEL
+  Robinson Crusoe
+  Captain Singleton
+
+DICKENS, CHARLES
+  Barnaby Rudge
+  Bleak House
+  David Copperfield
+  Dombey and Son
+  Great Expectations
+  Hard Times
+  Little Dorrit
+  Martin Chuzzlewit
+  Nicholas Nickleby
+  Oliver Twist
+  Old Curiosity Shop
+  Our Mutual Friend
+  Pickwick Papers
+  Tale of Two Cities
+
+DISRAELI, BENJAMIN (Earl of Beaconsfield)
+  Coningsby
+  Sybil, or The Two Nations
+  Tancred, or The New Crusade
+
+DUMAS, ALEXANDRE
+  Marguerite de Valois
+  Black Tulip
+  Corsican Brothers
+  Count of Monte Cristo
+  The Three Musketeers
+  Twenty Years After
+
+
+A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
+of Volume XX.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ALPHONSE DAUDET
+
+Tartarin of Tarascon
+
+      Alphonse Daudet, the celebrated French novelist, was born at
+     Nimes on May 13, 1840, and as a youth of seventeen went to
+     Paris, where he began as a poet at eighteen, and at twenty-two
+     made his first efforts in the drama. He soon found his feet as
+     a contributor to the leading journals of the day and a
+     successful writer for the stage. He was thirty-two when he
+     wrote "Tartarin of Tarascon," than which no better comic tale
+     has been produced in modern times. Tarascon is a real town,
+     not far from the birthplace of Daudet, and the people of the
+     district have always had a reputation for "drawing the long
+     bow." It was to satirise this amiable weakness of his southern
+     compatriots that the novelist created the character of
+     Tartarin, but while he makes us laugh at the absurd
+     misadventures of the lion-hunter, it will be noticed how
+     ingeniously he prevents our growing out of temper with him,
+     how he contrives to keep a warm corner in our hearts for the
+     bragging, simple-minded, good-natured fellow. That is to say,
+     it is a work of essential humour, and the lively style in
+     which the story is told attracts us to it time and again with
+     undiminished pleasure. In two subsequent books, "Tartarin in
+     the Alps," and "Port Tarascon," Daudet recounted further
+     adventures of his delightful hero. His "Sapho" and "Kings in
+     Exile" have also been widely read. Daudet died on December 17,
+     1897.
+
+
+_I.--The Mighty Hunter at Home_
+
+
+I remember my first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon as clearly as if it
+had been yesterday, though it is now more than a dozen years ago. When
+you had passed into his back garden, you would never have fancied
+yourself in France. Every tree and plant had been brought from foreign
+climes; he was such a fellow for collecting the curiosities of Nature,
+this wonderful Tartarin. His garden boasted, for instance, an example of
+the baobab, that giant of the vegetable world, but Tartarin's specimen
+was only big enough to occupy a mignonette pot. He was mightily proud of
+it, all the same.
+
+The great sight of his place, however, was the hero's private den at the
+bottom of the garden. Picture to yourself a large hall gleaming from top
+to bottom with firearms and weapons of all sorts: carbines, rifles,
+blunderbusses, bowie-knives, revolvers, daggers, flint-arrows--in a
+word, examples of the deadly weapons of all races used by man in all
+parts of the world. Everything was neatly arranged, and labelled as if
+it were in a public museum. "Poisoned Arrows. Please do not touch!" was
+the warning on one of the cards. "Weapons loaded. Have a care!" greeted
+you from another. My word, it required some pluck to move about in the
+den of the great Tartarin.
+
+There were books of travel and adventure, books about mighty hunting on
+the table in the centre of the room; and seated at the table was a short
+and rather fat, red-haired fellow of about forty-five, with a closely-
+trimmed beard and a pair of bright eyes. He was in his shirtsleeves,
+reading a book held in one hand while he gesticulated wildly with a
+large pipe in the other--Tartarin! He was evidently imagining himself
+the daring hero of the story.
+
+Now you must know that the people of Tarascon were tremendously keen on
+hunting, and Tartarin was the chief of the hunters. You may think this
+funny when you know there was not a living thing to shoot at within
+miles of Tarascon; scarcely a sparrow to attract local sportsmen. Ah,
+but you don't know how ingenious they are down there.
+
+Every Sunday morning off the huntsmen sallied with their guns and
+ammunition, the hounds yelping at their heels. Each man as he left in
+the morning took with him a brand new cap, and when they got well into
+the country and were ready for sport, they took their caps off, threw
+then high in the air, and shot at them as they fell. In the evening you
+would see them returning with their riddled caps stuck on the points of
+their guns, and of all these brave men Tartarin was the most admired, as
+he always swung into town with the most hopeless rag of a cap at the end
+of a day's sport. There's no mistake, he was a wonder!
+
+But for all his adventurous spirit, he had a certain amount of caution.
+There were really two men inside the skin of Tartarin. The one Tartarin
+said to him, "Cover yourself with glory." The other said to him, "Cover
+yourself with flannel." The one, imagining himself fighting Red Indians,
+would call for "An axe! An axe! Somebody give me an axe!" The other,
+knowing that he was cosy by his fireside, would ring the bell and say,
+"Jane, my coffee."
+
+One evening at Costecalde's, the gunsmith's, when Tartarin was
+explaining some mechanism of a rifle, the door was opened and an excited
+voice announced, "A lion! A lion!" The news seemed incredible, but you
+can imagine the terror that seized the little group at the gunsmith's as
+they asked for more news. It appeared that the lion was to be seen in a
+travelling menagerie newly arrived from Beaucaire.
+
+A lion at last, and here in Tarascon! Suddenly, when the full truth had
+dawned upon Tartarin, he shouldered his gun, and, turning to Major
+Bravida, "Let us go to see him!" he thundered. Following him went the
+cap-hunters. Arrived at the menagerie, where many Tarasconians were
+already wandering from cage to cage, Tartarin entered with his gun over
+his shoulder to make inquiries about the king of beasts. His entrance
+was rather a wet blanket on the other visitors, who, seeing their hero
+thus armed, thought there might be danger, and were about to flee. But
+the proud bearing of the great man reassured them, and Tartarin
+continued his round of the booth until he faced the lion from the Atlas
+Mountains.
+
+Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled
+in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a
+terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.
+
+Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the
+cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery,
+again drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, "Ah, yes,
+there's a hunt for you!"
+
+Not another word did Tartarin utter that day. Yet next day nothing was
+spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt
+the lions of the Atlas Mountains. When asked if this were true his pride
+would not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true. So
+the notion grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid
+tremendous cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very
+soon to set forth in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.
+
+Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins. While the one was
+strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to
+leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon. But he
+had let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through.
+So he began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these
+how some of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by
+enduring hunger, thirst, and other privations before they set out.
+Tartarin began cutting down his food, taking very watery soup. Early in
+the morning, too, he walked round the town seven or eight times, and at
+nights he would stay in the garden from ten till eleven o'clock, alone
+with his gun, to inure himself to night chills; while, so long as the
+menagerie remained in Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in
+the dark, prowling around the tent, listening to the growling of the
+lion. This was Tartarin, accustoming himself to be calm when the king of
+beasts was raging.
+
+The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking. He
+showed no haste to be off. At length, one night Major Bravida went to
+Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, "Tartarin, you must go!"
+
+It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of
+the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he
+replied at length in a choking voice, "Bravida, I shall go!" Having made
+this irrevocable decision, he now pushed ahead his final preparations
+with some show of haste. From Bompard's he had two large trunks, one
+inscribed with "Tartarin of Tarascon. Case of Arms," and he sent to
+Marseilles all manner of provisions of travel, including a patent
+camp-tent of the latest style.
+
+
+_II.--Tartarin Sets off to Lion-Land_
+
+
+Then the great day of his departure arrived. All the town was agog. The
+neighbourhood of Baobab Villa was crammed with spectators. About ten
+o'clock the bold hero issued forth.
+
+"He's a Turk! He's wearing spectacles!" This was the astonished cry of
+the beholders, and, sure enough, Tartarin had thought it his duty to don
+Algerian costume because he was going to Algeria. He also carried two
+heavy rifles, one on each shoulder, a huge hunting-knife at his waist
+and a revolver in a leather case. A pair of large blue spectacles were
+worn by him, for the sun in Algeria is terribly strong, you know.
+
+At the station the doors of the waiting-room had to be closed to keep
+the crowd out, while the great man took leave of his friends, making
+promises to each, and jotting down notes on his tablets of the various
+people to whom he would send lion-skins.
+
+Oh, that I had the brush of an artist, that I might paint you some
+pictures of Tartarin during his three days aboard the Zouave on the
+voyage from Marseilles! But I have no facility with the brush, and mere
+words cannot convey how he passed from the proudly heroic to the
+hopelessly miserable in the course of the journey. Worst of all, while
+he was groaning in his stuffy bunk, he knew that a very merry party of
+passengers were enjoying themselves in the saloon. He was still in his
+bunk when the ship came to her moorings at Algiers, and he got up with a
+sudden jerk, under the impression that the Zouave was sinking. Seizing
+his many weapons, he rushed on deck, to find it was not foundering, but
+only arriving.
+
+Soon after Tartarin had set foot on shore, following a great negro
+porter, he was almost stupefied by the babel of tongues; but,
+fortunately, a policeman took him in hand and had him directed, together
+with his enormous collection of luggage, to the European hotel.
+
+On arriving at his hotel, he was so fatigued that his marvellous
+collection of weapons had to be taken from him, and he had to be carried
+to bed, where he snored very soundly until it was striking three
+o'clock. He had slept all the evening, through the night and morning,
+and well into the next afternoon!
+
+He awakened refreshed, and the first thought in his mind was, "I'm in
+lion-land at last!" But the thought sent a cold shiver through him, and
+he dived under the bedclothes. A moment later he determined to be up.
+Exclaiming, "Now for the lions!" he jumped on the floor and began his
+preparations.
+
+His plan was to get out at once into the country, take ambush for the
+night, shoot the first lion that came along, and then back to the hotel
+for breakfast. So off he went, carrying not only his usual arsenal, but
+the marvellous patent tent strapped to his back. He attracted no little
+attention as he trudged along, and catching sight of a very fine camel,
+his heart beat fast, for he thought the lions could not be far off now.
+
+It was quite dark by the time he had got only a little way beyond the
+outskirts of the town, scrambling over ditches and bramble-hedges. After
+much hard work of this kind, the mighty hunter suddenly stopped,
+whispering to himself, "I seem to smell a lion hereabouts." He sniffed
+keenly in all directions. To his excited imagination, it seemed a likely
+place for a lion; so, dropping on one knee, and laying one of his guns
+in front of him, he waited.
+
+He waited very patiently. One hour, two hours; but nothing stirred. Then
+he suddenly remembered that great lion-hunters take a little young goat
+with them to attract the lion by its bleating. Having forgotten to
+supply himself with one, Tartarin conceived the happy idea of bleating
+like a kid. He started softly, calling, "Meh, meh!" He was really afraid
+that a lion might hear him, but as no lion seemed to be paying
+attention, he became bolder in his "mehs," until the noise he made was
+more like the bellowing of a bull.
+
+But hush! What was that? A huge black object had for the moment loomed
+up against the dark blue sky. It stooped, sniffing the ground; then
+seemed to move away again, only to return suddenly. It must be the lion
+at last; so, taking a steady aim, bang went the gun of Tartarin, and a
+terrible howling came in response. Clearly his shot had told; the
+wounded lion had made off. He would now wait for the female to appear,
+as he had read in books.
+
+But two or more hours passed, and she did not come; and the ground was
+damp, and the night air cold, so the hunter thought he would camp for
+the night. After much struggling, he could not get his patent tent to
+open. Finally, he threw it on the ground in a rage, and lay on the top
+of it. Thus he slept until the bugles in the barracks near by wakened
+him in the morning. For behold, instead of finding himself out on the
+Sahara, he was in the kitchen garden of some suburban Algerian!
+
+"These people are mad," he growled to himself, "to plant their
+artichokes where lions are roaming about. Surely I have been dreaming.
+Lions do come here; there's proof positive."
+
+From artichoke to artichoke, from field to field, he followed the thin
+trail of blood, and came at length to a poor little donkey he had
+wounded!
+
+Tartarin's first feeling was one of vexation. There is such a difference
+between a lion and an ass, and the poor little creature looked so
+innocent. The great hunter knelt down and tried to stanch the donkey's
+wounds, and it seemed grateful to him, for it feebly flapped its long
+ears two or three times before it lay still for ever.
+
+Suddenly a voice was heard calling, "Noiraud! Noiraud!" It was "the
+female." She came in the form of an old French woman with a large red
+umbrella, and it would have been better for Tartarin to have faced a
+female lion.
+
+When the unhappy man tried to explain how he had mistaken her little
+donkey for a lion, she thought he was making fun of her, and belaboured
+him with her umbrella. When her husband came on the scene the matter was
+soon adjusted by Tartarin agreeing to pay eight pounds for the damage he
+had done, the price of the donkey being really something like eight
+shillings. The donkey owner was an inn-keeper, and the sight of
+Tartarin's money made him quite friendly. He invited the lion-hunter to
+have some food at the inn with him before he left. And as they walked
+thither he was amazed to be told by the inn-keeper that he had never
+seen a lion there in twenty years!
+
+Clearly, the lions were to be looked for further south. "I'll make
+tracks for the south, too," said Tartarin to himself. But he first of
+all returned to his hotel in an omnibus. Think of it! But before he was
+to go south on the high adventure, he loafed about the city of Algiers
+for some time, going to the theatres and other places of amusement,
+where he met Prince Gregory of Montenegro, with whom he made friends.
+
+One day the captain of the Zouave came across him in the town, and
+showed him a note about himself in a Tarascon newspaper. This spoke of
+the uncertainty that prevailed as to the fate of the great hunter, and
+wound up with these words:
+
+"Some Negro traders state, however, that they met in the open desert a
+European whose description answers to that of Tartarin, and who was
+making tracks for Timbuctoo. May Heaven guard for us our hero!"
+
+Tartarin went red and white by turns as he read this, and realised that
+he was in for it. He very much wished to return to his beloved Tarascon,
+but to go there without having shot some lions--one at least--was
+impossible, and so it was Southward ho!
+
+
+_III.--Tartarin's Adventures in the Desert_
+
+
+The lion-hunter was keenly disappointed, after a very long journey in
+the stage-coach, to be told that there was not a lion left in all
+Algeria, though a few panthers might still be found worth shooting.
+
+He got out at the town of Milianah, and let the coach go on, as he
+thought he might as well take things easily if, after all, there were no
+lions to be shot. To his amazement, however, he came across a real live
+lion at the door of a café.
+
+"What made them say there were no more lions?" he cried, astounded at
+the sight. The lion lifted in its mouth a wooden bowl from the pavement,
+and a passing Arab threw a copper in the bowl, at which the lion wagged
+its tail. Suddenly the truth dawned on Tartarin. He was a poor, blind,
+tame lion, which a couple of negroes were taking through the streets,
+just like a performing dog. His blood was up at the very idea. Shouting,
+"You scoundrels, to humiliate these noble beasts so!" he rushed and took
+the degrading bowl from the royal jaws of the lion. This led to a
+quarrel with the negroes, at the height of which Prince Gregory of
+Montenegro came upon the scene.
+
+The prince told him a most untrue story about a convent in the north of
+Africa where lions were kept, to be sent out with priests to beg for
+money. He also assured him that there were lots of lions in Algeria, and
+that he would join him in his hunt.
+
+Thus it was in the company of Prince Gregory, and with a following of
+half a dozen negro porters, that Tartarin set off early next morning for
+the Shereef Plain; but they very soon had trouble, both with the porters
+and with the provisions Tartarin had brought for his great journey. The
+prince suggested dismissing the negroes and buying a couple of donkeys,
+but Tartarin could not bear the thought of donkeys, for a reason with
+which we are acquainted. He readily agreed, however, to the purchase of
+a camel, and when he was safely helped up on its hump, he sorely wished
+the people of Tarascon could see him. But his pride speedily had a fall,
+for he found the movement of the camel worse than that of the boat in
+crossing the Mediterranean. He was afraid he might disgrace France.
+Indeed, if truth must out, France was disgraced! So, for the remainder
+of their expedition, which lasted nearly a month, Tartarin preferred to
+walk on foot and lead the camel.
+
+One night in the desert, Tartarin was sure he heard sounds just like
+those he had studied at the back of the travelling menagerie at
+Tarascon. He was positive they were in the neighbourhood of a lion at
+last. He prepared to go forward and stalk the beast. The prince offered
+to accompany him, but Tartarin resolutely refused. He would meet the
+king of beasts alone! Entrusting his pocket-book, full of precious
+documents and bank-notes, to the prince, in case he might lose it in a
+tussle with the lion, he moved forward. His teeth were chattering in his
+head when he lay down, trembling, to await the lion.
+
+It must have been two hours before he was sure that the beast was moving
+quite near him in the dry bed of a river. Firing two shots in the
+direction whence the sound came, he got up and bolted back to where he
+had left the camel and the prince--but there was only the camel there
+now! The prince had waited a whole month for such a chance!
+
+In the morning he realised that he had been robbed by a thief who
+pretended to be a prince. And here he was in the heart of savage Africa
+with a little pocket money only, much useless luggage, a camel, and not
+a single lion-skin for all his trouble.
+
+Sitting on one of the desert-tombs erected over pious Mohammedans, the
+great man fell to weeping bitterly. But, even as he wept the bushes were
+pushed aside a little in front of him, and a huge lion presented itself.
+To his honour, be it said, Tartarin never moved a muscle, but, breathing
+a fervent "At last!" he leapt to his feet, and, levelling his rifle,
+planted two explosive bullets in the lion's head. All was over in a
+moment, for he had nearly blown the king of beasts to pieces! But in
+another moment he saw two tall, enraged negroes bearing down upon him.
+He had seen them before at Milianah, and this was their poor blind lion!
+Fortunately for Tartarin, he was not so deeply in the desert as he had
+thought, but merely outside the town of Orleansville, and a policeman
+now came up, attracted by the firing, and took full particulars.
+
+The upshot of it was that he had to suffer much delay in Orleansville,
+and was eventually fined one hundred pounds. How to pay this was a
+problem which he solved by selling all his extensive outfit, bit by bit.
+When his debts were paid, he had nothing but the lion's skin and the
+camel. The former he dispatched to Major Bravida at Tarascon. Nobody
+would buy the camel, and its master had to face all the journey back to
+Algiers in short stages on foot.
+
+
+_IV.--The Home-Coming of the Hero_
+
+
+The camel showed a curious affection for him, and followed him as
+faithfully as a dog. When, at the end of eight days' weary tramping, he
+came at last to Algiers, he did all he could to lose the animal, and
+hoped he had succeeded. He met the captain of the Zouave, who told him
+that all Algiers had been laughing at the story of how he had killed the
+blind lion, and he offered Tartarin a free passage home.
+
+The Zouave was getting up steam next day as the dejected Tartarin had
+just stepped into the captain's long-boat, when, lo! his faithful camel
+came tearing down the quay and gazed affectionately at its friend.
+Tartarin pretended not to notice it; but the animal seemed to implore
+him with his eyes to be taken away. "You are the last Turk," it seemed
+to say, "I am the last camel. Let us never part again, O my Tartarin!"
+
+But the lion-hunter pretended to know nothing of this ship of the
+desert.
+
+As the boat pulled off to the Zouave, the camel jumped into the water
+and swam after it, and was taken aboard. At last Tartarin had the joy of
+hearing the Zouave cast anchor at Marseilles, and, having no luggage to
+trouble him, he rushed off the boat at once and hastened through the
+town to the railway station, hoping to get ahead of the camel.
+
+He booked third class, and quickly hid himself in a carriage. Off went
+the train. But it had not gone far when everybody was looking out of the
+windows and laughing. Behind the train ran the camel--holding his own,
+too!
+
+What a humiliating home-coming! All his weapons of the chase left on
+Moorish soil, not a lion with him, nothing but a silly camel!
+
+"Tarascon! Tarascon!" shout the porters as the train slows up at the
+station, and the hero gets out. He had hoped to slink home unobserved;
+but, to his amazement, he is received with shouts of "Long live
+Tartarin!" "Three cheers for the lion-slayer!" The people are waving
+their caps in the air; it is no joke, they are serious. There is Major
+Bravida, and there the more noteworthy cap-hunters, who cluster round
+their chief and carry him in triumph down the stairs.
+
+Now, all this was the result of sending home the skin of the blind lion.
+But the climax was reached when, following the crowd down the stairs of
+the station, limping from his long run, came the camel. Even this
+Tartarin turned to good account. He reassured his fellow-citizens,
+patting the camel's hump.
+
+"This is my camel; a noble beast! It has seen me kill all my lions."
+
+And so, linking his arm with the worthy major, he calmly wended his way
+to Baobab Villa, amid the ringing cheers of the populace. On the road he
+began a recital of his hunts.
+
+"Picture to yourself," he said, "a certain evening in the open
+Sahara----"
+
+       *       *       *        *        *
+
+
+
+
+THOMAS DAY
+
+Sandford and Merton
+
+
+      Thomas Day was born in London on June 22, 1748, and educated
+     at the Charterhouse and at Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
+     Entering the Middle Temple in 1765, he was called to the Bar
+     ten years later, but never practised. A contemporary and
+     disciple of Rousseau, he convinced himself that human
+     suffering was, in the main, the result of the artificial
+     arrangements of society, and inheriting a fortune at an early
+     age he spent large sums in philanthropy. A poem written by him
+     in 1773, entitled "The Dying Negro," has been described as
+     supplying the keynote of the anti-slavery movement. His
+     "History of Sandford and Merton," published in three volumes
+     between the years 1783 and 1789, provided a channel through
+     which many generations of English people have imbibed a kind
+     of refined Rousseauism. It retains its interest for the
+     philosophic mind, despite the burlesque of _Punch_ and its
+     waning popularity as a book for children. Thomas Day died
+     through a fall from his horse on September 28, 1789.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Barlow and his Pupils_
+
+
+In the western part of England lived a gentleman of a large fortune,
+whose name was Merton. He had a great estate in Jamaica, but had
+determined to stay some years in England for the education of his only
+son. When Tommy Merton came from Jamaica he was six years old. Naturally
+very good-natured, he had been spoiled by indulgence. His mother was so
+fond of him that she gave him everything he cried for, and would not let
+him learn to read because he complained that it made his head ache. The
+consequence was that, though Master Merton had everything he wanted, he
+was fretful and unhappy, made himself disagreeable to everybody, and
+often met with very dangerous accidents. He was also so delicately
+brought up that he was perpetually ill.
+
+Very near to Mr. Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer named
+Sandford, whose only son, Harry, was not much older than Master Merton,
+but who, as he had always been accustomed to run about in the fields, to
+follow the labourers when they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to
+their pasture, was active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. Harry had
+an honest, good-natured countenance, was never out of humour, and took
+the greatest pleasure in obliging others, in helping those less
+fortunate than himself, and in being kind to every living thing. Harry
+was a great favourite, particularly with Mr. Barlow, the clergyman of
+the parish, who taught him to read and write, and had him almost always
+with him.
+
+One summer morning, while Master Merton and a maid were walking in the
+fields, a large snake suddenly started up and curled itself round
+Tommy's leg. The maid ran away, shrieking for help, whilst the child, in
+his terror, dared not move. Harry, who happened to be near, ran up, and
+seizing the snake by the neck, tore it from Tommy's leg, and threw it to
+a great distance. Mrs. Merton wished to adopt the boy who had so bravely
+saved her son, and Harry's intelligence so appealed to Mr. Merton that
+he thought it would be an excellent thing if Tommy could also benefit by
+Mr. Barlow's instruction. With this view he decided to propose to the
+farmer to pay for the board and education of Harry that he might be a
+constant companion to Tommy. Mr. Barlow, on being consulted, agreed to
+take Tommy for some months under his care; but refused any monetary
+recompense.
+
+The day after Tommy went to Mr. Barlow's the clergyman took his two
+pupils into the garden, and, taking a spade in his own hand, and giving
+Harry a hoe, they both began to work. "Everybody that eats," he said,
+"ought to assist in procuring food. This is my bed, and that is Harry's.
+If, Tommy, you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground,
+all the produce of which shall be your own."
+
+"No, indeed," said Tommy; "I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave
+like a ploughboy."
+
+"Just as you please, Mr. Gentleman," said Mr. Barlow. And Tommy, not
+being asked to share the plate of ripe cherries with which Mr. Barlow
+and Harry refreshed themselves after their labour, wandered
+disconsolately about the garden, surprised and vexed to find himself in
+a place where nobody felt any concern whether he was pleased or not.
+Meanwhile, Harry, after a few words of advice from Mr. Barlow, read
+aloud the story of "The Ants and the Flies," in which it is related how
+the flies perished for lack of laying up provisions for the winter,
+whereas the industrious ants, by working during the summer, provided for
+their maintenance when the bad weather came.
+
+Mr. Barlow and Harry then rambled into the fields, where Mr. Barlow
+pointed out the several kinds of plants to be seen, and told his little
+companion the name and nature of each. When they returned to dinner
+Tommy, who had been skulking about all day, came in, and being very
+hungry, was going to sit down to the table, when Mr. Barlow said, "No,
+sir; though you are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not so
+proud, do not choose to work for the idle!"
+
+Upon this Tommy retired into a corner, crying as if his heart would
+break; when Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy,
+looked up, half-crying, into Mr. Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir,
+may I do as I please with my dinner?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure, my boy," was the reply.
+
+"Why, then," said Harry, "I will give it to poor Tommy, who wants it
+more than I do."
+
+Tommy took it and thanked Harry; but without turning his eyes from the
+ground.
+
+"I see," said Mr. Barlow, "that though certain gentlemen are too proud
+to be of any use to themselves, they are not above taking the bread that
+other people have been working hard for."
+
+At this Tommy cried more bitterly than before.
+
+The next day, when they went into the garden, Tommy begged that he might
+have a hoe, too, and, having been shown how to use it, soon worked with
+the greatest pleasure, which was much increased when he was asked to
+share the fruit provided after the work was done. It seemed to him the
+most delicious fruit that he had ever tasted.
+
+Harry read as before, the story this time being about the gentleman and
+the basket-maker. It described how a rich man, jealous of the happiness
+of a poor basket-maker, destroyed the latter's means of livelihood, and
+was sent by a magistrate with his humble victim to an island, where the
+two were made to serve the natives. On this island the rich man, because
+he possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was
+condemned to be the basket-maker's servant. When they were recalled, the
+rich man, having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated
+the basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed
+his riches in relieving the poor.
+
+
+_II.--Gentleman Tommy Learns to Read_
+
+
+From this time forward Mr. Barlow and his two pupils used to work in
+their garden every morning; and when they were fatigued they retired to
+the summer-house, where Harry, who improved every day in reading, used
+to entertain them with some pleasant story. Then Harry went home for a
+week, and the morning after, when Tommy expected that Mr. Barlow would
+read to him as usual, he found to his great disappointment, that
+gentleman was busy and could not. The same thing happening the next day
+and the day after, Tommy said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like
+Harry, I should not need to ask anybody to do it for me." So when Harry
+returned, Tommy took an early opportunity of asking him how he came to
+be able to read.
+
+"Why," said Harry, "Mr. Barlow taught me my letters; and then, by
+putting syllables together, I learnt to read."
+
+"And could you not show me my letters?" asked Tommy.
+
+"Very willingly," was Harry's reply. And the lessons proceeded so well
+that Tommy, who learned the whole alphabet at the very first lesson, at
+the end of two months was able to read aloud to Mr. Barlow "The History
+of the Two Dogs," which shows how vain it is to expect courage in those
+who lead a life of indolence and repose, and that constant exercise and
+proper discipline are frequently able to change contemptible characters
+into good ones.
+
+Later, Harry read the story of Androcles and the Lion, and asked how it
+was that one person should be the servant of another and bear so much
+ill-treatment.
+
+"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
+must command others; and some are born servants, and they must do as
+they are bid." And he recalled how the black men and women in Jamaica
+had to wait upon him, and how he used to beat them when he was angry.
+But when Mr. Barlow asked him how these people came to be slaves, he
+could only say that his father had bought them, and that he was born a
+gentleman.
+
+"Then," said Mr. Barlow, "if you were no longer to have a fine house,
+nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these
+things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and do whatever he liked
+with you."
+
+Seeing that he could not but admit this, Tommy became convinced that no
+one should make a slave, of another, and decided that for the future he
+would never use their black William ill.
+
+Some days after this Tommy became interested in the growing of corn, and
+Harry promising to get some seed from his father, Tommy got up early
+and, having dug very perseveringly in a corner of his garden to prepare
+the ground for the seed, asked Mr. Barlow if this was not very good of
+him.
+
+"That," said Mr. Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of the
+corn when you have raised it. Where," he asked, "will be the great
+goodness in your sowing corn for your own eating? That is no more than
+all the people round here continually do. And if they did not do it,
+they would be obliged to fast."
+
+"But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."
+
+"What," answered Mr. Barlow, "must not gentlemen eat as well as others;
+and therefore, is it not for their interest to know how to procure food
+as well as other people?"
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Tommy; "but they can have other people to raise it
+for them."
+
+"How does that happen?"
+
+"Why they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is
+made."
+
+"Then they pay for it with money?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then they must have money before they can buy corn?"
+
+"Certainly, sir."
+
+"But have all gentlemen money?"
+
+Tommy hesitated some time, and at last said, "I believe not always,
+sir."
+
+"Why, then," said Mr. Barlow, "if they have not money, they will find it
+difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves." And he
+proceeded to recount the History of the Two Brothers, Pizarro and
+Alonzo, the former of whom, setting out on a gold-hunting expedition,
+prevailed upon the latter to accompany him, and became dependent upon
+Alonzo, who, instead of taking gold-seeking implements, provided himself
+with the necessaries for stocking a farm.
+
+
+_III.--Town Life and Country Life_
+
+
+This story was followed by others, describing life in different and
+distant parts of the world; and in addition to the knowledge they
+acquired in this way, Tommy and Harry, in their intercourse with their
+neighbours and in the cultivation of their gardens, learned a great
+deal. Tommy in particular, growing much kinder towards the poor and
+towards dumb animals, as well as growing in physical well-being.
+
+Mr. Barlow's young pupils were gradually taught many interesting and
+useful facts about natural history. They learned to cultivate their
+powers of observation also by studying the heavens. From a study of the
+stars their tutor drew them on to an acquaintance with the compass, the
+telescope, the magic lantern, the magnet, and the wonders of arithmetic.
+
+The stories of foreign lands were interspersed with others illustrating
+the habits of society; one for example, told how a certain rich man was
+cured of the gout, showing how, while most of the diseases of the poor
+originate in the want of food and necessaries, the rich are generally
+the victims of their own sloth and intemperance.
+
+"Dear me," said Tommy on one occasion, "what a number of accidents
+people are subject to in this world."
+
+"It is very true," said Mr. Barlow; "but as that is the case, it is
+necessary to improve ourselves in every manner, that we may be able to
+struggle against them."
+
+TOMMY: Indeed, sir, I begin to believe it is; for when I was younger
+than I am now, I remember I was always fretful and hurting myself,
+though I had two or three people constantly to take care of me. At
+present I seem quite another thing, I do not mind falling down and
+hurting myself, or cold, or scarcely anything that happens.
+
+MR. BARLOW: And which do you prefer--to be as you are now, or as you
+were before?
+
+TOMMY: As I am now, a great deal, sir; for then I always had something
+or another the matter with me. At present I think I am ten times
+stronger and healthier than ever I was in my life.
+
+All the same, Tommy found it difficult at first to understand how people
+who lived in countries where they had to undergo great hardships could
+be so attached to their own land as to prefer it to any other country in
+the world. "I have," he said, "seen a great many ladies and little
+misses at our house, and whenever they were talking of the places where
+they should like to live, I have always heard them say that they hated
+the country of all things, though they were born and bred there."
+
+MR. BARLOW: And yet there are thousands who bear to live in it all their
+lives, and have no desire to change. Should you, Harry, like to go to
+live in some town?
+
+HARRY: Indeed, sir, I should not, for then I must leave everything I
+love in the world.
+
+TOMMY: And have you ever been in any large town?
+
+HARRY: Once I was in Exeter, but I did not much like it. The houses
+seemed to me to stand too thick and close, and then there are little,
+narrow alleys where the poor live, and the houses are so high that
+neither light nor air can ever get to them. And they most of them
+appeared so dirty and unhealthy that it made my heart ache to look at
+them. I went home the next day, and never was better pleased in my life.
+When I came to the top of the great hill, from which you have a prospect
+of our house, I really thought I should have cried with joy. The fields
+looked all so pleasant, and the very cattle, when I went about to see
+them, all seemed glad that I was come home again.
+
+MR. BARLOW: You see by this that it is very possible for people to like
+the country, and to be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies you
+talk of, the truth is that they neither love nor would be contented in
+any place. It is no wonder they dislike the country, where they find
+neither employment nor amusement. They wish to go to London, because
+they there meet with numbers of people as idle and as frivolous as
+themselves; and these people assist each other to talk about trifles and
+to waste their time.
+
+TOMMY: That is true, sir, really; for when we have a great deal of
+company, I have often observed that they never talk about anything but
+eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the
+playhouse or a great room called Ranelagh, where everybody goes to meet
+their friends.
+
+Which discourse led on to a story of the ancient Spartans, and their
+superiority to the luxury-loving Persians.
+
+
+_IV.--The Bull-Baiting_
+
+
+The time had now arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and
+spend some time with his parents. Mr. Barlow had been long afraid of
+this visit, as he knew his pupil would meet a great deal of company
+there who would give him impressions of a nature very different from
+those he had, with so much assiduity, been labouring to excite. However,
+the visit was unavoidable, and Mrs. Merton sent so pressing an
+invitation for Harry to accompany his friend, after having obtained the
+consent of his father, that Mr. Barlow, with much regret, took leave of
+his pupils.
+
+When the boys arrived at Mr. Merton's they were introduced into a
+crowded drawing-room full of the most elegant company which that part of
+the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies
+of different ages who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays
+with Master Merton.
+
+As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his
+praise. As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by
+nobody except Mr. Merton, who received him with great cordiality, and a
+Miss Simmons, who had been brought up by an uncle who endeavoured, by a
+hardy and robust education, to prevent in his niece that sickly delicacy
+which is considered so great an ornament in fashionable life. Harry and
+this young lady became great friends, though to a considerable extent
+they were the butt of the others.
+
+A lady who sat by Mrs. Merton, asked her, in a whisper loud enough to be
+heard all over the room, whether (indicating Harry) that was the little
+ploughboy whom she had heard Mr. Barlow was attempting to bring up like
+a gentleman? Mrs. Merton answered "Yes." "Indeed," said the lady, "I
+should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I
+wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without
+flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw, with
+quite the air of fashion, to keep such company."
+
+Whilst Tommy was being estranged from his friend by a constant
+succession of flattery from his elders and the example of others of his
+own age, Harry, who never said any of those brilliant things that render
+a boy the darling of the ladies, and who had not that vivacity, or
+rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial
+people, paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made
+the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For this
+reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and better informed, received
+great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought him infinitely
+more agreeable and sensible than any of the smart young gentlemen she
+had hitherto seen.
+
+One morning the young gentlemen agreed to take a walk in the country.
+Harry went with them. As they walked across a common they saw a great
+number of people moving forward towards a bull-baiting. Instantly they
+were seized with a desire to see the diversion. One obstacle alone
+presented itself. Their parents, particularly Mrs. Merton, had made them
+promise to avoid every kind of danger. However, all except Harry, agreed
+to go, insisting among themselves that there was no danger.
+
+"Master Harry," said one, "has not said a word. Surely he will not tell
+of us."
+
+Harry said he did not wish to tell; but if, he added, he were asked, he
+would have to tell the truth.
+
+A quarrel followed, in which Tommy struck his friend in the face with
+his fist. This, added to Tommy's recent conduct towards him, caused the
+tears to start to Harry's eyes, whereupon the others assailed him with
+cries of "Coward!" "Blackguard!" and so on. Master Mash went further and
+slapped him in the face. Harry, though Master Mash's inferior in size
+and strength, returned this by a punch, and a fight ensued, from which,
+though severely punished himself, Harry emerged the victor, to be
+assailed with a chorus of congratulation from those who before were
+loading him with taunts and outrages.
+
+The young gentlemen persisting in their intention to see the
+bull-baiting, Harry followed at some distance, deciding not to quit his
+friend till he had once more seen him in a place of safety. As it
+happened, the bull, after disposing of his early tormentors, broke loose
+when three fierce dogs were set upon it at once. In the stampede little
+Tommy fell right in the path of the infuriated animal, and would have
+lost his life had not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above
+his years, suddenly seized a prong which one of the fugitives had
+dropped, and, at the very moment when the bull was stopping to gore his
+defenceless friend, advanced and wounded it in the flank. The bull
+turned, and with redoubled rage made at his new assailant, and it is
+probable that, notwithstanding his intrepidity, Harry would have paid
+with his own life the price of his assistance to his friend had not a
+poor negro, whom he had helped earlier in the day, come opportunely to
+his aid, and by his promptitude and address secured the animal.
+
+The gratitude of Mr. Merton for his son's escape was unbounded, and even
+Mrs. Merton was ashamed of her disparaging remarks about Harry. As for
+Tommy, he went to his friend's home to seek reconciliation, reflecting
+with shame and contempt upon the ridiculous prejudices he had once
+entertained.
+
+He had now learned to consider all men as his brethren, not forgetting
+the poor negro; and that, as he said, it is much better to be useful
+than rich or fine.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+DANIEL DEFOE
+
+Robinson Crusoe
+
+      Daniel Defoe, English novelist, historian and pamphleteer,
+     was born in 1660 or 1661, in London, the son of James Foe, a
+     butcher, and only assumed the name of De Foe, or Defoe, in
+     middle life. He was brought up as a dissenter, and became a
+     dealer in hosiery in the city. He early began to publish his
+     opinions on social and political questions, and was an
+     absolutely fearless writer, audacious and independent, so that
+     he twice suffered imprisonment for his daring. The immortal
+     "Robinson Crusoe" was published on April 25, 1719. Defoe was
+     already fifty-eight years of age. It was the first English
+     work of fiction that represented the men and manners of its
+     own time as they were. It appeared in several parts, and the
+     first part, which is here epitomised, was so successful that
+     no fewer than four editions were printed in as many months.
+     "Robinson Crusoe" was widely pirated, and its authorship gave
+     rise to absurd rumours. Some claimed it had been written by
+     Lord Oxford in the Tower; others that Defoe had appropriated
+     Alexander Selkirk's papers. The latter idea was only justified
+     inasmuch as the story was partly founded on Selkirk's
+     adventures and partly on Dampier's voyages. Defoe died on
+     April 26, 1731.
+
+
+_I.--I Go to Sea_
+
+
+I was born of a good family in the city of York, where my father--a
+foreigner, of Bremen--settled after having retired from business. My
+father had given me a competent share of learning and designed me for
+the law; but I would be satisfied in nothing but going to sea. My mind
+was filled with thoughts of seeing the world, and nothing could persuade
+me to give up my desire.
+
+At length, on September 1, 1651, I left home, and went on board a ship
+bound for London. The ship was no sooner out of the Humber than the wind
+began to blow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner; and as I
+had never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in body and
+terrified in mind. The next day, however, the wind abated, and for
+several days the weather continued calm. My fears being forgotten, and
+the current of my desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows to return
+home that I made in my distress.
+
+The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads and cast
+anchor. Our troubles were not yet over, however, for a few days later
+the wind increased till it blew a terrible storm indeed. I began to see
+terror in the faces even of the seamen themselves; and as the captain
+passed me, I could hear him softly to himself say, several times, "We
+shall be all lost!"
+
+My horror of mind put me into such a condition that I can by no words
+describe it. The storm increased, and the seamen every now and then
+cried out the ship would founder. One of the men cried out that we had
+sprung a leak, and all hands were called to the pumps; but the water
+increasing in the hold, it was apparent that the ship would founder. We
+fired guns for help, and a ship who had rid it out just ahead of us
+ventured a boat out. It was with the utmost hazard the boat came near
+us, but at last we got all into it, and got into shore, though not
+without much difficulty, and walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth.
+
+Having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London, and there got
+acquainted with the master of a ship which traded on the coast of
+Guinea. This captain, taking a fancy to my conversation, told me if I
+would make a voyage with him I might do some trading on my own account.
+I embraced the offer, and went the voyage with him. With the help of
+some of my relations I raised £40, which I laid out in toys, beads, and
+such trifles as my friend the captain said were most in demand on the
+Guinea Coast. It was a prosperous voyage. It made me both a sailor and a
+merchant, for my adventure yielded me on my return to London almost
+£300, and this filled me with those aspiring thoughts which have since
+so completed my ruin.
+
+I was now set up as a Guinea trader, and made up my mind to go the same
+voyage again in the same ship; but this was the unhappiest voyage ever
+man made, for as we were off the African shore we were surprised by a
+Moorish rover of Salee, who gave chase with all sail. About three in the
+afternoon he came up with us, and after a great fight we were forced to
+yield, and were carried all prisoners into the port of Salee, where we
+were sold as slaves.
+
+I was fortunate enough to fall into the hands of a master who treated me
+with no little kindness. He frequently went fishing, and as I was
+dexterous in catching fish, he never went without me. One day he sent me
+out with a Moor to catch fish for him. Then notions of deliverance
+darted into my thoughts, and I prepared not for fishing, but for a
+voyage. When everything was ready, we sailed away to the
+fishing-grounds. Purposely catching nothing, I said we had better go
+farther out. The Moor agreed, and I ran the boat out near a league
+farther; then I brought to as if I would fish. Instead of that, however,
+I stepped forward, and, stooping behind the Moor, took him by surprise
+and tossed him overboard. He rose to the surface, and called on me to
+take him in. For reply I presented a gun at him, and told him if he came
+nearer the boat I would shoot him, and that as the sea was calm, he
+might easily swim ashore. So he turned about, and swam for the shore,
+and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease.
+
+About ten days afterwards, as I was steering out to double a cape, I
+came in sight of a Portuguese ship. On coming nearer, they hailed me,
+but I understood not a word. At last a Scotch sailor called to me, and I
+answered I was an Englishman, and had made my escape from the Moors of
+Salee. They then bade me come on board, and very kindly took me in, with
+all my goods.
+
+We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and when we reached our
+destination the captain recommended me to an honest man who had a sugar
+plantation. Here I settled down for a while, and learned the planting of
+sugar. Then I took a piece of land, and became a planter myself. My
+affairs prospered, and had I continued in the station I was now in, I
+had room for many happy things to have yet befallen me; but I was still
+to be the agent of my own miseries.
+
+
+_II.--Lord of an Island and Alone_
+
+
+Some of my neighbours, hearing that I had a knowledge of Guinea trading,
+proposed to fit out a vessel and send her to the coast of Guinea to
+purchase negroes to work in our plantations. I was well pleased with the
+idea; and when they asked me to go to manage the trading part, I forgot
+all the perils and hardships of the sea, and agreed to go. A ship being
+fitted out, we set sail on September 1, 1659.
+
+We had very good weather for twelve days, but after crossing the line,
+violent hurricanes took us, and drove us out of the way of all human
+commerce. In this distress, one morning, there was a cry of "Land!" and
+almost at the same moment the ship struck against a sandbank. We took to
+a boat, and worked towards the land; but before we could reach it, a
+raging wave came rolling astern of us, and overset the boat. We were all
+thrown into the sea, and out of fifteen who were on board, none escaped
+but myself. I managed, somehow, to scramble to shore, and clambered up
+the cliffs, and sat me down on the grass half-dead. Night coming on me,
+I took up my lodging in a tree.
+
+When I waked, it was broad day, the weather clear, and the storm abated.
+What surprised me most was that in the night the ship had been lifted
+from the bank by the swelling tide, and driven ashore almost as far as
+the place where I had landed. I saw that if we had all kept on board we
+had been all safe, and I had not been so miserable as to be left
+entirely destitute of all company as I now was.
+
+I swam out to the ship, and found that her stern lay lifted up on the
+bank. All the ship's provisions were dry, and, being well disposed to
+eat, I filled my pockets and ate as I went about other things, for I had
+no time to lose. We had several spare yards and planks, and with these I
+made a raft. I emptied three of the seamen's chests, and let them down
+upon the raft, and filled them with provisions. I also let down the
+carpenter's chest, and some arms and ammunition--all of which, after
+much labour, I got safely to land.
+
+My next work was to view the country. Where I was I yet knew not, but
+after I had with great labour got to the top of a hill which rose up
+very steep and high, I saw my fate, to my great affliction--_viz._, that
+I was in an island, uninhabited except by wild beasts.
+
+I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many things out of
+the ship which would be useful to me; so every day at low water I went
+on board, and brought away something or other until I had the biggest
+magazine that was ever laid up, I believe, for one man. I verily
+believe, had the calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole
+ship piece by piece; but on the fourteenth day it blew a storm, and next
+morning, behold, no more ship was to be seen. I must not forget that I
+brought on shore two cats and a dog. He was a trusty servant to me many
+years. I wanted nothing that he could fetch me, nor any company. I only
+wanted him to talk to me, but that he could not do. Later, I managed to
+catch a parrot, which did much to cheer my loneliness. I taught him to
+speak, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the pitying
+tones in which he used to say, "Robin--poor Robin Crusoe!"
+
+I now went in search of a place where to fix my dwelling. I found a
+little plain on the side of a rising hill, which was there as steep as a
+house-side, so that nothing could come down on me from the top. On the
+side of this rock was a hollow space like the entrance of a cave, before
+which I resolved to pitch my tent. Before I set up my tent, I drew a
+half-circle before the hollow place, which extended backwards about
+twenty yards. In this half-circle I planted two rows of strong stakes,
+driving them into the ground like piles, above five feet and a half
+high, and sharpened at the top. Then I took some pieces of cable I had
+found in the ship, and laid them in rows one upon another between the
+stakes; and this fence was so strong that neither man nor beast could
+get into it or over it. The entrance I made to be by a short ladder to
+go over the top, and when I was in I lifted the ladder after me.
+
+Inside the fence, with infinite labour, I carried all my riches,
+provisions, ammunition, and stores. And I made me a large tent, also, to
+preserve me from the rains. When I had done this I began to work my way
+into the rock. All the earth and stones I dug out I laid up within my
+fence, and thus I made me a cave just behind my tent which served me
+like a cellar.
+
+In the middle of my labours it happened that, rummaging in my things, I
+found a little bag with but husks of corn and dust in it. Wishing to
+make use of the bag, I shook it out on one side of my fortification. It
+was a little before the great rains that I threw this stuff away, not
+remembering that I had thrown anything there; about a month after, I saw
+some green stalks shooting up. I was perfectly astonished when, after a
+little longer time, I saw ten or twelve ears of barley. I knew not how
+it came there. At last it occurred to me that I had shaken out the bag
+there. Besides the barley there were also a few stalks of rice. I
+carefully saved the ears of this corn, you may be sure, and resolved to
+sow them all again. When my corn was ripe, I used a cutlass as a scythe,
+and cut off the ears, and rubbed them out with my hands. At the end of
+my harvesting I had nearly two bushels of rice, and two bushels and a
+half of barley. I kept all this for seed, and bore the want of bread
+with patience.
+
+I soon found that I needed many things to make me comfortable. First I
+wanted a chair and a table, for without them I must live like a savage.
+So I set to work. I had never handled a tool in my life, but I had a
+saw, an axe, and several hatchets, and I soon learned to use them all.
+If I wanted a board, I had to chop down a tree. From the trunk of the
+tree I cut a log of the length my board was to be. Then I split the log,
+and, with infinite labour, hewed it flat till it was as thin as a board.
+I made myself a table and a chair out of short pieces of board, and from
+the large boards I made some wide shelves. On these I laid my tools and
+other things.
+
+From time to time I made many useful things. From a piece of ironwood,
+cut in the forest with great labour, I made a spade to dig with. Then I
+wanted a pick-axe, but for long I could not think how I was to get one.
+At length I made use of crowbars from the wreck. These I heated in the
+fire, and, little by little, shaped them till I made a pick-axe, proper
+enough, though heavy.
+
+At first I felt the need of baskets in which to carry things, so I set
+to work as a basket-maker. It came to my mind that the twigs of the tree
+whence I cut my stakes might serve. I found them to my purpose as much
+as I could desire, and, during the next rainy season, I employed myself
+in making a great many baskets. Though I did not finish them handsomely,
+yet I made them sufficiently serviceable.
+
+I had, however, one want greater than all the others--bread. My barley
+was very fine, the grains were large and smooth; but before I could make
+bread I must grind the grains into flour. I spent many a day to find out
+a Stone to cut hollow and make fit for a mortar, and could find none;
+nor were the rocks of the island of hardness sufficient. So I gave it
+over and rounded a great block of hard wood and, with the help of fire
+and great labour, made a hollow in it. I made a great heavy pestle of
+the wood called ironwood.
+
+The baking part was the next thing to be considered; for, first, I had
+no yeast. As to that, there was no supplying the want, so I did not
+concern myself much about it. But for an oven I was indeed in great
+pain. At length I found out an experiment for that also. I made some
+earthen vessels, broad but not deep, about two feet across, and about
+nine inches deep. These I burned in the fire till they were as hard as
+nails and as red as tiles, and when I wanted to bake I made a great fire
+upon a hearth which I paved with some square tiles of my own making.
+
+When the fire had all burned I drew the embers forward upon my hearth,
+and let them be there till the hearth was very hot. My loaves being
+ready, I swept the hearth and set them on the hottest part of it. Over
+each loaf I placed one of the large earthen pots, and drew the embers
+all round to keep in and add to the heat. And thus I baked my barley
+loaves and became, in a little time, a good pastrycook into the bargain.
+
+It need not be wondered at if all these things took up most of the third
+year of my abode in the island. I had now brought my state of life to be
+much easier than it was at first, and I learned to look more upon the
+bright side of my condition and less on the dark.
+
+Had anyone in England met such a man as I was, it must have frightened
+them, or raised great laughter. On my head I wore a great, high,
+shapeless cap of goat's skin. Stockings and shoes I had none, but I had
+made a pair of somethings, I scarce knew what to call them, to slip over
+my legs; a jacket, with the skirts coming down to the middle of my
+thighs, and a pair of open-kneed breeches of the same, completing my
+outfit. I had a broad belt of goat's skin, and in this I hung, on one
+side, a saw, on the other, a hatchet. Under my arm hung two pouches for
+shot and powder; at my back I carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun,
+and over my head a great clumsy goat's skin umbrella.
+
+A stoic would have smiled to have seen me at dinner. There was my
+majesty, prince and lord of the whole island. How like a king I dined,
+too, all alone, attended by my servants! Poll, my parrot, as if he had
+been my favourite, was the only person permitted to talk to me. My old
+dog sat at my right hand, and two cats on each side of the table,
+expecting a bit from my hand as a mark of special favour.
+
+
+_III.--The Footprint_
+
+
+It was my custom to make daily excursions to some part of the island.
+One day, walking along the beach, I was exceedingly surprised with the
+print of a man's naked foot plainly impressed on the sand. I stood like
+one thunderstruck. I listened, I looked around, but I could hear nothing
+nor see anything. I went up to a rising ground to look further; I walked
+backwards and forwards on the shore, but I could see only that one
+impression.
+
+I went to it again. There was exactly a foot--toes, heel, and every part
+of a foot. How it came thither I knew not; but I hurried home, looking
+behind me at every two or three steps, and mistaking every bush and
+tree, fancying every stump to be a man. I had no sleep that night; but
+my terror gradually wore off, and after some days I ventured down to the
+beach to take measure of the footprint by my own.
+
+I found it much larger! This filled me again with all manner of fears,
+and when I went home I began to prepare against an attack. I got out my
+muskets, loaded them, and went to an enormous amount of labour and
+trouble--all because I had seen the print of a naked foot on the sand.
+There seemed to me then no labour too great, no task too toilsome, and I
+made me a second fortification, and planted a vast number of stakes on
+the outside of my outer wall, which grew and became a thick grove of
+trees, entirely concealing the place of my retreat, and adding greatly
+to my security.
+
+I had now been twenty-two years on the island, and had grown so
+accustomed to the place that, had I felt myself secure from the attack
+by savages, I fancied I could have been contented to remain there till I
+died of old age.
+
+For many months the perturbation of my mind was very great; in the day
+great troubles overwhelmed me, and in the night I dreamed often of
+killing savages. About two years after I first knew these fears, I was
+surprised one morning by seeing five canoes on the shore. I could not
+tell what to think of it, so went and lay in my castle perplexed and
+discomforted. At length, becoming very impatient, I clambered up to the
+top of the hill and perceived, by the help of my perspective glass, no
+less than thirty men dancing round a fire with barbarous gestures. While
+I was looking, two miserable wretches were dragged from the boats. One
+was immediately knocked down, while the other, seeing himself a little
+at liberty, started away from them and ran along the sands directly
+towards me. I was dreadfully frightened, that I must acknowledge, when I
+perceived him run my way, especially when, as I thought, I saw him
+pursued by the whole body. But my spirits began to recover when I found
+that but three men followed him, and that he outstripped them
+exceedingly, in running.
+
+Presently he came to a creek and, making nothing of it, plunged in,
+landed, and ran on with exceeding strength. Two of the pursuers swam the
+creek, but the third went no farther, and soon after went back again. I
+immediately took my two guns, ran down the hill and clapped myself in
+the way between the pursuers and the pursued, hallooing aloud to him
+that fled. Then, rushing on the foremost of the pursuers, I knocked him
+down with the stock of my piece. The other stopped, as if frightened,
+but as I came nearer, I perceived he was fitting a bow and arrow to
+shoot at me; so I was then obliged to shoot at him first, which I did
+and killed him.
+
+The poor savage who fled was so frightened with the noise of my piece
+that he seemed inclined still to fly. I gave him all the signs of
+encouragement I could think of, and he came nearer, kneeling down every
+ten or twelve steps. I took him up and made much of him, and comforted
+him. Then, beckoning him to follow me, I took him to my cave on the
+farther part of the island. Here, having refreshed him, I made signs for
+him to lie down to sleep, which the poor creature did. After he had
+slumbered about half an hour, he came out of the cave, running to me,
+laying himself down and setting my foot upon his head to let me know he
+would serve me so long as he lived.
+
+In a little time I began to speak to him and teach him to speak to me;
+and, first, I let him know his name should be Friday, which was the day
+I saved his life. I likewise taught him to say "Master," and then let
+him know that was to be my name. I made a little tent for him, and took
+in my ladders at night, so that he could no way come at me.
+
+But I needed not this precaution, for never man had a more faithful,
+loving servant than Friday was to me. I made it my business to teach him
+everything that was proper to make him useful, especially to make him
+speak, and he was the aptest scholar that ever was. Indeed, this was the
+pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place. I began now to
+have some use for my tongue again, and, besides the pleasure of talking
+to Friday, I had a singular satisfaction in the fellow himself. His
+simple, unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and more every day, and I
+began really to love the creature; and I believe he loved me more than
+it was possible for him ever to love anything before.
+
+
+_IV.--The End of Captivity_
+
+
+I was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my captivity on the
+island. One morning I bade Friday go to the seashore and see if he could
+find a turtle. He had not been gone long when he came running back like
+one that felt not the ground, or the steps he set his feet on, and cries
+out to me, "O master! O sorrow! O bad!"
+
+"What's the matter, Friday?" said I.
+
+"O yonder, there," says he; "one, two, three canoes!"
+
+"Well," says I, "do not be frightened."
+
+However, I saw the poor fellow was most terribly scared, for nothing ran
+in his head but that the savages were come back to look for him, and
+would cut him in pieces and eat him. I comforted him, and told him I was
+in as much danger as he. Then I went up the hill and found quickly by my
+glass that there were one-and-twenty savages, whose business seemed to
+be a triumphant banquet upon three human bodies. I came down again to
+Friday and, going towards the wretches, sent Friday a little ahead to
+see what they were doing. He came back and told me that they were eating
+the flesh of one of their prisoners, and that a bearded man lay bound,
+whom he said they would kill next.
+
+This fired the very soul within me, and, going to a little rising
+ground, I turned to Friday and said, "Now, Friday, do exactly as you see
+me do." So, with a musket, I took aim at the savages; Friday did the
+like, and we fired, killing three of them and wounding five more. They
+were in a dreadful consternation, and after we fired again among the
+amazed wretches, I made directly towards the poor victim who was lying
+upon the beach. Loosing him, I found he was a Spaniard. He took pistol
+and sword from me thankfully, and flew upon his murderers, and, Friday,
+pursuing the flying wretches, in the end but four of the twenty-one
+escaped in a canoe.
+
+I was minded to pursue them lest they should return with a greater force
+and devour us by mere multitude. So, running to a canoe, I bade Friday
+follow me, but was surprised to find another poor creature lying
+therein, bound hand and foot. I immediately cut his fastenings and bade
+Friday tell him of his deliverance. But when Friday came to hear him
+speak and to look in his face, it would have moved anyone to tears to
+have seen how Friday kissed him, embraced him, hugged him, cried,
+danced, sung, and then cried again. It was a good while before I could
+make him tell me what was the matter, but when he came a little to
+himself, he told me it was his father. He sat down by the old man a long
+while, and took his arms and ankles, which were numbed with the binding,
+and chafed and rubbed them with his hands.
+
+My island was now peopled, and I thought myself rich in subjects. The
+Spaniard and the old savage had been with us about seven months, sharing
+in our labours, when, being unable to keep means of deliverance out of
+my thoughts, I gave them leave to go over in one of the canoes to the
+mainland, where some of the Spaniard's shipmates were cast away, giving
+them provisions sufficient for themselves and all the Spaniards, for
+eight days.
+
+It was no less than eight days I had waited for their return when Friday
+came to me and called aloud, "Master, master, they are come!" I jumped
+up and climbed to the top of the hill, and with my glass plainly made
+out an English ship, and its long-boat standing in for the shore. I
+cannot express the joy I was in at seeing a ship, and one that was
+manned by my own countrymen; but yet I had some secret doubts, bidding
+me keep on my guard. Presently the boat was run upon the beach, and in
+all eleven men landed, whereof three were unarmed and bound, whom I
+could perceive using passionate gestures of entreaty and despair.
+Presently the seamen were all gone straggling in the woods, leaving the
+three distressed men under a tree a little distance from me. I resolved
+to discover myself to them, and marched with Friday towards them, and
+called aloud in Spanish, "What are ye, gentlemen?" They started up at
+the noise, and I perceived them about to fly from me, when I spoke to
+them in English.
+
+"Gentlemen," says I, "do not be surprised at me; perhaps you may have a
+friend near, when you did not expect it. Can you not put a stranger in
+the way to help you?"
+
+One of them, looking like one astonished, returned, "Sir, I was captain
+of that ship; my men have mutinied against me, and have set me on shore
+in this desolate place with these two men--my mate and a passenger."
+
+He then told me that if two among the mutineers, who were desperate
+villains, were secured, he believed the rest on shore would return to
+their duty. He anticipated my proposals in venturing their deliverance
+by telling me that both he and the ship, if recovered, should be wholly
+directed by me in everything. Then I gave them muskets, and the
+mutineers returning, the two villains were killed, and the rest begged
+for mercy, and joined us. More of them coming ashore, we fell upon them
+at night, so that at the captain's call they laid down their arms,
+trusting to the mercy of the governor of the island, for such they
+supposed me to be.
+
+It now occurred to me that the time of my deliverance was come, and that
+it would be easy to bring these fellows in to be hearty in getting
+possession of the ship. And so it proved, for, the ship being boarded
+next morning, and the new rebel captain shot, the rest yielded without
+any more lives lost.
+
+When I saw my deliverance then put visibly into my hands, I was ready to
+sink down with the surprise, and it was a good while before I could
+speak a word to the captain, who was in as great an ecstasy as I. After
+some time, I came dressed in a new habit of the captain's, being still
+called governor. Being all met, and the captain with me, I caused the
+prisoners to be brought before me, told them I had got a full account of
+their villainous behaviour to the captain, and asked of them what they
+had to say why I should not execute them as pirates. I told them I had
+resolved to quit the island, but that they, if they went, could only go
+as prisoners in irons; so that I could not tell what was the best for
+them, unless they had a mind to take their fate in the island. They
+seemed thankful for this, and said they would much rather venture to
+stay than be carried to England to be hanged. So I left it on that
+issue. When the captain was gone I sent for the men up to me in my
+apartment and let them into the story of my living there; showed them my
+fortifications, the way I made my bread, planted my corn; and, in a
+word, all that was necessary to make them easy. I told them the story,
+also of the Spaniards that were to be expected, and made them promise to
+treat them in common with themselves.
+
+I left the next day and went on board the ship with Friday. And thus I
+left the island the 19th of December, in the year 1686, after eight and
+twenty years, and, after a long voyage, I arrived in England, the 11th
+of June, 1687, having been thirty-five years absent.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Captain Singleton
+
+      Defoe was fifty-nine when he published this remarkable book,
+     in 1720. "Robinson Crusoe" had appeared in the previous year,
+     and "Moll Flanders" came out in 1722. Shrewdness and wit, the
+     study of character, vividness of imagination, and, beyond
+     these, the pure literary style, make "Captain Singleton" a
+     classic in English literature. William the Quaker, the first
+     Quaker in English fiction, has never been surpassed in any
+     later novel, and remains an immortal creation. The clear
+     common sense of this man, the combination of business ability
+     and a real humaneness, the quiet humour which prevails over
+     the stupid barbarity of his pirate companions--who but Defoe
+     could have drawn such a character as the guide, philosopher,
+     and friend of a crew of pirates? Bob Singleton himself, who
+     tells the story with a frankness of extraordinary charm,
+     confessing his willingness for evil courses as readily as his
+     later repentance, is no less striking a personality. By sheer
+     imagination the genius of Defoe makes Singleton's adventures,
+     including the impossible journey across Central Africa, real
+     and credible. The book is a model of fine narrative.
+
+
+_I.--Sailing With the Devil_
+
+
+If I may believe the woman whom I was taught to call mother, I was a
+little boy about two years old, very well dressed, and had a nurse-maid
+to attend me, who took me out on a fine summer's evening into the fields
+towards Islington, to give the child some air; a little girl being with
+her, of twelve or fourteen years old, that lived in the neighbourhood.
+
+The maid meets with a fellow, her sweetheart; he carries her into a
+public-house, and while they are toying in there the girl plays about
+with me in her hand, sometimes in sight, sometimes out of sight,
+thinking no harm.
+
+Then comes by one of those sort of people who make it their business to
+spirit away little children, a trade chiefly practised where they found
+little children well dressed, and for bigger children, to sell them to
+the plantations.
+
+The woman, pretending to take me up in her arms and play with me, draws
+the girl a good way from the house, and then bids her go back to the
+maid, and tell her that a gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child.
+And so, while the girl went, she carries me quite away.
+
+From that time, it seems, I was disposed of to a beggar woman, and after
+that to a gipsy, till I was about six years old.
+
+And this gipsy, though I was continually dragged about with her from one
+part of the country to the other, never let me want for anything. I
+called her mother, but she told me at last she was not my mother, but
+that she bought me for twelve shillings, and that my name was Bob
+Singleton, not Robert, but plain Bob.
+
+Who my father and mother really were I have never learnt.
+
+When my gipsy mother happened in process of time to be hanged, I was
+sent to a parish school; and then I was moved from one parish to
+another, and at Bussleton, near Southampton, the master of a ship took a
+fancy to me, and though I was not above twelve years old, he carried me
+to sea with him on a voyage to Newfoundland.
+
+I went several voyages with him, when, coming home from Newfoundland
+about the year 1695, we were taken by an Algerine rover, which was in
+its turn taken by two great Portuguese men-of-war.
+
+We were carried into Lisbon, and there my master, the only friend I had
+in the world, dying of his wounds, I was left starving in a foreign
+country where I knew nobody, and could not speak a word of the language.
+
+However, an old pilot found me, and, speaking in broken English, asked
+me if I would go with him.
+
+"Yes," said I, "with all my heart."
+
+For two years I lived with him, and then he got to be master under Don
+Garcia de Carravallas, captain of a Portuguese galleon, which was bound
+to Goa in the East Indies. On this voyage I began to get a smattering of
+the Portuguese tongue and a superficial knowledge of navigation. I also
+learnt to be an arrant thief and a bad sailor.
+
+I was reputed as mighty diligent and faithful to my master, but I was
+very far from honest.
+
+Indeed, I had no sense of virtue or religion in me, never having heard
+much of either, and was growing up apace to be as wicked as anybody
+could be.
+
+Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most abominable
+lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew; adding to it that,
+with the most insufferable boasts of their own courage, they were,
+generally speaking, the most complete cowards that I ever met with. And
+I was exactly fitted for their society.
+
+According to the English proverb, he that is shipped with the devil must
+sail with the devil; I was among them, and I managed myself as well as I
+could.
+
+When we came to anchor on the coast of Madagascar to repair some damage
+to the ship, there happened a most desperate mutiny among the men upon
+account of a deficiency in their allowance, and I, being full of
+mischief in my head, readily joined.
+
+Though I was but a boy, as they called me, yet I prompted the mischief
+all I could, and embarked in it so openly that I escaped very little
+being hanged in the first and most early part of my life.
+
+For the captain, getting wind of the plot, brought two fellows to
+confess the particulars, and presently no less than sixteen men were
+seized and put into irons, whereof I was one.
+
+The captain, who was made desperate by his danger, tried us all, and we
+were all condemned to die. The gunner and purser were hanged
+immediately, and I expected it with the rest. I do not remember any
+great concern I was under about it, only that I cried very much; for I
+knew little then of this world, and nothing at all of the next.
+
+However, the captain contented himself with executing these two, and
+some of the rest, upon their humble submission, were pardoned; but five
+were ordered to be set on shore on the island and left there, of which I
+was one.
+
+At our first coming into the island we were terrified exceedingly with
+the sight of the barbarous people; but when we came to converse with
+them awhile, we found they were not cannibals, as was reported, but they
+came and sat down by us, and wondered much at our clothes and arms. Nor
+did we suffer any harm from them during our whole stay on the island.
+
+Before the ship sailed twenty-three of the crew decided to join us, and
+the captain, not unwilling to lose them, sent us two barrels of powder,
+and shot and lead, as well as a great bag of bread.
+
+Being now a considerable number, and in condition to defend ourselves,
+the first thing we did was to give everyone his hand that we would not
+separate from one another, but that we would live and die together, that
+we would be in all things guided by the majority, that we would appoint
+a captain among us to be our leader, and that we would obey him on pain
+of death.
+
+
+_II.--A Mad Venture_
+
+
+For two years we remained on the island of Madagascar, for at the
+beginning we had no vessel large enough to pass the ocean.
+
+I never proposed to speak in the general consultations, but one day I
+told the company that our best plan was to cruise along the coast in
+canoes, and seize upon the first vessel we could get that was better
+than our own, and so from that to another, till perhaps we might at last
+get a good ship to carry us wherever we pleased to go.
+
+"Excellent advice," says one of them. "Admirable advice," says another.
+"Yes, yes," says the third (which was a gunner), "the English dog has
+given excellent advice, but it is just the way to bring us all to the
+gallows. To go a-thieving, till from a little vessel we come to a great
+ship, and so shall we turn downright pirates, the end of which is to be
+hanged."
+
+"You may call us pirates," says another, "if you will, and if we fall
+into bad hands we may be used like pirates; but I care not for that.
+I'll be a pirate or anything, rather than starve here!"
+
+And so they cried all, "Let us have a canoe!"
+
+The gunner, overruled by the rest, submitted; but as we broke up the
+council, he came to me and very gravely. "My lad," says he, "thou art
+born to do a world of mischief; thou hast commenced pirate very young;
+but have a care of the gallows, young man; have a care, I say, for thou
+wilt be an eminent thief."
+
+I laughed at him, and told him I did not know what I might come to
+hereafter; but as our case was now, I should make no scruple to take the
+first ship I came at to get our liberty. I only wished we could see one,
+and come at her.
+
+When we had made three canoes of some size, we set out on as odd a
+voyage as ever man went. We were a little fleet of three ships, and an
+army of between twenty and thirty as dangerous fellows as ever lived. We
+were bound somewhere and nowhere, for though we knew what we intended to
+do, we really did not know what we were doing.
+
+We cruised up and down the coast, but no ship came in sight, and at
+last, with more courage than discretion, more resolution than judgment,
+we launched for the main coast of Africa.
+
+The voyage was much longer than we expected, and when we were landed
+upon the continent it seemed the most desolate, desert, and inhospitable
+country in the world.
+
+It was here that we took one of the rashest and wildest and most
+desperate resolutions that ever was taken by man; this was to travel
+overland through the heart of the country, from the coast of Mozambique
+to the coast of Angola or Guinea, a continent of land of at least 1,800
+miles, in which journey we had excessive heats to support, impassable
+deserts to go over, no carriages, camels, or beasts of any kind to carry
+our baggage, innumerable wild and ravenous beasts to encounter, such as
+lions, leopards, tigers, lizards, and elephants; we had nations of
+savages to encounter, barbarous and brutish to the last degree; hunger
+and thirst to struggle with, and, in one word, terrors enough to have
+daunted the stoutest hearts that ever were placed in cases of flesh and
+blood.
+
+Yet, fearless of all these, we resolved to adventure, and not only did
+we accomplish our journey, but we came to a river where there were vast
+quantities of gold.
+
+The hardships and difficulties of our march were much mitigated by a
+method which I proposed and was found very convenient. This was to
+quarrel with some of the negro natives, take them as prisoners, and
+binding them, as slaves, cause them to travel with us and make them
+carry our baggage.
+
+Accordingly, we secured about sixty lusty young fellows as prisoners,
+for the natives stood in great awe of us because of our firearms, and
+they not only served us faithfully--the more so as we treated them
+without harshness--but were of great help in showing us the way, and in
+conversing with the savages we afterwards met.
+
+When we reached the country where the gold was, we at once agreed, in
+order that the good harmony and friendship of our company might be
+maintained, that however much gold was gotten, it should be brought into
+one common stock, and equally divided at last, the negroes sharing with
+the rest.
+
+This was done, and at the end of our long journey we found each man's
+share amounted to many pounds of gold. We also got a cargo of elephants'
+teeth.
+
+We parted at the Gold Coast from our black companions on the best of
+terms. Then most of my comrades went off to the Portuguese factories
+near Gambia, and I went to Cape Coast Castle, and got passage for,
+England, where I arrived in September.
+
+
+_III.--Quaker and Pirate_
+
+
+I had neither friend nor relation in England, though it was my native
+country; I had not a person to trust with what I had, or to counsel me
+to secure or save it; but falling into ill company, and trusting the
+keeper of a public-house in Rotherhithe with a great part of my money,
+all that great sum, which I got with so much pains and hazard, was gone
+in little more than two years' time--spent in all kinds of folly and
+wickedness.
+
+Then I began to see it was time to think of further adventures, and I
+next shipped myself, in an evil hour to be sure, on a voyage to Cadiz.
+
+On the coast of Spain I fell in with some masters of mischief, and,
+among them, one, forwarder than the rest, named Harris, who began an
+intimate confidence with me, so that we called one another brothers.
+
+This Harris was afterwards captured by an English man-of-war, and, being
+laid in irons, died of grief and anger.
+
+When we were together, he asked me if I had a mind for an adventure that
+might make amends for all past misfortunes. I told him, yes, with all my
+heart; for I did not care where I went, having nothing to lose, and no
+one to leave behind me.
+
+He told me, then, there was a brave fellow, whose name was Wilmot, in
+another English ship which rode in the harbour, who had resolved to
+mutiny the next morning, and run away with the ship; and that if we
+could get strength enough among our ship's company, we might do the
+same.
+
+I liked the proposal very well, but we could not bring our part to
+perfection. For there were but eleven in our ship who were in the
+conspiracy, nor could we get any more that we could trust. So that when
+Wilmot began his work, and secured the ship, and gave the signal to us,
+we all took a boat and went off to join him.
+
+Being well prepared for all manner of roguery, without the least checks
+of conscience, I thus embarked with this crew, which at last brought me
+to consort with the most famous pirates of the age.
+
+I, that was an original thief, and a pirate even by inclination before,
+was now in my element, and never undertook anything in my life with more
+particular satisfaction.
+
+Captain Wilmot--for so we now called him--at once stood out for sea,
+steering for the Canaries, and thence onward to the West Indies. Our
+ship had twenty-two guns, and we obtained plenty of ammunition from the
+Spaniards in exchange for bales of English cloth.
+
+We cruised near two years in those seas of the West Indies, chiefly upon
+the Spaniards--not that we made any difficulty of taking English ships,
+or Dutch, or French, if they came in our way. But the reason why we
+meddled as little with English vessels as we could was, first, because
+if they were ships of any force, we were sure of more resistance from
+them; and, secondly, because we found the English ships had less booty
+when taken; for the Spaniards generally had money on board, and that was
+what we best knew what to do with.
+
+We increased our stock considerably in these two years, having taken
+60,000 pieces of gold in one vessel, and 100,000 in another; and being
+thus first grown rich, we resolved to be strong, too, for we had taken a
+brigantine, an excellent sea-boat, able to carry twelve guns, and a
+large Spanish frigate-built ship, which afterwards, by the help of good
+carpenters, we fitted up to carry twenty-eight guns.
+
+We had also taken two or three sloops from New England and New York,
+laden with flour, peas, and barrelled beef and pork, going for Jamaica
+and Barbados, and for more beef we went on shore on the island of Cuba,
+where we killed as many black cattle as we pleased, though we had very
+little salt to cure them.
+
+Out of all the prizes we took here we took their powder and bullets,
+their small-arms and cutlasses; and as for their men, we always took the
+surgeon and the carpenter, as persons who were of particular use to us
+upon many occasions; nor were they always unwilling to go with us.
+
+We had one very merry fellow here, a Quaker, whose name was William
+Walters, whom we took out of a sloop bound from Pennsylvania to
+Barbados. He was a surgeon and they called him doctor, and we made him
+go with us, and take all his implements with him. He was a comic fellow
+indeed, a man of very good solid sense, and an excellent surgeon; but,
+what was worth all, very good-humoured and pleasant in his conversation,
+and a bold, stout, brave fellow too, as any we had among us.
+
+I found William not very averse to go along with us, and yet resolved to
+do it so that it might be apparent he was taken away by force. "Friend,"
+he says, "thou sayest I must go with thee, and it is not in my power to
+resist thee if I would; but I desire thou wilt oblige the master of the
+sloop to certify under his hand that I was taken away by force, and
+against my will." So I drew up a certificate myself, wherein I wrote
+that he was taken away by main force, as a prisoner, by a pirate ship;
+and this was signed by the master and all his men.
+
+"Thou hast dealt friendly by me," says he, when we had brought him
+aboard, "and I will be plain with thee, whether I came willingly to thee
+or not. But thou knowest it is not my business to meddle when thou art
+to fight."
+
+"No, no," says the captain, "but you may meddle a little when we share
+the money."
+
+"Those things are useful to furnish a surgeon's chest," says William,
+and smiled, "but I shall be moderate."
+
+In short, William was a most agreeable companion; but he had the better
+of us in this part, that if we were taken we were sure to be hanged, and
+he was sure to escape. But he was a sprightly fellow, and fitter to be
+captain than any of us.
+
+
+_IV.--A Respectable Merchant_
+
+
+We cruised the seas for many years, and after a time William and I had a
+ship to ourselves with 400 men in authority under us. As for Captain
+Wilmot, we left him with a large company at Madagascar, while we went on
+to the East Indies.
+
+At last we had gotten so rich, for we traded in cloves and spices to the
+merchants, that William one day proposed to me that we should give up
+the kind of life we had been leading. We were then off the coast of
+Persia.
+
+"Most people," said William, "leave off trading when they are satisfied
+of getting, and are rich enough; for nobody trades for the sake of
+trading; much less do men rob for the sake of thieving. It is natural
+for men that are abroad to desire to come home again at last, especially
+when they are grown rich, and so rich as they would know not what to do
+with more if they had it."
+
+"Well, William," said I, "but you have not explained what you mean by
+home. Why, man, I am at home; here is my habitation; I never had any
+other in my lifetime; I was a kind of charity school-boy; so that I can
+have no desire of going anywhere for being rich or poor; for I have
+nowhere to go."
+
+"Why," says William, looking a little confused, "hast thou no relatives
+or friends in England? No acquaintance; none that thou hast any kindness
+or any remains of respect for?"
+
+"Not I, William," said I, "no more than I have in the court of the Great
+Mogul. Yet I do not say I like this roving, cruising life so well as
+never to give it over. Say anything to me, I will take it kindly." For I
+could see he was troubled, and I began to be moved by his gravity.
+
+"There is something to be thought of beyond this way of life," says
+William.
+
+"Why, what is that," said I, "except it be death?"
+
+"It is repentance."
+
+"Why," says I, "did you ever know a pirate repent?"
+
+At this he was startled a little, and returned.
+
+"At the gallows I have known one, and I hope thou wilt be the second."
+
+He spoke this very affectionately, with an appearance of concern for me.
+
+"My proposal," William went on, "is for thy good as well as my own. We
+may put an end to this kind of life, and repent."
+
+"Look you, William," says I, "let me have your proposal for putting an
+end to our present way of living first, and you and I will talk of the
+other afterwards."
+
+"Nay," says William, "thou art in the right there; we must never talk of
+repenting while we continue pirates."
+
+"Well," says I, "William, that's what I meant; for if we must not
+reform, as well as be sorry for what is done, I have no notion what
+repentance means: the nature of the thing seems to tell me that the
+first step we have to take is to break off this wretched course. Dost
+thou think it practicable for us to put an end to our unhappy way of
+living, and get off?"
+
+"Yes," says he, "I think it very practicable."
+
+We were then anchored off the city of Bassorah, and one night William
+and I went ashore, and sent a note to the boatswain telling him we were
+betrayed and bidding him make off with the ship.
+
+By this means we frighted the rogues our comrades; and we had nothing to
+do then but to consider how to convert our treasure into things proper
+to make us look like merchants, as we were now to be, and not like
+freebooters, as we really had been.
+
+Then we clothed ourselves like Armenian merchants, and after many days
+reached Venice; and at last we agreed to go to London. For William had a
+sister whom he was anxious to see once more.
+
+So we came to England, and some time later I married William's sister,
+with whom I am much more happy than I deserve.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CHARLES DICKENS
+
+
+Barnaby Rudge
+
+
+      Charles Dickens, son of a clerk in the Navy Pay Office, was
+     born at Landport on February 7, 1812. Soon afterwards the
+     family removed to Chatham and then to London. With all their
+     efforts, they failed to keep out of distress, and at the age
+     of nine Dickens was employed at a blacking factory. With the
+     coming of brighter days, he was sent back to school;
+     afterwards a place was found for him in a solicitor's office.
+     In the meantime, his father had obtained a position as
+     reporter on the "Morning Herald," and Dickens, too, resolved
+     to try his fortune in that direction. Teaching himself
+     shorthand, and studying diligently at the British Museum, at
+     the age of twenty-two he secured permanent employment on the
+     staff of a London paper. "Barnaby Rudge," the fifth of
+     Dickens's novels, appeared serially in "Master Humphrey's
+     Clock" during 1841. It thus followed "The Old Curiosity Shop,"
+     the character of Master Humphrey being revived merely to
+     introduce the new story, and on its conclusion "The Clock" was
+     stopped for ever. In 1849 "Barnaby Rudge" was published in
+     book form. Written primarily to express the author's
+     abhorrence of capital punishment, from the use he made of the
+     Gordon Riots of 1780, "Barnaby Rudge," like "A Tale of Two
+     Cities," may be considered an historical work. It is more of a
+     story than any of its predecessors. Lord George Gordon, the
+     instigator of the riots, died a prisoner in the Tower of
+     London, after making public renunciation of Christianity in
+     favour of the Jewish religion. "The raven in this story," said
+     Dickens, "is a compound of two originals, of whom I have been
+     the proud possessor." Dickens died at Gad's Hill on June 9,
+     1870, having written fourteen novels and a great number of
+     short stories and sketches.
+
+
+_I.--Barnaby and the Robber_
+
+
+In the year 1775 there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, in the
+village of Chigwell, about twelve miles from London, a house of public
+entertainment called the Maypole, kept by John Willet, a large-headed
+man with a fat face, of profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension,
+combined with a very strong reliance upon his own merits.
+
+From this inn, Gabriel Varden, stout-hearted old locksmith of
+Clerkenwell, jogged steadily home on a chaise, half sleeping and half
+waking, on a certain rough evening in March.
+
+A loud cry roused him with a start, just where London begins, and he
+descried a man extended in an apparently lifeless state wounded upon the
+pathway, and, hovering round him, another person, with a torch in his
+hand, which he waved in the air with a wild impatience.
+
+"What's here to do?" said the old locksmith. "How's this? What, Barnaby!
+You know me, Barnaby?"
+
+The bearer of the torch nodded, not once or twice, but a score of times,
+with a fantastic exaggeration.
+
+"How came it here?" demanded Varden, pointing to the body.
+
+"Steel, steel, steel!" Barnaby replied fiercely, imitating the thrust of
+a sword.
+
+"Is he robbed?" said the blacksmith.
+
+Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded "Yes," pointing towards the
+city.
+
+"Oh!" said the old man. "The robber made off that way, did he? Now let's
+see what can be done."
+
+They covered the wounded man with Varden's greatcoat, and carried him to
+Mrs. Rudge's house hard by. On his way home Gabriel congratulated
+himself on having an adventure which would silence Mrs. Varden on the
+subject of the Maypole for that night, or there was no faith in woman.
+
+But Mrs. Varden was a lady of uncertain temper, and she was on this
+occasion so ill-tempered, and put herself to so much anxiety and
+agitation, aided and abetted by her shrewish hand-maiden, Miggs, that
+next morning she was, she said, too much indisposed to rise. The
+disconsolate locksmith had, therefore, to deliver himself of his story
+of the night's experiences to his daughter, buxom, bewitching Dolly, the
+very pink and pattern of good looks, and the despair of the youth of the
+neighbourhood.
+
+Calling next day in the evening, Gabriel Varden learnt the wounded man
+was better, and would shortly be removed.
+
+Varden chatted as an old friend with Barnaby's mother. He knew the
+Maypole story of the widow Rudge--how her husband, employed at Chigwell,
+and his master had been murdered; and how her son, born upon the very
+day the deed was known, bore upon his wrist a smear of blood but half
+washed out.
+
+"Why, what's that?" said the locksmith suddenly. "Is that Barnaby
+tapping at the door?"
+
+"No," returned the widow; "it was in the street, I think. Hark! 'Tis
+someone knocking softly at the shutter."
+
+"Some thief or ruffian," said the locksmith. "Give me a light."
+
+"No, no," she returned hastily. "I would rather go myself, alone."
+
+She left the room, and Varden heard the sound of whispers without. Then
+the words "My God!" came, tittered in a voice dreadful to hear.
+
+Varden rushed out. A look of terror was on the woman's face, and before
+her stood a man, of sinister appearance, whom the locksmith had passed
+on the road from Chigwell the previous night.
+
+The man fled, but the locksmith was after him and would have held him
+but for the widow, who clutched his arms.
+
+"The other way--the other way!" she cried. "Do not touch him, on your
+life! He carries other lives besides his own. Don't ask what it means.
+He is not to be followed or stopped! Come back!"
+
+"The other way!" said the locksmith. "Why, there he goes!"
+
+The old man looked at her in wonder, and let her draw him into the
+house. Still that look of terror was on her face, as she implored him
+not to question her.
+
+Presently she withdrew, and left him in his perplexity alone, and
+Barnaby came in.
+
+"I have been asleep," said the idiot, with widely opened eyes. "There
+have been great faces coming and going--close to my face, and then a
+mile away. That's sleep, eh? I dreamed just now that something--it was
+in the shape of a man--followed me and wouldn't let me be. It came
+creeping on to worry me, nearer and nearer. I ran faster, leaped, sprang
+out of bed and to the window, and there in the street below--"
+
+"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Bow, wow, wow!" cried a hoarse voice. "What's
+the matter here? Halloa!"
+
+The locksmith started, and there was Grip, a large raven, Barnaby's
+close companion, perched on the top of a chair.
+
+"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Keep up your spirits! Never say die!" the bird
+went on, in a hoarse voice. "Bow, wow, wow!" And then he began to
+whistle.
+
+The locksmith said "Good-night," and went his way home, disturbed in
+thought.
+
+"In league with that ill-looking figure that might have fallen from a
+gibbet. He listening and hiding here. Barnaby first upon the spot last
+night. Can she, who has always borne so fair a name, be guilty of such
+crimes in secret?" said the locksmith, musing. "Heaven forgive me if I
+am wrong, and send me just thoughts."
+
+
+_II--Barnaby Is Enrolled_
+
+
+It is seven in the forenoon, on June 2, 1780, and Barnaby and his
+mother, who had travelled to London to escape that unwelcome visitor
+whom Varden had noticed, were resting in one of the recesses of
+Westminster Bridge.
+
+A vast throng of persons were crossing the river to the Surrey shore in
+unusual haste and excitement, and nearly every man in this great
+concourse wore in his hat a blue cockade.
+
+When the bridge was clear, which was not till nearly two hours had
+elapsed, the widow inquired of an old man what was the meaning of the
+great assemblage.
+
+"Why, haven't you heard?" he returned. "This is the day Lord George
+Gordon presents the petition against the Catholics, and his lordship has
+declared he won't present it to the House of Commons at all unless it is
+attended to the door by forty thousand good men and true, at least.
+There's a crowd for you!"
+
+"A crowd, indeed!" said Barnaby. "Do you hear that, mother? That's a
+brave crowd he talks of. Come!"
+
+"Not to join it!" cried his mother. "You don't know what mischief they
+may do, or where they may lead you. Dear Barnaby, for my sake----"
+
+"For your sake!" he answered. "It _is_ for your sake, mother. Here's a
+brave crowd! Come--or wait till I come back! Yes, yes, wait here!"
+
+A stranger gave Barnaby a blue cockade and bade him wear it, and while
+he was still fixing it in his hat Lord Gordon and his secretary,
+Gashford, passed, and then turned back.
+
+"You lag behind, friend, and are late," said Lord George. "It's past ten
+now. Didn't you know the hour of assemblage was ten o'clock?"
+
+Barnaby shook his head, and looked vacantly from one to the other.
+
+"He cannot tell you, sir," the widow interposed. "It's no use to ask
+him. We know nothing of these matters. This is my son--my poor,
+afflicted son, dearer to me than my own life. He is not in his right
+senses--he is not, indeed."
+
+"He has surely no appearance," said Lord George, whispering in his
+secretary's ear, "of being deranged. We must not construe any trifling
+peculiarity into madness. You desire to make one of this body?" he
+added, addressing Barnaby. "And intended to make one, did you?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. "To be sure, I did. I
+told her so myself."
+
+"Then follow me." replied Lord George, "and you shall have your wish."
+
+Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly, and telling her their fortunes were
+made now, did as he was desired.
+
+They hastened on to St. George's Fields, where the vast army of men was
+drawn up in sections. Doubtless there were honest zealots sprinkled here
+and there, but for the most part the throng was composed of the very
+scum and refuse of London.
+
+Barnaby was acclaimed by a man in the ranks, Hugh, the rough hostler of
+the Maypole, whom Barnaby in his frequent wanderings had long known.
+
+"What! you wear the colour, do you? Fall in, Barnaby. You shall march
+between me and Dennis, and you shall carry," said Hugh, taking a flag
+from the hand of a tired man, "the gayest silken streamer in this
+valiant army."
+
+"In the name of God, no!" shrieked the widow, who had followed in
+pursuit and now darted forward. "Barnaby, my lord, he'll come
+back--Barnaby!"
+
+"Women in the field!" cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her
+off with his outstretched hand. "It's against all orders--ladies
+carrying off our gallant soldiers from their duty. Give the word of
+command, captain."
+
+The words, "Form! March!" rang out.
+
+She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was
+whirled away into the heart of a dense mass of men, and the widow saw
+him no more.
+
+Barnaby himself, heedless of the weight of the great banner he carried,
+marched proud, happy, and elated past all telling. Hugh was at his side,
+and next to Hugh came a squat, thick-set personage called Dennis, who,
+unknown to his companions, was no other than the public hangman.
+
+"I wish I could see her somewhere," said Barnaby, looking anxiously
+around. "She would be proud to see me now, eh, Hugh? She'd cry with joy,
+I know she would."
+
+"Why, what palaver's this?" asked Mr. Dennis, with supreme disdain. "We
+ain't got no sentimental members among us, I hope."
+
+"Don't be uneasy, brother," cried Hugh, "he's only talking of his
+mother."
+
+"His mother!" growled Mr. Dennis, with a strong oath, and in tones of
+deep disgust. "And have I combined myself with this here section, and
+turned out on this here memorable day, to hear men talk about their
+mothers?"
+
+"Barnaby's right," cried Hugh, with a grin, "and I say it. Lookee, bold
+lad, if she's not here to see it's because I've provided for her, and
+sent half-a-dozen gentlemen, every one of 'em with a blue flag, to take
+her to a grand house all hung round with gold and silver banners, where
+she'll wait till you come and want for nothing. And we'll get money
+for her. Money, cocked hats, and gold lace will all belong to us if we
+are true to that noble gentleman, if we carry our flags and keep 'em
+safe. That's all we've got to do.
+
+"Don't you see, man," Hugh whispered to Dennis, "that the lad's a
+natural, and can be got to do anything if you take him the right way?
+He's worth a dozen men in earnest, as you'd find if you tried a fall
+with him. You'll soon see whether he's of use or not."
+
+Mr. Dennis received this explanation with many nods and winks, and
+softened his behaviour towards Barnaby from that moment.
+
+Hugh was right. It was Barnaby who stood his ground, and grasped his
+pole more firmly when the Guards came out to clear the mob away from
+Westminster.
+
+One soldier came spurring on, cutting at the hands of those who would
+have forced his charger back, and still Barnaby, without retreating an
+inch, waited for his coming. Some called to him to fly, when the pole
+swept the air above the people's heads, and the man's saddle was empty
+in an instant.
+
+Then he and Hugh turned and fled, the crowd opening and closing so
+quickly that there was no clue to the course they had taken.
+
+
+_III.--The Storming of Newgate_
+
+
+For several days London was in the hands of the rioters. Catholic
+chapels were burned, the private residences of Catholics were sacked.
+From the moment of the first outbreak at Westminster every symptom of
+order vanished. Fifty resolute men might have turned the rioters; a
+single company of soldiers could have scattered them like dust; but no
+man interposed, no authority restrained them.
+
+But Barnaby, bold Barnaby, had been taken. Left behind at the resort of
+the rioters by Hugh, who led a body of men to Chigwell, he had been
+captured by the soldiers, a proclamation of the Privy Council having at
+last encouraged the magistrates to set the military in motion for the
+arrest of certain ringleaders.
+
+He was placed in Newgate and heavily ironed, and presently Grip, with
+drooping head and plumes rough and tumbled, was thrust into his cell.
+
+Another man was also taken and placed in Newgate on that day, and
+presently he and Barnaby stood staring at each other, face to face.
+Suddenly Barnaby laid hands upon him, and cried, "Ah, I know! You are
+the robber!"
+
+The other struggled with him silently, but finding the young man too
+strong for him, raised his eyes and said, "I am your father."
+
+Barnaby released his hold, fell back, and looked at him aghast. Then he
+sprang towards him, put his arms about his neck, and pressed his head
+against his cheek. He never learnt that his father, supposed to have
+been murdered, was himself a murderer. This was the widow's dreadful
+secret.
+
+And now Hugh, with a huge army, was at the gates of Newgate, bent on
+rescue. He had returned, to find Barnaby taken, and at once announced
+that the prison must be stormed. In vain the military commanders tried
+to rouse the magistrates, and in particular the Lord Mayor; no orders
+were given, and the soldiers could do nothing within the precincts of
+the city without the warrant of the civil authorities.
+
+In a dense mass the rioters halted before the prison-gate. All those who
+had already been conspicuous were there, and others who had friends or
+relatives within the jail hastened to the attack.
+
+Hugh had brought, by force, old Gabriel Varden to pick the lock of the
+great door, but this the sturdy locksmith resolutely refused to do.
+
+"You have got some friends of ours in your custody, master," Hugh called
+out to the head jailer, who had appeared on the roof. "Deliver up our
+friends, and you may keep the rest."
+
+"It's my duty to keep them all. I shall do my duty," replied the jailer,
+firmly.
+
+A shower of stones compelled the keeper of the jail to retire.
+
+Gabriel Varden was urged by blows, by offers of reward, and by threats
+of instant death to do the office the rioters required of him, and all
+in vain. He was knocked down, was up again, buffeting with a score of
+them. He had never loved his life so well as then, but nothing could
+move him.
+
+The cry was raised, "You lose time. Remember the prisoners! Remember
+Barnaby!" And the crowd left the locksmith, to gather fuel, for an
+entrance was to be forced by fire. Furniture from the prison lodge was
+piled up in a monstrous heap and set blazing, oil was poured on, and at
+last the great gate yielded to the flames. It settled deeper in the
+red-hot cinders, tottered, and was down.
+
+Hugh leaped upon the blazing heap, and dashed into the jail. The hangman
+followed. And then so many rushed upon their track that the fire got
+trodden down. There was no need of it now, for, inside and out, the
+prison was soon in flames.
+
+Barnaby and his father were quickly released, and passed from hand to
+hand into the street. Soon all the wretched inmates of the jail were
+free, except four condemned to die whom Dennis kept under guard. And
+these Hugh roughly insisted on liberating, to the sullen anger of the
+hangman.
+
+"You won't let these men alone, and leave 'em to me? You've no respect
+for nothing, haven't you?" said Dennis, and with a scowl he disappeared.
+
+Three hundred prisoners in all were released from Newgate, and many of
+these returned to haunt the place of their captivity, and were retaken.
+The day after the storming of Newgate, the mob having now had London at
+its mercy for a week, the authorities at last took serious action, and
+at nightfall the military held the streets.
+
+Hugh and Barnaby and old Rudge had taken refuge in a rough out-house in
+the outskirts of London, where they were wont to rest, when Dennis stood
+before them; he had not been seen since the storming of Newgate.
+
+A few minutes later, and the shed was filled with soldiers, while a body
+of horse galloping into the field drew op before it.
+
+"Here!" said Dennis, "it's them two young ones, gentlemen, that the
+proclamation puts a price on. This other's an escaped felon. I'm sorry
+for it, brother," he added, addressing himself to Hugh; "but you've
+brought it on yourself; you forced me to do it; you wouldn't respect the
+soundest constitutional principles, you know; you went and wiolated the
+wery framework of society."
+
+Barnaby and his father were carried off by one road in the centre of a
+body of foot-soldiers; Hugh, fast bound upon a horse, was taken by
+another.
+
+
+_IV.--The Fate of the Rioters_
+
+
+The riots had been stamped out, and once more the city was quiet.
+
+Barnaby sat in his dungeon. Beside him, with his hand in hers, sat his
+mother; worn and altered, full of grief, and heavy-hearted, but the same
+to him.
+
+"Mother," he said, "how long--how many days and nights--shall I be kept
+here?"
+
+"Not many, dear. I hope not many."
+
+"If they kill me--they may; I heard it said--what will become of Grip?"
+
+The sound of the word suggested to the raven his old phrase, "Never say
+die!" But he stopped short in the middle of it as if he lacked the heart
+to get through the shortest sentence.
+
+"Will they take his life as well as mine?" said Barnaby. "I wish they
+would. If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to
+feel sorry, or to grieve for us. Don't you cry for me. They said that I
+am bold, and so I am, and so I will be."
+
+The turnkey came to close the cells for the night, the widow tore
+herself away, and Barnaby was alone.
+
+He was to die. There was no hope. They had tried to save him. The
+locksmith had carried petitions and memorials to the fountain-head with
+his own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and Barnaby was to
+die. From the first, his mother had never left him, save at night; and,
+with her beside him, he was contented.
+
+"They call me silly, mother. They shall see--to-morrow."
+
+Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. "No reprieve, no reprieve! Nobody
+comes near us. There's only the night left now!" moaned Dennis. "Do you
+think they'll reprieve me in the night, brother? I've known reprieves
+come in the night afore now. Don't you think there's a good chance yet?
+Don't you? Say you do."
+
+"You ought to be the best instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping
+before him. "Ha, ha, ha! See the hangman when it comes home to him."
+
+The clock struck. Barnaby looked in his mother's face, and saw that the
+time had come. After a long embrace he rushed away, and they carried her
+away, insensible.
+
+"See the hangman when it comes home to him!" cried Hugh, as Dennis,
+still moaning, fell down in a fit. "Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we?
+A man can die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily,
+and fall asleep again."
+
+The time wore on. Five o'clock had struck--six--seven--and eight. They
+were to die at noon, and in the crowd without it was said they could
+tell the hangman, when he came out, by his being the shorter one, and
+that the man who was to suffer with him was named Hugh; and that it was
+Barnaby Rudge who would be hanged in Bloomsbury Square.
+
+At the first stroke of twelve the prison bell began to toll, and the
+three were brought forth into the yard together.
+
+Barnaby was the only one who had washed or trimmed himself that morning.
+He still wore the broken peacock's feathers in his hat; and all his
+usual scraps of finery were carefully disposed about his person.
+
+"What cheer, Barnaby?", cried Hugh. "Don't be downcast, lad. Leave that
+to _him_," he added, with a nod in the direction of Dennis, held up
+between two men.
+
+"Bless you!" cried Barnaby, "I'm not frightened, Hugh. I'm quite happy.
+Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see _me_ tremble?"
+
+"I'd say this," said Hugh, wringing Barnaby by the hand, and looking
+round at the officers and functionaries gathered in the yard, "that if I
+had ten lives to lose I'd lay them all down to save this one. This one
+that will be lost through mine!"
+
+"Not through you," said Barnaby mildly. "Don't say that. You were not to
+blame. You have always been very good to me. Hugh, we shall know what
+makes the stars shine _now_!"
+
+Hugh spoke no more, but moved onward in his place with a careless air,
+listening as he went to the service for the dead. As soon as he had
+passed the door, his miserable associate was carried out; and the crowd
+beheld the rest. Barnaby would have mounted the steps at the same time,
+but he was restrained, as he was to undergo the sentence elsewhere.
+
+It was only just when the cart was starting that the courier reached the
+jail with the reprieve. All night Gabriel Varden and his friends had
+been at work; they had gone to the young Prince of Wales, and even to
+the ante-chamber of the king himself. Successful, at last, in awakening
+an interest in his favour, they had an interview with the minister in
+his bed as late as eight o'clock that morning. The result of a searching
+inquiry was that, between eleven and twelve o'clock, a free pardon to
+Barnaby Rudge was made out and signed, and Gabriel Varden had the
+grateful task of bringing him home in triumph with an enthusiastic mob.
+
+"I needn't say," observed the locksmith, when his house in Clerkenwell
+was reached at last, and he and Barnaby were safe within, "that, except
+among ourselves, _I_ didn't want to make a triumph of it. But directly
+we got into the street, we were known, and the hub-bub began. Of the
+two, and after experience of both, I think I'd rather be taken out of my
+house by a crowd of enemies than escorted home by a mob of friends!"
+
+At last the crowd dispersed. And Barnaby stretched himself on the ground
+beside his mother's couch, and fell into a deep sleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Bleak House
+
+      "Bleak House," a story with a purpose, like most of Dickens's
+     works, was published when the author was forty years old. The
+     object of the story was to ventilate the monstrous injustice
+     wrought by delays in the old Court of Chancery, which defeated
+     all the purposes of a court of justice. Many of the
+     characters, who, though famous, are not essential to the
+     development of the story, were drawn from real life.
+     Turveydrop was suggested by George IV., and Inspector Bucket
+     was a friend of the author in the Metropolitan Police Force.
+     Harold Skimpole was identified with Leigh Hunt. Dickens
+     himself admitted the resemblance; but only in so far as none
+     of Skimpole's vices could be attributed to his prototype. The
+     original of Bleak House was a country mansion in
+     Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, though it is usually said to
+     be a summer residence of the novelist at Broadstairs.
+
+
+_I.--In Chancery_
+
+
+London. Implacable November weather. The Lord Chancellor sitting in
+Lincoln's Inn Hall. Fog everywhere, and at the very heart of the fog
+sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery. The case of
+Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on. No man alive knows what it means. It
+has passed into a joke. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in
+the profession.
+
+Mr. Kenge (of Kenge and Carboy, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn) first
+mentioned Jarndyce and Jarndyce to me, and told me that the costs
+already amounted to from sixty to seventy thousand pounds.
+
+My godmother, who brought me up, was just dead, and Mr. Kenge came to
+tell me that Mr. Jarndyce proposed, knowing my desolate position, that I
+should go to a first-rate school, where my education should be completed
+and my comfort secured. What did I say to this? What could I say but
+accept the proposal thankfully?
+
+I passed at this school six happy, quiet years, and then one day came a
+note from Kenge and Carboy, mentioning that their client, Mr. Jarndyce,
+being in the house, desired my services as an eligible companion to this
+young lady.
+
+So I said good-bye to the school and went to London, and was driven to
+Mr. Kenge's office. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how
+altered I was, and appeared quite pleased.
+
+"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in
+the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it
+well that you should be in attendance also."
+
+Mr. Kenge gave me his arm, and we went out of his office and into the
+court, and then into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a
+young gentleman were standing talking.
+
+They looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady a beautiful
+girl, with rich golden hair, and a bright, innocent, trusting face.
+
+"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."
+
+She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but
+seemed to change her mind in a moment, and kissed me.
+
+The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
+Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth, and after she had called him
+up to where we sat, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted
+boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, but nearly two
+years older than she was. They were both orphans, and had never met
+before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in
+such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it.
+
+Presently we heard a bustle, and Mr. Kenge said that the court had
+risen, and soon after we all followed him into the next room. There was
+the Lord Chancellor sitting in an armchair at the table, and his manner
+was both courtly and kind.
+
+"Miss Clare," said his lordship. "Miss Ada Clare?" Mr. Kenge presented
+her.
+
+"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, turning over
+papers, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House--a dreary name."
+
+"But not a dreary place, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
+
+"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.
+
+"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
+
+"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor.
+
+Richard bowed and stepped forward.
+
+"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed, "if I may
+venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for----"
+
+"For Mr. Richard Carstone!" I thought I heard his lordship say in a low
+voice.
+
+"For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady, Miss Esther Summerson."
+
+"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think."
+
+"No, my lord."
+
+"Very well," said his lordship, after taking Miss Ada aside and asking
+her if she thought she would be happy at Bleak House. "I shall make the
+order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge, a
+very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement seems the
+best of which the circumstances admit."
+
+He dismissed us pleasantly and we all went out. As we stood for a
+minute, waiting for Mr. Kenge, a curious little old woman, Miss Flite,
+in a squeezed bonnet, and carrying a reticule, came curtsying and
+smiling up to us, with an air of great ceremony.
+
+"Oh!" said she, "The wards in Jarndyce. Very happy, I am sure, to have
+the honour. It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they
+find themselves in this place, and don't know what's to come of it."
+
+"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.
+
+"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned quickly. "I was a ward
+myself. I was not mad at that time. I had youth and hope; I believe
+beauty. It matters very little now. Neither of the three served, or
+saved me. I have the honour to attend court regularly. I expect a
+judgment. On the Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal
+mentioned in the Revelations is the great seal. Pray accept my
+blessing."
+
+Mr. Kenge coming up, the poor old lady went on. "I shall confer estates
+on both. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you.
+Accept my blessing."
+
+We left her at the bottom of the stairs. She was still saying, with a
+curtsy, and a smile between every little sentence, "Youth. And hope. And
+beauty. And Chancery."
+
+The morning after, walking out early, we met the old lady again, smiling
+and saying in her air of patronage, "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy,
+I am sure! Pray come and see my lodgings. It will be a good omen for me.
+Youth, and hope, and beauty, are very seldom there."
+
+She took my hand and beckoned Richard and Ada to come too, and in a few
+moments she was at home.
+
+She had stopped at a shop over which was written, "Krook, Rag and Bottle
+Warehouse." Inside was an old man in spectacles and a hair cap, and
+entering the shop the little old lady presented him to us.
+
+"My landlord, Krook," she said. "He is called among the neighbours the
+Lord Chancellor. His shop is called the Court of Chancery."
+
+She lived at the top of the house in a room from which she had a glimpse
+of the roof of Lincoln's Inn Hall, and this seemed to be her principal
+inducement for living there.
+
+
+_II.--Bleak House_
+
+
+We drove down to Bleak House, in Hertfordshire, next day, and all three
+of us were anxious and nervous when the night closed in, and the driver,
+pointing to a light sparkling on the top of a hill, cried, "That's Bleak
+House!"
+
+"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. Rick, if I had a hand
+to spare at present I would give it you!"
+
+The gentleman who said these words in a clear, hospitable voice, kissed
+us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy
+little room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.
+
+"Now, Rick!" said he, "I have a hand at liberty. A word in earnest is as
+good as a speech. I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm
+yourself!"
+
+While he spoke I glanced at his face. It was a handsome face, full of
+change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron grey. I took him to
+be nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust.
+
+So this was our coming to Bleak House.
+
+The very next morning I was installed as housekeeper and presented with
+two bunches of keys--a large bunch for the housekeeping and a little
+bunch for the cellars. I could not help trembling when I met Mr.
+Jarndyce, for I knew it was he who had done everything for me since my
+godmother's death.
+
+"Nonsense!" he said. "I hear of a good little orphan girl without a
+protector, and I take it into my head to be that protector. She grows
+up, and more than justifies my good opinion, and I remain her guardian
+and her friend. What is there in all this?"
+
+He soon began to talk to me confidentially as if I had been in the habit
+of conversing with him every morning for I don't know how long.
+
+"Of course, Esther," he said, "you don't understand this Chancery
+business?"
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"I don't know who does," he returned. "The lawyers have twisted it into
+such a state of bedevilment that the original merits of the case have
+long disappeared. Its about a will, and the trusts under a will--or it
+was once. It's about nothing but costs now. It was about a will when it
+was about anything. A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great
+fortune and made a great will. In the question how the trusts under that
+will are to be administered, the fortune left by the will is squandered
+away; the legatees under the will are reduced to such a miserable
+condition that they would be sufficiently punished if they had committed
+an enormous crime in having money left them, and the will itself is made
+a dead letter. All through the deplorable cause everybody must have
+copies, over and over again, of everything that has accumulated about it
+in the way of cartloads of papers, and must go down the middle and up
+again, through such an infernal country-dance of costs and fees and
+nonsense and corruption as was never dreamed of in the wildest visions
+of a witch's sabbath. And we can't get out of the suit on any terms, for
+we are made parties to it, and _must be_ parties to it, whether we like
+it or not. But it won't do to think of it! Thinking of it drove my
+great-uncle, poor Tom Jarndyce, to blow his brains out."
+
+"I hope sir--" said I.
+
+"I think you had better call me Guardian, my dear."
+
+"I hope, Guardian," said I, giving the housekeeping keys the least shake
+in the world, "that you may not be trusting too much to my discretion. I
+am not clever, and that's the truth."
+
+"You are clever enough to be the good little woman of our lives here, my
+dear," he returned playfully; "the little old woman of the rhyme, who
+sweeps the cobwebs of the sky, and you will sweep them out of _our_ sky
+in the course of your housekeeping, Esther."
+
+This was the beginning of my being called Old Woman, and Mother Hubbard,
+and Dame Durden, and so many names of that sort, that my own soon became
+quite lost.
+
+One of the things I noticed from the first about my guardian was that,
+though he was always doing a thousand acts of kindness, he could not
+bear any acknowledgments.
+
+We had somehow got to see more of Miss Flite on our visits to London:
+for the Lord Chancellor always had to be consulted before Richard could
+settle in any profession, and as Richard first wanted to be a doctor and
+then tired of that in favour of the army, there were several
+consultations. I remember one visit because it was the first time we met
+Mr. Woodcourt.
+
+My guardian and Ada and I heard of Miss Flite having been ill, and when
+we called we found a medical gentleman attending her in her garret in
+Lincoln's Inn.
+
+Miss Flite dropped a general curtsy.
+
+"Honoured, indeed," she said, "by another visit from the wards in
+Jarndyce! Very happy to receive Jarndyce of Bleak House beneath my
+humble roof!"
+
+"Has she been very ill?" asked Mr. Jarndyce in a whisper of the doctor.
+
+"Oh, decidedly unwell!" she answered confidentially. "Not pain, you
+know--trouble. Only Mr. Woodcourt knows how much. My physician, Mr.
+Woodcourt"--with great stateliness--"The wards in Jarndyce; Jarndyce of
+Bleak House. The kindest physician in the college," she whispered to me.
+"I expect a judgment. On the Day of Judgment. And shall then confer
+estates."
+
+"She will be as well, in a day or two," said Mr. Woodcourt, with an
+observant smile, "as she ever will be. Have you heard of her good
+fortune?"
+
+"Most extraordinary!" said Miss Flite. "Every Saturday Kenge and Carboy
+place a paper of shillings in my hand. Always the same number. One for
+every day in the week. _I_ think that the Lord Chancellor forwards them.
+Until the judgment I expect is given."
+
+My guardian was contemplating Miss Flite's birds, and I had no need to
+look beyond him.
+
+
+_III.--I Am Made Happy_
+
+
+I sometimes thought that Mr. Woodcourt loved me, and that, if he had
+been richer, he would perhaps have told me that he loved me before he
+went away. I had thought sometimes that if he had done so I should have
+been glad. As it was, he went to the East Indies, and later we read in
+the papers of a great shipwreck, that Allan Woodcourt had worked like a
+hero to save the drowning, and succour the survivors.
+
+I had been ill when my dear guardian asked me one day if I would care to
+read something he had written, and I said "Yes." There was estrangement
+at that time between Richard and Mr. Jarndyce, for the unhappy boy had
+taken it into his head that the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce would yet
+be settled, and would bring him fortune, and this kept him from devoting
+himself seriously to any profession. Of course, he and my darling Ada
+had fallen in love, and my guardian insisting on their waiting till
+Richard was earning some income before any engagement could be
+recognised, increased the estrangement. I knew, to my distress, that
+Richard suspected my guardian of having a conflicting claim in the
+horrible lawsuit and this made him think unjustly of Mr. Jarndyce.
+
+I read the letter. It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the
+unselfish caution it gave me, that my eyes were too often blinded to
+read much at a time. But I read it through three times before I laid it
+down. It asked me would I be the mistress of Bleak House. It was not a
+love-letter, though it expressed so much love, but was written just as
+he would at any time have spoken to me.
+
+I felt that to devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly
+for all he had done for me. Still I cried very much; not only in the
+fulness of my heart after reading the letter, but as if something for
+which there was no name or distinct idea were lost to me. I was very
+happy, very thankful, very hopeful, but I cried very much.
+
+On entering the breakfast-room next morning I found my guardian just as
+usual; quite as frank, as open, as free. I thought he might speak to me
+about the letter, but he never did.
+
+At the end of a week I went to him and said, rather hesitating and
+trembling, "Guardian, when would you like to have the answer to the
+letter?"
+
+"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.
+
+"I think it's ready," said I, "and I have brought it myself."
+
+I put my two arms around his neck and kissed him, and he said was this
+the mistress of Bleak House? And I said "Yes," and it made no difference
+presently, and I said nothing to my pet, Ada, about it.
+
+It was a few days after this, when Mr. Vholes, the attorney whom Richard
+employed to watch his interests, called at Bleak House, and told us that
+his client was very embarrassed financially, and so thought of throwing
+up his commission in the army.
+
+To avert this I went down to Deal and found Richard alone in the
+barracks. He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes,
+tin cases, books, boots, and brushes strewn all about the floor. So worn
+and haggard he looked, even in the fulness of his handsome youth!
+
+My mission was quite fruitless.
+
+"No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid. The first is John Jarndyce. The
+second, you know what. Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it
+now, and can't be sane. But it is no such thing; it is the one object I
+have to pursue."
+
+He went on to tell me that it was impossible to remain a soldier; that,
+apart from debts and duns, he took no interest in his employment and was
+not fit for it. He showed me papers to prove that his retirement was
+arranged. Knowing I had done no good by coming down, I prepared to
+return to London on the morrow.
+
+There was some excitement in the town by reason of the arrival of a big
+Indiaman, and, as it happened, amongst those who came on shore from the
+ship was Mr. Allan Woodcourt. I met him in the hotel where I was
+staying, and he seemed quite pleased to see me. He was glad to meet
+Richard again, too, and promised, on my asking him, to befriend Richard
+in London.
+
+
+_IV.--End of Jarndyce and Jarndyce_
+
+
+Richard always declared that it was Ada he meant to see righted, no less
+than himself, and his anxiety on that point so impressed Mr. Woodcourt
+that he told me about it. It revived a fear I had had before, that my
+dear girl's little property might be absorbed by Mr. Vholes, and that
+Richard's justification to himself would be this.
+
+So I went up to London to see Richard, who now lived in Symond's Inn,
+and my darling Ada went with me. He was poring over a table covered with
+dusty papers, but he received us very affectionately.
+
+I noticed, as he passed his two hands over his head, how sunken and how
+large his eyes appeared, and how dry his lips were. He spoke of the case
+half-hopefully, half-despondently, "Either the suit must be ended,
+Esther, or the suitor. But it shall be the suit--the suit." Then he took
+a few turns up and down, and sank upon the sofa. "I get so tired," he
+said gloomily. "It is such weary, weary work."
+
+"Esther, dear," Ada said, very quietly, "I am not going home again.
+Never any more. I am going to stay with my dear husband. We have been
+married above two months. Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall
+never go home any more."
+
+I often came to Richard and his wife, and I often met Mr. Woodcourt
+there. Richard still suspected my guardian, and refused to see him, and
+when I said this was so unreasonable, my guardian only said, "What shall
+we find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce? Unreason and injustice from
+beginning to end, if it ever has an end. How should poor Rick, always
+hovering near it, pluck reason out of it?"
+
+It was some months after this when Mr. Woodcourt asked me to be his
+wife, and I had to tell him I was not free. But I had to tell him that I
+could never forget how proud and glad I was at having been beloved by
+him.
+
+He took my hand and kissed it, and was like himself again.
+
+All this time my guardian had never referred to his letter or my answer,
+so I said to him next morning I would be the mistress of Bleak House
+whenever he pleased.
+
+"Next month?" my guardian said gaily.
+
+"Next month, dear guardian."
+
+At the end of the month my guardian went away to Yorkshire, and asked me
+to follow him. I was very much surprised, and when the journey was over
+my guardian explained that he had asked me to come down to see a house
+he had bought for Mr. Woodcourt, with whom he was always very pleased.
+
+It was a beautiful summer morning when we went out to look at the house,
+and there over the porch was written. "Bleak House." He led me to a
+seat, and sitting down beside me, said:
+
+"When I wrote you the letter to which you brought the answer"--my
+guardian smiled as he referred to it--"I had my own happiness too much
+in view; but I had yours, too. Hear me, my love, but do not speak. When
+Woodcourt came home, I saw that there was other happiness for you; I saw
+with whom you would be happier. Well, I have long been in Allan
+Woodcourt's confidence, although he was not, until yesterday, in mine.
+One more last word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear, he spoke
+with my knowledge and consent. But I gave him no encouragement; not I,
+for these surprises were my great reward, and I was too miserly to part
+with a scrap of it. He was to come and tell me all that passed, and he
+did. I have no more to say. This is Bleak House. This day I give this
+house its little mistress, and before God it is the brightest day in all
+my life."
+
+He rose, and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My husband--I
+have called him by that name full seven happy years now--stood at my
+side.
+
+"Allan," said my guardian, "take from me the best wife that ever man
+had. What more can I say for you than that I know you deserve her?"
+
+He kissed me once again. And now the tears were in his eyes as he said,
+more softly, "Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind
+of parting in this too. I know that my mistake has caused you some
+distress. Forgive your old guardian in restoring him to his old place in
+your affections. Allan, take my dear."
+
+We all three went home together next day. We had an intimation from Mr.
+Kenge that the case would come on at Westminster in two days, and that a
+certain will had been found which might end the suit in Richard's
+favour.
+
+Allan took me down to Westminster, and when we came to Westminster Hall
+we found that the Court of Chancery was full, and that something unusual
+had occurred. We asked a gentleman by us if he knew what case was on. He
+told us Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and that, as well as he could make out,
+it was over. Over for the day? "No," he said; "over for good."
+
+In a few minutes a crowd came streaming out, and we saw Mr. Kenge. He
+told us that Jarndyce and Jarndyce was a monument of Chancery practice,
+and--in a good many words--that the case was over because the whole
+estate was found to have been absorbed in costs.
+
+We hurried away, first to my guardian, and then to Ada and Richard.
+
+Richard was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed when I went in. When
+he opened them, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn he was. But he
+spoke cheerfully, and said how glad he was to think of our intended
+marriage.
+
+In the evening my guardian came in and laid his hand softly on
+Richard's.
+
+"Oh, sir," said Richard, "you are a good man, a good man!" and burst
+into tears.
+
+My guardian sat down beside him, keeping his hand on Richard's.
+
+"My dear Rick," he said, "the clouds have cleared away, and it is bright
+now. We can see now. And how are you, my dear boy?"
+
+"I am very weak, sir, but I hope I shall be stronger. I have to begin
+the world."
+
+He sought to raise himself a little.
+
+"Ada, my darling!" Allan raised him, so that she could hold him on her
+bosom. "I have done you many wrongs, my own. I have married you to
+poverty and trouble, I have scattered your means to the winds. You will
+forgive me all this, my Ada, before I begin the world?"
+
+A smile lit up his face as she bent to kiss him. He slowly laid his face
+upon her bosom, drew his arms closer round her neck, and with one
+parting sob began the world. Not this--oh, not this! The world that sets
+this right.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+David Copperfield
+
+
+      "David Copperfield"--published in 1849-50--will always be
+     acclaimed by many as the best of all Dickens's books. It was
+     its author's favourite, and its universal and lasting
+     popularity is entirely deserved. "David Copperfield" is
+     especially remarkable for the autobiographical element, not
+     only in the wretched days of childhood at the wine merchant's,
+     but in the shorthand-reporting in the House of Commons.
+     Dickens never forgot his early degradation, as it seemed to
+     him, in the blacking warehouse at Hungerford Stairs, or quite
+     forgave those who sent him to an occupation he so loathed.
+     Much of "David Copperfield" is familiar in our mouths as
+     household words, and Swinburne has maintained that Micawber
+     ranks with Dick Swiveller as one of the greatest characters in
+     all Dickens's novels. "Copperfield" comes midway in the great
+     list of works by Charles Dickens.
+
+
+_I.--My Early Childhood_
+
+
+I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve
+o'clock at night, at Blunderstone, in Suffolk. I was a posthumous child.
+My father's eyes had been closed upon the light of this world six months
+when mine opened upon it. Miss Betsey Trotwood, an aunt of my father's,
+and consequently a great-aunt of mine, arrived on the afternoon of the
+day I was born, and explained to my mother (who was very much afraid of
+her) that she meant to provide for her child, which was to be a girl.
+
+My aunt said never a word when she learnt that it was a boy, and not a
+girl, but took her bonnet by the strings in the manner of a sling, aimed
+a blow at the doctor's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, and
+never came back. She vanished like a discontented fairy.
+
+The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I look
+far back into the blank of my infancy, are my mother, with her pretty
+air and youthful shape, and Peggotty, my old nurse, with no shape at
+all, and with cheeks and arms so red and hard that I wondered the birds
+didn't peck her in preference to apples.
+
+I remember a few years later, a gentleman with beautiful black hair and
+whiskers walking home from church on Sunday with us; and, somehow, I
+didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand
+should touch my mother's in touching me--which it did.
+
+It must have been about this time that, waking up from an uncomfortable
+doze one night, I found Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both
+talking.
+
+"Not such a one as this Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked," said
+Peggotty. "That I say, and that I swear!"
+
+"Good heavens!" cried my mother. "You'll drive me mad! How can you have
+the heart to say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that
+out of this place I haven't a single friend to turn to?" But the
+following Sunday I saw the gentleman with the black whiskers again, and
+he walked home from church with us, and gradually I became used to
+seeing him and knowing him as Mr. Murdstone. I liked him no better than
+at first, and had the same uneasy jealousy of him.
+
+It was on my return from a visit to Yarmouth, where I went with Peggotty
+to spend a fortnight at her brother's, that I found my mother married to
+Mr. Murdstone. They were sitting by the fire in the best parlour when I
+came in.
+
+I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my
+mother. I could not look at her, I could not look at him; I knew quite
+well he was looking at us both. As soon as I could creep away, I crept
+upstairs, and cried myself to sleep.
+
+A word of encouragement, of pity for my childish ignorance, of welcome
+home, of reassurance to me that it _was_ home, might have made me
+dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my hypocritical
+outside, and might have made me respect instead of hating him.
+
+Miss Murdstone arrived next day; she was dark, like her brother, and
+greatly resembled him in face and voice. Firmness was the grand quality
+on which both of them took their stand.
+
+I soon fell into disgrace over my lessons. I never could do them with my
+mother satisfactorily with the Murdstones sitting by; their influence
+upon me was like the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird.
+
+One dreadful morning, when the lessons had turned out even more badly
+than usual, Mr. Murdstone seized hold of me and twisted my head under
+his arm preparatory to beating me with a cane. At the first stroke I
+caught the hand with which he held me, in my mouth, between my teeth,
+and bit it through. He beat me then as if he would have beaten me to
+death. And when he had gone, I was kept a close prisoner in my room, and
+was not allowed to see my mother, and was only permitted to walk in the
+garden for half an hour every day. Miss Murdstone acted as gaoler, and
+after five days of this confinement, she told me I was to be sent away
+to school--to Salem House School, Blackheath.
+
+I saw my mother before I left. They had persuaded her I was a wicked
+fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going.
+
+
+_II.--I Begin Life on My own Account_
+
+
+I was doing my second term at school when I was told that my mother was
+dead, and that I was to go home to the funeral.
+
+I never returned to Salem House. Mr. Murdstone and his sister left me to
+myself, and I could see that Mr. Murdstone liked me less than ever. At
+odd times I speculated on the possibility of not being taught any more
+or cared for any more, and growing up to be a shabby, moody man,
+lounging an idle life away about the village.
+
+Peggotty was under notice to quit, and thought of going to live with her
+brother at Yarmouth; but as it turned out, she didn't do this, but
+married the old carrier Barkis instead.
+
+"Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive, and have this house
+over my head," said Peggotty to me on the day she was married, "you
+shall find it as if I expected you here directly. I shall keep it every
+day, as I used to keep your old little room, my darling."
+
+The solitary condition I now fell into for some weeks was ended one day
+by Mr. Murdstone telling me that I was to be put into the business of
+Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+"You will earn enough to provide for your eating and drinking, and
+pocket money," said Mr. Murdstone. "Your lodging, which I have arranged
+for, will be paid by me. So will your washing, and your clothes will be
+looked after for you, too. You are now going to London, David, to begin
+the world on your own account."
+
+"In short, you are provided for," observed his sister, "and will please
+to do your duty."
+
+So I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hind in the service of
+Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the waterside, down in
+Blackfriars, and an important branch of their trade was the supply of
+wines and spirits to certain packet ships. A great many empty bottles
+were one of the consequences of this traffic, and a certain number of
+men and boys, of whom I was one, were employed to rinse and wash them.
+When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full
+ones, or corks to be fitted to them, or finished bottles to be packed in
+casks.
+
+There were three or four boys, counting me. Mick Walker was the name of
+the oldest; he wore a ragged apron, and a paper cap. The next boy was
+introduced to me under the extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes, which
+had been bestowed upon him on account of his complexion, which was pale,
+or mealy.
+
+No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
+companionship, and compared these associates with those of my happier
+childhood, with the boys at Salem House. Often in the early morning,
+when I was alone, I mingled my tears with the water in which I was
+washing the bottles, and sobbed as if there were a flaw in my breast,
+and it were in danger of bursting.
+
+My salary was six or seven shillings a week--I think it was six at
+first, and seven afterwards--and I had to support myself on that money
+all the week. My breakfast was a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk,
+and I kept another small loaf and a modicum of cheese to make my supper
+on at night.
+
+I was so young and childish, and so little qualified to undertake the
+whole charge of my existence, that often of a morning I could not resist
+the stale pastry put out for sale at half price at the pastry-cooks'
+doors, and spent on that the money I should have kept for my dinner. On
+those days I either went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice
+of pudding.
+
+I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into the
+bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter to moisten
+what I had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me.
+
+I know I do not exaggerate the scantiness of my resources or the
+difficulties of my life. I know that if a shilling were given me at any
+time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know that I worked from morning
+until night, a shabby child, and that I lounged about the streets,
+insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for the mercy
+of God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, a
+little robber or a little vagabond.
+
+Arrangements had been made by Mr. Murdstone for my lodging with Mr.
+Micawber--who took orders on commission for Murdstone and Grinby--and
+Mr. Micawber himself escorted me to his house in Windsor Terrace, City
+Road.
+
+Mr. Micawber was a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout,
+with no more hair upon his head than there is upon an egg, and with a
+very extensive face. His clothes were shabby, but he wore an imposing
+shirt-collar. He carried a jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of
+rusty tassels to it; and an eyeglass hung outside his coat--for
+ornament, I afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and
+couldn't see anything when he did.
+
+Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace--which, I noticed, was shabby,
+like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could--he
+presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all young.
+
+"I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber, as she showed me my room at the
+top of the house at the back, "before I was married that I should ever
+find it necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in
+difficulties, all considerations of private feeling must give way."
+
+I said, "Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,"
+said Mrs. Micawber, "and whether it is possible to bring him through
+them I don't know. If Mr. Micawber's creditors _will not_ give him time,
+they must take the consequences."
+
+In my forlorn state, I soon became quite attached to this family, and
+when Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he was arrested
+and carried to the King's Bench Prison in the Borough, and Mrs. Micawber
+shortly afterwards followed him, I hired a little room in the
+neighbourhood of that institution.
+
+Mr. Micawber was in due time released under the Insolvent Debtors' Act,
+and it was decided that he should go down to Plymouth, where Mrs.
+Micawber held that her family had influence.
+
+My own mind was now made up. I had resolved to run away--to go by some
+means or other down into the country, to the only relation I had in the
+world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. I knew from Peggotty
+that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at
+Hythe, Sandgate, or Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men,
+however, informing me on my asking him about these places that they were
+all close together, I deemed this enough for my object; and after seeing
+the Micawbers off at the coach office, I set off.
+
+
+_III.--My Aunt Provides for Me_
+
+
+It was on the sixth day of my flight that I reached the wide downs near
+Dover and set foot in the town.
+
+I had walked every step of the way, sleeping under haystacks at night.
+Fortunately, it was summer weather, for I was obliged to part with coat
+and waistcoat to buy food. My shoes were in a woeful condition, and my
+hat--which had served me for a nightcap, too--was so crushed and bent
+that no old battered saucepan on the dunghill need have been ashamed to
+vie with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and
+the Kentish soil on which I had slept, might have frightened the birds
+from my aunt's garden as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb
+or brush since I left London. In this plight I waited to introduce
+myself to my formidable aunt.
+
+As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over
+her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great
+knife. I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother
+had often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.
+
+"Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Go along! No boys here!"
+
+I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in
+desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.
+
+"If you please, ma'am--if you please, aunt, I am your nephew."
+
+"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.
+
+"I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came
+when I was born. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. I have
+been taught nothing and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away
+to you, and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since
+I began the journey."
+
+Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of
+crying.
+
+Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me
+into the parlour.
+
+The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles
+down my throat. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I
+am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. Then
+she put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking,
+grey-headed gentleman, whom she called "Mr. Dick," heated a bath for me.
+After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick,
+tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.
+
+That was the beginning of my aunt's adoption of me. She wrote to Mr.
+Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were
+routed by my aunt.
+
+Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally,
+and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut
+against me henceforth.
+
+"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go, David?"
+
+I answered "No," and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed
+my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father's sake.
+
+"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"
+
+Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, "Have him
+measured for a suit of clothes directly!"
+
+"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "give me your hand, for your commonsense is
+invaluable." She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, "You
+can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy!"
+
+When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint
+guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood
+Copperfield.
+
+Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
+me.
+
+My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the
+school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer,
+Mr. Wickfield.
+
+My aunt was as happy as I was in this arrangement. For Mr. Wickfield's
+house was quiet and still; and Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper was
+his only daughter, Agnes, a child of about my own age, whose face, so
+bright and happy, was the child likeness of a woman's portrait that was
+on the staircase. There was a tranquility about the house, and about
+Agnes, a good, calm spirit, that I have never forgotten and never shall.
+
+The school I now went to was better in every way than Salem House. It
+seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among any companions of
+my own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt very
+strange at first. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me that
+when I was examined about what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put in
+the lowest form of the school.
+
+But I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school the
+next day, and a good deal the better the day after, and so shook it off,
+by degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy
+among my new companions.
+
+"Trot," said my aunt, when she left me at Mr. Wickfield's, "be a credit
+to yourself, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you! Never be mean
+in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these vices, Trot,
+and I can always be hopeful of you. And now the pony's at the door, and
+I am off!"
+
+She embraced me hastily, and went out of the house, shutting the door
+after her. When I looked into the street I noticed how dejectedly she
+got into the chaise, and that she drove away without looking up.
+
+
+_IV.--Uriah Heep and Mr. Micawber_
+
+
+I first saw Uriah Heep on the day my aunt introduced me to Mr.
+Wickfield's house. He was then a red-haired youth of fifteen, but
+looking much older, whose hair was cropped as close as the closest
+stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows and no eyelashes, and eyes of a
+red-brown. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black,
+with a white wisp of a neck-cloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a
+long, lank, skeleton hand.
+
+Heep was Mr. Wickfield's clerk, and I often saw him of an evening in the
+little round office reading, and from time to time strayed in to talk to
+him.
+
+He told me, one night, he was not doing office work, but was improving
+his legal knowledge.
+
+"I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him
+for some time.
+
+"Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very 'umble person.
+I am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going, let the other be
+where he may. My mother is likewise a very 'umble person. We live in a
+'umble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My
+father's former calling was 'umble; he was a sexton."
+
+"What is he now?" I asked.
+
+"He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah
+Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be
+thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield!"
+
+I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long.
+
+"I have been with him going on four years, Master Copperfield," said
+Uriah, "since a year after my father's death. How much I have to be
+thankful for in that! How much have I to be thankful for in Mr.
+Wickfield's kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise
+not lay within the 'umble means of mother and self!"
+
+"Perhaps, when you're a regular lawyer, you'll be a partner in Mr.
+Wickfield's business, one of these days," I said to make myself
+agreeable; "and it will be Wickfield and Heep or Heep late Wickfield."
+
+"Oh, no, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking his head, "I am
+much too 'umble for that!"
+
+It must have been five or six years later, when I was in London, that
+Uriah recalled my prophecy to me.
+
+Agnes had noticed as I had noticed, long before this, a gradual
+alteration in Mr. Wickfield. He sat longer and longer over his wine, and
+it was at such times, when his hands trembled, and his speech was not
+plain, that Uriah was most certain to want him on some business.
+
+So it came about that Agnes had to tell me that Uriah had made himself
+indispensable to her father.
+
+"He is subtle and watchful," she said. "He has mastered papa's
+weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until papa is
+afraid of him."
+
+If I was indignant to hear that Uriah had wormed himself into such
+promotion, I restrained my feelings when we met, for Agnes had bidden me
+not to repel him, for her father's sake, and for her own.
+
+"What a prophet you have shown yourself, Master Copperfield!" said
+Uriah, reminding me of my early words. "You may not recollect it; but
+when a person is 'umble, a person treasures such things up. But the
+'umblest persons, Master Copperfield, may be instruments of good. I am
+glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and
+that I may be more so. Oh, what a worthy man he is; but how imprudent he
+has been!"
+
+When the rascal went on to tell me confidentially that he "loved the
+ground his Agnes walked on," and that he thought she might come to be
+kind to him, knowing his usefulness to her father, I had a delirious
+idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire and running him
+through with it. However, I thought of Agnes, and could say nothing. In
+the end all the evil machinations of Uriah Heep were frustrated by my
+old friend Mr. Micawber, who, visiting Canterbury on the chance of
+something suitable turning up, and meeting me in Heep's company, was
+subsequently engaged by Heep as a clerk at twenty-two and sixpence per
+week.
+
+It was only after Micawber had found that Uriah Heep had forged Mr.
+Wickfield's name to various documents, and had fraudulently speculated
+with moneys entrusted by my aunt, amongst others, to his partner, that
+he turned upon him and denounced him, and accomplished what he called
+"the final pulverisation of Keep."
+
+Mr. Micawber being once more "in pecuniary shackles," my aunt, so
+grateful, as we all were, for the services he had rendered, suggested
+emigration to Australia to him; he at once responded to the idea.
+
+"The climate, I believe, is healthy," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then the
+question arises: Now, _are_ the circumstances of the country such that a
+man of Mr. Micawber's abilities would have a fair chance of rising?--I
+will not say, at present, to be governor or anything of that sort; but
+would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to develop
+themselves? If so, it is evident to me that Australia is the legitimate
+sphere of action for Mr. Micawber."
+
+"I entertain the conviction," said Mr. Micawber, "that it is, under
+existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself and family;
+and that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up on that
+shore."
+
+But the defeat of Heep and Micawber's departure belong to the days of my
+manhood. Let me look back at intervening years.
+
+
+_V.--I Achieve Manhood_
+
+
+My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
+unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth!
+
+Time has stolen on unobserved, and _I_ am the head boy now in the
+school, and look down on the line of boys below me with a condescending
+interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself when I
+first came here. That little fellow seems to be no part of me; I
+remember him as something left behind upon the road of life, and almost
+think of him as of someone else.
+
+And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is
+she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture, a
+child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet
+sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend--the
+better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good,
+self-denying influence--is quite a woman.
+
+It is time for me to have a profession, and my aunt proposes that I
+should be a proctor in Doctors' Commons. I learn that the proctors are a
+sort of solicitors, and that the Doctors' Commons is a faded court held
+near St. Paul's Churchyard, where people's marriages and wills are
+disposed of and disputes about ships and boats are settled.
+
+So I am articled, and later, when my aunt has lost her money, through no
+fault of her own, but through the rascality of Uriah Heep, and I seek
+Mr. Spenlow to know if it is possible for my articles to be cancelled,
+it is, I am assured, Mr. Jorkins who is inexorable.
+
+"If it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered, if I had not a
+partner--Mr. Jorkins," says Mr. Spenlow. "But I know my partner,
+Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is _not_ a man to respond to a proposition of
+this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the
+beaten track."
+
+The years pass.
+
+I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the dignity of
+twenty-one. Let me think what I have achieved.
+
+Determined to do something to bring in money, I have mastered the savage
+mystery of shorthand, and make a respectable income by reporting the
+debates in Parliament for a morning newspaper. Night after night I
+record predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never
+fulfilled, explanations that are only meant to mystify.
+
+I have come out in another way. I have taken, with fear and trembling,
+to authorship. I wrote a little something in secret, and sent it to a
+magazine, and it was published. Since then I have taken heart to write a
+good many trifling pieces.
+
+My record is nearly finished.
+
+Peggotty, a widow, is with my aunt, and Mr. Dick is in the room.
+
+"Goodness me!" said my aunt, "who's this you're bringing home?"
+
+"Agnes," said I.
+
+We were to be married within a fortnight. It was not till I had told
+Agnes of my love that I learnt from her, as she laid her gentle hands
+upon my shoulders and looked calmly in my face, that she had loved me
+all my life.
+
+Let me look back once more, for the last time, before I close these
+leaves.
+
+I have advanced in fame and fortune. I have been married ten years, and
+I see my children playing in the room.
+
+Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of fourscore years
+and more, but upright yet, and godmother to a real, living Betsey
+Trotwood. Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse,
+likewise in spectacles. A newspaper from Australia tells me that Mr.
+Micawber is now a magistrate and a rising townsman at Port Middlebay.
+
+One face is above all these and beyond them all. I turn my head and see
+it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me. So may thy face be by me,
+Agnes, when I close my life; and when realities are melting from me, may
+I still find thee near me, pointing upward!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Dombey and Son
+
+
+      The publication of "Dombey and Son" began in October, 1846,
+     and the story was completed in twenty monthly parts at one
+     shilling each, the last number being issued in April, 1848.
+     Its success was striking and immediate, the sale of its first
+     number exceeding that of "Martin Chuzzlewit" by more than
+     12,000 copies--a remarkable thing considering the immense
+     superiority of "Chuzzlewit." "Dombey and Son," indeed, is by
+     no means one of Dickens's best books; though little Paul will
+     always retain the sympathies of the reader, and the story of
+     his short life for ever move us with its pathos. The
+     popularity of "Dombey and Son" provoked an impudent
+     publication called "Dombey and Daughter," which was started in
+     January, 1847, and was issued monthly at a penny. Two stage
+     versions of "Dombey" appeared--in London in 1873, and in New
+     York in 1888, but in neither case was the adaptation
+     particularly successful. "What are the wild waves saying?" was
+     made the subject of a song--a duet--which at one time was
+     widely sung, but is now, happily forgotten.
+
+
+_I.--Dombey and Son_
+
+
+Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair by
+the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket-bedstead.
+
+Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age; Son about eight-and-forty
+minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome,
+well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be prepossessing.
+Son was very bald, and very red, and somewhat crushed and spotted in his
+general effect, as yet.
+
+"The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey," said Mr. Dombey, "be not only
+in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son; Dombey and Son! He will be
+christened Paul, Mrs. Dombey, of course!"
+
+The sick lady feebly echoed, "Of course," and closed her eyes again.
+
+"His father's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's! I wish his
+grandfather were alive this day." And again he said "Dombey and Son" in
+exactly the same tone as before, and then went downstairs to learn what
+that fashionable physician, Dr. Parker Peps, had to say, for Mrs. Dombey
+lay very weak and still.
+
+"Dombey and Son"--those three words conveyed the idea of Mr. Dombey's
+life. The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and
+moon were made to give them light.
+
+He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and
+death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the sole
+representative of the firm. Of those years he had been married
+ten--married, as some said, to a lady with no heart to give him. But
+such idle talk never reached the ears of Mr. Dombey. Dombey and Son
+often dealt in hides, never in hearts. Mr. Dombey would have reasoned
+that a matrimonial alliance with himself _must_, in the nature of
+things, be gratifying and honourable to any woman of commonsense.
+
+One drawback only could be admitted. Until the present day there had
+been no issue--to speak of. There had been a girl some six years before,
+a child who now crouched by her mother's bed, unobserved. But what was
+that girl to Dombey and Son?
+
+"Nature must be called upon to make a vigorous effort in this instance!"
+said Doctor Parker Peps, referring to Mrs. Dombey.
+
+Mrs. Chick, Mr. Dombey's married sister, emphasised this opinion.
+
+"Now my dear Paul," said Mrs. Chick, "you may rest assured that there is
+nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part."
+
+They returned to the sick-room and its stillness. In vain Mrs. Chick
+exhorted her sister-in-law to make an effort; no sound came in answer
+but the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Pep's watch,
+which seemed in the silence to be running a race.
+
+"Fanny!" said Mrs. Chick, "Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show
+me that you hear and understand me."
+
+Still no answer. Mrs. Dombey lay motionless, clasping her little
+daughter to her breast.
+
+"Mamma!" cried the child, sobbing aloud. "Oh, dear mamma!"
+
+Thus clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother
+drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round all the
+world.
+
+Mr. Dombey, in the days to come, could not forget that closing scene--
+that he had had no part in it; that he had stood a mere spectator while
+those two figures lay clasped in each other's arms. His previous
+feelings of indifference towards his little daughter Florence changed
+into an uneasiness of an extraordinary kind. He had never conceived an
+aversion to her; it had not been worth his while or in his humour. But
+now he was ill at ease about her. He read nothing in her glance, when he
+saw her later in the solemn house, of the passionate desire to run
+clinging to him, and the dread of a repulse; the pitiable need in which
+she stood of some assurance and encouragement. He saw nothing of this.
+
+
+_II.--Mrs. Pipchin's_
+
+
+In spite of his early promise, all the vigilance and care bestowed upon
+him could not make little Paul a thriving boy. There was something wan
+and wistful in his look, and he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful
+way of sitting brooding in his miniature armchair.
+
+The medical practitioner recommended sea-air, and Mrs. Pipchin, who
+conducted an infantile boarding house of a very select description at
+Brighton, and whose scale of charges was high, was entrusted with the
+care of Paul's health when he was little more than five years old.
+
+Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady,
+with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye.
+It was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was a woman of system with
+children, and no doubt she was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame
+enough, after sojourning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof.
+
+At this exemplary old lady Paul would sit staring in his little armchair
+by the fire for any length of time. He was not fond of her, he was not
+afraid of her.
+
+Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking about.
+
+"You," said Paul, without the least reserve. "I'm thinking how old you
+must be."
+
+"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the
+dame.
+
+"Why not?" asked Paul.
+
+"Because it's not polite!" said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.
+
+"Not polite?" said Paul.
+
+"No! And remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by
+a mad bull for asking questions!"
+
+"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did _he_ know that the boy had
+asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I
+don't believe that story."
+
+"You don't believe it, sir?"
+
+"No," said Paul.
+
+"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?"
+said Mrs. Pipchin.
+
+As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself
+to be put down for the present.
+
+Mr. Dombey came down to Brighton every Sunday, and Florence was her
+brother's constant companion.
+
+At first, Paul got no stronger, and a little carriage was procured for
+him, in which he could lie at his ease and be wheeled down to the
+sea-side; there he would sit or lie for hours together; never so
+distressed as by the company of children--Florence alone excepted,
+always.
+
+"Go away, if you please," he would say to any child who came up to him.
+"Thank you, but I don't want you. I think you had better go and play, if
+you please."
+
+His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers;
+and, with Florence sitting by his side, and the wind blowing on his
+face, and the water near the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.
+
+"I want to know what it says," he said once, looking steadily in her
+face. "The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying?"
+
+She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something.
+Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking
+eagerly at the horizon.
+
+She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he
+didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away!
+
+Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off,
+to try to understand what it was that the waves were always saying, and
+would rise up on his couch to look at that invisible region far away.
+
+At the end of twelve months at Mrs. Pipchin's, Paul had grown strong
+enough to dispense with his little carriage, though he still looked thin
+and delicate.
+
+Mr. Dombey therefore decided to remove him, not from Brighton, but to
+Doctor Blimber's educational establishment. "I fear," said Mr. Dombey,
+addressing Mrs. Pipchin, "that my son in his studies is behind many
+children of his age. Now instead of being behind his peers, my son ought
+to be before them--far before them. There is an eminence ready for him
+to mount upon. The education of my son must not be delayed. It must not
+be left imperfect."
+
+Doctor Blimber only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, and his
+establishment was a great hot-house, in which there was a forcing
+apparatus incessantly at work.
+
+Florence would remain at Mrs. Pipchin's, and for the first six months
+Paul would return there for the Sunday.
+
+"Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey exultingly, when they stood on the doctor's
+doorsteps, "This is the way, indeed, to be Dombey and Son, and have
+money. You are almost a man already."
+
+"Almost," returned the child.
+
+
+_III.--Doctor Blimber's Academy_
+
+
+The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings at
+his knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly
+polished, a deep voice, and a chin so very double that it was a wonder
+how he ever managed to shave into the creases.
+
+Mrs. Blimber was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that
+did quite as well.
+
+As to Miss Blimber, there was no light nonsense about her. She was dry
+and sandy with working in the graves of dead languages.
+
+Mr. Feeder, B.A., Dr. Blimber's assistant, was a kind of human barrel-
+organ, with a list of tunes at which he was continually working, over
+and over again, without any variation.
+
+Under the forcing system at Dr. Blimber's a young gentleman usually took
+leave of his spirits in three weeks; he had all the cares of the world
+on his head in three months, and he conceived bitter sentiments against
+his parents or guardians in four.
+
+The doctor was sitting in his study when Mr. Dombey and Paul arrived.
+"And how do you do, sir?" he said to Mr. Dombey. "And how is my little
+friend?" It seemed to Paul as if the great clock in the hall took this
+up, and went on saying, "how, is, my, lit-tle friend? how, is, my,
+lit-tle friend?" over and over again.
+
+Paul was handed over to Miss Blimber at once to be "brought on."
+
+"Cornelia," said the doctor. "Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring
+him on, Cornelia, bring him on."
+
+It was hard work, for no sooner had Paul mastered subject A than he was
+immediately provided with subject B, from which we passed to C, and even
+D. Often he felt giddy and confused, and drowsy and dull.
+
+But there were always the Saturdays when Florence came at noon to fetch
+him, and never would she, in any weather, stay away. Florence brought
+the school-books he was studying, and every Saturday night would
+patiently assist him through so much as they could anticipate together
+of his next week's work. And this saved him, possibly, from sinking
+underneath the burden which the fair Cornelia Blimber piled upon his
+back.
+
+It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Dr.
+Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general. But
+when Dr. Blimber said that Paul made great progress, and was naturally
+clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and
+crammed.
+
+Such spirits as he had at the outset Paul soon lost, of course. But he
+retained all that was strange, and odd, and thoughtful in his character;
+and Mrs. Blimber thought him "odd," and whispered that he was "old
+fashioned," and that was all.
+
+Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of
+Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed. Toots had
+"gone through" so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to
+pursue his own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters
+to himself from persons of distinction, addressed "P. Toots, Esquire,
+Brighton," to preserve them in his desk with great care.
+
+"How are you?" Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.
+
+"Quite well, sir, thank you," Paul would answer.
+
+"Shake hands," would be Toot's next advance. Which Paul, of course,
+would immediately do.
+
+"I say!" cried Toots one evening, finding Paul looking out of the
+window. "I say, what do you think about?"
+
+"Oh, I think about a great many things," replied Paul.
+
+"Do you, though?" said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself
+surprising.
+
+"If you had to die," said Paul, "don't you think you would rather die on
+a moonlight night, when the sky is quite clear, and the wind blowing, as
+it did last night?"
+
+Mr. Toots, looking doubtfully at Paul, said he didn't know about that.
+
+"It was a beautiful night," said Paul. "There was a boat over there, in
+the full light of the moon, a boat with a sail."
+
+Mr. Toots, feeling called upon to say something, suggested "Smugglers,"
+and then added, "or Preventive."
+
+"A boat with a sail," repeated Paul. "It went away into the distance,
+and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?"
+
+"Pitch!" said Mr. Toots.
+
+"It seemed to beckon," said the child; "to beckon me to come."
+
+Certainly people found him an "old-fashioned" child. At the end of the
+term Dr. and Mrs. Blimber gave an early party to their pupils and their
+parents and guardians, and it was a day or two before this event when
+Paul was taken ill. This illness released him from his books, and made
+him think the more of Florence.
+
+They all loved "Dombey's sister" at that party, and Paul, sitting in a
+cushioned corner, heard her praises constantly. There was a
+half-intelligible sentiment, too, diffused around, referring to Florence
+and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched
+him. He did not know why, but it seemed to have something to do with his
+"old-fashioned" reputation.
+
+The time arrived for taking leave.
+
+"Good-bye, Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand.
+
+"Good-bye, my little friend," returned the doctor. "Dombey, Dombey, you
+have always been my favourite pupil."
+
+"God bless you!" said Cornelia, taking both Paul's hands in hers. And it
+showed, Paul thought, how easily one might do injustice to a person; for
+Miss Blimber meant it--though she _was_ a Forcer--and felt it.
+
+There was a general move after Paul and Florence down the staircase, in
+which the whole Blimber family were included. Such a circumstance, Mr.
+Feeder said aloud, as has never happened in the case of any former young
+gentleman within his experience. The servants, with the butler--a stern
+man--at their head, had all an interest in seeing little Dombey go;
+while the young gentlemen pressed to shake hands with him, crying
+individually "Dombey, don't forget me!"
+
+Once for a last look, Paul turned and gazed upon the faces addressed to
+him, and from that time whenever he thought of Dr. Blimber's it came
+back as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be a
+real place, but always a dream, full of faces.
+
+
+_IV.--Paul Goes Out with the Stream_
+
+
+From the night they brought him home from Dr. Blimber's Paul had never
+risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the
+street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but
+watching it, and watching everywhere about him with observing eyes.
+
+When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and
+quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening
+was coming on.
+
+By little and little he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of
+the carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would
+fall asleep or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense of a rushing
+river. "Why will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It
+is bearing me away, I think!"
+
+But Floy could always soothe him.
+
+He was visited by as many as three grave doctors, and the room was so
+quiet, and Paul was so observant of them, that he even knew the
+difference in the sound of their watches. But his interest centred in
+Sir Parker Peps; for Paul had heard them say long ago that that
+gentleman had been with his mamma when she clasped Florence in her arms
+and died. And he could not forget it now. He liked him for it. He was
+not afraid.
+
+The people in the room were always changing, and in the night-time Paul
+began to wonder languidly who the figure was, with its head upon its
+hand, that returned so often and remained so long.
+
+"Floy," he said, "what is that--there at the bottom of the bed?"
+
+"There's nothing there except papa."
+
+The figure lifted up its head and rose, and said, "My own boy! Don't you
+know me?"
+
+Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was that his father? The next
+time he observed the figure at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.
+
+"Don't be sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy."
+
+That was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a
+great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.
+
+How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights
+the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea, Paul never counted, never
+sought to know.
+
+One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
+drawing-room downstairs.
+
+"Floy, did I ever see mamma?"
+
+"No, darling."
+
+The river was running very fast now, and confusing his mind. Paul fell
+asleep, and when he awoke the sun was high.
+
+"Floy, come close to me, and let me see you."
+
+Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
+light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together.
+
+"How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy!
+But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so."
+
+Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
+lulling him to rest, now the boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly
+on. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?
+
+He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He
+did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so behind
+her neck.
+
+"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! The light about her
+head is shining on me as I go."
+
+The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred
+in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our
+first parents, and will last unchanged until our race has run its
+course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old
+fashion--Death!
+
+
+_V.--The End of Dombey and Son_
+
+
+The stonemason to whom Mr. Dombey gave his order for a tablet in the
+church, in memory of little Paul, called his attention to the
+inscription "Beloved and only child," and said, "It should be 'son,' I
+think, sir?"
+
+"You are right, of course. Make the correction."
+
+And there came a time when it was to Florence, and Florence only, that
+Mr. Dombey turned. For the great house of Dombey and Son fell, and in
+the crash its proud head became a ruined man, ruined beyond recovery.
+
+Bankrupt in purse, his personal pride was yet further humbled. For Mr.
+Dombey had married again, a loveless match, and his wife deserted him.
+In the hour when he discovered that desertion he had driven his daughter
+Florence from the house.
+
+He was fallen now never to be raised up any more. For the night of his
+worldly ruin there was no to-morrow's sun, for the stain of his domestic
+shame there was no purification.
+
+In his pride--for he was proud yet--he let the world go from him freely.
+As it fell away, he shook it off. He knew, now, what it was to be
+rejected and deserted. Dombey and Son was no more--his children no more.
+
+His daughter Florence had married--married a young sailor once a boy in
+the office of Dombey and Son--and thinking of her, Dombey, in the
+solitude of his dismantled home, remembered that she had never changed
+to him through all those years; and the mist through which he had seen
+her, cleared, and showed him her true self.
+
+He wandered through the rooms, and thought of suicide; a guilty hand was
+grasping what was in his breast.
+
+It was arrested by a cry--a wild, loud, loving, rapturous cry, and he
+saw his daughter.
+
+"Papa! Dearest papa!"
+
+Unchanged still. Of all the world unchanged.
+
+He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw his arms about her neck. He
+felt her kisses on his face, he felt--oh, how deeply!--all that he had
+done.
+
+She laid his face, now covered with his hands, against the heart that he
+had almost broken, and said, sobbing, "Papa, love, I am a mother. Papa,
+dear, oh, say God bless me and my little child!"
+
+His head, now grey, was encircled by her arm, and he groaned to think
+that never, never had it rested so before.
+
+"My little child was born at sea, papa. I prayed to God to spare me that
+I might come. The moment I could land I came to you. Never let us be
+parted any more, papa!"
+
+He kissed her on the lips, and lifting up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God,
+forgive me, for I need it very much!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Great Expectations
+
+
+      "Great Expectations," first published as a serial in "All the
+     Year Round," in 1861, is one of Dickens's finest works. It is
+     rounded off so completely and the characters are so admirably
+     drawn that, as a finished work of art, it is hard to say where
+     the genius of its author has surpassed it. If there is less of
+     the exuberance of "Pickwick," there is also less of the
+     characteristic exaggeration of Dickens; and the pathos of the
+     ex-convict's return is far deeper than the pathos of
+     children's death-beds, so frequently exhibited by the author.
+     "Great Expectations," for all its rare qualities, has never
+     achieved the wide popularity of the novels of Charles Dickens
+     that preceded it. We are not generally familiar with any name
+     in the story, as we are with at least one name in all the
+     other novels. Yet, Pip, as a study of child-life, youth, and
+     early manhood, is as excellent as anything in the whole range
+     of English fiction.
+
+
+_I.--In the Marshes_
+
+
+My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I
+called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip.
+
+My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained
+on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh
+country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had
+wandered into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard.
+
+"Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
+among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you
+little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"
+
+A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
+who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones;
+who limped and shivered, and glared and growled.
+
+"Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
+sir."
+
+"Tell us your name! quick!"
+
+"Pip, sir."
+
+"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye
+live with?"
+
+I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs.
+Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."
+
+"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me
+by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And you know what wittles is?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or
+I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow
+morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at
+that old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a
+word concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You
+fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it
+is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate.
+Now what do you say?"
+
+I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken
+bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in
+the morning.
+
+As soon as the darkness outside my little window was shot with grey, I
+got up and went downstairs. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese,
+about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket
+handkerchief), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a
+glass bottle I had used for Spanish liquorice water up in my room), a
+meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round pork pie.
+
+There was a door in the kitchen communicating with the forge; I unlocked
+and unbolted that door, got a file from among Joe's tools, put the
+fastenings as I had found them, and ran for the marshes.
+
+It was a rainy morning, and very damp. I knew my way to the Battery, for
+I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and had just scrambled up
+the mound beyond the ditch when I saw the man sitting before me--with
+his back toward me.
+
+I touched him on the shoulder, and he instantly jumped up, and it was
+not the same man, but another man--dressed in coarse grey, too, with a
+great iron on his leg.
+
+He aimed a blow at me, and then ran into the mist, stumbling as he went,
+and I lost him.
+
+I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man
+waiting for me. He was awfully cold. And his eyes looked awfully hungry.
+
+He devoured the food, mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie,
+all at once--more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a
+violent hurry, than a man who was eating it, only stopping from time to
+time to listen.
+
+"You're not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?"
+
+"No, sir! No!"
+
+"Well," said he, "I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young hound
+indeed if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched
+varmint, hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched varmint
+is."
+
+While he was eating I mentioned that I had just seen another man dressed
+like him, and with a badly bruised face.
+
+"Not here?" he exclaimed, striking his left cheek.
+
+"Yes, there!"
+
+He swore he would pull him down like a bloodhound, and then crammed what
+little food was left into the breast of his grey jacket, and began to
+file at his iron like a madman; so I thought the best thing that I could
+do was to slip off home.
+
+
+_II.--I Meet Estella_
+
+
+I must have been about ten years old when I went to Miss Havisham's, and
+first met Estella.
+
+My uncle Pumblechook, who kept a cornchandler's shop in the high-street
+of the town, took me to the large old, dismal house, which had all its
+windows barred. For miles round everybody had heard of Miss Havisham as
+an immensely rich and grim lady who led a life of seclusion; and
+everybody soon knew that Mr. Pumblechook had been commissioned to bring
+her a boy.
+
+He left me at the courtyard, and a young lady, who was very pretty and
+seemed very proud, let me in, and I noticed that the passages were all
+dark, and that there was a candle burning. My guide, who called me
+"boy," but was really about my own age, was as scornful of me as if she
+had been one-and-twenty, and a queen. She led me to Miss Havisham's
+room, and there, in an armchair, with her elbow resting on the table,
+sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.
+
+She was dressed in rich materials--satins and lace and silks--all of
+white--or rather, which had been white, but, like all else in the room,
+were now faded yellow. Her shoes were white, and she had a long white
+veil dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair; but her
+hair was white. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had
+withered like the dress.
+
+"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.
+
+"Pip, ma'am. Mr. Pumblechook's boy."
+
+"Come nearer; let me look at you; come close. You are not afraid of a
+woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"
+
+"No, ma'am."
+
+"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon
+the other, on her left side.
+
+"Yes, ma'am; your heart."
+
+"Broken!" She was silent for a little while, and then added, "I am
+tired; I want diversion. Play, play, play!"
+
+What was an unfortunate boy to do? I didn't know how to play.
+
+"Call Estella," said the lady. "Call Estella, at the door."
+
+It was a dreadful thing to be bawling "Estella" to a scornful young lady
+in a mysterious passage in an unknown house, but I had to do it. And
+Estella came, and I heard her say, in answer to Miss Havisham, "Play
+with this boy! Why, he is a common labouring boy!"
+
+I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer, "Well? You can break his
+heart."
+
+We played at beggar my neighbour, and before the game was out Estella
+said disdainfully, "He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy! And what coarse
+hands he has! And what thick boots!"
+
+I was very glad to get away. My coarse hands and my common boots had
+never troubled me before; but they troubled me now, and I determined to
+ask Joe why he had taught me to call those picture cards Jacks which
+ought to be called knaves.
+
+For a long time I went once a week to this strange, gloomy house--it was
+called Satis House--and once Estella told me I might kiss her.
+
+And then Miss Havisham decided I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and gave
+him £25 for the purpose; and I left off going to see her, and helped Joe
+in the forge. But I didn't like Joe's trade, and I was afflicted by that
+most miserable thing--to feel ashamed of home.
+
+I couldn't resist paying Miss Havisham a visit; and, not seeing Estella,
+stammered that I hoped she was well.
+
+"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating for a lady; far out of reach;
+prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you
+have lost her?"
+
+I was spared the trouble of answering by being dismissed, and went home
+dissatisfied and uncomfortable, thinking myself coarse and common, and
+wanting to be a gentleman.
+
+It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship when, one Saturday night,
+Joe and I were up at the Three Jolly Bargemen, according to our custom.
+
+A stranger, who did not recognise me, but whom I recognised as a
+gentleman I had met on the stairs at Miss Havisham's, was in the room;
+and on his asking for a blacksmith named Gargery and his apprentice
+named Pip, and, being answered, said he wanted to have a private
+conference with us two.
+
+Joe took him home, and the stranger told us his name was Jaggers, and
+that he was a lawyer in London.
+
+"Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this
+young fellow, your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his
+indentures at his request and for his good?"
+
+"No," said Joe.
+
+"The communication I have got to make to this young fellow is that he
+has great expectations."
+
+Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.
+
+"I am instructed to tell him," said Mr. Jaggers, "that he will come into
+a handsome property. Further, it is the desire of the present possessor
+of that property that he be immediately removed from his present sphere
+of life and be brought up as a gentleman, and that he always bear the
+name of Pip. Now, you are to understand that the name of the person who
+is your liberal benefactor remains a profound secret until the person
+chooses to reveal it, and you are most positively prohibited from making
+any inquiry on this head. If you have a suspicion, keep it in your own
+breast."
+
+Mr. Jaggers went on to say that if I accepted the expectations on these
+terms, there was already money in hand for my education and maintenance,
+and that one Mr. Matthew Pocket, in London (whom I knew to be a relation
+of Miss Havisham's), could be my tutor if I was willing to go to him,
+say in a week's time. Of course I accepted this wonderful good fortune,
+and had no doubt in my own mind that Miss Havisham was my benefactress.
+
+When Mr. Jaggers asked Joe whether he desired any compensation, Joe laid
+his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. "Pip is that hearty
+welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services, to honour and
+fortun', as no words can tell him. But if you think as money can make
+compensation to me for the loss of the little child--what come to the
+forge--and ever the best of friends!" He scooped his eyes with his
+disengaged hand, but said not another word.
+
+
+_III.--I Know My Benefactor_
+
+
+I went to London, and studied with Mr. Matthew Pocket, and shared rooms
+with his son Herbert (who, knowing my earlier life, decided to call me
+Handel), first in Barnard's Inn and later in the Temple.
+
+On my twenty-first birthday I received £500, and this (unknown to
+Herbert) I managed to make over to my friend in order to secure him a
+managership in a business house.
+
+My studies were not directed in any professional channel, but were
+pursued with a view to my being equal to any emergency when my
+expectations, which I had been told to look forward to, were fulfilled.
+
+Estella was often in London, and I met her at many houses, and was
+desperately in love with her. But though she treated me with friendship,
+she was proud and capricious as ever, and a few years later married a
+man whom I knew and detested--a Mr. Bentley Drummle, a bully and a
+scoundrel.
+
+When I was three-and-twenty I happened to be alone one night in our
+chambers reading, for I had a taste for books. Herbert was away at
+Marseilles on a business journey.
+
+The clocks had struck eleven, and I closed my books. I was still
+listening to the clocks, when I heard a footstep on the staircase, and
+started. The staircase lights were blown out by the wind, and I took my
+reading-lamp and went out to see who it was.
+
+"There is someone there, is there not?" I called out. "What floor do you
+want?"
+
+"The top--Mr. Pip."
+
+"That is my name. There is nothing the matter?"
+
+"Nothing the matter," returned the voice. And the man came on.
+
+I made out that the man was roughly but substantially dressed; that he
+had iron-grey hair; that his age was about sixty; that he was a muscular
+man, hardened by exposure to weather. I saw nothing that in the least
+explained him, but I saw that he was holding out both his hands to me.
+
+I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him. No need to take a
+file from his pocket and show it to me. I knew my convict, in spite of
+the intervening years, as distinctly as I knew him in the churchyard
+when we first stood face to face.
+
+He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his
+forehead with his large brown hands.
+
+"You acted nobly, my boy," said he.
+
+I told him that I hoped he had mended his way of life, and was doing
+well.
+
+"I've done wonderful well," he said. And then he asked me if I was doing
+well. And when I mentioned that I had been chosen to succeed to some
+property, he asked whose property? And, after that, if my
+lawyer-guardian's name began with "J."
+
+All the truth of my position came flashing on me, and quickly I
+understood that Miss Havisham's intentions towards me were all a mere
+dream.
+
+"Yes, Pip, dear boy, I've made a gentleman on you. It's me wot has done
+it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea
+should go to you. I swore afterwards, sure as ever I spec'lated and got
+rich, that you should get rich. Look 'ee here, Pip. I'm your second
+father. You're my son--more to me nor any son. I've put away money, only
+for you to spend. You ain't looked slowly forward to this as I have. You
+wasn't prepared for this as I wos. It warn't easy, Pip, for me to leave
+them parts, nor it wasn't safe. Look 'ee here, dear boy; caution is
+necessary."
+
+"How do you mean?" I said. "Caution?"
+
+"I was sent for life. It's death to come back. There's been overmuch
+coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if
+took."
+
+As Herbert was away, I put the man in the spare room, and gave out that
+he was my uncle.
+
+He told me something of his story next day, and when Herbert came back
+and we had found a bed-room for our visitor in Essex Street, he told us
+all of it. His name was Magwitch--Abel Magwitch--he called himself
+Provis now--and he had been left by a travelling tinker to grow up
+alone. "In jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail--that's my life
+pretty much, down to such times as I got shipped off, arter Pip stood my
+friend." But there was a man who "set up fur a gentleman, named
+Compeyson," and this Compeyson's business was swindling, forging, and
+stolen banknote passing. Magwitch became his servant, and when both men
+were arrested, Compeyson turned round on the man whom he had employed,
+and got off with seven years to Magwitch's fourteen. Compeyson was the
+second convict of my childhood.
+
+On consideration of the case, and after consultation with Mr. Jaggers,
+who corroborated the statement that a colonist named Abel Magwitch, of
+New South Wales, was my benefactor, and admitted that a Mr. Provis had
+written to him on behalf of Magwitch, concerning my address, we decided
+that the best thing to be done was to take a lodging for Mr. Provis on
+the riverside below the Pool, at Mill Pond Bank. It was out of the way,
+and in case of danger it would be easy to get away by a packet steamer.
+
+The only danger was from Compeyson--for he had gone in terror of his
+life, and feared the vengeance of the man he had betrayed.
+
+
+_IV--My Fortune_
+
+
+We were soon warned that Compeyson was aware of the return of his enemy,
+and that flight was necessary. Both Herbert and I noticed how quickly
+Provis had become softened, and on the night when we were to take him on
+board a Hamburg steamer he was very gentle.
+
+We were out in mid-stream in a small rowing boat, moving quietly with
+the tide, when, just as the Hamburg steamer came in sight, a four-oared
+galley ran aboard of us, and the man who held the lines in it called
+out, "You have a returned transport there. That's the man wrapped in the
+cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch--otherwise Provis. I call upon him to
+surrender, and you to assist."
+
+At once there was great confusion. The steamer was right upon us, and I
+heard the order given to stop the paddles. In the same moment I saw the
+steersman of the galley lay his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, and the
+prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the
+neck of a shrinking man in the galley. Still in the same moment I saw
+that the face disclosed was the face of the other convict of long ago,
+and white terror was on it. Then I heard a cry, and a loud splash in the
+water, and for an instant I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill
+weirs; the instant past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was
+there, but our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone. Presently
+we saw a man swimming, but not swimming easily, and knew him to be
+Magwitch. He was taken on board, and instantly menacled at the wrists
+and ankles.
+
+It was not till we had pulled up, and had landed at the riverside, that
+I could get some comforts for Magwitch, who had received injury in the
+chest, and a deep cut in the head. He told me that he believed himself
+to have gone under the keel of the steamer, and to have been struck on
+the head in rising. The injury to his chest he thought he had received
+against the side of the galley. He added that Compeyson, in the moment
+of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, had staggered up,
+and back, and they had both gone overboard together, locked in each
+other's arms. He had disengaged himself under water, and swam away.
+
+He was taken to the police-court next day, and committed for trial at
+the, next session, which would come on in a month.
+
+"Dear boy," he said. "Look 'ee, here. It's best as a gentleman should
+not be knowed to belong to me now."
+
+"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be
+near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"
+
+When the sessions came round, the trial was very short and very clear,
+and the capital sentence was pronounced. But the prisoner was very ill.
+Two of his ribs had been broken, and one of his lungs seriously injured,
+and ten days before the date fixed for his execution death set him free.
+
+"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed on that last day. "I
+thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that. You've never
+deserted me, dear boy."
+
+I pressed his hand in silence.
+
+"And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been more comfortable
+along of me since I was under a dark cloud than when the sun shone.
+That's best of all."
+
+He had spoken his last words, and, holding my hand in his, passed away.
+
+And with his death ended my expectations, for the pocket-book containing
+his wealth went to the Crown.
+
+Herbert took me into his business, and I became a clerk, and afterwards
+went abroad to take charge of the eastern branch, and when many a year
+had gone round, became a partner.
+
+It was eleven years later when I was down in the marshes again. I had
+been to see Joe Gargery, who was as friendly as ever, and had strolled
+on to where Satis House once stood. I had been told of Miss Havisham's
+death, and also of the death of Estella's husband.
+
+Nothing was left of the old house but the garden wall, and as I stood
+looking along the desolate garden walk a solitary figure came up. I saw
+it stop, and half turn away, and then let me come up to it. It faltered
+as if much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out, "Estella!"
+
+I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the
+morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the
+evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil
+light they showed to me I saw no shadow of another parting from her.
+
+       *       *       *       *        *
+
+
+
+
+Hard Times
+
+
+      "Hard Times" is not one of the longest, but it is one of the
+     most powerful of Dickens's works. John Ruskin went so far as
+     to call it "in several respects the greatest" book Dickens had
+     written. It is, of course, a fierce attack on the early
+     Victorian school of political economists. The Bounderbys and
+     Gradgrinds are typical of certain characters, and, though they
+     change their form of speech, are still recognisable to-day. As
+     a study of social and industrial life in England in the
+     manufacturing districts fifty years ago, "Hard Times" will
+     always be valuable, though allowance must be made here as
+     elsewhere for the novelist's tendency to
+     exaggeration--exaggeration of virtue no less than of vice or
+     weakness. In Josiah Bounderby and Stephen Blackpool this
+     characteristic is pronounced. The first, according to John
+     Ruskin, being a dramatic monster, and the second a dramatic
+     perfection. The story first appeared serially in "Household
+     Words" between April 1 and August 12, 1854.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Thomas Gradgrind_
+
+
+"Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of facts and calculations. With a rule and
+a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket,
+sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you
+exactly what it comes to."
+
+In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
+to his private circle of acquaintance or to the public in general. In
+such terms Thomas Gradgrind presented himself to the schoolmaster and
+children before him. It was his school, and he intended it to be a
+model.
+
+"Now, what I want is facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but
+facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. You can only form the minds of
+reasoning animals upon facts. This is the principle on which I bring up
+my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these
+children. Stick to facts, sir."
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, having waited to hear a model lesson delivered by the
+school master, walked home in a considerable state of satisfaction.
+
+There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models every one. They
+had been lectured at from their tenderest years; coursed, like little
+hares, almost as soon as they could run, they had been made to run to
+the lecture-room.
+
+To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
+directed his steps. The house was situated on a moor, within a mile or
+two of a great town, called Coketown.
+
+On the outskirts of this town a travelling circus ("Sleary's
+Horse-riding") had pitched its tent, and, to his amazement, Mr.
+Gradgrind observed his two eldest children trying to obtain a peep, at
+the back of the booth, of the hidden glories within.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind laid his hand upon the shoulder of each erring child, and
+said, "Louisa! Thomas!"
+
+"I wanted to see what it was like," said Louisa shortly. "I brought him,
+I was tired, father. I have been tired a long time."
+
+"Tired? Of what?" asked the astonished father.
+
+"I don't know of what--of everything, I think."
+
+They walked on in silence for some half a mile before Mr. Gradgrind
+gravely broke out with, "What would your best friends say, Louisa? What
+would Mr. Bounderby say?"
+
+All the way to Stone Lodge he repeated at intervals, "What would Mr.
+Bounderby say?"
+
+At the first mention of the name his daughter, a child of fifteen or
+sixteen now, but at no distant day to become a woman, all at once, stole
+a look at him, remarkable for its intense and searching character. He
+saw nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again cast down
+her eyes.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was at Stone Lodge when they arrived. He stood before the
+fire on the hearth rug, delivering some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind
+on the circumstance of its being his birthday. It was a commanding
+position from which to subdue Mrs. Gradgrind.
+
+He stopped in his harangue, which was entirely concerned with the story
+of his early disadvantages, at the entrance of his eminently practical
+friend and the two young culprits.
+
+"Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what's the matter? What is young
+Thomas in the dumps about?"
+
+He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa.
+
+"We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa haughtily; "and father
+caught us."
+
+"And, Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband, in a lofty manner, "I should as
+soon have expected to find my children reading poetry."
+
+"Dear me!" whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. "How can you, Louisa and Thomas? I
+wonder at you. I declare you're enough to make one regret ever having
+had a family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. _Then_
+what would you have done, I should like to know? As if, with my head in
+its present throbbing state, you couldn't go and look at the shells and
+minerals and things provided for you, instead of circuses. I'm sure you
+have enough to do if that's what you want. With my head in its present
+state I couldn't remember the mere names of half the facts you have got
+to attend to."
+
+"That's the reason," pouted Louisa.
+
+"Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing of the
+sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. "Go and be something logical directly."
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind, not being a scientific character, usually dismissed her
+children to their studies with the general injunction that they were to
+choose their own pursuit.
+
+
+_II.--Mr. Bounderby of Coketown_
+
+
+Mr. Josiah Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend as a
+man perfectly devoid of sentiment can be to another man perfectly devoid
+of sentiment.
+
+He was a rich man--banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big,
+loud man, with a stare and a metallic laugh. A man who could never
+sufficiently vaunt himself--a self-made man. A man who was always
+proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his
+early ignorance and poverty. A man who was the bully of humility.
+
+He was fond of telling, was Mr. Bounderby, how he was born in a ditch,
+and, abandoned by his mother, how he ran away from his grandmother, who
+starved and ill-used him, and so became a vagabond. "I pulled through
+it," he would say, "though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond,
+errand-boy, labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small
+partner--Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown."
+
+This myth of his early life was dissipated later; and it turned out that
+his mother, a respectable old woman, whom Bounderby pensioned off with
+thirty pounds a year on condition she never came near him, had pinched
+herself to help him out in life, and put him as apprentice to a trade.
+From this apprenticeship he had steadily risen to riches.
+
+Mr. Bounderby held strong views about the people who worked for him, the
+"hands" he called them; and found, whenever they complained of anything,
+that they always expected to be set up in a coach and six, and to be fed
+on turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon.
+
+As time went on, and young Thomas Gradgrind became old enough to go into
+Bounderby's Bank, Bounderby decided that Louisa was old enough to be
+married.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, now member of parliament for Coketown, mentioned the
+matter to his daughter.
+
+"Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage that has
+been made to me."
+
+He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something.
+Strange to relate Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this moment as
+his daughter was.
+
+"I have undertaken to let you know that--in short, that Mr. Bounderby
+has long hoped that the time might arrive when he should offer you his
+hand in marriage. That time has now come, and Mr. Bounderby has made his
+proposal to me, and has entreated me to make it known to you."
+
+"Father," said Louisa, "do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?"
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomforted by this unexpected question.
+"Well, my child," he returned, "I--really--cannot take upon myself to
+say."
+
+"Father," pursued Louisa, in exactly the same voice as before, "do you
+ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?"
+
+"My dear Louisa, no. No, I ask nothing."
+
+"Father, does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?"
+
+"Really, my dear, it is difficult to answer your question. Because the
+reply depends so materially, Louisa, on the sense in which we use the
+expression. Mr. Bounderby does not pretend to anything sentimental. Now,
+I should advise you to consider this question simply as one of fact.
+Now, what are the facts of this case? You are, we will say in round
+numbers, twenty years of age. Mr. Bounderby is, we will say in round
+numbers, fifty. There is some disparity in your respective years, but in
+your means and position there is none; on the contrary, there is a great
+suitability. Confining yourself rigidly to fact, the questions of fact
+are: 'Does Mr. Bounderby ask me to marry him?' 'Yes, he does.' And,
+'Shall I marry him?'"
+
+"Shall I marry him?" repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.
+
+There was silence between the two before Louisa spoke again. She thought
+of the shortness of life, of how her brother Tom had said it would be a
+good thing for him if she made up her mind to do--she knew what.
+
+"While it lasts," she said aloud, "I would like to do the little I can,
+and the little I am fit for. What does it matter? Mr. Bounderby asks me
+to marry him. Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I
+am satisfied to accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you
+please, that this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can,
+because I should wish him to know what I said."
+
+"It is quite right, my dear," retorted her father approvingly, "to be
+exact I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in
+reference to the period of your marriage, my child?"
+
+"None, father. What does it matter?"
+
+They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Gradgrind presented Louisa to
+his wife as Mrs. Bounderby.
+
+"Oh!" said Mrs. Gradgrind. "So you have settled it. I am sure I give you
+joy, my dear, and I hope you may turn all your ological studies to good
+account. And now, you see, I shall be worrying myself morning, noon, and
+night, to know what I am to call him!"
+
+"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband solemnly, "what do you mean?"
+
+"Whatever am I to call him when he is married to Louisa? I must call him
+something. It's impossible to be constantly addressing him, and never
+giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is
+insupportable to me. You yourself wouldn't hear of Joe, you very well
+know. Am I to call my own son-in-law 'Mister?' I believe not, unless the
+time has arrived when I am to be trampled upon by my relations. Then,
+what am I to call him?"
+
+There being no answer to this conundrum, Mrs. Gradgrind retired to bed.
+
+The day of the marriage came, and after the wedding-breakfast the
+bridegroom addressed the company--an improving party, there was no
+nonsense about any of them--in the following terms.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown. Since you
+have done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and
+happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same. If you want a speech,
+my friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a member of parliament,
+and you know where to get it. Now, you have mentioned that I am this day
+married to Tom Gradgrind's daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has
+long been my wish to be so. I have watched her bringing up, and I
+believe she is worthy of me. At the same time, I believe I am worthy of
+her. So I thank you for the goodwill you have shown towards us."
+
+Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to
+Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might see how the hands got on in
+those parts, and whether they, too, required to be fed with gold spoons,
+the happy pair departed for the railroad. As the bride passed downstairs
+her brother Tom whispered to her. "What a game girl you are, to be such
+a first-rate sister, too!"
+
+She clung to him as she would have clung to some far better nature that
+day, and was shaken in her composure for the first time.
+
+
+_III.--Mr. James Harthouse_
+
+
+The Gradgrind party wanting assistance in the House of Commons, Mr.
+James Harthouse, who was of good family and appearance, and had tried
+most things and found them a bore, was sent down to Coketown to study
+the neighbourhood with a view to entering Parliament.
+
+Mr. Bounderby at once pounced upon him, and James Harthouse was
+introduced to Mrs. Bounderby and her brother. Tom Gradgrind, junior,
+brought up under a continuous system of restraint, was a hypocrite, a
+thief, and, to Mr. James Harthouse, a whelp.
+
+Yet the visitor saw at once that the whelp was the only creature Mrs.
+Bounderby cared for, and it occurred to him, as time went on, that to
+win Mrs. Bounderby's affection (for he made no secret of his contempt
+for politics), he must devote himself to the whelp.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was proud to have Mr. James Harthouse under his roof,
+proud to show off his greatness and self-importance to this gentleman
+from London.
+
+"You're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be one. You're a man of
+family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of rag, tag,
+and bobtail," said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+At the same time Mr. Bounderby blustered at his wife and bullied his
+hands, so that Mr. Harthouse might understand his independence.
+
+One of these hands, Stephen Blackpool, an old, steady, faithful workman,
+who had been boycotted by his fellows for refusing to join a trade
+union, was summoned to Mr. Bounderby's presence in order that Harthouse
+might see a specimen of the people that had to be dealt with.
+
+Blackpool said he had nought to say about the trade union business; he
+had given a promise not to join, that was all.
+
+"Not to me, you know!" said Bounderby.
+
+"Oh, no sir; not to you!"
+
+"Here's a gentleman from London present," Mr. Bounderby said, pointing
+at Harthouse. "A Parliament gentleman. Now, what do you complain of?"
+
+"I ha' not come here, sir, to complain. I were sent for. Indeed, we are
+in a muddle, sir. Look round town--so rich as 'tis. Look how we live,
+and where we live, an' in what numbers; and look how the mills is always
+a-goin', and how they never works us no nigher to any distant object,
+'cepting always, death. Sir, I cannot, wi' my little learning, tell the
+gentleman what will better this; though some working men o' this town
+could. But the strong hand will never do't; nor yet lettin' alone will
+never do't. Ratin' us as so much power and reg'latin' us as if we was
+figures in a sum, will never do't."
+
+"Now, it's clear to me," said Mr. Bounderby, "that you are one of those
+chaps who have always got a grievance. And you are such a raspish,
+ill-conditioned chap that even your own union--the men who know you
+best--will have nothing to do with you. And I tell you what, I go so far
+along with them for a novelty, that I'll have nothing to do with you
+either. You can finish off what you're at, and then go elsewhere."
+
+Thus James Harthouse learnt how Mr. Bounderby dealt with hands.
+
+Mr. Harthouse, however, only felt bored, and took the earliest
+opportunity to explain to Mrs. Bounderby that he really had no opinions,
+and that he was going in for her father's opinions, because he might as
+well back them as anything else.
+
+"The side that can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds,
+and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun and to
+give a man the best chance. I am quite ready to go in for it to the same
+extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do if I did
+believe it?".
+
+"You are a singular politician," said Louisa.
+
+"Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the
+state, I assure you, if we all fell out of our adopted ranks and were
+reviewed together."
+
+The more Mr. Harthouse's interest waned in politics the greater became
+his interest in Mrs. Bounderby. And he cultivated the whelp, cultivated
+him earnestly, and by so doing learnt from the graceless youth that "Loo
+never cared anything for old Bounderby," and had married him to please
+her brother.
+
+Gradually, bit by bit, James Harthouse established a confidence with the
+whelp's sister from which her husband was excluded. He established a
+confidence with her that absolutely turned upon her indifference towards
+her husband, and the absence at all times of any congeniality between
+them. He had artfully, but plainly, assured her that he knew her heart
+in its last most delicate recesses, and the barrier behind which she
+lived had melted away.
+
+And yet he had not, even now, any earnest wickedness of purpose in him.
+So drifting icebergs, setting with a current, wreck the ships.
+
+
+_IV.--Mr. Gradgrind and His Daughter_
+
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind died while her husband was up in London, and Louisa was
+with her mother when death came.
+
+"You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and so did your brother," said Mrs.
+Gradgrind, when she was dying. "Ologies of all kinds from morning to
+night. But there is something--not an ology at all--that your father has
+missed, or forgotten. I don't know what it is; I shall never get its
+name now. But your father may. It makes me restless. I want to write to
+him to find out, for God's sake, what it is."
+
+It was shortly after Mrs. Gradgrind's death that Mr. Bounderby was
+called away from home on business for a few days; and Mr. James
+Harthouse, still not sure at times of his purpose, found himself alone
+with Mrs. Bounderby.
+
+They were in the garden, and Harthouse implored her to accept him as her
+lover. She urged him to go away, she commanded him to go away; but she
+neither turned her face to him nor raised it, but sat as still as though
+she were a statue.
+
+Harthouse declared that she was the stake for which he ardently desired
+to play away all that he had in life; that the objects he had lately
+pursued turned worthless beside her; the success that was almost within
+his grasp he flung away from him, like the dirt it was, compared with
+her.
+
+All this, and more, he said, and pleaded for a further meeting.
+
+"Not here," Louisa said calmly.
+
+They parted at the beginning of a heavy shower of rain, and the fall
+James Harthouse had ridden for was averted.
+
+Mrs. Bounderby left her husband's house, left it for good; not to share
+Mr. Harthouse's life, but to return to her father.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, released from parliament for a time, was alone in his
+study, when his eldest daughter entered.
+
+"What is the matter, Louisa?"
+
+"Father, I want to speak to you. You have trained me from my cradle?"
+
+"Yes, Louisa."
+
+"I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny. How could you
+give me life, and take from me all the things that raise it from the
+state of conscious death? Now, hear what I have come to say. With a
+hunger and a thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a moment
+appeased, in a condition where it seemed nothing could be worth the pain
+and trouble of a contest, you proposed my husband to me."
+
+"I never knew you were unhappy, my child!"
+
+"I took him. I never made a pretence to him or you that I loved him. I
+knew, and, father you knew, and he knew, that I never did. I was not
+wholly indifferent, for I had a hope of being pleasant and useful to
+Tom. But Tom had been the subject of all the little tenderness of my
+life, perhaps he became so because I knew so well how to pity him. It
+matters little now, except as it may dispose you to think more leniently
+of his errors."
+
+"What can I do, child? Ask me what you will."
+
+"I am coming to it. Father, chance has thrown into my way a new
+acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of--light, polished,
+easy. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for
+nothing else, to care so much for me. It matters little how he gained my
+confidence. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my
+marriage he soon knew just as well."
+
+Her father's face was ashy white.
+
+"I have done no worse; I have not disgraced you. This night, my husband
+being away, he has been with me. This minute he expects me, for I could
+release myself of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I
+am sorry or ashamed. All that I know is, your philosophy and your
+teaching will not save me. Father, you have brought me to this. Save me
+by some other means?"
+
+She fell insensible, and he saw the pride of his heart and the triumph
+of his system lying at his feet. And it came to Thomas Gradgrind that
+night and on the morrow when he sat beside his daughter's bed, that
+there was a wisdom of the heart no less than a wisdom of the head; and
+that in supposing the latter to be all sufficient, he had erred.
+
+But no such change of mind took place in Mr. Bounderby. Finding his wife
+absent, he went at once to Stone Lodge, and blustered in his usual way.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind tried to make him understand that the best thing to do was
+to leave things as they were for a time, and that Louisa, who had been
+so tried, should stay on a visit to her father, and be treated with
+tenderness and consideration. It was all wasted on Blunderby.
+
+"Now, I don't want to quarrel with you, Tom Gradgrind!" he retorted. "If
+your daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by
+leaving Loo Gradgrind, don't come home at noon to-morrow, I shall
+understand that she prefers to stay away, and you'll take charge of her
+in future. What I shall say to people in general of the incompatibility
+that led to my so laying down the law will be this: I am Josiah
+Bounderby, she's the daughter of Tom Gradgrind; and the two horses
+wouldn't pull together. I am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon
+man, and most people will understand that it must be a woman rather out
+of the common who would come up to my mark. I have got no more to say.
+Good-night!"
+
+At five minutes past twelve next day, Mr. Bounderby directed his wife's
+property to be carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind's, and then
+resumed a bachelor's life.
+
+Mr. James Harthouse, learning from Louisa's maid--a young woman greatly
+attached to her mistress--that his attentions were altogether
+undesirable, and that he would never see Mrs. Bounderby again, decided
+to throw up politics and leave Coketown at once. Which he did.
+
+Into how much of futurity did Mr. Bounderby see as he sat alone? Had he
+any prescience of the day, five years to come, when Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown, was to die in a fit in the Coketown street? Could he foresee
+Mr. Gradgrind, a white-haired man, making his facts and figures
+subservient to Faith, Hope, and Charity, and no longer trying to grind
+that Heavenly trio in his dusty little mills? These things were to be.
+
+Could Louisa, sitting alone in her father's house and gazing into the
+fire, foresee the childless years before her? Could she picture a lonely
+brother, flying from England after robbery, and dying in a strange land,
+conscious of his want of love and penitent? These things were to be.
+Herself again a wife--a mother--lovingly watchful of her children, ever
+careful that they should have a childhood of the mind no less than a
+childhood of the body, as knowing it to be an even more beautiful thing,
+and a possession any hoarded scrap of which is a blessing and happiness
+to the wisest? Such a thing was never to be.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Little Dorrit
+
+
+      "Little Dorrit" was written at a time when the author was
+     busying himself not only with other literary work, but also
+     with semi-private theatricals. John Forster, Charles Dickens's
+     biographer and friend, even had some sort of fear at that time
+     that Dickens was in danger of adopting the stage as a
+     profession. Domestic troubles, culminating a year later in the
+     separation from his wife, also explain the restlessness and
+     general dissatisfaction which affected the great novelist in
+     the years 1855-57, when this story appeared. Hence there is no
+     surprise that "Little Dorrit" added but little to its author's
+     reputation. It is a very long book, but it will never take a
+     front-rank place. The story, however, on its appearance in
+     monthly parts, the first of which was published in January
+     1856, and the completed work in 1857, was enormously
+     successful, beating, in Dickens's own words, "'Bleak House'
+     out of the field." Popular with the public, it has never won
+     the critics.
+
+
+_I.--The Father of the Marshalsea_
+
+
+Thirty years ago there stood, a few doors short of the church of Saint
+George, in the Borough of Southwark, on the left-hand side of the way
+going southward, the Marshalsea Prison. It had stood there many years
+before, and it remained there some years afterwards; but it is gone now,
+and the world is none the worse without it.
+
+A debtor had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison, a very amiable and
+very helpless middle-aged gentleman who was perfectly clear--"like all
+the rest of them," the turnkey on the lock said--that he was going out
+again directly.
+
+The affairs of this debtor, a shy, retiring man, with a mild voice and
+irresolute hands, were perplexed by a partnership, of which he knew no
+more than that he had invested money in it.
+
+"Out?" said the turnkey. "He'll never get out unless his creditors take
+him by the shoulders and shove him out!"
+
+The next day the debtor's wife came to the Marshalsea, bringing with her
+a little boy of three, and a little girl of two.
+
+"Two children," the turnkey observed to himself. "And you another, which
+makes three; and your wife another, which makes four."
+
+Six months later a little girl was born to the debtor, and when this
+child was eight years old, her mother, who had long been languishing,
+died.
+
+The debtor had long grown accustomed to the place. Crushed at first by
+his imprisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. His elder
+children played regularly about the yard. If he had been a man with
+strength of purpose, he might have broken the net that held him, or
+broken his heart; but being what he was, he slipped easily into this
+smooth descent, and never more took one step upward.
+
+The shabby old debtor with the soft manners and the white hair became
+the Father of the Marshalsea. And he grew to be proud of the title. All
+newcomers were presented to him. He was punctilious in the exaction of
+this ceremony. They were welcome to the Marshalsea, he would tell them.
+
+It became a not unusual circumstance for letters to be put under his
+door at night enclosing half-a-crown, two half-crowns, now and then, at
+long intervals, even half a sovereign, for the Father of the Marshalsea,
+"With the compliments of a collegian taking leave." He received the
+gifts as tributes to a public character.
+
+Later he established the custom of attending collegians of a certain
+standing to the gate, and taking leave of them there. The collegian
+under treatment would often wrap up something in a paper and give it to
+him, "For the Father of the Marshalsea."
+
+
+_II.--The Child of the Marshalsea_
+
+
+The youngest child of the Father of the Marshalsea, born within the
+jail, was a very, very little creature indeed when she gained the
+knowledge that while her own light steps were free to pass beyond the
+prison gate, her father's feet must never cross that line.
+
+At thirteen she could read and keep accounts--that is, could put down in
+words and figures how much the bare necessaries they needed would cost,
+and how much less they had to buy them with. From the first she was
+inspired to be something which was not what the rest were, and to be
+that something for the sake of the rest. Recognised as useful, even
+indispensable, she took the place of eldest of the three in all but
+precedence; was the head of the fallen family, and bore, in her own
+heart, its anxieties and shames. She had been, by snatches of a few
+weeks at a time, to an evening school outside, and got her sister and
+brother sent to day schools by desultory starts, during three or four
+years. There was no instruction for any of them at home; but she knew
+well--no one better--that a man so broken as to be the Father of the
+Marshalsea could be no father to his own children.
+
+To these scanty means of improvement she added others. Her sister Fanny,
+having a great desire to learn dancing, the Child of the Marshalsea
+persuaded a dancing-master, detained for a short time, to teach her. And
+Fanny became a dancer.
+
+There was a ruined uncle in the family group, ruined by his brother, the
+Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than his ruiner did,
+on whom Fanny's protection devolved. Naturally a retired and simple man,
+he had shown no particular sense of being ruined, further than that he
+left off washing when the shock was announced, and never took to that
+luxury any more. Having been a very indifferent musical amateur in his
+better days, when he fell with his brother he resorted for support to
+playing a clarionet in a small theatre orchestra. It was the theatre in
+which his niece became a dancer, and he accepted the task of serving as
+her escort and guardian.
+
+To get her brother--christened Edward, but called Tip--out of the prison
+was a more difficult task. Every post she obtained for him he always
+gave up, returning with the announcement that he was tired of it, and
+had cut it.
+
+One day he came back, and said he was in for good, that he had been
+taken for forty pounds odd. For the first time in all those years, she
+sank under her cares. It was so hard to make Tip understand that the
+Father of the Marshalsea must not know the truth about his son.
+
+For, the Father of the Marshalsea, as he grew more dependent on the
+contributions of his changing family, made the greater stand by his
+forlorn gentility. So the pretence had to be kept up that neither of his
+daughters earned their bread.
+
+The Child of the Marshalsea learned needlework of an insolvent milliner,
+and went out daily to work for a Mrs. Clennam.
+
+This was the life and this the history of the Child of the Marshalsea at
+twenty-two. Worldly wise in hard and poor necessities, she was innocent
+in all things else. This was the life, and this the history of Little
+Dorrit, now going home upon a dull September evening, and observed at a
+distance by Arthur Clennam. Arthur Clennam had returned to his mother's
+house--a dark and gloomy place--from the Far East. He had noticed that
+Little Dorrit appeared at eight, and left at eight. She let herself out
+to do needlework, he was told. What became of her between the two eights
+was a mystery.
+
+It was not easy for Arthur Clennam to make out Little Dorrit's face; she
+plied her needle in such retired corners. But it seemed to be a pale,
+transparent face, quick in expression, though not beautiful in feature.
+A delicately bent head, a tiny form, a quick little pair of busy hands,
+and a shabby dress--shabby but very neat--were Little Dorrit as she sat
+at work.
+
+Arthur Clennam watched Little Dorrit disappear within the outer gate of
+the Marshalsea, and presently stopped an old man to ask what place it
+was.
+
+"This is the Marshalsea, sir."
+
+"Can anyone go in here?"
+
+"Anyone can go in," replied the old man, plainly implying, "but it is
+not everyone who can go out."
+
+"Pardon me once more. I am not impertinently curious. But are you
+familiar with the place? Do you know the name of Dorrit here?"
+
+"My name, sir," replied the old man, "is Dorrit."
+
+Clennam explained that he had seen a young woman working at his
+mother's, spoken of as Little Dorrit, and had noticed her come in here,
+and that he was sincerely interested in her, and wanted to know
+something about her.
+
+"I know very little of the world, sir," replied the old man, "it would
+not be worth while to mislead me. The young woman whom you saw go in is
+my brother's child. You say you have seen her at your mother's, and have
+felt an interest in her, and wish to know what she does here. Come and
+see."
+
+Arthur Clennam followed his guide to the room of the Father of the
+Marshalsea.
+
+"I found this gentleman," said the uncle--"Mr. Clennam, William, son of
+Amy's friend--at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going by, of paying
+his respects. This is my brother William, sir."
+
+"Mr. Clennam," said William Dorrit, "you are welcome, sir; pray sit
+down. I have welcomed many visitors here."
+
+The Father of the Marshalsea went on to mention that he had been
+gratified by the testimonials of his visitors--the "very acceptable
+testimonials."
+
+When Clennam left he presented his testimonial, and the next morning
+found him there again. He went out with Little Dorrit alone; asked her
+if she had ever heard his mother's name before.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"I am not asking from any reason that can cause you anxiety. You think
+that at no time of your father's life was my name of Clennam ever
+familiar to him?"
+
+"No, sir. And, oh, I hope you will not misunderstand my father! Don't
+judge him, sir, as you would judge others outside the gates. He has been
+there so long."
+
+They had walked some way before they returned. She was not working at
+Mrs. Clennam's that day.
+
+The courtyard received them at last, and there he said good-bye to
+Little Dorrit. Little as she had always looked, she looked less than
+ever when he saw her going into the Marshalsea Lodge passage.
+
+Aware that his mother might have once averted the ruin of the Dorrit
+family, Clennam returned more than once to the Marshalsea. No word of
+love crossed his lips; he told Little Dorrit to think of him as an old
+man, old enough to be her father, and he besought her only to let him
+know if at any time he could do her service. "I press for no confidence
+now. I only ask you to repose unhesitating trust in me," he said.
+
+"Can I do less than that when you are so good?"
+
+"Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness or
+anxiety concealed from me?"
+
+"Almost none."
+
+But if Arthur Clennam kept silent, Little Dorrit was not without a
+lover. Years ago young John Chivery, the sentimental son of the turnkey,
+had eyed her with admiring wonder. There seemed to young John a fitness
+in the attachment. She, the Child of the Marshalsea; he, the
+lock-keeper. Every Sunday young John presented cigars to the Father of
+the Marshalsea--who was glad to get them--and one particular Sunday
+afternoon he mustered up courage to urge his suit.
+
+Little Dorrit was out, walking on the Iron Bridge, when young John found
+her.
+
+"Miss Amy," he stammered, "I have had for a long time--ages they seem to
+me--a heart-cherished wish to say something to you. May I say it? May I,
+Miss Amy? I but ask the question humbly--may I say it? I know very well
+your family is far above mine. It were vain to conceal it. I know very
+well that your high-souled brother, and likewise your spirited sister,
+spurn me from a height."
+
+"If you please, John Chivery," Little Dorrit answered, in a quiet way,
+"since you are so considerate as to ask me whether you shall say any
+more--if you please, no."
+
+"Never, Miss Amy?"
+
+"No, if you please. Never."
+
+"Oh, Lord!" gasped young John.
+
+"When you think of us, John--I mean, my brother and sister and me--don't
+think of us as being any different from the rest; for whatever we once
+were we ceased to be long ago, and never can be any more. And, good-bye,
+John. And I hope you will have a good wife one day, and be a happy man.
+I am sure you will deserve to be happy, and you will be, John."
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Amy. Good-bye!"
+
+
+_III.--The Marshalsea Becomes an Orphan_
+
+
+It turned out that Mr. Dorrit, being of the Dorrits of Dorsetshire, was
+heir-at-law to a great fortune. Inquiries and investigations confirmed
+it.
+
+Arthur Clennam broke the news to Little Dorrit, and together they went
+to the, Marshalsea. William Dorrit was sitting in his old grey gown and
+his old black cap in the sunlight by the window when they entered.
+"Father, Mr. Clennam has brought me such joyful and wonderful
+intelligence about you!"
+
+Her agitation was great, and the old man put his hand suddenly to his
+heart, and looked at Clennam.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Dorrit, what surprise would be the most unlocked for and
+the most acceptable to you. Do not be afraid to imagine it, or to say
+what it would be."
+
+He looked steadfastly at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to
+change into a very old, haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall
+beyond the window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out
+the hand that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.
+
+"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone! And in its place are the means to
+possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr.
+Dorrit, there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will
+be free and highly prosperous."
+
+They had to fetch wine for the old man, and when he had swallowed a
+little he leaned back in his chair and cried. But he quickly recovered,
+and announced that everybody concerned should be nobly rewarded.
+
+"No one, my dear sir, shall say that he has an unsatisfied claim against
+me. Everybody shall be remembered. I will not go away from here in
+anybody's debt. I particularly wish to act munificently, Mr. Clennam."
+
+Clennam's offer of money for present contingencies was at once accepted.
+
+"I am obliged to you for the temporary accommodation, sir. Exceedingly
+temporary, but well timed--well timed. Be so kind, sir, as to add the
+amount to former advances."
+
+He grew more composed presently, and then when he seemed to be falling
+asleep unexpectedly sat up and said, "Mr. Clennam, am I to understand,
+my dear sir, that I could pass through the lodge at this moment, and
+take a walk?"
+
+"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain
+forms to be completed. It is but a few hours now."
+
+"A few hours, sir!" he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very
+easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to a
+man who is choking; for want of air?"
+
+It was his last demonstration for that time, but in the interval before
+the day of his departure he was very imperious with the lawyers
+concerned in his release, and a good deal of business was transacted.
+
+Mr. Arthur Clennam received a cheque for £24 93. 8d. from the solicitors
+of Edward Dorrit, Esq.--once "Tip"--with a note that the favour of the
+advance now repaid had not been asked of him.
+
+To the applications made by collegians within the so-soon-to-be-orphaned
+Marshalsea for small sums of money, Mr. Dorrit responded with the
+greatest liberality. He also invited the whole College to a
+comprehensive entertainment in the yard, and went about among the
+company on that occasion, and took notice of individuals, like a baron
+of the olden time, in a rare good humour.
+
+And now the final hour arrived when he and his family were to leave the
+prison for ever. The carriage was reported ready in the outer courtyard.
+Mr. Dorrit and his brother proceeded arm in arm, Edward Dorrit, Esq.,
+and his sister Fanny followed, also arm in arm.
+
+There was not a collegian within doors, nor a turnkey absent, as they
+crossed the yard. Mr. Dorrit--whose meat and drink had many a time been
+bought with money presented by some of those who stood to watch him
+go--yielding to the vast speculation how the poor creatures were to get
+on without him, was great, and sad, but not absorbed. He patted children
+on the head like Sir Roger de Coverley going to church, spoke to people
+in the background by their Christian names, and condescended to all
+present.
+
+At last three honest cheers announced that he had passed the gate, and
+that the Marshalsea was an orphan.
+
+Only when the family had got into their carriage, and not before, Miss
+Fanny exclaimed, "Good gracious I Where's Amy?"
+
+Her father had thought she was with her sister. Her sister had thought
+she was somewhere or other. They had all trusted to find her, as they
+had always done, quietly in the right place at the right moment. This
+going away was, perhaps, the very first action of their joint lives that
+they had got through without her.
+
+"Now I do say, Pa," cried Miss Fanny, flushed and indignant, "that this
+is disgraceful! Here is that child, Amy, in her ugly old shabby dress.
+Disgracing us at the last moment by being carried out in that dress
+after all. And by that Mr. Clennam too!"
+
+Clennam appeared at the carriage-door, bearing the little insensible
+figure in his arms.
+
+"She has been forgotten," he said. "I ran up to her room, and found the
+door open, and that she had fainted on the floor."
+
+They received her in the carriage, and the attendant, getting between
+Clennam and the carriage-door, with a sharp "By your leave, sir!"
+bundled up the steps, and drove away.
+
+
+_IV.--Another Prisoner in the Marshalsea_
+
+
+The Dorrit family travelled abroad in handsome style, and in due time
+Miss Fanny married.
+
+A sudden seizure carried off old Mr. Dorrit, and he died thinking
+himself back in the Marshalsea. His brother Frederick, stricken with
+grief, did not long survive him.
+
+Arthur Clennam, who had gone into partnership with a friend named Doyce,
+unfortunately invested his money in the financial schemes of Mr. Merdle,
+the greatest swindler of the day, and when the crash came and Merdle
+committed suicide, Clennam with hundreds of other innocent persons was
+involved in the general ruin.
+
+Doyce was working at the time in Germany, and it was some weeks before
+he could be found; in the meantime, Clennam, being insolvent, was taken
+to the Marshalsea.
+
+Mr. Chivery was on the lock and young John was in the lodge when the
+Marshalsea was reached. The elder Mr. Chivery shook hands with him in a
+shamefaced kind of way, and said, "I don't call to mind, sir, as I was
+ever less glad to see you."
+
+The prisoner followed young John up the old staircase into the old room.
+"I thought you'd like the room, and here it is for you," said young
+John.
+
+Young John waited upon him; and it was young John who explained that he
+did this not on the ground of the prisoner's merits, but because of the
+merits of another, of one who loved the prisoner. Clennam tried to argue
+to himself the improbability of Little Dorrit loving him, but he wasn't
+altogether successful.
+
+He fell ill, and it was Little Dorrit whose living presence first
+cheered him when he returned from the world of feverish dreams and
+shadows.
+
+He did his best to dissuade her from coming. He was a ruined man, and
+the time when Little Dorrit and the prison had anything in common had
+long gone by.
+
+But still she came and often read to him. And one day she told him that
+all her money had gone as his had gone, lost in the Merdle whirlpool,
+and that her sister Fanny's was lost, too, in the same way.
+
+"I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When
+papa came over to England, just before his death, he confided everything
+he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. Oh, my dearest and
+best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me?"
+
+Locked in his arms, held to his heart, she drew the slight hand round
+his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand.
+
+Of course, when Doyce, who was a thoroughly good fellow, and successful
+to boot, found out his partner's plight, he came back and put things
+right, and the business was soon set going again.
+
+And on the very day of his release, Arthur Clennam and Little Dorrit
+went into the neighbouring church of St. George, and were married, Doyce
+giving the bride away.
+
+Little Dorrit and her husband walked out of the church alone when the
+signing of the register was done.
+
+They paused for a moment on the steps of the portico, and then went down
+into the roaring streets, inseparable and blessed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Martin Chuzzlewit
+
+
+      On its monthly publication, in 1843-44, "Martin Chuzzlewit"
+     was, pecuniarily, the least successful of Dickens's serials,
+     though popular as a book. It was his first novel after his
+     American tour, and the storm of resentment that had hailed the
+     appearance of "American Notes," in 1842, was intensified by
+     his merciless satire of American characteristics and
+     institutions in "Martin Chuzzlewit." Despite all adverse
+     criticism, however, "Chuzzlewit" is worthy to rank with
+     anything that ever came from the pen of the great Victorian
+     novelist. It is a very long story, and a very full one; the
+     canvas is crowded with a gallery of typical Dickensian people.
+     Through Mrs. Gamp, Dickens dealt a death-blow to the drunken
+     nurse of the period. The name Pecksniff has become synonymous
+     with a certain type of hypocrite, and the adjective
+     Pecksniffian is in common use wherever the English language is
+     spoken. Charged with exaggeration regarding Mr. Pecksniff,
+     Dickens wrote in the preface to "Martin Chuzzlewit," "All the
+     Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that
+     no such character ever existed. I will not offer any plea on
+     his behalf to so powerful and genteel a body." Mrs. Gamp,
+     though one of the humorous types that have, perhaps,
+     contributed most largely to the fame of Dickens, does not
+     appear in this epitome, the character being a minor one in the
+     development of the story.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Pecksniff's New Pupil_
+
+
+Mr. Pecksniff lived in a little Wiltshire village within an easy journey
+of Salisbury.
+
+The brazen plate upon his door bore the inscription, "Pecksniff,
+Architect," to which Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added,
+"and Land Surveyor." Of his architectural doings nothing was clearly
+known, except that he had never designed or built anything.
+
+Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not
+entirely, confined to the reception of pupils. His genius lay in
+ensnaring parents and guardians and pocketing premiums.
+
+Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. Perhaps there never was a more moral man
+than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence.
+Some people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the
+way to a place, and never goes there; but these were his enemies.
+
+Into Mr. Pecksniff's house came young Martin Chuzzlewit, a relation of
+the architect's. Tom Pinch, Mr. Pecksniff's assistant, had driven over
+to Salisbury for the new pupil, and had already discoursed to Martin on
+Mr. Pecksniff and his family (for Mr. Pecksniff had two
+daughters--Mercy, and Charity), in whose good qualities he had a
+profound and pathetic belief.
+
+Festive preparations on a rather extensive scale were already completed
+for Martin's benefit on the night of his arrival. There were two bottles
+of currant wine, white and red; a dish of sandwiches, very long, and
+very slim; another of apples; another of captain's biscuits; a plate of
+oranges cut up small and gritty with powdered sugar; and a highly
+geological home-made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite
+took away Tom Pinch's breath, for though the new pupils were usually let
+down softly, particularly in the wine department, still this was a
+banquet, a sort of lord mayor's feast in private life, a something to
+think of, and hold on by afterwards.
+
+To this entertainment Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do full
+justice.
+
+"Martin," he said, addressing his daughters, "will seat himself between
+you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by me. This is a mingling
+that repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry."
+Here he took a captain's biscuit. "It is a poor heart that never
+rejoices; and our hearts are not poor. No!"
+
+The following morning Mr. Pecksniff announced that he must go to London.
+"On professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional
+business; and I promised my girls long ago that they should accompany
+me. We shall go forth to-night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old,
+my dear Martin--and it will be a week before we again deposit, our
+olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive branches," observed Mr.
+Pecksniff, in explanation, "I mean our unpretending luggage."
+
+"And now let me see," said Mr. Pecksniff presently, "how can you best
+employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to give me
+your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London, or a tomb for a
+sheriff, or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a nobleman's
+park. A pump is a very chaste practice. I have found that a lamp-post is
+calculated to refine the mind and give it a classical tendency. An
+ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect upon the imagination. What
+do you say to beginning with an ornamental turnpike?"
+
+"Whatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Martin doubtfully.
+
+"Stay," said that gentleman. "Come! as you're ambitious, and are a very
+neat draughtsman, you shall try your hand on these proposals for a
+grammar-school. When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of
+occupation, Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of surveying the
+back-garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the road between this
+house and the finger-post, or in any other practical and pleasing
+pursuit. There is a cart-load of loose bricks, and a score or two of old
+flower-pots in the back-yard. If you could pile them up, my dear Martin,
+into any form which would remind me on my return, say, of St. Peter's at
+Rome, or the Mosque of St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once
+improving to you and agreeable to my feelings."
+
+The coach having rolled away, with the olive-branches in the boot and
+the family of doves inside, Martin Chuzzlewit and Tom Pinch were left
+together. Now, there was something in the very simplicity of Pinch that
+invited confidences, and young Martin could not refrain from telling his
+story.
+
+"I must talk openly to somebody," he began, "I'll talk openly to you.
+You must know, then, that I have been bred up from childhood with great
+expectations, and have always been taught to believe that one day I
+should be very rich. Certain things, however, have led to my being
+disinherited."
+
+"By your father?" inquired Tom.
+
+"By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. Now, my
+grandfather has a great many good points, but he has two very great
+faults, which are the staple of his bad side. He has the most confirmed
+obstinacy of character, and he is most abominably selfish; I have heard
+that these are failings of our family, and I have to be very thankful
+that they haven't descended to me. Now I come to the cream of my story,
+and the occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch. I am in love
+with one of the most beautiful girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is
+wholly and entirely dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and
+if he were to know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home
+and everything she possesses in the world. My grandfather, although I had
+conducted myself from the first with the utmost circumspection, is full
+of jealousy and mistrust, and suspected me of loving her. He said
+nothing to her, but attacked me in private, and charged me with
+designing to corrupt the fidelity to himself--observe his selfishness--
+of a young creature who was his only disinterested and faithful
+companion. The upshot of it was that I was to renounce her or be
+renounced by him. Of course, I was not going to yield to him, and here I
+am!"
+
+Mr. Pinch, after staring at the fire, said, "Pecksniff, of course, you
+knew before?"
+
+"Only by name. My grandfather kept not only himself, but me, aloof from
+all his relations. But our separation took place in a town in the
+neighbouring county. I saw Pecksniff's advertisement in the paper when I
+was at Salisbury, and answered it, having always had some natural taste
+in the matters to which it referred. I was doubly bent on coming to him
+if possible, on account of his being--"
+
+"Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rubbing his hands.
+
+"Why, not so much on that account," returned Martin, "as because my
+grandfather has an inveterate dislike to him, and after the old man's
+arbitrary treatment of me, I had a natural desire to run as directly
+counter to all his opinions as I could."
+
+
+_II.--Mr. Pecksniff Discharges His Duty_
+
+
+Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters took up their lodging in London at Mrs.
+Todgers's Commercial Boarding House, and it was at that favoured abode
+that old Martin Chuzzlewit, whose grandson had just entered Mr.
+Pecksniff's house, sought him out.
+
+"I very much regret," said old Martin, "that you and I held such a
+conversation as we did when we met awhile since. The intentions that I
+bear towards you now are of another kind. Deserted by all in whom I have
+ever trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who should help and sustain
+me, I fly to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my ally; to attach
+yourself to me by ties of interest and expectations. I regret having
+been severed from you so long."
+
+Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in
+rapture.
+
+"I fear you don't know what an old man's humours are," resumed old
+Martin. "You don't know what it is to be required to court his likings
+and dislikings; to do his bidding, be it what it may. You have a new
+inmate in your house. He must quit it."
+
+"For--for yours?" asked Mr. Pecksniff.
+
+"For any shelter he can find. He has deceived you."
+
+"I hope not," said Mr. Pecksniff eagerly, "I trust not. I have been
+extremely well disposed towards that young man. Deceit--deceit, my dear
+Mr. Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of
+deceit, to renounce him instantly."
+
+"Of course, you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?"
+
+"Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation, my dear
+sir?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Don't tell me that. For the honour of human
+nature say you're not about to tell me that!"
+
+"I thought he had suppressed it."
+
+The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure was
+only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What, had
+they taken to their hearth and home a secretely contracted serpent?
+Horrible!
+
+Old Martin then went on to inquire when they would be returning home;
+and, after relieving Mr. Pecksniff's unexpressed anxiety by mentioning
+that Mary Graham, the young lady whom the old man had adopted, would
+receive nothing at his death, announced that they might expect to see
+him before long.
+
+With a hasty farewell, the old man left the house, followed to the door
+by Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters. A few days later the Pecksniffs set
+out for home.
+
+Tom Pinch and Martin were both out in the lane to meet the coach, but
+Mr. Pecksniff pointedly ignored Martin's presence, even when the house
+had been reached; and it was not till Martin sharply demanded an
+explanation that he addressed him.
+
+"You have deceived me," said Mr. Pecksniff. "You have imposed upon a
+nature which you knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. This lowly roof,
+sir, must not be contaminated by the presence of one who has, further,
+deceived--and cruelly deceived--an honourable and venerable gentleman,
+and who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my
+protection. I weep for your depravity. I mourn over your corruption, but
+I cannot have a leper and a serpent for an inmate! Go forth," said Mr.
+Pecksniff, stretching out his hand, "go forth, young man! Like all who
+know you, I renounce you!"
+
+Martin made a stride forward at these words, and Mr. Pecksniff stepped
+back so hastily that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and
+fell in a sitting posture on the ground, where he remained, perhaps
+considering it the safest place.
+
+"Look at him, Pinch," said Martin, "as he lies there--a cloth for dirty
+hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning, servile hound! And, mark
+me, Pinch, the day will come when even you will find him out!"
+
+He pointed at him as he spoke with unutterable contempt, and flinging
+his hat upon his head, walked from the house. He went on so rapidly that
+he was clear of the village before Tom Pinch overtook him.
+
+"Are you going?" cried Tom.
+
+"Yes," he answered sternly, "I am."
+
+"Where?" asked Tom.
+
+"I don't know. Yes, I do--to America."
+
+
+_III.--New Eden_
+
+
+Martin did not go to America alone, for Mark Tapley, formerly of the
+Blue Dragon, an inn in the village where Mr. Pecksniff resided, insisted
+on accompanying him.
+
+"Now, sir, here am I, without a sitiwation," Mr. Tapley put it, "without
+any want of wages for a year to come--for I saved up (I didn't mean to
+do it, but I couldn't help it) at the Dragon; here am I with a liking
+for what's wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out
+strong under circumstances as would keep other men down--and will you
+take me, or will you leave me?"
+
+Once landed in the United States, the question of what to do arose, and
+Martin decided to invest his savings in buying land in the rising
+township of New Eden.
+
+"Mark, you shall be a partner in the business," said Martin (Mark having
+invested £37 to Martin's £8); "an equal partner with myself. We are no
+longer master and servant. I will put in, as my additional capital, my
+professional knowledge, and half the annual profits, as long as it is
+carried on, shall be yours. Our business shall be commenced, as soon as
+we get to New Eden, under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley."
+
+"Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, "don't have my name in it! I must be
+'Co.,' I must."
+
+"You shall have your own way, Mark."
+
+"Thank 'ee sir! If any country gentleman thereabouts in the public way
+wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I could take that part of
+the bis'ness, sir."
+
+It was a long steamboat journey, but at last they stopped at Eden. The
+waters of the Deluge might have left it but a week ago, so choked with
+slime and matted growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.
+
+A man advanced towards them when they landed, walking slowly, leaning on
+a stick.
+
+"Strangers!" he exclaimed.
+
+"The very same," said Mark. "How are you, sir?"
+
+"I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. "I haven't stood
+upright these many weeks. My eldest son has a chill upon him. My
+youngest died last week."
+
+"I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart!" said Mark. "The goods
+is safe enough," he added, turning to Martin, and pointing to their
+boxes. "There ain't many people about to make away with 'em. What a
+comfort that is!"
+
+"No," cried the man; "we've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away.
+Them that we have here don't come out at night."
+
+"The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?" said Mark.
+
+"It's deadly poison," was the answer.
+
+Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him as
+ambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explained
+the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his
+own log-house, he said.
+
+It was a miserable cabin, rudely constructed of the trunks of trees, the
+door of which had either fallen down or been carried away. When they had
+brought up their chest, Martin gave way, and lay down on the ground, and
+wept aloud.
+
+"Lord love you, sir," cried Mr. Tapley. "Don't do that. Anything but
+that! It never helped man, woman, or child over the lowest fence yet,
+sir, and it never will."
+
+Mark stole out gently in the morning while his companion slept, and took
+a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of cabins
+in the whole, and half of these appeared untenanted. Their own land was
+mere forest. He went down to the landing-place, where they had left
+their goods, and there he found some half a dozen men, wan and forlorn,
+who helped him to carry them to the log-house.
+
+Martin was by this time stirring, but he had greatly changed, even in
+one night. He was very pale and languid, and spoke of pains and
+weakness.
+
+"Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. "Why, you must be ill. Wait half
+a minute, till I run up to one of our neighbours and find out what's
+best to be took."
+
+Martin was soon dangerously ill, very near his death. Mark, fatigued in
+mind and body, working all the day and sitting up at night, worn by hard
+living, surrounded by dismal and discouraging circumstances, never
+complained or yielded in the least degree. And then, when Martin was
+better, Mark was taken ill. He fought against it; but the malady fought
+harder, and his efforts were vain.
+
+"Floored for the present, sir," he said one morning, sinking back upon
+his bed, "but jolly."
+
+And now it was Martin's turn to work and sit beside the bed and watch,
+and listen through the long, long nights to every sound in the gloomy
+wilderness.
+
+Martin's reflections in those days slowly showed him his own
+selfishness, and when Mark Tapley recovered, he found a singular
+alteration in his companion.
+
+"I don't know what to make of him," he thought one night. "He don't
+think of himself half as much as he did. It's a swindle. There'll be no
+credit in being jolly with _him_!"
+
+The settlement was deserted. The only thing to be done was to return to
+England.
+
+
+_IV.--The Downfall of Pecksniff_
+
+
+Old Martin Chuzzlewit had for some time taken up his residence at Mr.
+Pecksniff's, and Martin and Mark Tapley went to the Blue Dragon on their
+return.
+
+Martin at once sought out his grandfather, and marched into the house
+resolved on reconciliation. The old man listened to his appeal in
+silence; but Mr. Pecksniff spoke for him, and bade the young man begone.
+
+But old Martin was awake to Pecksniff's character, and resolved to set
+Mr. Pecksniff right, and Mr. Pecksniff's victims, too.
+
+Mark Tapley was the first person old Martin invited to see him. The old
+man had gone to London, and his grandson, Mary Graham, and Tom Pinch
+were all summoned to wait on him at a certain hour.
+
+From Mark, old Martin learnt that his grandson was an altered man.
+
+"There was always a deal of good in him," said Mr. Tapley, "but a little
+of it got crusted over somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that
+'ere paste, but--well, I think it may have been you, sir."
+
+"So you think," said Martin, "that his old faults are in some degree of
+my creation?"
+
+"Well, sir, I'm very sorry, but I can't unsay it. I don't believe that
+neither of you ever gave the other a fair chance."
+
+Presently came a knock at the door, and young Martin entered. The old
+man pointed to a distant chair. Then came Tom Pinch and his sister,
+Ruth; and Mary Graham; and Mrs. Lupin, the landlady of the Blue Dragon;
+and John Westlock, an old friend of Tom Pinch's.
+
+"Set the door open, Mark!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit.
+
+The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all knew
+it. It was Mr. Pecksniff's; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry, too, for
+he came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he stumbled once
+or twice.
+
+"Where is my venerable friend?" he cried upon the upper landing. And
+then, darting in and catching sight of old Martin, "My venerable friend
+is well?"
+
+Mr. Pecksniff looked round upon the assembled group, and shook his head
+reproachfully.
+
+"Oh, vermin!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Oh bloodsuckers! Horde of unnatural
+plunderers and robbers! Leave him! Leave him, I say! Begone! Abscond!
+You had better be off! Wander over the face of the earth, young sirs,
+and do not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the grey
+hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have the
+honour to act as an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff."
+
+He advanced, with outstretched arms, to take the old man's hand; but he
+had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its
+grasp. As he came smiling on, and got within his reach, old Martin,
+burning with indignation, rose up and struck him to the ground.
+
+"Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!" said Martin. And Mr. Tapley
+actually did drag him away, and struck him upon the floor with his back
+against the opposite wall.
+
+"Hear me, rascal!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. "I have summoned you here to
+witness your own work. Come hither, my dear Martin! Why did we ever
+part? How could we ever part? How could you fly from me to him? The
+fault was mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so, and I have known
+it long. Mary, my love, come here."
+
+She trembled, and was very pale; but he sat her in his own chair, and
+stood beside it holding her hand, Martin standing by him.
+
+"The curse of our house," said the old man, looking kindly down upon
+her, "has been the love of self--has ever been the love of self." He
+drew one hand through Martin's arm, and standing so, between them,
+proceeded, "What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can
+hold it."
+
+Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist--well,
+well!
+
+But it was good in him that even then, in high fortune and happiness, he
+had still a hand left to stretch out to Tom Pinch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Nicholas Nickleby
+
+
+      Writing in 1848, Charles Dickens declared that when "Nicholas
+     Nickleby" was begun in 1838 "there were then a good many-cheap
+     Yorkshire schools in existence. There are very few now." In
+     the preface to the completed book the author mentioned that
+     more than one Yorkshire schoolmaster laid claim to be the
+     original of Squeers, and he had reason to believe "one worthy
+     has actually consulted authorities learned in the law as to
+     his having good grounds on which to rest an action for libel."
+     But Squeers, as Dickens insisted, was the representative of a
+     class, and not an individual. The Brothers Cheeryble were "no
+     creations of the author's brain" Dickens also wrote; and in
+     consequence of this statement "hundreds upon hundreds of
+     letters from all sorts of people" poured in upon him to be
+     forwarded "to the originals of the Brothers Cheeryble." They
+     were the Brothers Grant, cotton-spinners, near Manchester.
+     "Nicholas Nickleby" was completed in October, 1839.
+
+
+_I.--A Yorkshire Schoolmaster_
+
+
+Mr. Nickleby, a country gentleman of small estate, having endeavoured to
+increase his scanty fortune by speculation, found himself ruined; he
+took to his bed (apparently resolved to keep that, at all events), and,
+after embracing his wife and children, very soon departed this life. So
+Mrs. Nickleby went to London to wait upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph
+Nickleby, and with her two children, Nicholas, then nineteen, and Kate,
+a year or two younger, took lodgings in the Strand.
+
+It was to these apartments that Ralph Nickleby, a hard, unscrupulous,
+cunning money-lender, came on receipt of the widow's note.
+
+"Are you willing to work, sir?" said Ralph, frowning at his nephew.
+
+"Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily.
+
+"Then see here," said his uncle. "This caught my eyes this morning, and
+you may thank your stars for it."
+
+With that Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his pocket and read
+the following advertisement.
+
+"_Education_.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers' Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at the
+delightful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, youths are boarded,
+clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, instructed in all
+languages living or dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry,
+trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if
+required), writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of
+classic literature. Terms, twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no
+vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends
+daily from one till four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B.--An able
+assistant wanted. Annual salary, £5, A Master of Arts would be
+preferred."
+
+"There!" said Ralph, folding the paper again. "Let him get that
+situation and his fortune's made. If he don't like that, let him get one
+for himself."
+
+"I am ready to do anything you wish me," said Nicholas, starting gaily
+up. "Let us try our fortune with Mr. Squeers at once; he can but
+refuse."
+
+"He won't do that," said Ralph. "He will be glad to have you on my
+recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be a
+partner in the establishment in no time."
+
+Nicholas, having taken down the address of Mr. Wackford Squeers, the
+uncle and nephew at once went forth in quest of that accomplished
+gentleman.
+
+"Perhaps you recollect me?" said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
+schoolmaster, as the Saracen's Head.
+
+"You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town
+for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a
+boy who, unfortunately----"
+
+"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
+sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
+assistant. Do you really want one?"
+
+"Certainly," answered Squeers.
+
+"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
+the man you want."
+
+"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
+youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."
+
+"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
+being a Master of Arts?"
+
+"The absence of the college degree _is_ an objection." replied Squeers,
+considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
+nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.
+
+"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
+apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
+Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
+assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.
+
+"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
+coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
+with us."
+
+"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
+to do but keep yourself warm."
+
+
+_II.--At Dotheboys Hall_
+
+
+"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
+arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the
+pump's froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be
+content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the
+well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys."
+
+Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
+the school-room.
+
+"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
+our shop."
+
+It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
+copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
+desks and forms.
+
+But the pupils!
+
+Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
+and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
+bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
+horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
+been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
+yet, painful as the scene was, it had its grotesque features.
+
+Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
+nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of
+brimstone and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in
+succession, using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.
+
+"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
+the operation was over.
+
+A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
+desk, and called up the first class.
+
+"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
+said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
+the first boy?"
+
+"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."
+
+"So he is, to be sure," replied Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode
+of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean,
+verb active, to make bright. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When
+the boy knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the
+second boy?"
+
+"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."
+
+"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
+bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned
+that bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's
+our system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"
+
+"A beast, sir," replied the boy.
+
+"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
+for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
+perfect in that, go and look after _my_ horse, and rub him down well, or
+I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till
+somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and
+they want the coppers filled."
+
+The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
+lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
+see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and
+know that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.
+
+In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
+Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
+slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.
+
+It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.
+
+Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
+displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a
+proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that "she'd
+bring his pride down"), and the petty indignities this lady could
+inflict upon him. He bore with the bad food, dirty lodging, and daily
+round of squalid misery in the school.
+
+But there came a day when Smike, unable to face his tormentors any
+longer, ran away. He was taken within four-and-twenty hours, and brought
+back, bedabbled with mud and rain, haggard and worn--to all appearance
+more dead than alive.
+
+The work this unhappy drudge performed would have cost the establishment
+some ten or twelve shillings a week in the way of wages, and Squeers,
+who, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of all runaways from
+Dotheboys Hall, prepared to take full vengeance on Smike.
+
+At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby
+started up from his desk, and cried "Stop!" in a furious voice.
+
+"Touch that boy at your peril. I will not stand by and see it done."
+
+He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
+spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.
+
+All Nicholas's feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were
+concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon
+the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the
+throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.
+
+Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her
+partner's coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary.
+With the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining
+strength into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from
+him with all the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated
+over an adjacent form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his
+descent, lay at full length on the ground, stunned and motionless.
+
+Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the
+room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched
+boldly out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.
+
+
+_III.--Brighter Days for Nicholas_
+
+
+After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned
+all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry
+office in London. And as he stood there looking at the various placards
+in the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted
+blue coat, happened to stop too.
+
+Nicholas caught the old gentleman's eye, and began to wonder whether the
+stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.
+
+As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to
+speak, and good-naturedly stood still.
+
+"I was only going to say," said Nicholas, "that I hoped you had some
+object in consulting those advertisements in the window."
+
+"Ay, ay; what object now?" returned the old gentleman. "Did you think I
+wanted a situation now, eh? I thought the same of you, at first, upon my
+word I did."
+
+"If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
+from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. "The kindness of your face and
+manner--both so unlike any I have ever seen--tempt me to speak in a way
+I should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of
+London."
+
+"Wilderness! Yes, it is; it is. It was a wilderness to me once. I came
+here barefoot--I have never forgotten it. What's the matter, how did it
+all come about?" said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of
+Nicholas, and walking him up the street. "In mourning, too, eh?" laying
+his finger on the sleeve of his black coat.
+
+"My father," replied Nicholas.
+
+"Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps?"
+
+Nicholas nodded.
+
+"Brothers and sisters, too, eh?"
+
+"One sister."
+
+"Poor thing, poor thing! You're a scholar too, I dare say. Education's a
+great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very
+fine thing. Tell me more of your history, all of it. No impertinent
+curiosity--no, no!"
+
+There was something so earnest and guileless in the way this was said
+that Nicholas could not resist it. So he told his story, and, at the
+end, the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they
+emerged in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into
+some business premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers,"
+on the doorpost, and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk
+in the counting-house.
+
+"Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.
+
+"Yes, he is, sir," said the clerk.
+
+What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor took him into a
+room and presented him to another old gentleman, the very type and model
+of himself--the same face and figure, the same clothes. Nobody could
+have doubted their being twin brothers.
+
+"Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, "here is a young friend of mine
+that we must assist." Then brother Charles related what Nicholas had
+told him. And, after that, and some conversation between the brothers,
+Tim Linkinwater was called in, and brother Ned whispered a few words in
+his ear.
+
+"Tim," said brother Charles, "you understand that we have an intention
+of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house."
+
+Brother Ned remarked that Tim quite approved of it, and Tim, having
+nodded, said, with resolution, "But I'm not coming an hour later in the
+morning, you know. I'm not going to the country either. It's forty-four
+years since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I've opened
+the safe all that time every morning at nine, and I've never slept out
+of the back attic one single night. This ain't the first time you've
+talked about superannuating me, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles; but, if you
+please, we'll make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore."
+
+With which words Tim Linkinwater stalked out, with the air of a man who
+was thoroughly resolved not to be put down.
+
+The brothers coughed.
+
+"He must be done something with, brother Ned. We must, disregard his
+scruples; he must be made a partner."
+
+"Quite right, quite right, brother Charles. If he won't listen to
+reason, we must do it against his will. But, in the meantime, we are
+keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be
+anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present." And at
+that the brothers hurried Nicholas out of the office, shaking hands with
+him all the way.
+
+That was the beginning of brighter days for Nicholas and for Mrs.
+Nickleby and Kate. The brothers Cheeryble not only took Nicholas into
+their office, but a small cottage at Bow, then quite out in the country,
+was found for the widow and her children.
+
+There never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first
+week at that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new
+had been found. One day it was a grape-vine, and another day it was a
+boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlour cupboard at
+the bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items.
+
+As for Nicholas's work in the counting-house, Tim Linkinwater was
+satisfied with the young man the very first day.
+
+Tim turned pale and stood watching with breathless anxiety when Nicholas
+made his first entry in the books of Cheeryble Brothers, while the two
+brothers looked on with smiling faces.
+
+Presently the old clerk nodded his head, signifying "He'll do." But when
+Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, Tim Linkinwater, unable to
+restrain his satisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and
+caught him rapturously by the hand.
+
+"He has done it!" said Tim, looking round triumphantly at his employers.
+"His capital 'B's' and 'D's' are exactly like mine; he dots his small
+'i's' and crosses every 't.' There ain't such a young man in all London.
+The City can't produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it!"
+
+
+_IV.--The Brothers Cheeryble_
+
+
+In course of time the brothers Cheeryble, in their frequent visits to
+the cottage at Bow, often took with them their nephew Frank; and it also
+happened that Miss Madeline Bray, a ward of the brothers, was taken to
+the cottage to recover from a serious illness.
+
+Nicholas, from the first time he had seen Madeline in the office of
+Cheeryble Brothers, had fallen in love with her; but he decided that as
+an honourable man no word of love must pass his lips. While Kate
+Nickleby had been equally firm in declining to listen to any proposal
+from Frank.
+
+It was some time after Madeline had left the cottage, and Nicholas and
+Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own regrets, and
+to live for each other and for their mother, when there came one
+evening, per Mr. Linkinwater, an invitation from the brothers to dinner
+on the next day but one.
+
+"You may depend on it that this means something besides dinner," said
+Mrs. Nickleby solemnly.
+
+When the great day arrived who should be there at the house of the
+brothers but Frank and Madeline.
+
+"Young men," said brother Charles, "shake hands."
+
+"I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas.
+
+"Nor I," rejoined Frank, and the two young men clasped hands heartily.
+
+The old gentleman took them aside.
+
+"I wish to see you friends--close and firm friends. Frank, look here!
+Mrs. Nickleby, will you come on the other side? This is a copy of the
+will of Madeline's grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of £12,000. Now,
+Frank, you were largely instrumental in recovering this document. The
+fortune is but a small one, but we love Madeline. Will you become a
+suitor for her hand?"
+
+"No, sir. I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument,
+believing that her hand was already pledged elsewhere. In this, it
+seems, I judged hastily."
+
+"As you always do, sir!" cried brother Charles. "How dare you think,
+Frank, that we could have you marry for money? How dare you go and make
+love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without telling us first, and letting us
+speak for you. Mr. Nickleby, sir, Frank judged hastily, but he judged,
+for once, correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied--give me your hand--it
+is occupied by you and worthily. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby, as we,
+her dearest friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would
+have _him_ choose. He should have your sister's little hand, sir, if she
+had refused it a score of times--ay, he should, and he shall! What? You
+are the children of a worthy gentleman. The time was, sir, when my
+brother Ned and I were two poor, simple-hearted boys, wandering almost
+barefoot to seek bur fortunes. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, what a happy day this
+is for you and me! If our poor mother had only lived to see us now, Ned,
+how proud it would have made her dear heart at last!"
+
+So Madeline gave her heart and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day,
+and at the same time, Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. Madeline's money
+was invested in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Nicholas had
+become a partner, and before many years elapsed the business was carried
+on in the names of "Cheeryble and Nickleby."
+
+Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreating and brow-beating, to
+accept a share in the house; but he could never be prevailed upon to
+suffer the publication of his name as partner, and always persisted in
+the punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties.
+
+The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were happy?
+
+The first act of Nicholas, when he became a rich and prosperous
+merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and there
+came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was altered and
+enlarged; but no tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any
+association of bygone times was ever removed or changed. Mr. Squeers,
+having come within the meshes of the law over some nefarious scheme of
+Ralph Nickleby's, suffered transportation beyond the seas, and with his
+disappearance Dotheboys Hall was broken up for good.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Oliver Twist
+
+
+      "The Adventures of Oliver Twist," published serially in
+     "Bentley's Miscellany," 1837-39, and in book form in 1838, was
+     the second of Dickens's novels. It lacks the exuberance of
+     "Pickwick," and is more limited in its scenes and characters
+     than any other novel he wrote, excepting "Hard Times" and
+     "Great Expectations." But the description of the workhouse,
+     its inmates and governors, is done in Dickens's best style,
+     and was a frontal attack on the Poor Law administration of the
+     time. Bumble, indeed, has passed into common use as the
+     typical workhouse official of the least satisfactory sort. No
+     less powerful than the picture of Oliver's wretched childhood
+     is the description of the thieves' kitchen, presided over by
+     Fagin. Bill Sikes and the Artful Dodger are household words
+     for criminals, and the character of Fagin is drawn with
+     wonderful skill in this terrible view of the underworld of
+     London.
+
+
+_I.--The Parish Boy_
+
+
+Oliver was born in the workhouse, and his mother died the same night.
+Not even a promised reward of £10 could produce any information as to
+the boy's father or the mother's name. The woman was young, frail, and
+delicate--a stranger to the parish.
+
+"How comes he to have any name at all, then?" said Mrs. Mann (who was
+responsible for the early bringing up of the workhouse children) to Mr.
+Bumble, the parish beadle.
+
+The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I invented it.
+We name our foundings in alphabetical order. The last was a S; Swubble I
+named him. This was a T; Twist I named _him_. I have got names ready
+made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when
+we come to Z."
+
+"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann.
+
+Oliver, being now nine years old, was removed from the tender mercies of
+Mrs. Mann, in whose wretched home not one kind word or look had ever
+lighted the gloom of his infant years, and was taken into the workhouse.
+
+Now the members of the board, who were long-headed men, had just
+established the rule that all poor people should have the alternative
+(for they would compel nobody, not they) of being starved by a gradual
+process in the house, or by a quick one out of it. All relief was
+inseparable from the workhouse, and the thin gruel issued three times a
+day to its inmates.
+
+The system was in full operation for the first six months after Oliver
+Twist's admission, and boys having generally excellent appetites, Oliver
+Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation. Each
+boy had one porringer of gruel, and no more. At last the boys got so
+voracious and wild with hunger, that one, who was tall for his age and
+hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small
+cook's shop), hinted darkly to his companions that unless he had another
+basin of gruel _per diem_ he was afraid he might some night happen to
+eat the boy who slept next him, a weakly youth of tender age. He had a
+wild, hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council was held,
+lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper that
+evening and ask for more, and it fell to Oliver Twist.
+
+The evening arrived, the boys took their places. The master, in his
+cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper to ladle out the gruel;
+his pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him, the gruel was served
+out, and a long grace was said over the short commons.
+
+The gruel disappeared, the boys whispered to each other, and winked at
+Oliver, while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was
+desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table,
+and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat
+alarmed at his own temerity, "Please, sir, I want some more."
+
+The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in
+stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then
+said, "What!"
+
+"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."
+
+The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in
+his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
+
+The board were sitting in solemn conclave when Mr. Bumble rushed into
+the room in great excitement, and addressing a gentleman in a high
+chair, said, "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has
+asked for more!"
+
+There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.
+
+"For _more_?" said the chairman. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer
+me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had
+eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"
+
+"He did, sir," replied Bumble.
+
+"That boy will be hung," said a gentleman in a white waistcoat. "I know
+that boy will be hung."
+
+Nobody disputed the opinion. Oliver was ordered into instant
+confinement, and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
+workhouse gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would
+take Oliver Twist off their hands. In other words, five pounds and
+Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice
+to any trade, business, or calling.
+
+Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep, was the first to respond to this offer.
+
+"It's a nasty trade," said the chairman of the board.
+
+"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now," said another
+member.
+
+"That's because they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley
+to make 'em come down again," said Gamfield. "That's all smoke, and no
+blaze; vereas smoke only sinds him to sleep, and that ain't no use in
+making a boy come down. Boys is wery obstinite and wery lazy, gen'l'men,
+and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down with a
+run. It's humane, too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the
+chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate
+theirselves."
+
+The board consented to hand over Oliver to the chimney-sweep (the
+premium being reduced to £3 10s.), but the magistrates declined to
+sanction the indentures, and it was Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, who
+finally relieved the board of their responsibility.
+
+Mrs. Sowerberry's ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight. He left the
+house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across
+fields, and gained the high road outside the town. A milestone intimated
+that it was seventy miles to London. In London he would be beyond the
+reach of Mr. Bumble; to London he would trudge.
+
+
+_II.--The Artful Dodger_
+
+
+It was on the seventh morning after he had left his native place that
+Oliver limped slowly into the town of Barnet. Tired and hungry he sat
+down on a doorstep, and presently was roused by the question "Hallo, my
+covey, what's the row?"
+
+The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer was about his
+own age, but one of the queerest-looking boys that Oliver had ever seen.
+He was short for his age, and dirty, and he had about him all the airs
+and manners of a man. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his
+heels, and he had turned the cuffs back half-way up his arm to get his
+hands out of the sleeves. Altogether he was as roystering and swaggering
+a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six in his bluchers.
+
+"You want grub," said this strange boy, helping Oliver to rise; "and you
+shall have it. I'm at low-watermark myself, only one bob and a magpie;
+but as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump."
+
+"Going to London?" said the strange boy, while they sat and finished a
+meal in a small public-house.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Got any lodgings?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Money?"
+
+"No."
+
+The strange boy whistled.
+
+"I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you? Well,
+I've got to be in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman
+as lives there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for
+the change--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you."
+
+This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, and on
+the way to London, where they arrived at nightfall, Oliver learnt that
+his friend's name was Jack Dawkins, but that he was known among his
+intimates as "The Artful Dodger."
+
+In Field Lane, in the slums of Saffron Hill, the Dodger pushed open the
+door of a house, and drew Oliver within.
+
+"Now, then," cried a voice, in reply to his whistle.
+
+"Plummy and slam," said the Dodger.
+
+This seemed to be a watchword, for a man at once appeared with a candle.
+
+"There's two on you," said the man. "Who's the t'other one, and where
+does he come from?"
+
+"A new pal from Greenland," replied Jack Dawkins. "Is Fagin upstairs?"
+
+"Yes, he's sortin the wipes. Up with you."
+
+The room that Oliver was taken into was black with age and dirt. Several
+rough beds, made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor.
+Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the
+Dodger, smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of
+middle-aged men. An old shrivelled Jew, of repulsive face, was standing
+over the fire, dividing his attention between a frying-pan and a
+clothes-horse full of silk handkerchiefs.
+
+The Dodger whispered a few words to the Jew, and then said aloud, "This
+is him, Fagin, my friend Oliver Twist."
+
+The Jew grinned. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very."
+
+A good supper Oliver had that night, and a heavy sleep, and a hearty
+breakfast next morning.
+
+When the breakfast was cleared away, Fagin, who was quite a merry old
+gentleman, and the Dodger and another boy named Charley Bates, played at
+a very curious game. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one
+pocket of his trousers, a note-book in the other, and a watch in his
+waistcoat, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, and
+spectacle-case and handkerchief in his coat-pocket, trotted up and down
+the room in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about
+the streets; while the Dodger and Charley Bates had to get all these
+things out of his pockets without being observed. It was so very funny
+that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face.
+
+A few days later, and he understood the full meaning of the game.
+
+The Dodger and Charley Bates had taken Oliver out for a walk, and after
+sauntering along, they suddenly pulled up short on Clerkenwell Green, at
+the sight of an old gentleman reading at a bookstall. So intent was he
+over his book that he might have been sitting in an easy chair in his
+study.
+
+To Oliver's horror, the Dodger plunged his hand into the gentleman's
+pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and handed it to Bates. Then both boys
+ran away round the corner at full speed. Oliver, frightened at what he
+had seen, ran off, too; the old gentleman, at the same moment missing
+his handkerchief, and seeing Oliver scudding off, concluded he was the
+thief, and gave chase, still holding his book in his hand.
+
+The cry of "Stop thief!" was raised. Oliver was knocked down, captured,
+and taken to the police-station by a constable.
+
+The magistrate was still sitting, and Oliver would have been convicted
+there and then but for the arrival of the bookseller.
+
+"Stop, stop! Don't take him away! I saw it all! I keep the bookstall,"
+cried the man. "I saw three boys, two others, and the prisoner here. The
+robbery was committed by another boy. I saw that this one was amazed by
+it."
+
+Oliver was acquitted. But he had fainted. Mr. Brownlow, for that was the
+name of the old gentleman, shocked and moved at the boy's deathly
+whiteness, straightway carried the boy off in a cab to his own house in
+a quiet, shady street near Pentonville.
+
+
+_III.--Back in Fagin's Den_
+
+
+For many days Oliver remained insensible to the goodness of his new
+friends. But all that careful nursing could do was done, and he slowly
+and surely recovered. Mr. Brownlow, a kind-hearted old bachelor, took
+the greatest interest in his _protégé_, and Oliver implored him not to
+turn him out of doors to wander in the streets.
+
+"My dear child," said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver's
+appeal, "you need not be afraid of my deserting you. I have been
+deceived before in people I have endeavored to benefit, but I feel
+strongly disposed to trust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested
+in your behalf than I can well account for. Let me hear your story;
+speak the truth to me, and you shall not be friendless while I am
+alive."
+
+A certain unmistakable likeness in Oliver to a lady's portrait that was
+on the wall of the room struck Mr. Brownlow. What connection could there
+be between the original of the portrait, and this poor child?
+
+But before Mr. Brownlow had heard Oliver's story he had lost the boy.
+For Fagin, horribly uneasy lest Oliver should be the means of betraying
+his late companions, resolved to get him back as quickly as possible. To
+accomplish his evil purpose, Nancy, a young woman who belonged to
+Fagin's gang, and who had seen Oliver, was prevailed upon to undertake
+the commission.
+
+Now, the very evening before Oliver was to tell his story to Mr.
+Brownlow, the boy, anxious to prove his honesty, had set out with some
+books on an errand to the bookseller at Clerkenwell Green.
+
+"You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, "that you have brought these books
+back, and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This
+is a five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten shillings
+change."
+
+"I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied Oliver eagerly.
+
+He was walking briskly along, thinking how happy and contented he ought
+to feel, when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud,
+"Oh, my dear brother!" He had hardly looked up when he was stopped by
+having a pair of arms thrown tight round his neck.
+
+"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me. Who is it? What are
+you stopping me for?"
+
+The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the
+young woman who had embraced him.
+
+"I've found him! Oh, Oliver, Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy to make me
+suffer such distress on your account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've
+found him! Thank gracious goodness heavens, I've found him!"
+
+The young woman burst out crying, and a couple of women standing by
+asked what was the matter.
+
+"Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, "he ran away from his parents, and
+went and joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke
+his mother's heart."
+
+"Young wretch!" said one woman.
+
+"Go home, do, you little brute," said the other.
+
+"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't know her. I haven't
+any sister or father or mother. I'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville."
+
+"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out," cried the young woman. "Make
+him come home, or he'll kill his dear mother and father, and break my
+heart!"
+
+"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a
+white dog at his heels. "Young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother,
+you young dog!"
+
+"I don't belong to them. I don't know them! Help, help!" cried Oliver,
+struggling in the man's powerful grasp.
+
+"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes, I'll help you, you young rascal! What
+books are these? You've been a-stealin' 'em, have you? Give 'em here!"
+
+With these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him
+on the head.
+
+Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of
+the attack, terrified by the brutality of the man--who was none other
+than Bill Sikes, the roughest of all Fagin's pupils--what could one poor
+child do? Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; resistance
+was useless. Sikes and Nancy hurried the boy on between them through
+courts and alleys till, once more, he was within the dreadful house
+where the Dodger had first brought him. Long after the gas-lamps were
+lighted, Mr. Brownlow sat waiting in his parlour. The servant had run up
+the street twenty times to see if there were any traces of Oliver. The
+housekeeper had waited anxiously at the open door. But no Oliver
+returned.
+
+
+_IV.--Oliver Falls among Friends_
+
+
+Mr. Bill Sikes having an important house-breaking engagement with his
+fellow-robber, Mr. Toby Crackit, at Shepperton, decided that Oliver must
+accompany him.
+
+It was a detached house, and the night was dark as pitch when Sikes and
+Crackit, dragging Oliver along, climbed the wall and approached a
+narrow, shuttered window. In vain Oliver implored them to let him go.
+
+"Listen, you young limb," whispered Sikes, when a crowbar had overcome
+the shutter, and the lattice had been opened. "I'm going to put you
+through there." Drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, he added, "Take
+this light; go softly up the steps straight afore you, and along the
+hall to the street door; unfasten it, and let us in."
+
+The boy was put through the window, and Sikes, pointing to the door with
+his pistol, told him if he faltered he would shoot him.
+
+Hardly had Oliver advanced a few yards before Sikes called out, "Back!
+back!"
+
+Startled, the boy dropped the lantern, uncertain whether to advance or
+fly.
+
+The cry was repeated--a light appeared--a vision of two terrified,
+half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes--a
+flash--a loud noise--and he staggered back.
+
+Sikes got him out of the window before the smoke cleared away, and fired
+his pistol after the men, who were already in retreat.
+
+"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes. "Give me a shawl here. They've hit
+him. Quick! The boy is bleeding."
+
+Then came the loud ringing of a bell, and the shouts of men, and the
+sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then
+the noises grew confused in the distance, and Oliver saw and heard no
+more.
+
+Sikes, finding the chase too hot, was compelled to leave Oliver in a
+ditch and make his escape with his friend Crackit.
+
+It was morning when Oliver awoke. His left arm was rudely bandaged in a
+shawl, and the bandage was saturated with blood. Weak and dizzy, he yet
+felt that if he remained where he was he would surely die, and so he
+staggered to his feet. The only house in sight was the one he had
+entered a few hours earlier, and he bent his steps towards it. He pushed
+against the garden-gate--it was unlocked. He tottered across the lawn,
+climbed the steps, knocked faintly at the door, and, his whole strength
+failing him, sank down against the little portico.
+
+Mr. Giles, the butler and general steward of the house, who had fired
+the shot and led the pursuit, was just explaining the exciting events of
+the night to his fellow-servants of the kitchen when Oliver's knock was
+heard. With considerable reluctance the door was opened, and then the
+group, peeping timorously over each other's shoulders, beheld no more
+formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and
+exhausted.
+
+"Here he is!" bawled Giles. "Here's one of the, thieves, ma'am! Wounded,
+miss! I shot him!"
+
+They lugged the fainting boy into the hall, and then in the midst of all
+the noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet and gentle voice, which
+quelled it in an instant.
+
+"Giles!" whispered the voice from the stairhead. "Hush! You frighten my
+aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?"
+
+"Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles.
+
+After a hasty consultation with her aunt, the same gentle speaker bade
+them carry the wounded person upstairs, and send to Chertsey at all
+speed for a constable and a doctor. The latter arrived when the young
+lady and her aunt, Mrs. Maylie, were at breakfast, and his visit to the
+sick-room changed the state of affairs. On his return he begged Mrs.
+Maylie and her niece to accompany him upstairs.
+
+In lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they had expected to see,
+there lay a mere child, sunk in a deep sleep.
+
+The ladies could not believe this delicate boy was a criminal, and when,
+on waking up, he told them his simple history, they were determined to
+prevent his arrest.
+
+The doctor undertook to save the boy, and to that end entered the
+kitchen where Mr. Giles, Brittles, his assistant, and the constable were
+regaling themselves with ale.
+
+"How is the patient, sir?" asked Giles.
+
+"So-so," returned the doctor. "I'm afraid you've got yourself into a
+scrape there, Mr. Giles. Are you a Protestant? And what are _you_?"
+turning sharply on Brittles.
+
+"Yes, sir; I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, turning very pale, for the
+doctor spoke with strange severity.
+
+"I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir," said Brittles, starting violently.
+
+"Then tell me this, both of you," said the doctor. "Are you going to
+take upon yourselves to swear that that boy upstairs is the boy that was
+put through the little window last night? Come, out with it! Pay
+attention to the reply, constable. Here's a house broken into, and a
+couple of men catch a moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of
+gunpowder-smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness.
+Here's a boy comes to that very same house next morning, and because he
+happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him,
+place his life in danger, and swear he is the thief. I ask you again,"
+thundered the doctor, "are you, on your solemn oaths, able to identify
+that boy?"
+
+Of course, under these circumstances, as Mr. Giles and Brittles couldn't
+identify the boy, the constable retired, and the attempted robbery was
+followed by no arrests.
+
+Oliver Twist grew up in the peaceful and happy home of Mrs. Maylie,
+under the tender affection of two good women. Later on, Mr. Brownlow was
+found, and Oliver's character restored. It was proved, too, that the
+portrait Mr. Brownlow possessed was that of Oliver's mother, whom its
+owner had once esteemed dearly. Betrayed by fate, the unhappy woman had
+sought refuge in the workhouse, only to die in giving birth to her son.
+
+In that same workhouse, where his authority had formerly been so
+considerable, Mr. Bumble came--as a pauper--to die.
+
+Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting
+against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage
+housebreaker murdered her.
+
+But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.
+
+For the Jew was taken and condemned to death, and in the condemned cell
+came the recollection to him of all the men he had known who had died
+upon the scaffold, some of them through his means.
+
+Sikes, when the news of Nancy's murder got abroad, was hunted by a
+furious crowd. He had taken refuge in an old, disreputable uninhabited
+house, known to his accomplices, which stood right over the Thames, in
+Jacob's Island, not far from Dockhead; but the pursuit was hot, and the
+only chance of safety lay in getting to the river.
+
+At the very moment when the crowd was forcing its way into the house,
+Sikes made a running noose to slip beneath his arm-pits, and so lower
+himself to a ditch beneath. He was out on the roof, and then, when the
+loop was over his head, the face of the murdered girl seemed to stare at
+him.
+
+"The eyes again!" he cried, in an unearthly screech, and threw up his
+arms in horror.
+
+Staggering, as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled
+over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight,
+tight as a bowstring. He fell for five-and-thirty feet, and then, after
+a sudden jerk, and a terrible convulsion of the limbs, swung lifeless
+against the wall.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Old Curiosity Shop
+
+
+      "The Old Curiosity Shop" was begun by Dickens in his new
+     weekly publication called "Master Humphrey's Clock," in 1840,
+     and its early chapters were written in the first person. But
+     its author soon got rid of the impediments that pertained to
+     "Master Humphrey," and "when the story was finished," Dickens
+     wrote, "I caused the few sheets of 'Master Humphrey's Clock,'
+     which had been printed in connection with it, to be
+     cancelled." "The Old Curiosity Shop" won a host of friends for
+     the author; A.C. Swinburne even declared Little Nell equal to
+     any character in fiction. The lonely figure of the child with
+     grotesque and wild, but not impossible, companions, took the
+     hearts of all readers by storm, and the death of Little Nell
+     moved thousands to tears. While the story was appearing, Tom
+     Hood, then unknown to Dickens, wrote an essay "tenderly
+     appreciative" of Little Nell, "and of all her shadowy kith and
+     kin." The immense and deserved popularity of the book is shown
+     by the universal acquaintance with Mrs. Jarley, and the common
+     use of the phrase "Codlin's the friend--not Short."
+
+
+_I.--Little Nell and Her Grandfather_
+
+
+The shop was one of those receptacles for old and curious things which
+seem to crouch in odd corners of London. There were suits of mail
+standing like ghosts in armour, rusty weapons of various kinds,
+tapestry, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.
+
+The haggard aspect of a little old man, with long grey hair, who stood
+within, was wonderfully suited to the place. Nothing in the whole
+collection looked older or more worn than he.
+
+Confronting the old man was a young man of dissipated appearance, and
+high words were taking place.
+
+"I tell you again I want to see my sister," said the younger man. "You
+can't change the relationship, you know. If you could, you'd have done
+it long ago. But as I may have to wait some time I'll call in a friend
+of mine, with your leave."
+
+At this he brought in a companion of even more dissolute appearance than
+himself.
+
+"There, it's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in.
+
+"But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone.
+"What is the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of
+conviviality, and the wing of friendship never moults a feather! But,
+only one little whisper, Fred--_is_ the old min friendly?"
+
+Mr. Swiveller then leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silence;
+only to break it by observing, "Gentlemen, how does the case stand? Here
+is a jolly old grandfather, and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly
+old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up
+and educated you, Fred; you have bolted a little out of the course, and
+you shall never have another chance.' The wild young grandson makes
+answer, 'You're as rich as can be, why can't you stand a trifle for your
+grown up relation?' Then the plain question is, ain't it a pity this
+state of things should continue, and how much better it would be for the
+old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all
+right and comfortable?"
+
+"Why do you persecute me?" said the old man, turning to his grandson.
+"Why do you bring your profligate companions here? I am poor. You have
+chosen your own path, follow it. Leave Nell and me to toil and work."
+
+"Nell will be a woman soon," returned the other; "She'll forget her
+brother unless he shows himself sometimes."
+
+The door opened, and the child herself appeared, followed by an elderly
+man so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face
+were large enough for the body of a giant.
+
+Mr. Swiveller turned to the dwarf and, stooping down, whispered audibly
+in his ear. "The watchword to the old min is--fork."
+
+"Is what?" demanded Quilp, for that--Daniel Quilp--was the dwarf's name.
+
+"Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slapping his pocket. "You
+are awake, sir?"
+
+The dwarf nodded; the grandson, having announced his intention of
+repeating his visit, left the house accompanied by his friend.
+
+"So much for dear relations," said Quilp, with a sour look. He put his
+hand into his breast, and pulled out a bag. "Here, I brought it myself,
+as, being in gold, it was too large and heavy for Nell to carry. I would
+I knew in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are
+a deep man, and keep your secret close."
+
+"My secret!" said the old man, with a haggard look. "Yes, you're
+right--I keep it close--very close."
+
+He said no more, but, taking the money, locked it in an iron safe.
+
+That night, as on many a night previous, Nell's grandfather went out,
+leaving the child in the strange house alone, to return in the early
+morning.
+
+Quilp, to whom the old man had again applied for money, learnt of these
+nocturnal expeditions, and sent no answer, but came in person to the old
+curiosity shop.
+
+The old man was feverish and excited as he impatiently addressed the
+dwarf.
+
+"Have you brought me any money?"
+
+"No," returned Quilp.
+
+"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands, "the child and I are
+lost. No recompense for the time and money lost!"
+
+"Neighbour," said Quilp, "you have no secret from me now. I know that
+all those sums of money you have had from me have found their way to the
+gamingtable."
+
+"I never played for gain of mine, or love of play," cried the old man
+fiercely. "My winnings would have been bestowed to the last farthing on
+a young sinless child, whose life they would have sweetened and made
+happy. But I never won."
+
+"Dear me!" said Quilp. "The last advance was £70, and it went in one
+night. And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you could
+scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the stock and property."
+
+So saying, he nodded, deaf to all entreaties for further loans, and took
+his leave.
+
+The house was no longer theirs. Mr. Quilp encamped on the premises, and
+the goods were sold. A day was fixed for their removal.
+
+"Grandfather, let us begone from this place," said little Nell; "let us
+wander barefoot through the world, rather than linger here."
+
+"We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the
+fields and woods, and by the side of rivers and trust ourselves to God.
+Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to
+forget this time, as if it had never been."
+
+
+_II.--Messrs. Codlin and Short_
+
+
+The sun was setting when little Nell and her grandfather, who had been
+wandering many days, reached the wicket gate of a country churchyard.
+
+Two men were seated in easy attitudes on the grass by the church--two
+men of the class of itinerant showmen, exhibitors of the freaks of
+Punch--and they had come there to make needful repairs in the stage
+arrangements, for one was engaged in binding together a small gallows
+with thread, while the other was fixing a new black wig upon the head of
+a puppet.
+
+"Are you going to show 'em to-night? Are you?" said the old man.
+
+"That's the intention, governor, and unless I'm much mistaken, my
+partner, Tommy Codlin, is a-calculating at this minute what we've lost
+through your coming upon us. Cheer up, Tommy, it can't be much."
+
+To this Mr. Codlin replied in a surly, grumbling manner, "I don't care
+if we haven't lost a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front
+of the curtain, and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human
+natur' better."
+
+"Ah! it's been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your taking to that branch,"
+rejoined his companion. "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama
+in the fairs, you believed in everything--except ghosts. But now you're
+a universal mistruster."
+
+"Never mind," said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a discontented
+philosopher; "I know better now; p'r'aps I'm sorry for it. Look here,
+here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again."
+
+The child, seeing they were at a loss for a needle and thread, timidly
+proposed to mend it for them, and even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge
+against a proposal so reasonable.
+
+"If you're wanting a place to stop at," said Short, "I should advise you
+to take up at the same house with us. That's it, the long, low, white
+house there. It's very cheap."
+
+The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady, who made
+no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty,
+and were at once prepossessed in her behalf.
+
+"We're going on to the races," said Short next morning to the
+travellers. "If that's your way, and you'd like to have us for company,
+let us go together. If you prefer going alone, only say the word, and we
+shan't trouble you."
+
+"We'll go with you," said the old man. "Nell--with them, with them."
+
+They stopped that night at an ancient roadside inn called the Jolly
+Sandboys, and supper being in preparation, Nelly and her grandfather had
+not long taken their seats by the kitchen fire before they fell asleep.
+
+"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.
+
+"No-good, I suppose," said Mr. Codlin.
+
+"They're no harm," said Short, "depend upon that. It's very plain,
+besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell me that
+handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about as she's done
+these last two or three days. I know better. The old man ain't in his
+right mind. Haven't you noticed how anxious he is always to get
+on--furder away--furder away? Mind what I say, he has given his friends
+the slip, and persuaded this delicate young creatur all along of her
+fondness for him to be his guide--where to, he knows no more than the
+man in the moon. I'm not a-going to stand that!"
+
+"You're not a-going to stand that!" cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the
+clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.
+
+"I," repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, "am not a-going to stand
+it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad
+hands. Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from
+us, I shall take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to
+their friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up
+on every wall in London by this time."
+
+"Short," said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, "it's possible
+there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there should be
+a reward, Short, remember that we're partners in everything!"
+
+Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled
+by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.
+
+"Nothing's the matter, my dear; only I'm your friend. Perhaps you
+haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him. I'm the
+real, open-hearted man. Short's very well, and seems kind, but he
+overdoes it. Now, I don't."
+
+The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.
+
+"Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you
+can. Recollect the friend. Codlin's the friend, not Short. Short's very
+well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin--not Short."
+
+
+_III.--Jarley's Waxwork_
+
+
+Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the
+child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr.
+Thomas Codlin. The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and
+once more the travellers were alone.
+
+It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they
+came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside. It was a smart little
+house upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a
+Christian lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum
+covered with a white napkin.
+
+"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child
+walking slowly by. "Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes!
+And very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low,
+practical, wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at."
+
+"I was not there by choice," returned the child. "We don't know our way,
+and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do
+you know them, ma'am?"
+
+"Know 'em, child! Know _them_! But you're young and inexperienced. Do I
+look as if I knowed 'em? Does the caravan look as if _it_ knowed 'em?"
+
+"No, ma'am, no. I beg your pardon."
+
+It was granted immediately. And then the lady of the caravan, finding
+the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter
+and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the
+caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.
+
+As the caravan moved slowly along, its owner began to talk to Nell, and
+presently pulled out a large roll of canvas. "There child," she said,
+"read that!"
+
+Nell read aloud the inscription, "Jarley's Waxwork."
+
+"That's me," said the lady complacently.
+
+"I never saw any waxwork, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than Punch?"
+
+"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all.
+It's calm and--what's that word again--critical? No--classical, that's
+it--it's calm and classical."
+
+In the course of the journey Mrs. Jarley was so taken with the child
+that she proposed to engage her, and as Nell would not be separated from
+her grandfather, he was included in the agreement.
+
+"What I want your granddaughter for," said Mrs. Jarley, "is to point 'em
+out to the company, for she has a way with her that people wouldn't
+think unpleasant. It's not a common offer, bear in mind; it's Jarley's
+Waxwork. The duty's very light and genteel, the exhibition takes place
+in assembly rooms or town halls. There is none of your open-air wagrancy
+at Jarley's, remember. And the price of admission is only sixpence."
+
+"We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Nell, speaking for her
+grandfather, "and thankfully accept your offer."
+
+"And you'll never be sorry for it," returned Mrs. Jarley. "So, as that's
+all settled, let us have a bit of supper."
+
+The next morning, the caravan having arrived at the town, and the
+waxworks having been unpacked in the town hall, Mrs. Jarley sat down in
+an armchair in the centre of the room, and began to instruct Nell in her
+duty.
+
+"That," said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, "is an unfortunate maid
+of honour in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her
+finger in consequence of working on a Sunday. Observe the blood which is
+trickling from her finger, also the gold-eyed needle of the period, with
+which she is at work."
+
+Nell found in the lady of the caravan a kind and considerate person, who
+had not only a peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, but for
+making everybody about her comfortable also.
+
+But the child noticed that her grandfather grew more and more listless
+and vacant, and soon a greater sorrow was to come. The passion for
+gambling revived in the old man one evening, when he and Nell, out
+walking in the country, took passing shelter from a storm in a small
+public-house. He saw men playing cards, and, allowed to join them, lost.
+The next night he went off alone, and Nell, finding him gone, followed.
+Her grandfather was with the card-players near an encampment of gypsies,
+and, to her horror, he promised to bring more money.
+
+Flight was now the only thing possible, before her grandfather should
+steal. How else could he get the money?
+
+
+_IV.--Beyond the Pale_
+
+
+Flight by water! For two days they travelled on a barge, Nell sitting
+with her grandfather in the boat. Rugged and noisy fellows were the
+bargemen, and quite brutal among themselves, though civil enough to
+their passengers. The barge floated into the wharf to which it belonged,
+and now came flight by land through a strange, unfriendly town. The
+travellers were penniless, and at nightfall took refuge in a deep
+doorway.
+
+A man, miserably clad and begrimed with smoke, found them here, and,
+learning they were homeless, promised them shelter by the fire of a
+great furnace.
+
+A dark and blackened region was this they were in. On every side tall
+chimneys poured out their plague of smoke, and at night the smoke was
+changed to fire, and chimneys spurted flame. Struggling vegetation
+sickened and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace. The
+people--men, women, and children--wan in their looks and ragged in their
+attire, tended the engines, or scowled, half naked, from the doorless
+houses.
+
+That night Nell and her grandfather lay down with nothing between them
+and the sky. A penny loaf was all they had had that day, and very weak
+and spent the child felt.
+
+With morning she was weaker still, and a loathing of food prevented her
+sharing the loaf bought with their last penny. Still she dragged her
+weary feet on, and only at the very end of the town fell senseless to
+the ground.
+
+Once in their earlier wanderings they had made friends with a village
+schoolmaster, and now, when all hope seemed gone, it was this
+schoolmaster who brought the travellers into a peaceful haven. For it
+was he who passed along when little Nell fell fainting to the ground,
+and it was he who carried her into a small inn hard by. A day's rest
+brought some recovery to the child, and in the evening she was able to
+sit up.
+
+"I have made my fortune since I saw you last," said the schoolmaster. "I
+have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village a long way from
+here at five-and-thirty pounds a year."
+
+Then the schoolmaster insisted they must come with him, and make the
+journey by waggons, and that when they reached the village some
+occupation should be found by which they could subsist.
+
+They agreed to go, and when the village was reached the efforts of the
+good schoolmaster procured a post for Nell. Someone was wanted to keep
+the keys of the church and show it to strangers, and the old clergyman
+yielded to the schoolmaster's petition.
+
+"But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you,
+my child," said the old clergyman, laying his hand upon her head and
+smiling sadly, "I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights
+than have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches."
+
+It was very peaceful in the old church, and the village children soon
+grew to love little Nell. At last Nell and her grandfather were beyond
+the need of flight.
+
+But the child's strength was failing, and in the winter came her death.
+Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. The traces of her early
+cares, her sufferings, and fatigues were gone. She had died with her
+arms round her grandfather's neck and "God bless you!" on her lips.
+
+The old man never realised that she was dead. "She is asleep," he said.
+"She will come to-morrow."
+
+And thenceforth every day, and all day long he waited at her grave. And
+people would hear him whisper, "Lord, let her come to-morrow."
+
+The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the
+usual hour, and they went to seek him, and found him lying dead upon the
+stone.
+
+They laid by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and in the
+church where they had often lingered hand in hand the child and the old
+man slept together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Our Mutual Friend
+
+
+      "Our Mutual Friend" was the last long complete novel Dickens
+     wrote, and, like all his books, it first appeared in monthly
+     parts. It was so published in 1864-65. After three numbers had
+     appeared, the author wrote: "I have grown hard to satisfy, and
+     write very slowly. Although I have not been wanting in
+     industry, I have been wanting in imagination." In his
+     "Postscript in Lieu of Preface," the author points out--in
+     answer to those who had disputed the probability of Harmon's
+     will--"that there are hundreds of will cases far more
+     remarkable than that fancied in this book." In this same
+     postscript Dickens also renewed his attack on Poor Law
+     administration, begun in "Oliver Twist." Though "Our Mutual
+     Friend" is not one of the greatest or most famous of Dickens's
+     works, for it is somewhat loosely constructed as a story, and
+     shows signs of laboured composition, it abounds in scenes of
+     real Dickensian character, and is not without touches of the
+     genius which had made its author the foremost novelist of his
+     time, and one of the greatest writers of all ages.
+
+
+_I.--The Man from Somewhere_
+
+
+It was at a dinner-party that Mortimer Lightwood, solicitor, at the
+request of Lady Tippins, told the story of the Man from Somewhere.
+
+"Upon my life," says Mortimer languidly, "I can't fix him with a local
+habitation; but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me,
+where they make the wine.
+
+"The man," Mortimer goes on, "whose name is Harmon, was the only son of
+a tremendous old rascal, who made his money by dust, as a dust
+contractor. This venerable parent, displeased with his son, turns him
+out of doors. The boy takes flight, gets aboard ship, turns up on dry
+land among the Cape wine; small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you
+like to call it. Venerable parent dies. His will is found. It leaves the
+lowest of a range of dust mountains, with a dwelling-house, to an old
+servant, who is sole executor. And that's all, except that the son's
+inheritance is made conditional on his marrying a girl, at the date of
+the will a child four or five years old, who is now a marriageable young
+woman. Advertisement and inquiry discovered the son in the Man from
+Somewhere, and he is now on his way home, after fourteen years' absence,
+to succeed to a very large fortune, and to take a wife."
+
+Mortimer, being asked what would become of the fortune in the event of
+the marriage condition not being fulfilled, replies that by a clause in
+the will it would then go to the old servant above-mentioned, passing
+over and excluding the son; also, that if the son had not been living,
+the same old servant would have been sole residuary legatee.
+
+It is just when the ladies are retiring that Mortimer receives a note
+from the butler.
+
+"This really arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner," says
+Mortimer, after reading the paper presented to him. "This is the
+conclusion of the story of the identical man. Man's drowned!"
+
+The dinner being over, Mortimer Lightwood and his friend Eugene Wrayburn
+interviewed the boy who had brought the note, and then set out in a cab
+to the riverside quarter of Wapping.
+
+The cab dismissed, a little winding through some muddy alleys brings
+then to the bright lamp of a police-station, where they find the
+night-inspector. He takes a bull's-eye, and Mortimer and Eugene follow
+him to a cool grot at the end of the yard. They quickly come out again.
+
+"No clue, gentlemen," says the inspector, "as to how the body came into
+river. Very often no clue. Steward of ship, in which gentleman came home
+passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity. Likewise
+could swear to clothes. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict."
+
+A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn
+attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.
+
+"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"
+
+"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."
+
+"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't
+have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who
+was it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down
+your name and address?"
+
+The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford,
+Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."
+
+At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the
+proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr.
+Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to
+appear.
+
+Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had
+come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act
+there was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of
+one hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time
+public interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.
+
+
+_II.--The Golden Dustman_
+
+
+Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning,
+dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves
+like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg
+sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice
+collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and
+assuredly it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little
+stalls in London.
+
+"Morning, morning!" said the old fellow.
+
+"Good-morning to _you_, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.
+
+The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question,
+"How did you get your wooden leg?"
+
+"In an accident."
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered desperately.
+
+"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"
+
+"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."
+
+"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another
+chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick
+or Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."
+
+"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I
+could wish anyone to call _me_ by, but there may be persons that would
+not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't
+know why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."
+
+"Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, "I came by here one morning and heard you
+reading through your ballads to a butcher-boy. I thought to myself,
+'Here's a literary man _with_ a wooden leg, and all print is open to
+him! And here am I without a wooden leg, and all print is shut to me.'"
+
+"I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print that I
+wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing," Mr. Wegg admitted
+modestly.
+
+"Now I want some reading, and I must pay a man so much an hour to come
+and do it for me. Say two hours a night at twopence-halfpenny. Half-a-
+crown a week. What do you think of the terms, Wegg?"
+
+"Mr. Boffin, I never did 'aggle, and I never will 'aggle. I meet you at
+once, free and fair, with----Done, for double the money!"
+
+From that night Silas Wegg came to read at Boffin's Bower--or Harmony
+Jail, as the house was formerly called--and he soon learnt that his
+employer was no other than the inheritor of old Harmon's property, and
+that he was known as the Golden Dustman.
+
+It was not long after Silas Wegg's appointment that Mr. Boffin was
+accosted by a strange gentleman, who gave his name as John Rokesmith,
+and proposed his services as private secretary. Mr. Rokesmith mentioned
+that he lodged at one Mr. Wilfer's, in Holloway. Mr. Boffin stared.
+
+"Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?"
+
+"My landlord has a daughter named Bella."
+
+"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to say," said Mr.
+Boffin; "but call at the Bower, though I don't know that I shall ever be
+in want of a secretary."
+
+So to the Bower came Mr. John Rokesmith, but not before the Boffins had
+called at the Wilfers' and seen the young lady destined by old Harmon
+for his son's bride.
+
+"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin, "I have been thinking early and late of that
+girl, Bella Wilfer, who was so cruelly disappointed both of her husband
+and his riches. Don't you think we might do something for her? Have her
+to live with us? And, Noddy, I tell you what I want--I want society. We
+have come into a great fortune, and we must act up to it. It's never
+been acted up to, and consequently no good has come of it."
+
+It was agreed that they should move into a good house in a good
+neighbourhood, and that a visit should be paid to Mr. Wilfer at once.
+Mrs. Wilfer received them with a tragic air.
+
+"Mrs. Boffin and me, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, "are plain people, and we
+make this call to say we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure
+of your daughter's acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your
+daughter will come to consider our house in the light of her home
+equally with this."
+
+"I am much obliged to you--I am sure," said Miss Bella, coldly shaking
+her curls, "but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all."
+
+"Bella," Mrs. Wilfer admonished her solemnly, "you must conquer this!"
+
+"Yes, do what your ma says, and conquer it, my dear," urged Mrs. Boffin,
+"because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too
+pretty to keep yourself shut up."
+
+With that Mrs. Boffin gave her a kiss, which Bella frankly returned; and
+it was settled that Bella should be sent for as soon as they were ready
+to receive her.
+
+"By the bye, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, as he was leaving, "you have a
+lodger?"
+
+"A gentleman," Mrs. Wilfer answered, "undoubtedly occupies our first
+floor."
+
+"I may call him our mutual friend," said Mr. Boffin. "What sort of
+fellow _is_ our mutual friend, now? Do you like him?"
+
+"Mr. Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet--a very eligible inmate."
+
+The Boffins drove away, and Mr. Rokesmith, coming to the Bower,
+extricated Mr. Boffin from a mass of disordered papers, and gave such
+satisfaction that his services were accepted, and he took up the
+secretaryship.
+
+
+_II.--The Golden Dustman Deteriorates_
+
+
+Miss Bella Wilfer was conscious that she was growing mercenary. She
+admitted as much to her father. There were several other secrets she had
+to impart beyond her own lack of improvement.
+
+"Mr. Rokesmith has made an offer to me, pa, and I told him I thought it
+a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me. Mrs. Boffin has
+herself told me, with her own kind lips, that they wish to see me well
+married; and that when I marry, with their consent, they will portion me
+most handsomely. That is another secret. And now there is only one more,
+and it is very hard to tell it. But Mr. Boffin is being spoilt by
+prosperity, and is changing for the worse every day. Not to me--he is
+always the same to me--but to others about him. He grows suspicious,
+hard, and unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is
+my benefactor."
+
+Bella parted from her father, and returned to the Boffins, to find fresh
+proofs of the deterioration of the Golden Dustman.
+
+"Now, Rokesmith," Mr. Boffin was saying, "it's time to settle about your
+wages. A man of property like me is bound to consider the market price.
+If I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a
+secretary, I buy _him_ out and out. It's convenient to have you at all
+times ready on the premises."
+
+The secretary bowed and withdrew. Bella's eyes followed him to the door.
+She felt that Mrs. Boffin was uncomfortable.
+
+"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin thoughtfully, "haven't you been a little
+strict with Mr. Rokesmith to-night? Haven't you been just a little not
+quite like your own old self?"
+
+"Why, old woman, I hope so," said Mr. Boffin cheerfully. "Our old selves
+wouldn't do here, old lady. Our old selves would be fit for nothing but
+to be imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new
+selves are. It's a great difference."
+
+Very uncomfortable was Bella that night, and very uneasy was she as the
+days went by, for Mr. Boffin made a point of hunting up old books that
+gave the lives of misers, and the more enjoyment he seemed to get out of
+this literature, the harder he became to the secretary. Somehow, the
+worse Mr. Boffin treated his secretary, the more Bella felt drawn to the
+man whose offer of marriage she had refused. The crisis came one morning
+when the Golden Dustman's bearing towards Rokesmith was even more
+arrogant and offensive than it had been before. Mrs. Boffin was seated
+on a sofa, and Mr. Boffin had Bella on his arm.
+
+"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said gently. "I'm going to see you
+righted."
+
+Then he turned to his secretary.
+
+"Now, sir, look at this young lady. How dare you come out of your
+station to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses? This
+young lady, who was far above _you_. This young lady was looking about
+for money, and you had no money."
+
+Bella hung her head, and Mrs. Boffin broke out crying.
+
+"This Rokesmith is a needy young man," Mr. Boffin went on unmoved. "He
+gets acquainted with my affairs and gets to know that I mean to settle a
+sum of money upon this young lady."
+
+"I indignantly deny it!" said the secretary quietly. "But our connection
+being at an end, it matters little what I say."
+
+"I discharge you," Mr. Boffin retorted. "There's your money."
+
+"Mrs. Boffin," said Rokesmith, "for your unvarying kindness I thank you
+with the warmest gratitude. Miss Wilfer, good-bye."
+
+"Oh, Mr. Rokesmith," said Bella in her tears, "hear one word from me
+before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my
+account. Out of the depths of my heart I beg your pardon."
+
+She gave him her hand, and he put it to his lips and said, "God bless
+you!"
+
+"There was a time when I deserved to be 'righted,' as Mr. Boffin has
+done," Bella went on, "but I hope that I shall never deserve it again."
+
+Once more John Rokesmith put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished
+it, and left the room.
+
+Bella threw her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most
+shamefully abused and driven away, and I am the cause of it. I must go
+home; I am very grateful for all you have done for me, but I can't stay
+here."
+
+"Now, Bella," said Mr. Boffin, "look before you leap. Go away, and you
+can never come back. And you mustn't expect that I'm a-going to settle
+money on you if you leave me like this, because I'm not. Not one brass
+farthing."
+
+"No power on earth could make me take it now," said Bella haughtily.
+
+Then she broke into sobs over saying good-bye to Mrs. Boffin, said a
+last word to Mr. Boffin, and ran upstairs. A few minutes later she went
+out of the house.
+
+"That was well done," said Bella when she was in the street, "and now
+I'll go and see my dear, darling pa in the city."
+
+
+_IV.--The Runaway Marriage_
+
+
+Bella found her way to her father's office in the city. It was after
+hours, and the little man was alone, having tea on a small cottage loaf
+and a pennyworth of milk, for R. Wilfer was but a clerk on a small
+income. He immediately fetched another loaf and another pennyworth of
+milk, and then, before she could tell him she had left the Boffins, who
+should come along but John Rokesmith. And John Rokesmith not only came
+in, but he caught Bella in his arms, and she was content to leave her
+head on his breast as if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting
+place.
+
+"I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rokesmith. "You
+_are_ mine."
+
+"Yes, I am yours if you think me worth taking," Bella responded.
+
+Then Bella's father had to hear what had happened, and said his daughter
+had done well.
+
+"To think," said Wilfer, looking round the office, "that anything of a
+tender nature should come off here is what tickles me."
+
+A few weeks later and Bella and her father went out early one morning
+and took the steamer to Greenwich. And at Greenwich there was John
+Rokesmith, and presently in a church John and Bella were joined together
+in wedlock.
+
+They had been married a year, and lived in a little house at Blackheath.
+John Rokesmith went up to the city every day, and explained that he was
+"in a China house." From time to time he would ask her, "Would you like
+to be rich _now_, my darling?" and got for answer, "Dear John, am I not
+rich?"
+
+But for all that a change came in their affairs. For Mortimer Lightwood,
+who had met Bella at the Boffins', seeing her walking with her husband,
+recognised him as Julius Handford; and as Mr. Inspector had never
+discovered what became of Mr. Julius Handford, he must needs pay Mr.
+Rokesmith a visit. And then it turned out that John Rokesmith was not
+only Julius Handford, but John Harmon himself, much to Mr. Inspector's
+astonishment.
+
+More surprises were to follow, for when John came home next day he told
+Bella that he had left the China house, and was better off.
+
+"We must have our headquarters in London now, my dear, and there's a
+house ready for us."
+
+And the house which John and Bella visited next day was none other than
+the Boffins', and when they arrived, there were Mr. and Mrs. Boffin
+beaming at them. Mrs. Boffin told Bella that John Rokesmith was John
+Harmon, and how, remembering him as a small boy, she had guessed it
+quite early. Then Mrs. Boffin admitted that John, despairing of winning
+Bella's heart, and determined that there should be no question of money
+in the marriage, he was for going away, and that Noddy said he would
+prove that she loved him. "We was all of us in it, my beauty," Mrs.
+Boffin concluded, "and when you was married there was we hid up in the
+church organ by this husband of yours, for he wouldn't let us out with
+it then, as was first meant. But it was Noddy who said that he would
+prove you had a true heart of gold. 'If she was to stand up for you when
+you was slighted,' he said to John, 'and if she was to do that against
+her own interest, how would that do?' 'Do?' says John, 'it would raise
+me to the skies.' 'Then,' says my Noddy, 'get ready for the ascent,
+John, for up you go. Look out for being slighted and oppressed.' And
+then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?"
+
+"It looks as if old Harmon's spirit had found rest at last, and as if
+his money had turned bright again after a long rust in the dark," said
+Mrs. Boffin to her husband that night.
+
+"Yes, old lady."
+
+The mystery of the Harmon murder is yet to be explained. John Harmon,
+going on shore with a fellow passenger, who greatly resembled him, was
+drugged and robbed of his money in a house near the river by this man.
+But the robber, who had taken Harmon's clothes, was himself robbed and
+thrown into the water, and Harmon recovered consciousness and made his
+escape just at the time when the body of his assailant was recovered. In
+this state of strange excitement he turned up at the police station,
+and, unwilling to reveal his identity at the moment, passed himself off
+as Julius Handford.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Pickwick Papers
+
+      Dickens first became known to the public through the famous
+     "Sketches by Boz," which appeared in the "Monthly Magazine" in
+     December, 1833, the complete series being collected and
+     published in volume form three years later. This was followed
+     by the immortal "Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club" in
+     1836, which soon placed Dickens in the front rank of English
+     novelists. Frankly humorous as "Pickwick" is, Dickens, in a
+     preface to a later edition, recorded with satisfaction that
+     "legal reforms had pared the claws of Messrs. Dodson and
+     Fogg," that the laws relating to imprisonment for debt had
+     been altered, and the Fleet Prison pulled down.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Pickwick Engages Sam Weller_
+
+
+Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell Street were of a very neat and
+comfortable description, peculiarly adapted for a man of his genius and
+observation, and importance as General Chairman of the world-famed
+Pickwick Club.
+
+His landlady, Mrs. Bardell, was a comely woman of bustling manners and
+agreeable appearance, with a natural gift for cooking. Cleanliness and
+quiet reigned throughout the house, and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was
+law.
+
+To anyone acquainted with these things and with Mr. Pickwick's admirably
+regulated mind, his conduct on the morning previous to his setting out
+for Eatanswill seemed most mysterious and unaccountable. He paced the
+room, popped his head out of the window, and constantly referred to his
+watch. It was evident to Mrs. Bardell, who was dusting the apartment,
+that something of importance was in contemplation.
+
+"Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick at last, "your little boy is a very
+long time gone."
+
+"Why, it's a good long way to the Borough, sir!" remonstrated Mrs.
+Bardell.
+
+"Very true; so it is. Mrs. Bardell do you think it's a much greater
+expense to keep two people than to keep one?"
+
+"La, Mr. Pickwick!" said Mrs. Bardell, colouring, as she fancied she
+observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger.
+"La, Mr. Pickwick, what a question!"
+
+"Well, but _do_ you?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, "a good deal upon the person, you
+know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it's a saving and careful person, sir."
+
+"That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick; "but the person I have in my eye
+(here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these
+qualities. To tell you the truth, I have made up my mind. You'll think
+it very strange now that I never consulted you about this matter till I
+sent your little boy out this morning, eh?"
+
+Mrs. Bardell had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, and now she
+thought he was going to propose. A deliberate plan, too--sent her little
+boy to the Borough to get him out of the way! How thoughtful! How
+considerate!
+
+"It'll save you a good deal of trouble, won't it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
+"And when I am in town you'll always have somebody to sit with you." Mr.
+Pickwick smiled placidly.
+
+"I'm sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. Bardell,
+trembling with agitation. "Oh, you kind, good, playful dear!" And,
+without more ado, she flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck.
+
+"Bless my soul!" cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick. "Mrs. Bardell, my
+good woman! Dear me, what a situation! Pray consider if anybody should
+come!"
+
+"Oh, let them come!" exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically. "I'll never
+leave you, dear, kind soul!" And she clung the tighter.
+
+"Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling; "I hear somebody coming
+upstairs! Don't, there's a good creature, don't!" But Mrs. Bardell had
+fainted in his arms, and before he could gain time to deposit her on a
+chair, Master Bardell entered the room, followed by Mr. Pickwick's
+friends Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.
+
+"What is the matter?" said the three Pickwickians.
+
+"I don't know!" replied Mr. Pickwick; while the ever gallant Mr. Tupman
+led Mrs. Bardell, who said she was better, downstairs. "I cannot
+conceive what has been the matter with the woman. I merely told her of
+my intention of keeping a manservant, when she fell into an
+extraordinary paroxysm. Very remarkable thing."
+
+"Very," said his three friends.
+
+"There's a man in the passage now," said Mr. Tupman.
+
+"It's the man I've sent for from the Borough," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have
+the goodness to call him up."
+
+Mr. Samuel Weller forthwith presented himself, having previously
+deposited his old white hat on the landing outside.
+
+"Ta'nt a wery good 'un to look at," said Sam, "but it's an astonishin'
+'un to wear. And afore the brim went it was a wery handsome tile."
+
+"Now, with regard to the matter on which I sent for you," said Mr.
+Pickwick.
+
+"That's the pint, sir; out vith it, as the father said to the child ven
+he swallowed a farden."
+
+"We want to know, in the first place," said Mr. Pickwick, "whether you
+are discontented with your present situation?"
+
+"Afore I answers that 'ere question," replied Mr. Weller, "_I_ should
+like to know whether you're a-goin' to purwide me vith a better."
+
+Mr. Pickwick smiled benevolently as he said: "I have half made up my
+mind to engage you myself."
+
+"Have you though?" said Sam. "Wages?"
+
+"Twelve pounds a year."
+
+"Clothes?"
+
+"Two suits."
+
+"Work?"
+
+"To attend upon me, and travel about with me and these gentlemen here."
+
+"Take the bill down," said Sam emphatically. "I'm let to a single
+gentleman, and the terms is agreed upon. If the clothes fit me half as
+well as the place, they'll do."
+
+
+_II.--Bardell vs. Pickwick_
+
+
+Acting on the advice of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, solicitors, Mrs. Bardell
+brought an action for breach of promise of marriage against Mr.
+Pickwick, and the damages were laid at £1,500. February 14 was the day
+fixed for the memorable trial.
+
+When Mr. Pickwick and his friends reached the court, and the judge--Mr.
+Justice Stareleigh--had taken his place, it was found that only ten of
+the special jury were present, and a greengrocer and a chemist were
+caught from the common jury to make up the number.
+
+"I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, "but I hope this court
+will excuse my attendance. I have no assistant, and I can't afford to
+hire one."
+
+"Then you ought to be able to afford it," said the judge, a most
+particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and
+waistcoat.
+
+"Very well, my lord," replied the chemist, "then there'll be murder
+before this trial's over, that's all. I've left nobody, but an errand-
+boy in my shop, and I know that he thinks Epsom salts means oxalic acid,
+and syrup of senna, laudanum; that's all, my lord."
+
+Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest
+horror when Mrs. Bardell, supported by her friend, Mrs. Cluppins, was
+led into court.
+
+Then Sergeant Buzfuz opened the case for the plaintiff, and when he had
+finished Elizabeth Cluppins was called.
+
+"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you
+recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back room on one particular morning
+last July, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?"
+
+"Yes, my lord and jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.
+
+"What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?" inquired the little
+judge.
+
+"My lord and jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, "I will not deceive you."
+
+"You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.
+
+"I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
+been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red
+kidney pertaties, which was tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's
+street-door on the jar."
+
+"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.
+
+"Partly open, my lord."
+
+"She _said_ on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning look.
+
+"I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin', and went in a
+permiscuous manner upstairs, and into the back room. There was a sound
+of voices in the front room, very loud, and forced themselves upon my
+ear."
+
+Mrs. Cluppins then related the conversation we have already heard
+between Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell.
+
+The next witness was Mr. Winkle, and after him came Mr. Tupman, and Mr.
+Snodgrass, all of whom appeared on subpoena by the plaintiff's lawyers.
+
+Sergeant Buzfuz then rose and said, with considerable importance, "Call
+Samuel Weller."
+
+It was quite unnecessary to call him, for Samuel Weller stepped briskly
+into the box the instant his name was pronounced.
+
+"What's your name, sir?" inquired the judge.
+
+"Sam Weller, my lord."
+
+"Do you spell it with a 'V or a 'W?" inquired the judge.
+
+"That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord," replied
+Sam, "but I spells it with a 'V.'"
+
+Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, "Quite right, too, Samuel;
+quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we."
+
+"Who is that that dares to address the court?" said the little judge,
+looking up.
+
+"I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," replied Sam.
+
+"Do you see him here now?" said the judge.
+
+"No, I don't my lord," replied Sam, staring right up in the roof of the
+court.
+
+"If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him
+instantly," said the judge.
+
+Sam bowed his acknowledgments.
+
+"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "I believe you are in the
+service of Mr. Pickwick; speak up, if you please."
+
+"I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam. "I am in the service o' that
+'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is."
+
+"Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?" said Sergeant Buzfuz.
+
+"Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him
+three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam.
+
+"You must not tell us what the soldier said," interposed the judge,
+"it's not evidence."
+
+"Wery good, my lord."
+
+"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you recollect anything
+particular happening on the morning when you were first engaged by the
+defendant?"
+
+"Yes, I do, sir. I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin',
+and that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith me in
+those days."
+
+"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of the
+fainting of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant?"
+
+"Certainly not; I was in the passage till they called me up, and then
+the old lady wasn't there."
+
+"Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?"
+
+"Yes, that's just it," replied Sam. "If they was a pair o' patent double
+million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps I might be
+able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door, but bein' only
+eyes, you see, my wision's limited."
+
+"Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night last
+November? I suppose you went to have a little talk about this trial, eh,
+Mr. Weller?" said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly at the jury.
+
+"I went up to pay the rent," said Sam; "but the ladies gets into a wery
+great state of admiration at the honourable conduct o' Mr. Dodson and
+Fogg, and said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken
+up the case on spec., and to have charged nothin' at all for costs,
+unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick."
+
+At this very unexpected reply the spectators tittered, and Mr. Sergeant
+Buzfuz said curtly, "Stand down, sir."
+
+Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant, and
+after that Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up.
+
+At the end of a quarter of an hour the jury brought in a verdict for the
+plaintiff with £750 damages.
+
+In the court-room Mr. Pickwick encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,
+rubbing their hands with satisfaction.
+
+"Not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get out of me, if I
+spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"We shall see about that," said Mr. Fogg grinning.
+
+Outside Mr. Pickwick and his friends made their way to a hackney coach,
+and Sam Weller was just preparing to jump upon the box when his father
+stood before him. The old gentleman shook his head gravely and said in
+warning accents, "I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin'
+bisness. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi?"
+
+"But surely, my dear sir," said Perker to his client the following
+morning, "you don't really mean, seriously now, that you won't pay these
+costs and damages?"
+
+"Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
+renew the bill," observed Mr. Samuel Weller.
+
+
+_III.--In the Fleet Prison_
+
+
+Two months later Mr. Pickwick was arrested for the non-payment of costs
+and damages and taken to the Fleet Prison. And so, for the first time in
+his life, Mr. Pickwick found himself within the walls of a debtor's
+prison.
+
+"Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr. Pickwick of the turnkey,
+and after some discussion it was discovered there was a bed to let.
+
+"It ain't a large 'un, but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,
+sir," said the turnkey.
+
+Mr. Pickwick, accompanied by Sam Weller, followed his guide up a
+staircase and along a gallery; at the end of this was an apartment
+containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.
+
+Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable when he was left
+alone, and he went slowly to bed. He was awakened from his slumbers by
+the noise of his bed-fellows, one of whom, wearing grey cotton
+stockings, was performing a hornpipe; while another, evidently very
+drunk, was warbling as much as he could recollect of a comic song; the
+third, a man with thick, bushy whiskers, was applauding both performers.
+
+"My name is Smangle, sir," said the man with the whiskers to Mr.
+Pickwick.
+
+"Mine is Mivins," said the man in the stockings.
+
+"Well; but come," said Mr. Smangle, after assuring Mr. Pickwick a great
+many times that he entertained a very high respect for the feelings of a
+gentleman, "this is but dry work. Let's rinse our mouths with a drop of
+burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and
+I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and gentleman-like division of
+labour, anyhow."
+
+Mr. Pickwick, unwilling to hazard a quarrel, gladly assented to the
+proposition.
+
+When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object upon
+which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small black
+portmanteau.
+
+He soon learnt that money was in the Fleet just what money was out of
+it; and that if he wished it he could have a room to himself, if he was
+willing to pay for it.
+
+"There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a
+Chancery prisoner," said the turnkey. "It'll stand you in a pound a
+week. Lord! Why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come
+down handsome?"
+
+The matter was soon arranged, and in a short time the room was
+furnished.
+
+"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when his servant had done his best to make the
+apartment comfortable, and was now inspecting the arrangements, "I have
+felt from the first that this is not the place to bring a young man to."
+
+"Nor an old 'un neither, sir."
+
+"You're quite right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But old men may come here
+through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion. Do you understand me,
+Sam?"
+
+"Vell, sir," rejoined Sam, after a pause, "I think I see your drift, and
+it's my 'pinion that you're a-comin' it a great deal too strong, as the
+mail-coachman said to the snowstorm ven it overtook him."
+
+"For the time that I remain here," said Mr. Pickwick, "you must leave
+me, Sam."
+
+"Now, I tell you vot it is," said Mr. Weller, in a grave and solemn
+voice. "This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't let's hear no
+more about it."
+
+"I am serious, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"You air, air you, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller. "Wery good, sir. Then so
+am I."
+
+With that Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great precision and
+left the room. Having found his father, Sam explained to the elder Mr.
+Weller that Mr. Pickwick must not be left alone in the Fleet.
+
+"Vy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy!" exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller.
+"Stop there by himself, poor creetur, without nobody to take his part!
+It can't be done, Samivel, it can't be done!"
+
+"O' course it can't," asserted Sam. "Well, then, I tell you wot it is.
+I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-twenty pound. P'raps you may
+ask for it five minits artervards, p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut
+up rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and
+sendin' him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?"
+
+The elder Mr. Weller, having grasped the idea, laughed till he was
+purple.
+
+In the course of the day Sam was duly arrested at the suit of his
+father, and Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's
+custody, passed at once into the prison, and went straight to his
+master's room.
+
+"I'm a pris'ner, sir," said Sam. "I was arrested this here wery
+arternoon for debt, and the man as put me in 'ull never let me out till
+you go yourself."
+
+"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall be
+a pris'ner, and I'm very glad on it. He's a malicious, bad-disposed,
+vorldly-minded, windictive creetur wot's put me in, with a hard heart as
+there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman remarked of the old
+gen'l'm'n with a dropsy, ven he said that upon the whole he thought he'd
+rather leave his property to his vife than build a chapel with it."
+
+In vain Mr. Pickwick remonstrated.
+
+"I takes my determination on principle, sir," remarked Sam, "and you
+takes yours on the same ground; vich puts me in mind o' the man as
+killed hisself on principle."
+
+
+_IV.--Mr. Pickwick Leaves the Fleet_
+
+
+Those enterprising lawyers, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having obtained no
+money from Mr. Pickwick, proceeded in July to arrest Mrs. Bardell, who,
+as a matter of form, had given them a _cognovit_ for the amount of their
+costs.
+
+Mr. Pickwick was taking his evening walk in the grounds of the Fleet
+when Mrs. Bardell was brought in, and Sam Weller, seeing the lady, took
+off his hat in mock reverence. Mr. Pickwick turned indignantly away.
+
+"Don't bother the woman," said the turnkey to Weller; "she's just come
+in."
+
+"A pris'ner!" said Sam. "Who's the plaintives? What for? Speak up, old
+feller!"
+
+"Dodson and Fogg," replied the man.
+
+"Here, Job, Job!" shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, and calling for
+a man who went errands for the prisoners. "Run to Mr. Perker's, Job; I
+want him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game! Hooray!"
+
+Mr. Perker was in Mr. Pickwick's room betimes next morning.
+
+"Well, now, my dear sir," said Perker, "the first question I have to ask
+is whether this woman is to remain here? It rests solely and wholly and
+entirely with you."
+
+"With me!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"Nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, to which
+no man, and still more no woman, should ever be consigned if I had my
+will," resumed Mr. Perker. "I have seen the woman this morning. By
+paying the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the
+damages; and, further, a voluntary statement, under her hand, that this
+business was from the very first fomented and encouraged by these men,
+Dodson and Fogg. She entreats me to intercede with you, and implores
+your pardon."
+
+Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, there was a low murmuring of voices
+outside, and a hesitating knock at the door; and Mr. Winkle, Mr. Tupman,
+and Mr. Snodgrass entering most opportunely, at last, by their united
+pleadings, Mr. Pickwick was fairly argued out of his resolutions. At
+three o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little
+room, and made his way as well as he could through the throng of debtors
+who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached
+the lodge steps. He turned here to look about him, and his eye
+brightened as he did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he
+saw not one which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity.
+
+As for Sam Weller, having dispatched Job Trotter to procure his formal
+discharge, his next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready
+money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which
+he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake
+of it. This done, he hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he
+lost his voice, and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and
+philosophical condition, and followed his master out of the prison.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Tale of Two Cities
+
+
+      The French Revolution has been the subject of more books than
+     any secular event that ever occurred, and two books by English
+     writers have brought the passion, the cruelty, and the horror
+     of it for all time within the shuddering comprehension of
+     English-speaking people. One is a history that is more than a
+     history; the other a tale that is more than a tale. Dickens,
+     no doubt, owed much of his inspiration to Carlyle's tremendous
+     prose epic. But the genius that depicted a moving and tragic
+     story upon the red background of the Terror was Dickens's own,
+     and the "Tale of Two Cities" was final proof that its author
+     could handle a great theme in a manner that was worthy of its
+     greatness. The work was one of the novelist's later
+     writings--it was published in 1859--and is in many respects
+     distinct from all his others. It stands by itself among
+     Dickens's masterpieces, in sombre and splendid loneliness--a
+     detached glory to its author, and to his country's literature.
+
+
+
+_I.--Recalled to Life_
+
+
+A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken in the street. All the
+people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to
+run to the spot and drink the wine. Some kneeled down, made scoops of
+their two hands joined, and tried to sip before the wine had all run out
+between their fingers. Others dipped in the puddles with little mugs of
+mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads. A
+shrill sound of laughter resounded in the street while this wine game
+lasted.
+
+The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street
+in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had
+stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many
+wooden shoes. One tall joker so besmirched scrawled upon a wall, with
+his finger dipped in muddy wine lees, "Blood!"
+
+And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam
+had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--
+cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want were the lords in waiting on
+the saintly presence. The children had ancient faces and grave voices;
+and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow
+of age, and coming up afresh, was the sign--Hunger.
+
+The master of the wine-shop outside of which the cask had been broken
+turned back to his shop when the struggle for the wine was ended.
+Monsieur Defarge was a dark, bull-necked man, good-humoured-looking on
+the whole, but implacable-looking, too. Three men who had been drinking
+at the counter paid for their wine, and left. An elderly gentleman, who
+had been sitting in a corner with a young lady, advanced, introduced
+himself as Mr. Jarvis Lorry, of Tellson's Bank, London, and begged the
+favour of a word.
+
+The conference was very short, but very decided. It had not lasted a
+minute, when Monsieur Defarge nodded and went out, followed by Mr. Lorry
+and the young lady.
+
+He led them through a stinking little black courtyard, and up a
+staircase to a dim garret, where a white-haired man sat on a low bench,
+stooping and very busy, making shoes.
+
+"You are still hard at work, I see," said Monsieur Defarge.
+
+A pair of haggard eyes looked at the questioner, and a very faint voice
+replied, "Yes, I am working."
+
+"Here is a visitor. Show him that shoe and tell him the maker's name."
+
+There was a long pause, and the shoemaker asked, "What did you say?"
+
+Defarge repeated his words.
+
+"It is a lady's shoe," answered the shoemaker.
+
+"And the maker's name?"
+
+"One Hundred and Five, North Tower."
+
+"Dr. Manette," said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him, "do you
+remember nothing of me? Do you remember nothing of Defarge--your old
+servant?"
+
+As the Bastille captive of many years gazed at them, marks of
+intelligence forced themselves through the mist that had fallen on him.
+They were fainter; they were gone, but they had been there. The young
+lady moved forward, with tears streaming from her eyes, and kissed him.
+He took up her golden hair, and looked at it; then drew from his breast
+a folded rag, and opened it carefully. It contained a little quantity of
+hair. He took the girl's hair into his hand again.
+
+"It is the same! How can it be? She had a fear of my going that night.
+_Was it you?_" He turned upon her with frightful suddenness. But his
+vigour swiftly died out, and he gloomily shook his head. "No, no, no! It
+can't be!"
+
+She fell on her knees and clasped his neck.
+
+"If you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that was once sweet
+music to your ears, weep for it--weep for it! Thank God!" she cried. "I
+feel his sacred tears upon my face! Leave us here," she said. And, as
+the darkness closed in, they left father and daughter together.
+
+They came back at night. A coach stood outside the courtyard, and the
+lately released prisoner, in scared, blank wonder, began the journey
+that was to end in England and rest.
+
+
+_II.--The Jackal_
+
+
+In the dimly-lighted passages of the Old Bailey, Dr. Manette, his
+daughter, and Mr. Lorry stood by Mr. Charles Darnay--just acquitted on a
+charge of high treason--congratulating him on his escape from death.
+
+It was not difficult to recognise in Dr. Manette, intellectual of face
+and upright in bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. He and his
+daughter had been unwilling witnesses for the prosecution, called to
+give evidence that might be distorted into corroboration of a paid spy's
+falsehoods as to Darnay's dealings with the French king.
+
+Darnay kissed Lucie Manette's hand fervently and gratefully, and warmly
+thanked his counsel, Mr. Stryver. As he watched them go, a person who
+had been leaning against the wall stepped up to him. It was Mr. Carton,
+a barrister, who had sat throughout the trial with his whole attention
+seemingly concentrated upon the ceiling of the court. Everybody had been
+struck with the extraordinary resemblance, cleverly used by the
+defending counsel to confound a witness, between Mr. Carton and Mr.
+Darnay. Mr. Carton was shabbily dressed, and did not appear to be quite
+sober.
+
+"This must be a strange sight to you," said Carton, with a laugh.
+
+"I hardly seem yet," returned Darnay, "to belong to this world again."
+
+"Then why the devil don't you dine?"
+
+He led him to a tavern, where Darnay recruited his strength with a good,
+plain dinner. Carton drank, but ate nothing.
+
+"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you give
+your toast?"
+
+"What toast?"
+
+"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue."
+
+"Miss Manette, then!"
+
+Carton drank the toast, and flung his glass over his shoulder against
+the wall, where it shivered in pieces.
+
+After Darnay had gone, Carton drank and slept till ten o'clock, and then
+walked to the chambers of Mr. Stryver. Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and
+an unscrupulous, and a bold, and was fast shouldering his way to a
+lucrative practice; but it had been noted that he had not the striking
+and necessary faculty of extracting evidence from a heap of statements.
+A remarkable improvement, however, came upon him as to this. Sydney
+Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was his great ally. What the
+two drank together would have floated a king's ship.
+
+Stryver never had a case in hand but what Carton was there, with his
+hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. At last it began to get
+about that, although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an
+amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered service to Stryver in that
+humble capacity. Folding wet towels on his head in a manner hideous to
+behold, the jackal began the "boiling down" of cases, while Stryver
+reclined before the fire. Each had bottles and glasses ready to his
+hand. The work was not done until the clocks were striking three.
+
+Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, Carton threw himself
+down in his clothes on a neglected bed. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It
+rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good
+emotions, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of
+the blight upon him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
+
+
+_III.--The Loadstone Rock_
+
+
+"Dear Dr. Manette," said Charles Darnay, "I love your daughter fondly,
+devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her!"
+
+Dr. Manette turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him or
+raise his eyes.
+
+"Have you spoken to Lucie?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle
+with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark
+doubt and dread.
+
+"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her
+perfect happiness, I will give her to you."
+
+"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be
+returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like
+yourself, a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is
+not my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."
+
+"Stop!"
+
+The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.
+
+"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"
+
+On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her
+work alone, Sydney Carton entered.
+
+"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.
+
+"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."
+
+"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"
+
+"It is too late for that." He covered her eyes with his hand. "Will you
+hear me?" he continued. "Since I have known you, I have been troubled by
+a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again. A dream, all a
+dream, that ends in nothing; but let me carry through the rest of my
+misdirected life the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of
+all the world."
+
+"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "I promise to
+respect your secret."
+
+"God bless you! My last application is this, that you will believe that
+for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. Oh, Miss Manette,
+think now and then that there is a man who would give his life to keep a
+life you love beside you!"
+
+He said "farewell!" and left her.
+
+A wonderful corner for echoes was the quiet street-corner near Soho
+Square, where Dr. Manette lived with his daughter and her husband. But
+Lucie heard in the echoes none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her
+husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm
+and equal. The time came when a little Lucie lay on her bosom. But there
+were other echoes that rumbled menacingly in the distance, with a sound
+as of a great storm in France, with a dreadful sea rising.
+
+It was August of the year 1792. Charles Darnay talked in a low voice
+with Mr. Lorry in Tellson's Bank. The bank had a branch in Paris, and
+the London establishment was the headquarters of the aristocratic
+emigrants who had fled from France.
+
+"And do you really go to Paris to-night?" asked Darnay.
+
+"I do. You can have no conception of the peril in which our books and
+papers over yonder are involved, and the getting them out of harm's way
+is in the power of scarcely anyone but myself."
+
+As Mr. Lorry spoke a letter was laid before him. Darnay saw the
+direction--it was to himself. "To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St.
+Evrémonde." Horrified at the oppression and cruelty of his family
+towards the people, Darnay had left his native country and had never
+used the title that had, some years before, fallen to him by
+inheritance. He had told his secret to Dr. Manette on the wedding
+morning, and to none other.
+
+"I know the man," he said.
+
+"Will you take charge of the letter and deliver it?" asked Mr. Lorry.
+
+"I will."
+
+When alone, Darnay opened the letter. It was from the steward of his
+French estate. The man had been charged with acting for an emigrant
+against the people. It was in vain he had urged that by the marquis's
+instructions he had acted for the people--had remitted all rents and
+imposts. The only response was that he had acted for an emigrant.
+Nothing but the marquis's personal testimony could save him from
+execution.
+
+Could he resist his old servant's appeal? He knew the peril of it, but
+his honour was at stake; he must go. That evening he wrote two letters
+explaining his purpose, one to Lucie, one to the doctor. On the next
+night he went out, pretending he would be back by-and-by. The two
+letters he left with the trusty porter to be delivered before midnight;
+and, with a heavy heart, leaving all that was dear on earth behind him,
+he journeyed on--drawn, like the mariner in the old story, to the
+Loadstone Rock.
+
+
+_IV.--The Track of a Storm_
+
+
+In the buildings of Tellson's Bank in Paris, Mr. Lorry sat by a wood
+fire (it was early September, but the blighted year was prematurely
+cold), and on his honest face there was a deeper shade than the pendant
+lamp could throw--a shade of horror. By him sat Dr. Manette; Lucie and
+her child were in an inner room. They had hastened after Darnay to
+Paris. Dr. Manette knew that as a Bastille prisoner he bore a charmed
+life in revolutionary France, and that if Darnay was in danger he could
+help him. Darnay was indeed in danger. He had been arrested as an
+aristocrat and an enemy of the Republic.
+
+From the streets there came the usual night hum of the city, with now
+and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some
+unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.
+
+A loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the courtyard. Mr.
+Lorry put his hand on the doctor's arm, and they looked out.
+
+A throng of men and women crowded round a grindstone. Turning madly at
+its double handle were two men, whose faces were more horrible and cruel
+than the visages of the wildest savages. The eye could not detect one
+creature in the surrounding group free from the smear of blood.
+Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone were men
+with the stain all over their limbs and bodies; hatchets, knives,
+bayonets, swords, all were red with it.
+
+"They are murdering the prisoners," whispered Mr. Lorry.
+
+Dr. Manette hastened out of the room, and down into the courtyard. There
+was a pause, a murmur, and the sound of his voice. Then Mr. Lorry saw
+him, surrounded by all, hurried out with cries of "Live the Bastille
+prisoner! Help for the Bastille prisoner's kindred in La Force!"
+
+It was long ere he returned. He had presented himself at the prison
+before the self-appointed tribunal that was consigning the prisoners to
+massacre, and had announced himself as a victim of the Bastille. One
+member of the tribunal had identified him; the member was Defarge. He
+had pleaded hard for his son-in-law's life, and had been informed that
+the prisoner must remain in custody; but should, for the doctor's sake,
+be held in safe custody.
+
+For fifteen months Charles Darnay remained in prison. During all that
+time Lucie was never sure but that her husband's head would be struck
+off next day. When at length arraigned as an emigrant whose life was
+forfeit to the Republic, he pleaded that he had come back to save a
+citizen's life. That night he sat by the fire with his family, a free
+man. Lucie at last was at ease.
+
+"What is that?" she cried suddenly.
+
+There was a knock at the door; four armed men in red caps entered the
+room.
+
+"Evrémonde," said the first, "you are again the prisoner of the
+Republic!"
+
+"Why?" he asked, with his wife and child clinging to him.
+
+"You will know to-morrow."
+
+"One word," entreated the doctor, "who has denounced him?"
+
+"The Citizen Defarge, and another."
+
+"What other?"
+
+"Citizen," said the man, with a strange look, "you will be answered
+to-morrow."
+
+
+_V.--Condemned_
+
+
+The news that Darnay had been again arrested was brought to Mr. Lorry
+later in the evening, and the man who brought it was Sydney Carton. He
+had come to Paris, he said, on business; his business was now completed,
+he was about to return, and he had obtained his leave to pass.
+
+"Darnay," he said, "cannot escape condemnation this time."
+
+"I fear not," answered Mr. Lorry.
+
+"I have found," continued Carton, "that the Old Bailey spy who charged
+Darnay with high treason years ago is now in the service of the Republic
+and is a turnkey at the prison of the Conciergerie where Darnay is
+confined. By threatening to denounce him as a spy of Pitt, I have
+secured that I shall gain access to Darnay in the prison if the trial
+should go against him."
+
+"But access to him," said Mr. Lorry, "will not save him."
+
+"I never said it would."
+
+Mr. Lorry looked at him mystified, and once more noted his strange
+resemblance to the man whose fate was to be decided on the morrow.
+
+Carton stood next day in an obscure corner among the crowd when Charles
+Evrémonde, called Darnay, appeared again before the judges.
+
+"Who denounces the accused?" asked the president.
+
+"Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor."
+
+"Good."
+
+"Alexandre Manette, physician."
+
+"President," cried the doctor, pale and trembling, "I indignantly
+protest to you."
+
+"Citizen Manette, be silent! Call Citizen Defarge."
+
+Rapidly Defarge told his story. He had been among the leaders in the
+taking of the Bastille. When the citadel had fallen, he had gone to the
+cell One Hundred and Five, North Tower, and had searched it. In a hole
+in the chimney he had found a paper in the handwriting of Dr. Manette.
+
+"Let it be read," said the president.
+
+In this paper Dr. Manette had written the history of his imprisonment.
+In the year 1757 he had been taken secretly by two nobles to visit two
+poor people who were on the point of death. One was a woman whom one of
+the nobles had forcibly carried off from her husband; the other, her
+brother, whom the seducer had mortally wounded. The doctor had come too
+late; both the woman and her brother died. The doctor refused a fee,
+and, to relieve his mind, wrote privately to the government stating the
+circumstances of the crime. One night he was called out of his home on a
+false pretext, and taken to the Bastille.
+
+The nobles were the Marquis de St. Evrémonde and his brother; and the
+Marquis was the father of Charles Darnay. A terrible sound arose in the
+court when the reading was done. The voting of the jury was unanimous,
+and at every vote there was a roar. Death in twenty-four hours!
+
+That night Carton again came to Mr. Lorry. Between the two men, as they
+spoke, a figure on a chair rocked itself to and fro, moaning. It was Dr.
+Manette.
+
+"He and Lucie and her child must leave Paris to-morrow," said Carton.
+"They are in danger of being denounced. It is a capital crime to mourn
+for, or sympathise with, a victim of the guillotine. Be ready to start
+at two o'clock to-morrow afternoon. See them into their seats; take your
+own seat. The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.
+
+"It shall be done."
+
+Carton turned to the couch where Lucie lay unconscious, prostrated with
+utter grief.
+
+He bent down, touched her face with his lips, and murmured some words.
+Little Lucie told them afterwards that she heard him say, "A life you
+love."
+
+
+_VI.--The Guillotine_
+
+
+In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited
+their fate. Fifty-two persons were to roll that afternoon on the
+life-tide of the city to the boundless, everlasting sea.
+
+The hours went on as Darnay walked to and fro in his cell, and the
+clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. The final hour, he
+knew, was three, and he expected to be summoned at two. The clocks
+struck one. "There is but another now," he thought.
+
+He heard footsteps. The door was opened, and there stood before him,
+quiet, intent, and smiling, Sydney Carton.
+
+"Darnay," he said, "I bring you a request from your wife."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"There is no time--you must comply. Take off your boots and coat, and
+put on mine."
+
+"Carton, there is no escaping from this place. It is madness."
+
+"Do I ask you to escape?" said Carton, forcing the changes upon him.
+
+"Now sit at the table and write what I dictate."
+
+"To whom do I address it?"
+
+"To no one."
+
+"If you remember," said Carton, dictating, "the words that passed
+between us long ago, you will comprehend this when you see it. I am
+thankful that the time has come when I can prove them." Carton's hand
+was withdrawn from his breast, and slowly and softly moved down the
+writer's face. For a few seconds Darnay struggled faintly, Carton's hand
+held firmly at his nostrils; then he fell senseless to the ground.
+
+Carton called quietly to the turnkey, who looked in and went again as
+Carton was putting the paper in Darnay's breast. He came back with two
+men. They raised the unconscious figure and carried it away.
+
+The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of
+listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote
+suspicion or alarm. There was none. Presently his door opened, and a
+gaoler looked in, merely saying: "Follow me," whereupon Carton followed
+him into a dark room. As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, a young
+woman, with a slight, girlish figure, came to speak to him.
+
+"Citizen Evrémonde," she said, "I am a poor little seamstress, who was
+with you in La Force."
+
+He murmured an answer.
+
+"I heard you were released."
+
+"I was, and was taken again and condemned."
+
+"If I may ride with you, will you let me hold your hand?"
+
+As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in
+them.
+
+"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "Oh, you will let me hold your
+hand?"
+
+"Hush! Yes, my poor sister, to the last."
+
+That afternoon a coach going out of Paris drove up to the Barrier.
+"Papers!" demanded the guard. The papers are handed out and read.
+
+"Alexandre Manette, Lucie Manette, her child. Jarvis Lorry, banker,
+English. Sydney Carton, advocate, English. Which is he?"
+
+He lies here, in a corner, apparently in a swoon. He is in bad health.
+
+"Behold your papers, countersigned."
+
+"One can depart, citizen?"
+
+"One can depart."
+
+The ministers of Sainte Guillotin are robed and ready. Crash!--and the
+women who sit with their knitting in front of the guillotine count one.
+Crash!--and the women count two.
+
+The supposed Evrémonde descends with the seamstress from the tumbril,
+and joins the fast-thinning throng of victims before the crashing engine
+that constantly whirrs up and falls. The spare hand does not tremble as
+he grasps it. She goes next before him--is gone. The knitting women
+count twenty-two.
+
+The murmuring of many voices, the pressing on of many footsteps in the
+outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward like one great heave
+of water, all flashes away. Twenty-three.
+
+They said of him about the city that night that it was the peacefulest
+man's face ever beheld there. Had he given utterance to his thoughts at
+the foot of the scaffold, they would have been these:
+
+"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
+prosperous, and happy in that England which I shall see no more. I see
+her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see that I hold a
+sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants,
+generations hence.
+
+"It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a
+far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+BENJAMIN DISRAELI
+
+
+Coningsby
+
+
+      Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was not only a great
+     figure in English politics in the nineteenth century; he was
+     also a novelist of brilliant powers. Born in London on
+     December 21, 1804, the son of Isaac D'Israeli, the future
+     Prime Minister of England was first articled to a solicitor;
+     but he quickly turned from this to politics. Disraeli was
+     leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Commons in
+     1847; he was twice Prime Minister. In 1876 he was created Earl
+     of Beaconsfield. Disraeli's novels--especially the famous
+     trilogy of "Coningsby," 1844, "Sybil," 1845, and "Tancred,"
+     1846--are remarkable chiefly for the view they give of
+     contemporary political life, and for the definite political
+     philosophy of their author. Neither the earlier
+     novels--"Vivian Grey", 1826, "Contarini Fleming," "Alroy,"
+     1832, "Henrietta Temple" and "Venetia," 1837--nor the later
+     ones--"Lothair," 1870, and "Endymion," 1874--are to be ranked
+     with "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Many characters in "Coningsby"
+     are well-known men. Lord Monmouth is Lord Hertford, whom
+     Thackeray depicted as the Marquess of Steyne, Rigby is John
+     Wilson Croker, Oswald Millbank is Mr. Gladstone, Lord H.
+     Sydney is Lord John Manners, Sidonia is Baron Alfred de
+     Rothschild, and Coningsby is Lord Lyttelton. Lord Beaconsfield
+     died in London on April 19, 1881.
+
+
+_I.--The Hero of Eton_
+
+
+Coningsby was the orphan child of the younger of the two sons of Lord
+Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds. The elder son hated
+his father, and lived at Naples, maintaining no connection either with
+his parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated
+his younger son, who had married against his consent a woman to whom
+that son was devoted. Persecuted by his father, he died abroad, and his
+widow returned to England. Not having a relation, and scarcely an
+acquaintance, in the world, she made an appeal to her husband's father,
+the wealthiest noble in England, and a man who was often prodigal, and
+occasionally generous, who respected law, and despised opinion. Lord
+Monmouth decided that, provided she gave up her child, and permanently
+resided in one of the remotest counties, he would make her a yearly
+allowance of three hundred pounds. Necessity made the victim yield; and
+three years later, Mrs. Coningsby died, the same day that her father-
+in-law was made a marquess.
+
+Coningsby was then not more than nine years of age; and when he attained
+his twelfth year an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at
+Rome, that he should go at once to Eton.
+
+Coningsby had never seen his grandfather. It was Mr. Rigby who made
+arrangements for his education. This Mr. Rigby was the manager of Lord
+Monmouth's parliamentary influence and the auditor of his vast estates.
+He was a member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs, and, in fact, a
+great personage. Lord Monmouth had bought him, and it was a good
+purchase.
+
+In the spring of 1832, when the country was in the throes of agitation
+over the Reform Bill, Lord Monmouth returned to England, accompanied by
+the Prince and Princess Colonna and the Princess Lucretia, the prince's
+daughter by his first wife. Coningsby was summoned from Eton to Monmouth
+House, and returned to school in the full favour of the marquess.
+
+Coningsby was the hero of Eton; everybody was proud of him, talked of
+him, quoted him, imitated him. But the ties of friendship bound
+Coningsby to Henry Sydney and Oswald Millbank above all companions. Lord
+Henry Sydney was the son of a duke, and Millbank was the son of one of
+the wealthiest manufacturers in Lancashire. Once, on the river,
+Coningsby saved Millbank's life; and this was the beginning of a close
+and ardent friendship.
+
+Coningsby liked very much to talk politics with Millbank. He heard
+things from Millbank which were new to him. Politics had, as yet,
+appeared to him a struggle whether the country was to be governed by
+Whig nobles or Tory nobles; and Coningsby, a high Tory as he supposed
+himself to be, thought it very unfortunate that he should probably have
+to enter life with his friends out of power and his family boroughs
+destroyed. But, in conversing with Millbank, he heard for the first time
+of influential classes in the country who were not noble, and were yet
+determined to acquire power.
+
+Generally, at that time, among the upper boys at Eton there was a
+reigning inclination for political discussion, and a feeling in favour
+of "Conservative principles." A year later, and in 1836, gradually the
+inquiry fell upon attentive ears as to what these Conservative
+principles were. Before Coningsby and his friends left Eton--Coningsby
+for Cambridge, and Millbank for Oxford--they were resolved to contend
+for political faith rather than for mere partisan success or personal
+ambition.
+
+
+_II.--A Portrait of a Lady_
+
+
+On his way to Coningsby Castle, in Lancashire, where the Marquess of
+Monmouth was living in state--feasting the county, patronising the
+borough, and diffusing confidence in the Conservative party in order
+that the electors of Dartford might return his man, Mr. Rigby, once more
+for parliament--our hero halted for the night at Manchester. In the
+coffee-room at the hotel a stranger, loud in praise of the commercial
+enterprise of the neighbourhood, advised Coningsby, if he wanted to see
+something tip-top in the way of cotton works, to visit Millbank of
+Millbank's; and thus it came about that Coningsby first met Edith
+Millbank. Oswald was abroad; and Mr. Millbank, when he heard the name of
+his visitor, was only distressed that the sudden arrival left no time
+for adequate welcome.
+
+"My visit to Manchester, which led to this, was quite accidental," said
+Coningsby. "I am bound for the other division of the county, to pay a
+visit to my grandfather, Lord Monmouth, but an irresistible desire came
+over me during my journey to view this famous district of industry."
+
+A cloud passed over the countenance of Millbank as the name of Lord
+Monmouth was mentioned; but he said nothing, only turning towards
+Coningsby, with an air of kindness, to beg him, since to stay longer was
+impossible, to dine with him. Coningsby gladly agreed to this and the
+village clock was striking five when Mr. Millbank and his guest entered
+the gardens of his mansion and proceeded to the house.
+
+The hall was capacious and classic; and as they approached the staircase
+the sweetest and the clearest voice exclaimed from above: "Papa, papa!"
+and instantly a young girl came bounding down the stairs; but suddenly,
+seeing a stranger with her father, she stopped upon the landing-place.
+Mr. Millbank beckoned her, and she came down slowly; at the foot of the
+stairs her father said briefly: "A friend you have often heard of,
+Edith--this is Mr. Coningsby."
+
+She started, blushed very much, and then put forth her hand.
+
+"How often have we all wished to see and to thank you!" Miss Edith
+Millbank remarked in tones of sensibility.
+
+Opposite Coningsby at dinner that night was a portrait which greatly
+attracted his attention. It represented a woman extremely young and of a
+rare beauty. The face was looking out of the canvas, and the gaze of
+this picture disturbed the serenity of Coningsby. On rising to leave the
+table he said to Mr. Millbank, "By whom is that portrait, sir?"
+
+The countenance of Millbank became disturbed; his expression was
+agitated, almost angry. "Oh! that is by a country artist," he said, "of
+whom you never heard."
+
+
+_III.--The Course of True Love_
+
+
+The Princess Colonna resolved that an alliance should take place between
+Coningsby and her step-daughter. But the plans of the princess, imparted
+to Mr. Rigby that she might gain his assistance in achieving them, were
+doomed to frustration. Coningsby fell deeply in love with Miss Millbank;
+and Lord Monmouth himself decided to marry Lucretia.
+
+It was in Paris that Coningsby, on a visit to his grandfather, woke to
+the knowledge of his love for Edith Millbank. They met at a brilliant
+party, Miss Millbank in the care of her aunt, Lady Wallinger.
+
+"Miss Millbank says that you have quite forgotten her," said a mutual
+friend.
+
+Coningsby started, advanced, coloured a little, could not conceal his
+surprise. The lady, too, though more prepared, was not without
+confusion. Coningsby recalled at that moment the beautiful, bashful
+countenance that had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had
+effected a wonderful change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed
+girl into a woman of surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith
+Millbank was the last thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated
+slumber. In the morning his first thought was of her of whom he had
+dreamed. The light had dawned on his soul. Coningsby loved.
+
+The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
+few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to
+Sidonia, a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord
+Monmouth. Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of
+Sidonia; against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering
+courage to speak, left hastily for England.
+
+But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
+once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
+Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.
+
+Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
+the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
+accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
+Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
+between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old,
+implacable hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and
+Coningsby left the castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again,
+and still more the beautiful sister of his old friend.
+
+Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
+Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
+Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom
+met in a scene more fresh and fair.
+
+Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
+head, and met his glance.
+
+"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
+Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
+Edith! I love you!"
+
+She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
+impending twilight.
+
+The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
+home.
+
+Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
+he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.
+
+"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
+inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but without harshness. "You are
+the grandson of Lord Monmouth; at present enjoying his favour, but
+dependent on his bounty. You may be the heir of his wealth to-morrow and
+to-morrow you may be the object of his hatred and persecution. Your
+grandfather and myself are foes--to the death. It is idle to mince
+phrases. I do not vindicate our mutual feelings; I may regret that they
+have ever arisen, especially at this exigency. Lord Monmouth would crush
+me, had he the power, like a worm; and I have curbed his proud fortunes
+often. These feelings of hatred may be deplored, but they do not exist;
+and now you are to go to this man, and ask his sanction to marry my
+daughter!"
+
+"I would appease these hatreds," retorted Coningsby, "the origin of
+which I know not. I would appeal to my grandfather. I would show him
+Edith."
+
+"He has looked upon as fair even as Edith," said Mr. Millbank. "And did
+that melt his heart? My daughter and yourself can meet no more."
+
+In vain Coningsby pleaded his suit. It was not till Mr. Millbank told
+that he, too, had suffered--that he had loved Coningsby's own mother,
+and that she gave her heart to another, to die afterwards solitary and
+forsaken, tortured by Lord Monmouth--that Coningsby was silent. It was
+his mother's portrait he had looked upon that night at Millbank; and he
+understood the cause of the hatred.
+
+He wrung Mr. Millbank's hand, and left Hellingsley in despair. But
+Oswald overtook him in the park; and, leaning on his friend's arm,
+Coningsby poured forth a hurried, impassioned, and incoherent strain--
+all that had occurred, all that he had dreamed, his baffled bliss, his
+actual despair, his hopeless outlook.
+
+A thunderstorm overtook them; and Oswald took refuge from the elements
+at the castle. There, as they sat together, pledging their faithful
+friendship, the door opened, and Mr. Rigby appeared.
+
+
+_IV.--Coningsby's Political Faith_
+
+
+Lord Monmouth banished the Princess Colonna from his presence, and
+married Lucretia. Coningsby returned to Cambridge, and continued to
+enjoy his grandfather's hospitality whenever Lord Monmouth was in
+London.
+
+Mr. Millbank had, in the meantime, become a member of parliament, having
+defeated Mr. Rigby in the contest for the representation of Dartford.
+
+In the year 1840 a general election was imminent, and Lord Monmouth
+returned to London. He was weary of Paris; every day he found it more
+difficult to be amused. Lucretia had lost her charm: they had been
+married nearly three years. The marquess, from whom nothing could be
+concealed, perceived that often, while she elaborately attempted to
+divert him, her mind was wandering elsewhere.
+
+He fell into the easy habit of dining in his private rooms, sometimes
+_tête-à-tête_ with Villebecque, his private secretary, a cosmopolitan
+theatrical manager, whose tales and adventures about a kind of society
+which Lord Monmouth had always preferred to the polished and somewhat
+insipid circles in which he was born, had rendered him the prime
+favourite of his great patron. Villebecque's step-daughter Flora, a
+modest and retiring maiden, waited on Lucretia.
+
+Back in London, Lord Monmouth, on the day of his arrival, welcomed
+Coningsby to his room, and at a sign from his master Villebecque left
+the apartment.
+
+"You see, Harry," said Lord Monmouth, "that I am much occupied to-day,
+yet the business on which I wish to communicate with you is so pressing
+that it could not be postponed. These are not times when young men
+should be out of sight. Your public career will commence immediately.
+The government have resolved on a dissolution. My information is from
+the highest quarter. The Whigs are going to dissolve their own House of
+Commons. Notwithstanding this, we can beat them, but the race requires
+the finest jockeying. We can't give a point. Now, if we had a good
+candidate, we could win Dartford. But Rigby won't do. He is too much of
+the old clique used up a hack; besides, a beaten horse. We are assured
+the name of Coningsby would be a host; there is a considerable section
+who support the present fellow who will not vote against a Coningsby.
+They have thought of you as a fit person; and I have approved of the
+suggestion. You will, therefore, be the candidate for Dartford with my
+entire sanction and support; and I have no doubt you will be
+successful."
+
+To Coningsby the idea was appalling. To be the rival of Mr. Millbank on
+the hustings of Dartford! Vanquished or victorious, equally a
+catastrophe. He saw Edith canvassing for her father and against him.
+Besides, to enter the House of Commons a slave and a tool of party!
+Strongly anti-Whig, Coningsby distrusted the Conservative party, and
+looked for a new party of men who shared his youthful convictions and
+high political principles.
+
+Lord Monmouth, however, brushed aside his grandson's objections.
+
+"You are certainly still young; but I was younger by nearly two years
+when I first went in, and I found no difficulty. As for your opinions,
+you have no business to have any other than those I uphold. I want to
+see you in parliament. I tell you what it is, Harry," Lord Monmouth
+concluded, very emphatically, "members of this family may think as they
+like, but they must act as I please. You must go down on Friday to
+Dartford and declare yourself a candidate for the town, or I shall
+reconsider our mutual positions."
+
+Coningsby left Monmouth House in dejection, but to his solemn resolution
+of political faith he remained firm. He would not stand for Dartford
+against Mr. Millbank as the nominee of a party he could not follow. In
+terms of tenderness and humility he wrote to his grandfather that he
+positively declined to enter parliament except as the master of his own
+conduct.
+
+In the same hour of his distress Coningsby overheard in his club two men
+discussing the engagement of Miss Millbank to the Marquess of
+Beaumanoir, the elder brother of his school friend, Henry Sydney.
+
+Edith Millbank, too, had heard news at a London assembly of wealth and
+fashion that Coningsby was engaged to be married to Lady Theresa Sydney.
+
+So easily does rumour spin her stories and smite her victims with
+sadness.
+
+
+_V.--Lady Monmouth's Departure_
+
+
+It was Flora, to whom Coningsby had been always kind and courteous, who
+told Lucretia that Lord Monmouth was displeased with his grandson.
+
+"My lord is very angry with Mr. Coningsby," she said, shaking her head
+mournfully. "My lord told M. Villebecque that perhaps Mr. Coningsby
+would never enter the house again."
+
+Lucretia immediately dispatched a note to Mr. Rigby, and, on the arrival
+of that gentleman, told him all she had learnt of the contention between
+Harry Coningsby and her husband.
+
+"I told you to beware of him long ago," said Lady Monmouth. "He has ever
+been in the way of both of us."
+
+"He is in my power," said Rigby. "We can crush him. He is in love with
+the daughter of Millbank, the man who bought Hellingsley. I found the
+younger Millbank quite domiciliated at the castle, a fact which of
+itself, if known to Lord Monmouth, would ensure the lad's annihilation."
+
+"The time is now most mature for this. Let us not conceal it from
+ourselves that since this grandson's first visit to Coningsby Castle we
+have neither of us really been in the same position with my lord which
+we then occupied, or believed we should occupy. Go now; the game is
+before you! Rid me of this Coningsby, and I will secure all that you
+want."
+
+"It shall be done," said Rigby, "it must be done."
+
+Lady Monmouth bade Mr. Rigby hasten at once to the marquess and bring
+her news of the interview. She awaited with some excitement his return.
+Her original prejudice against Coningsby and jealousy of his influence
+had been aggravated by the knowledge that, although after her marriage
+Lord Monmouth had made a will which secured to her a very large portion
+of his great wealth, the energies and resources of the marquess had of
+late been directed to establish Coningsby in a barony.
+
+Two hours elapsed before Mr. Rigby returned. There was a churlish and
+unusual look about him.
+
+"Lord Monmouth suggests that, as you were tired of Paris, your ladyship
+might find the German baths at Kissingen agreeable. A paragraph in the
+'Morning Post' would announce that his lordship was about to join you;
+and even if his lordship did not ultimately reach you, an amicable
+separation would be effected."
+
+In vain Lucretia stormed. Mr. Rigby mentioned that Lord Monmouth had
+already left the house and would not return, and finally announced that
+Lucretia's letters to a certain Prince Trautsmandorff were in his
+lordship's possession.
+
+A few days later, and Coningsby read in the papers of Lady Monmouth's
+departure to Kissingen. He called at Monmouth House, to find the place
+empty, and to learn from the porter that Lord Monmouth was about to
+occupy a villa at Richmond.
+
+Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the
+exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced
+nothing but kindness from Lord Monmouth. He determined to pay him a
+visit at Richmond.
+
+Lord Monmouth, who was entertaining two French ladies at his villa,
+recoiled from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds; but
+Coningsby so pleasantly impressed his fair visitors that Lord Monmouth
+decided to ask him to dinner. Thus, in spite of the combinations of
+Lucretia and Mr. Rigby, and his grandfather's resentment, within a month
+of the memorable interview at Monmouth House, Coningsby found himself
+once more a welcome guest at Lord Monmouth's table.
+
+In that same month other important circumstances also occurred.
+
+At a fête in some beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames,
+Coningsby and Edith Millbank were both present. The announcement was
+made of the forthcoming marriage of Lady Theresa Sydney to Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, a friend of Mr. Coningsby; and later, from the lips of Lady
+Wallinger herself, Miss Millbank's aunt, Coningsby learnt how really
+groundless was the report of Lord Beaumanoir's engagement.
+
+"Lord Beaumanoir admires her--has always admired her," Lady Wallinger
+explained to Coningsby; "but Edith has given him no encouragement
+whatever."
+
+At the end of the terrace Edith and Coningsby met. He seized the
+occasion to walk some distance by her side.
+
+"How could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby, after some time.
+
+"I was unhappy."
+
+"And now we are to each other as before."
+
+"And will be, come what may," said Edith.
+
+
+_VI.--Lord Monmouth's Money_
+
+
+In the midst of Christmas-revels at the country house of Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, surrounded by the duke and duchess and their children--the
+Sydneys--Coningsby was called away by a messenger, who brought news of
+the sudden death of Lord Monmouth. The marquess had died at supper at
+his Richmond villa, with no persons near him but those who were very
+amusing.
+
+The body had been removed to Monmouth House; and after the funeral, in
+the principal saloon of Monmouth House, the will was eventually read.
+
+The date of the will was 1829; and by this document the sum of £10,000
+was left to Coningsby, who at that time was unknown to his grandfather.
+
+But there were many codicils. In 1832, the £10,000 was increased to
+£50,000. In 1836, after Coningsby's visit to the castle, £50,000 was
+left to the Princess Lucretia, and Coningsby was left sole residuary
+legatee.
+
+After the marriage, an estate of £9,000 a year was left to Coningsby,
+£20,000 to Mr. Rigby, and the whole of the residue went to issue by Lady
+Monmouth.
+
+In the event of there being no issue, the whole of the estate was to be
+divided equally between Lady Monmouth and Coningsby. In 1839, Mr. Rigby
+was reduced to £10,000, Lady Monmouth was to receive £3,000 per annum,
+and the rest, without reserve, went absolutely to Coningsby.
+
+The last codicil was dated immediately after the separation with Lady
+Monmouth.
+
+All dispositions in favour of Coningsby were revoked, and he was left
+with the interest of the original £10,000, the executors to invest the
+money as they thought best for his advancement, provided it were not
+placed in any manufactory.
+
+Mr. Rigby received £5,000, M. Villebecque £30,000, and all the rest,
+residue and remainder, to Flora, commonly called Flora Villebecque,
+step-child of Armand Villebecque, "but who is my natural daughter by an
+actress at the Théâtre Français in the years 1811-15, by the name of
+Stella."
+
+Sidonia lightened the blow for Coningsby as far as philosophy could be
+of use.
+
+"I ask you," he said, "which would you have rather lost--your
+grandfather's inheritance or your right leg?"
+
+"Most certainly my inheritance."
+
+"Or your left arm?"
+
+"Still the inheritance."
+
+"Would you have given up a year of your life for that fortune trebled?"
+
+"Even at twenty-three I would have refused the terms."
+
+"Come, then, Coningsby, the calamity cannot be very great. You have
+health, youth, good looks, great abilities, considerable knowledge, a
+fine courage, and no contemptible experience. You can live on £300 a
+year. Read for the Bar."
+
+"I have resolved," said Coningsby. "I will try for the Great Seal!"
+
+Next morning came a note from Flora, begging Mr. Coningsby to call upon
+her. It was an interview he would rather have avoided. But Flora had not
+injured him, and she was, after all, his kin. She was alone when
+Coningsby entered the room.
+
+"I have robbed you of your inheritance."
+
+"It was not mine by any right, legal or moral. The fortune is yours,
+dear Flora, by every right; and there is no one who wishes more
+fervently that it may contribute to your happiness than I do."
+
+"It is killing me," said Flora mournfully. "I must tell you what I feel.
+This fortune is yours. I never thought to be so happy as I shall be if
+you will generously accept it."
+
+"You are, as I have ever thought you, the kindest and most
+tender-hearted of beings," said Coningsby, much moved; "but the custom
+of the world does not permit such acts to either of us as you
+contemplate. Have confidence in yourself. You will be happy."
+
+"When I die, these riches will be yours; that, at all events, you cannot
+prevent," were Flora's last generous words.
+
+
+_VII.--On Life's Threshold_
+
+
+Coningsby established himself in the Temple to read law; and Lord Henry
+Sydney, Oswald Millbank, and other old Eton friends rallied round their
+early leader.
+
+"I feel quite convinced that Coningsby will become Lord Chancellor,"
+Henry Sydney said gravely, after leaving the Temple.
+
+The General Election of 1841, which Lord Monmouth had expected a year
+before, found Coningsby a solitary student in his lonely chambers in the
+Temple. All his friends and early companions were candidates, and with
+sanguine prospects. They sent their addresses to Coningsby, who, deeply
+interested, traced in them the influence of his own mind.
+
+Then, in the midst of the election, one evening in July, Coningsby,
+catching up a third edition of the "Sun," was startled by the word
+"Dartford" in large type. Below it were the headlines:
+
+"Extraordinary Affair! Withdrawal of the Liberal Candidate! Two Tory
+Candidates in the Field!"
+
+Mr. Millbank, at the last moment, had retired, and had persuaded his
+supporters to nominate Harry Coningsby in his place. The fight was
+between Coningsby and Rigby.
+
+Oswald Millbank, who had just been returned to parliament, came up to
+London; and from him, as they travelled to Dartford, Coningsby grasped
+the change of events. Sidonia had explained to Lady Wallinger the cause
+of Coningsby's disinheritance. Lady Wallinger had told Oswald and Edith;
+and Oswald had urged on his father the recognition of his friend's
+affection for his sister.
+
+On his own impulse Mr. Millbank decided that Coningsby should contest
+Dartford.
+
+Mr. Rigby was beaten; and Coningsby arrived at Dartford in time to
+receive the cheers of thousands. From the hustings he gave his first
+address to a public assembly; and by general agreement no such speech
+had ever been heard in the borough before.
+
+Early in the autumn Harry and Edith were married at Millbank, and they
+passed their first moon at Hellingsley.
+
+The death of Flora, who had bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the
+husband of Edith, took place before the end of the year, hastened by the
+fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days,
+haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the
+instrument of injuring the only being whom she loved.
+
+Coningsby passed his next Christmas in his own hall, with his beautiful
+and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart
+and his youth.
+
+The young couple stand now on the threshold of public life. What will be
+their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the
+great truths, which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? Or
+will vanity confound their fortunes, and jealousy wither their
+sympathies?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Sybil, or the Two Nations
+
+
+      "Sybil, or the Two Nations" was published in 1845, a year
+     after "Coningsby," and in it the novelist "considered the
+     condition of the people." The author himself, writing in 1870
+     of this novel, said: "At that time the Chartist agitation was
+     still fresh in the public memory, and its repetition was far
+     from improbable. I had visited and observed with care all the
+     localities introduced, and as an accurate and never
+     exaggerated picture of a remarkable period in our domestic
+     history, and of a popular organisation which in its extent and
+     completeness has perhaps never been equalled, the pages of
+     "Sybil" may, I venture to believe, be consulted with
+     confidence." "Sybil," indeed, is not only an extremely
+     interesting novel; but as a study of social life in England it
+     is of very definite historical value.
+
+
+_I.--Hard Times for the Poor_
+
+
+It was Derby Day, 1837. Charles Egremont was in the ring at Epsom with a
+band of young patricians. Groups surrounded the betting post, and the
+odds were shouted lustily by a host of horsemen. Egremont had backed
+Caravan to win, and Caravan lost by half a length. Charles Egremont was
+the younger brother of the Earl of Marney; he had received £15,000 on
+the death of his father, and had spent it. Disappointed in love at the
+age of twenty-four, Egremont left England, to return after eighteen
+months' absence a much wiser man. He was now conscious that he wanted an
+object, and, musing over action, was ignorant how to act.
+
+The morning after the Derby, Egremont, breakfasting with his mother,
+learnt that King William IV. was dying, and that a dissolution of
+parliament was at hand. Lady Marney was a great stateswoman, a leader in
+fashionable politics.
+
+"Charles," said Lady Marney, "you must stand for the old borough, for
+Marbury. No doubt the contest will be very expensive, but it will be a
+happy day for me to see you in parliament, and Marney will, of course,
+supply the funds. I shall write to him, and perhaps you will do so
+yourself."
+
+The election took place, and Egremont was returned. Then he paid a visit
+to his brother at Marney Abbey, and an old estrangement between the two
+was ended.
+
+Marney Abbey was as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of
+accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. It had been a
+religious house. The founder of the Marney family, a confidential
+domestic of one of the favourites of Henry VIII., had contrived by
+unscrupulous zeal to obtain the grant of the abbey lands, and in the
+reign of Elizabeth came a peerage.
+
+The present Lord Marney upheld the workhouse, hated allotments and
+infant schools, and declared the labourers on his estate to be happy and
+contented with a wage of seven shillings a week.
+
+The burning of hayricks on the Abbey Farm at the time of Egremont's
+visit showed that the torch of the incendiary had been introduced and
+that a beacon had been kindled in the agitated neighbourhood. For misery
+lurked in the wretched tenements of the town of Marney, and fever was
+rife. The miserable hovels of the people had neither windows nor doors,
+and were unpaved, and looked as if they could scarcely hold together.
+There were few districts in the kingdom where the rate of wages was more
+depressed.
+
+"What do you think of this fire?" said Egremont to a labourer at the
+Abbey Farm.
+
+"I think 'tis hard times for the poor, sir," was the reply, given with a
+shake of the head.
+
+
+_II.--The Old Tradition_
+
+
+"Why was England not the same land as in the days of his light-hearted
+youth?" Charles Egremont mused, as he wandered among the ruins of the
+ancient abbey. "Why were these hard times for the poor?" Brooding over
+these questions, he observed two men hard by in the old cloister garden,
+one of lofty stature, nearer forty than fifty years of age, the other
+younger and shorter, with a pale face redeemed from ugliness by its
+intellectual brow. Egremont joined the strangers, and talked.
+
+"Our queen reigns over two nations, between whom there is no intercourse
+and no sympathy--the rich and the poor," said the younger stranger.
+
+As he spoke, from the lady chapel rose the evening hymn to the Virgin in
+tones of almost supernatural tenderness.
+
+The melody ceased; and Egremont beheld a female form, a countenance
+youthful, and of a beauty as rare as it was choice.
+
+The two men joined the beautiful maiden; and the three quitted the abbey
+grounds together without another word, and pursued their way to the
+railway station.
+
+"I have seen the tomb of the last abbot of Marney, and I marked your
+name on the stone, my father," said the maiden. "You must regain our
+lands for us, Stephen," she added to the younger man.
+
+"I can't understand why you lost sight of those papers, Walter," said
+Stephen Morley.
+
+"You see, friend, they were never in my possession; they were not mine
+when I saw them. They were my father's. He was a small yeoman,
+well-to-do in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition
+that the lands were ours. This Hatton got hold of him; he did his work
+well, I have heard. It is twenty-five years since my father brought his
+writ of right, and though baffled, he was not beaten. Then he died; his
+affairs were in great confusion; he had mortgaged his land for his writ.
+There were debts that could not be paid. I had no capital. I would not
+sink to be a labourer. I had heard much of the high wages of this new
+industry; I left the land."
+
+"And the papers?"
+
+"I never thought of them, or thought of them with disgust, as the cause
+of my ruin. Of Hatton, I have not heard since my father's death. He had
+quitted Mowbray, and none could give me tidings of him. When you came
+and showed me in a book that the last abbot of Marney was a Walter
+Gerard, the old feeling stirred again, and though I am but the
+overlooker at Mr. Trafford's mill, I could not help telling you that my
+fathers fought at Agincourt."
+
+They approached the station, entered the train, and two hours later
+arrived at Mowbray. Gerard and Morley left their companion at a convent
+gate in the suburbs of the manufacturing town.
+
+The two men made their way through the streets and entered a prominent
+public house. Here they sought an interview with the landlord, and from
+him got information of Hatton's brother.
+
+"You have heard of a place called Hell-house Yard?" said the publican.
+"Well, he lives there, and his name is Simon, and that's all I know
+about him."
+
+
+_III.--The Gulf Impassable_
+
+
+When it came to the point, Lord Marney very much objected to paying
+Egremont's election expenses, and proposed instead that he should
+accompany him to Mowbray Castle, and marry Earl Mowbray's daughter, Lady
+Joan Fitz-Warene.
+
+Lord Mowbray was the grandson of a waiter, who had gone out to India a
+gentleman's valet, and returned a nabob. Lord Mowbray's two daughters--
+he had no sons--were great heiresses. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud
+inquisitive. Egremont fell in love with neither, and the visit was a
+failure. Lord Marney declined to pay the election expenses.
+
+The brothers parted in anger; and Egremont took up his abode in a
+cottage in Mowedale, a few miles outside the town of Mowbray. He was
+drawn to this by the knowledge that Walter Gerard and his daughter
+Sybil, and their friend Stephen Morley, lived close by. Of Egremont's
+rank these three were ignorant. Sybil had met him with Mr. St. Lys, the
+good vicar of Mowbray, relieving the misery of a poor weaver's family in
+the town, and at Mowedale he passed as Mr. Franklin, a journalist.
+
+For some weeks Egremont enjoyed the peace of rural life, and the
+intercourse with the Gerards ripened into friendship. When the time came
+for parting, for Egremont had to take his seat in parliament, it was a
+tender farewell on both sides.
+
+Egremont, embarrassed by his deception, could not only speak vaguely of
+their meeting again soon. The thought of parting from Sybil nearly
+overwhelmed him.
+
+When he met Gerard and Morley again it was in London, and disguise was
+no longer possible. Gerard and Morley came as delegates to the Chartist
+National Convention in 1839, and, deputed by their fellows to interview
+Charles Egremont, M.P., came face to face with "Mr. Franklin."
+
+The general misery in the country at that time was appalling. Weavers
+and miners were starving, agricultural labourers were driven into the
+new workhouses, and riots were of common occurrence. The Chartists
+believed their proposals would improve matters, other working-class
+leaders believed that a general stoppage of work would be more
+effective.
+
+Sybil, in London with her father, ardently supported the popular
+movement. Meeting Egremont near Westminster Abbey on the very day after
+Gerard and Morley had waited upon him, she allowed him to escort her
+home. Then, for the first time, she learnt that her friend "Mr.
+Franklin" was the brother of Lord Marney.
+
+It was in vain Egremont urged that they might still be friends, that the
+gulf between rich and poor was not impassable.
+
+"Oh, sir," said Sybil haughtily, "I am one of those who believe the gulf
+is impassable--yes, utterly impassable!"
+
+
+_IV.--Plotting Against Lord De Mowbray_
+
+
+Stephen Morley was the editor of the "Mowbray Phoenix," a teetotaler, a
+vegetarian, a believer in moral force. The friend of Gerard, and in love
+with Sybil, Stephen looked with no favour on Egremont. Although a
+delegate to the Chartist Convention, Stephen had not forgotten the
+claims of Gerard to landed estate, and had pursued his inquiries as to
+the whereabouts of Hatton with some success.
+
+First Stephen had journeyed to Woodgate, commonly known as Hell-house
+Yard, a wild and savage place, the abode of a lawless race of men who
+fashioned locks and instruments of iron. Here he had found Simon Hatton,
+who knew nothing of his brother's residence.
+
+By accident Stephen discovered that the man he sought lived in the
+Temple. Baptist Hatton at that time was the most famous of heraldic
+antiquaries. Not a pedigree in dispute, not a peerage in abeyance, but
+it was submitted to his consideration. A solitary man was Baptist
+Hatton, wealthy and absorbed in his pursuits. The meeting with Morley
+excited him, and he turned over the matter anxiously in his mind as he
+sat alone.
+
+"The son of Walter Gerard, a Chartist delegate! The best blood in
+England! Those infernal papers! They made my fortune; and yet the deed
+has cost me many a pang. It seemed innoxious; the old man dead,
+insolvent; myself starving; his son ignorant of all--to whom could they
+be of use, for it required thousands to work them? And yet with all my
+wealth and power what memory shall I leave? Not a relative in the world,
+except a barbarian. Ah! had I a child like the beautiful daughter of
+Gerard. I have seen her. He must be a fiend who could injure her. I am
+that fiend. Let me see what can be done. What if I married her?"
+
+But Hatton did not offer marriage to Sybil. He did much to make her stay
+in London pleasant; but there was something about the maiden that awed
+while it fascinated him. A Catholic himself, Hatton was not surprised to
+hear from Gerard of Sybil's wish to enter a convent. "And to my mind she
+is right. My daughter cannot look to marriage; no man that she could
+marry would be worthy of her."
+
+This did not deter Hatton from considering how the papers relating to
+Gerard's lost estates could be recovered.
+
+The first move was an action entered against Lord de Mowbray, and this
+brought that distinguished peer to Mr. Hatton's chambers in the Temple,
+for Hatton was at that time advising Lord de Mowbray in the matter of
+reviving an ancient barony. Hatton easily quieted his client.
+
+"Mr. Walter Gerard can do nothing without the deed of '77. Your
+documents you say are all secure?"
+
+"They are at this moment in the muniment room of the tower of Mowbray
+Castle."
+
+"Keep them; this action is a feint."
+
+As for Mr. Baptist Hatton, the next time we see him a few months had
+elapsed. He is at the principal hotel in Mowbray in consultation with
+Stephen Morley.
+
+A great labour demonstration had taken place the previous night on the
+moors outside the town, and Gerard had been acclaimed as a popular hero.
+
+"Documents are in existence," said Hatton, "which prove the title of
+Walter Gerard to the proprietorship of this great district. Two hundred
+thousand human beings yesterday acknowledged the supremacy of Gerard.
+Suppose they had known that within the walls of Mowbray Castle were
+contained the proofs that Walter Gerard was the lawful possessor of the
+lands on which they live? Moral force is a fine thing, friend Morley,
+but the public spirit is inflamed here. You are a leader of the people.
+Let us have another meeting on the Moor! you can put your fingers in a
+trice on the man who will do our work. Mowbray Castle in their
+possession, a certain iron chest, painted blue, and blazoned with the
+shield of Valence, would be delivered to you. You shall have £10,000
+down and I will take you back to London besides."
+
+"The effort would fail," said Stephen Morley. "Wages must drop still
+more, and the discontent here be deeper. But I will keep the secret; I
+will treasure it up."
+
+
+_V.--Liberty--At a Price_
+
+
+While Mr. Baptist Hatton and Stephen Morley discussed the possible
+recovery of the papers, much happened in London. Gerard became a marked
+man in the Chartist Convention, a member of a small but resolute
+committee. Egremont, now deeply in love with Sybil, declared his suit.
+
+"From the first moment I beheld you in the starlit arch of Marney, your
+image has never been absent from my consciousness. Do not reject my
+love; it is deep as your nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those
+prejudices that have embittered your existence. If I be a noble, I have
+none of the accidents of nobility. I cannot offer you wealth, splendour,
+and power; but I can offer you the devotion of an entranced being,
+aspirations that you shall guide, an ambition that you shall govern."
+
+"These words are mystical and wild," said Sybil in amazement. "You are
+Lord Marney's brother; I learnt it but yesterday. Retain your hand, and
+share your life and fortunes! You forget what I am. No, no, kind
+friend--for such I'll call you--your opinion of me touches me deeply. I
+am not used to such passages in life. A union between the child and
+brother of nobles and a daughter of the people is impossible. It would
+mean estrangement from your family, their hopes destroyed, their pride
+outraged. Believe me, the gulf is impassable."
+
+The Chartist petition was rejected by the House of Commons
+contemptuously. Riots took place in Birmingham. Sybil grew anxious for
+her father's safety.
+
+Egremont's speech in parliament on the presentation of the national
+petition created some perplexity among his aristocratic relatives and
+acquaintances. It was free from the slang of faction--the voice of a
+noble who had upheld the popular cause, who had pronounced that the
+rights of labour were as sacred as those of property, that the social
+happiness of the millions should be the statesman's first object.
+
+Sybil, enjoying the calm of St. James's Park on a summer morning, read
+the speech with emotion, and while she still held the paper the orator
+himself stood before her. She smiled without distress, and presently
+confided to Egremont that she was unhappy, about her father.
+
+"I honour your father," said Egremont "Counsel him to return to Mowbray.
+Exert every energy to get him to leave London at once--to-night if
+possible. After this business at Birmingham the government will strike
+at the convention. If your father returns to Mowbray and is quiet, he
+has a chance of not being disturbed."
+
+Sybil returned and warned her father. "You are in danger," she cried,
+"great and immediate. Let us quit this city to-night."
+
+"To-morrow, my child," Walter Gerard assured her, "we will return to
+Mowbray. To-night our council meets, and we have work of utmost
+importance. We must discountenance scenes of violence. The moment our
+council is over I will come back to you."
+
+But Walter Gerard did not return. While Sybil sat and waited, Stephen
+Morley entered the room. His manner was strange and unusual.
+
+"Your father is in danger; time is precious. I can endure no longer the
+anguish of my life. I love you, and if you will not be mine, I care for
+no one's fate. I can save your father. If I see him before eight
+o'clock, I can convince him that the government knows of his intentions,
+and will arrest him to-night. I am ready to do this service--to save the
+father from death and the daughter from despair, if she would but only
+say to me: 'I have but one reward, and it is yours.'"
+
+"It is bitter, this," said Sybil, "bitter for me and mine; but for you
+pollution, this bargaining of blood. In the name of the Holy Virgin I
+answer you--no!"
+
+Morley rushed frantically from the room.
+
+Sybil, in despair, made her way to a coffee-house near Charing Cross,
+which she knew had been much frequented by members of the Chartist
+Convention. Here, after some delay, she was given the fatal address in
+Hunt Street, Seven Dials.
+
+Sybil arrived at the meeting a few minutes before the police raided the
+premises. She was found with her father, and taken with him and six
+other men to Bow Street Police Station. A note to Egremont procured her
+release in the early hours of the morning.
+
+Walter Gerard in due time was sent to trial, convicted and sentenced to
+eighteen month's confinement in York Castle.
+
+
+_VI.--Within the Castle Walls_
+
+
+In 1842 came the great stoppage of work. The mills ceased; the miners
+went "to play," despairing of a fair day's wage for a fair day's work;
+and the inhabitants of Woodgate--the Hell-cats, as they were called--
+stirred up by a Chartist delegate, sallied forth with Simon Hatton,
+named the "liberator," at their head to deal ruthlessly with all
+"oppressors of the people."
+
+They sacked houses, plundered cellars, ravaged provision shops,
+destroyed gas-works and stormed workhouses. In time they came to
+Mowbray. There the liberator came face to face with Baptist Hatton
+without recognising his brother.
+
+Stephen Morley and Baptist Hatton were in close conference.
+
+"The times are critical," said Hatton.
+
+"Mowbray may be burnt to the ground before the troops arrive," Morley
+replied.
+
+"And the castle, too," said Hatton quietly. "I was thinking only
+yesterday of a certain box of papers. To business, friend Morley. This
+savage relative of mine cannot be quiet. If he does not destroy
+Trafford's Mill it will be the castle. Why not the castle instead of the
+mill?"
+
+Trafford's Mill was saved by the direct intervention of Walter Gerard.
+All the people of Mowbray knew the good reputation of the Traffords, and
+Gerard's eloquence turned the mob from the attack.
+
+While the liberator and the Hell-cats hesitated, a man named Dandy Mick,
+prompted by Morley, urged that a walk should be taken in Lord de
+Mowbray's park.
+
+The proposition was received with shouts of approbation. Gerard
+succeeded in detaching a number of Mowbray men, but the Hell-cats, armed
+with bludgeons, poured into the park and on to the castle.
+
+Lady de Mowbray and her friends made their escape, taking Sybil, who had
+sought refuge from the mob, with them.
+
+Mr. St. Lys gathered a body of men in defence of the castle, but came
+too late to prevent the entrance of the Hell-cats. Singularly enough,
+Morley and one or two of his followers entered with the liberator.
+
+The first great rush was to the cellars, and the invaders were quickly
+at work knocking off the heads of bottles, and brandishing torches.
+Morley and his lads traced their way down a corridor to the winding
+steps of the Round Tower, and forced their way into the muniment room of
+the castle. It was not till his search had nearly been abandoned in
+despair that he found the small blue box blazoned with the arms of
+Valence. He passed it hastily to a trusted companion, Dandy Mick, and
+bade him deliver it to Sybil Gerard at the convent.
+
+At this moment the noise of musketry was heard; the yeomanry were on the
+scene.
+
+Morley, cut off from flight by the military, was shot, pistol in hand,
+with the name of Sybil on his lips. "The world will misjudge me," he
+thought--"they will call me hypocrite, but the world is wrong."
+
+The man with the box escaped through the window, and in spite of the
+fire, troopers, and mob, reached the convent in safety.
+
+The castle was burnt to the ground by the torches of the Hell-cats.
+
+Sybil, separated from her friends, found herself surrounded by a band of
+drunken ruffians. She was rescued by a yeomanry officer, who pressed her
+to his heart.
+
+"Never to part again," said Egremont.
+
+Under Egremont's protection, Sybil returned to the convent, and there in
+the courtyard they found Dandy Mick, who had refused to deliver his
+charge, and was lying down with the blue box for his pillow. He had
+fulfilled his mission. Sybil, too agitated to perceive all its import,
+delivered the box into the custody of Egremont, who, bidding farewell to
+Sybil, bade Mick follow him to his hotel.
+
+While these events were happening, Lord Marney, hearing an alarmed and
+exaggerated report of the insurrection, and believing that Egremont's
+forces were by no means equal to the occasion, had set out for Mowbray
+with his own troop of yeomanry.
+
+Crossing the moor, he encountered Walter Gerard with a great multitude,
+whom Gerard headed for purposes of peace.
+
+His mind inflamed, and hating at all times any popular demonstration,
+Lord Marney hastily read the Riot Act, and the people were fired on and
+sabred. The indignant spirit of Gerard resisted, and the father of Sybil
+was shot dead. Instantly arose a groan, and a feeling of frenzy came
+over the people. Armed only with stones and bludgeons they defied the
+troopers, and rushed at the horsemen; a shower of stones rattled without
+ceasing on the helmet of Lord Marney, nor did the people rest till Lord
+Marney fell lifeless on Mowbray Moor, stoned to death.
+
+The writ of right against Lord de Mowbray proved successful in the
+courts, and his lordship died of the blow.
+
+For a long time after the death of her father Sybil remained in helpless
+woe. The widowed Lady Marney, however, came over one day, and carried
+her back to Marney Abbey, never again to quit it until the bridal day,
+when the Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italy.
+
+Though the result was not what Mr. Hatton had once anticipated, the idea
+that he had deprived Sybil of her inheritance had, ever since he had
+become acquainted with her, been the plague-spot of Hatton's life, and
+there was nothing he desired more than to see her restored to those
+rights, and to be instrumental in that restoration.
+
+Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had encountered in the
+service of Sybil, and was set up in business by Lord Marney. A year
+after the burning of Mowbray Castle, on the return of the Earl and
+Countess of Marney to England, the romantic marriage and the enormous
+wealth of Lord and Lady Marney were still the talk in fashionable
+circles.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Tancred, or the New Crusade
+
+
+      "Tancred," published in 1847, completes the trilogy, which
+     began with "Coningsby" in 1844, and had its second volume in
+     "Sybil" in 1845. In these three novels Disraeli gave to the
+     world his political, social, and religious philosophy.
+     "Coningsby" was mainly political, "Sybil" mainly social, and
+     in "Tancred," as the author tells us, Disraeli dealt with the
+     origin of the Christian Church of England and its relation to
+     the Hebrew race whence Christianity sprang. "Public opinion
+     recognized the truth and sincerity of these views," although
+     their general spirit ran counter to current Liberal
+     utilitarianism. Although "Tancred" lacks the vigour of "Sibyl"
+     and the wit of "Coningsby," it is full of the colour of the
+     East, and the satire and irony in the part relating to
+     Tancred's life in England are vastly entertaining. As in
+     others of Disraeli's novels, many of the characters here are
+     portraits of real personages.
+
+
+_I.--Tancred Goes Forth on His Quest_
+
+
+Tancred, the Marquis of Montacute, was certainly strangely distracted on
+his twenty-first birthday. He stood beside his father, the Duke of
+Bellamont, in the famous Crusaders' gallery in the Castle of Montacute,
+listening to the congratulations which the mayor and corporation of
+Montacute town were addressing to him; but all the time he kept his eyes
+fixed on the magnificent tapestries from which the name of the gallery
+was derived. His namesake, Tancred of Montacute, had distinguished
+himself in the Third Crusade by saving the life of King Richard at the
+siege of Ascalon, and his exploits were depicted on the fine Gobelins
+work hanging on the walls of the great hall. Oblivious of the gorgeous
+ceremony in which he was playing the principal part, the young Marquis
+of Montacute stared at the pictures of the Crusader, and a wild,
+fantastical idea took hold of him.
+
+He was the only child of the Duke of Bellamont, and all the high
+nobility of England were assembled to celebrate his coming of age.
+Everything that fortune could bestow seemed to have been given to him.
+He was the heir of the greatest and richest of English dukes, and his
+life was made smooth and easy. His father had got a seat in parliament
+waiting for him, and his mother had already selected a noble and
+beautiful young lady for his wife. Neither of them had yet consulted
+their son, but Tancred was so sweet and gentle a boy that they did not
+dream he would oppose their wishes. They had planned out his life for
+him ever since he was born, with the view to educating him for the
+position which he was to occupy in the English aristocracy, and he had
+always taken the path which they had chosen for him.
+
+In the evening, the duke summoned his son into his library.
+
+"My dear Tancred," he said, "I have a piece of good news for you on your
+birthday. Hungerford feels that he cannot represent our constituency now
+that you have come of age, and, with great kindness, he is resigning his
+seat in your favour. He says that the Marquis of Montacute ought to
+stand for the town of Montacute, so you will be able to enter parliament
+at once."
+
+"But I do not wish to enter parliament," said Tancred.
+
+The duke leant back from his desk with a look of painful surprise on his
+face.
+
+"Not enter parliament?" he exclaimed. "Every Lord Montacute has gone
+into the House of Commons before taking his seat in the House of Lords.
+It is an excellent training."
+
+"I am not anxious to enter the House of Lords either," said Tancred.
+"And I hope, my dear father," he added, with a smile that lit up his
+young, grave, beautiful face, "that it will be very, very long before I
+succeed to your place there."
+
+"What, then, do you intend to do, my boy?" said Bellamont, in intense
+perplexity. "You are the heir to one of the greatest positions in the
+state, and you have duties to perform. How are you going to fit yourself
+for them?"
+
+"That is what I have been thinking of for years," said Tancred. "Oh, my
+dear father, if you knew how long and earnestly I have prayed for
+guidance! Yes, I have duties to perform! But in this wild, confused, and
+aimless age of ours, what man can see what his duties are? For my part,
+I cannot find that it is my duty to maintain the present order of
+things. In nothing in our religion, our government, our manners, do I
+find faith. And if there is no faith, how can there be any duty? We have
+ceased to be a nation. We are a mere crowd, kept from utter anarchy by
+the remains of an old system which we are daily destroying."
+
+"But what would you do, my dear boy?" said the duke, pale with anxiety.
+"Have you found any remedy?"
+
+"No," said Tancred mournfully. "There is no remedy to be found in
+England. Oh, let me save myself, father! Let me save our people from the
+corruption and ruin that threaten us!"
+
+"But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?" said the duke.
+
+"I want to go to God!" cried the young nobleman, his blue eyes flaming
+with a strange light "How is it that the Almighty Power does not send
+down His angels to enlighten us in our perplexities? Where is the
+Paraclete, the Comforter Who was promised us? I must go and seek him."
+
+"You are a visionary, my boy," said the duke, gazing at him in blank
+astonishment.
+
+"Was the Montacute that fought by the side of King Richard in the Holy
+Land a visionary?" said Tancred. "All I ask is to be allowed to follow
+in his footsteps. For three days and three nights he knelt in prayer at
+the tomb of his Redeemer. Six centuries and more have gone by since
+then. It is high time that we renewed our intercourse with the Most High
+in the country of His chosen people. I, too, would kneel at that tomb.
+I, too, surrounded by the holy hills and groves of Jerusalem, would lift
+my voice to Heaven, and ask for inspiration."
+
+"But surely God will hear your prayers in England as well as in
+Palestine?"
+
+"No," said his son. "He has never raised up a prophet or a great saint
+in this country. If we want Him to speak to us as He spoke to the men of
+old, we must go, like the Crusaders, to the Holy Land."
+
+Finding that he could not turn his son from the strange course on which
+he was bent, the duke got a great prelate to try and persuade him that
+all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
+
+"We live in an age of progress," reasoned the philosophic bishop.
+"Religion is spreading with the spread of civilisation. How all our
+towns are growing! We shall soon see a bishop in Manchester."
+
+"I want to see an angel in Manchester," replied Tancred.
+
+It was no use arguing with a man who talked in this way, and the duke
+gave Tancred permission to set out on his new crusade.
+
+
+_II.--The Vigil by the Tomb_
+
+
+The moon sank behind the Mount of Olives, leaving the towers, minarets,
+and domes of Jerusalem in deep shadow; the lamps in the city went out,
+and every outline was lost in gloom; but the Church of the Holy
+Sepulchre still shone in the darkness like a beacon light. There, while
+every soul in Jerusalem slumbered, Tancred knelt in prayer by the tomb
+of Christ, under the lighted dome, waiting for the fire from heaven to
+strike into his soul.
+
+His strange vigil was the talk of Syria. It is remarkable how quickly
+news travels in the East.
+
+"Do you know," said Besso, Rothschild's agent, to his foster-son
+Fakredeen, an emir of Lebanon, as they sat talking in a house near the
+gate of Sion, "the young Englishman has brought me such a letter that if
+he were to tell me to rebuild Solomon's temple, I must do it!"
+
+"He must be fabulously rich!" said Fakredeen, with a sigh. "What has he
+come here for? The English do not come on pilgrimages. They are all
+infidels."
+
+"Well, he has come on a pilgrimage," said Besso, "and he is the greatest
+of English princes. He kneels all night and day in the church over
+there."
+
+Yes, after a week of solitude, fasting, and prayer, Tancred was keeping
+vigil before the empty Sepulchre, where Tancred of Montacute had knelt
+six hundred years before. Day after day, night after night, he prayed
+for inspiration, but no divine voice broke in upon his impassioned
+reveries. It was for him that Alonzo Lara, the prior of Terra Santa,
+kept the light burning all night long at the Holy Sepulchre, for the
+Spaniard had been moved by the deep faith of the young English nobleman.
+And one day he said to him:
+
+"Sinai led to Calvary. I think it would be wise for you to trace the
+path backward from Calvary to Sinai."
+
+It was extremely perilous at that time to adventure into the great
+desert, for the wild Bedouin tribes were encamped there. But, in spite
+of this, Tancred made arrangements with an Arabian chief, Sheikh Hassan,
+and set out for Sinai at the head of a well-armed band of Arabs.
+
+"Ah!" said the sheikh, as they entered the mountainous country, after a
+three days' march across the wilderness. "Look at these tracks of horses
+and camels in the defile. The marks are fresh. See that your guns are
+primed!" he cried to his men.
+
+As he spoke a troop of wild horsemen galloped down the ravine.
+
+"Hassan," one of them shouted, "is that the brother of the Queen of the
+English with you? Let him ride with us, and you may return in peace."
+
+"He is my brother, too," said Hassan. "Stand aside, you sons of Eblis,
+or you shall bite the earth."
+
+A wild shout from every height of the defile was the answer. Tancred
+looked up. The crest on either side was lined with Bedouins, each with
+his musket levelled.
+
+"There is only one thing for us to do," said Tancred to Hassan. "Let us
+charge through the defile, and die like men!"
+
+Seizing his pistols, he shot the first horseman through the head, and
+disabled another. Then he charged down the ravine, and Hassan and his
+men followed, and scattered the horsemen before them. The Bedouins fired
+down on them from the crests, and, in a few moments, the place was
+filled with smoke, and Tancred could not see a yard around him. Still he
+galloped on, and the smoke suddenly drifted, and he found himself at the
+mouth of the defile, with a few followers behind him. A crowd of
+Bedouins were waiting for him.
+
+"Die fighting! Die fighting!" he shouted. Then his horse stumbled,
+stabbed from beneath by a Bedouin dagger, and fell in the sand. Before
+he could get his feet out of the stirrups, he was overpowered and bound.
+
+"Don't hurt him," said the Bedouin chief. "Every drop of his blood is
+worth ten thousand piastres."
+
+Late that night, as Amalek, the great Rechabite Bedouin sheikh, was
+sitting before his tent, a horseman rode up to him.
+
+"Salaam," he cried. "Sheikh of sheikhs, it is done! The brother of the
+Queen of England is your slave!"
+
+"Good!" said Amalek. "May your mother eat the hump of a young camel! Is
+the brother of the queen with Sheikh Salem?"
+
+"No," said the horseman, "Sheikh Salem is in paradise, and many of our
+men are with him. The brother of the Queen of the English is a mighty
+warrior. He fought like a lion, but we brought his horse down at last
+and took him alive."
+
+"Good!" said Amalek. "Camels shall be given to all the widows of the men
+he has killed, and I will find them new husbands. Go and tell Fakredeen
+the good news!"
+
+Amalek and Fakredeen would not have cared had they lost a hundred men in
+the affair. The Bedouin chief and the emir of Lebanon could bring into
+the field more than twenty thousand lances, and the capture of Tancred
+was part of a political scheme which they were engineering for the
+conquest of Syria. They knew from Besso that the young English prince
+was fabulously rich, and, as they wanted arms, they meant to hold him to
+the extraordinary ransom of two million piastres.
+
+"My foster father will pay it," said Fakredeen. "He told me that he
+would have to rebuild Solomon's temple if the English prince asked him
+to. We will get him to help us rebuild Solomon's empire."
+
+
+_III.--The Vision on the Mount_
+
+
+On the wild granite scarp of Mount Sinai, about seven thousand feet
+above the blue seas that lave its base, is a small plain hemmed in by
+pinnacles of rock. In the centre of the plain are a cypress tree and a
+fountain. This is the traditional scene of the greatest event in the
+history of mankind. It was here that Moses received the divine laws on
+which the civilisation of the world is based.
+
+Tancred of Montacute knelt down on the sacred soil, and bowed his head
+in prayer. Far below him, in one of the green-valleys sloping down to
+the sea, Fakredeen and a band of Bedouins pitched their tents for the
+night, and talked in awed tones of their strange companion. Wonderful is
+the power of soul with which a great idea endues a man. The young emir
+of Lebanon and his men were no longer the captors of Tancred, but his
+followers. He had preached to them with the eyes of flame and the words
+of fire of a prophet; and they now asked of him, not a ransom, but a
+revelation. They wanted him to bring down from Sinai the new word of
+power, which would bind their scattered tribes into a mighty nation,
+with a divine mission for all the world.
+
+What was this word to be? Tancred did not know any more than his
+followers, and he knelt all day long under the Arabian sun, waiting for
+the divine revelation. The sunlight faded, and the shadows fell around
+him, and he still remained bowed in a strange, quiet ecstasy of
+expectation. But at last, lifting up his eyes to the clear, starry sky
+of Arabia, he prayed:
+
+"O Lord God of Israel, I come to Thine ancient dwelling-place to pour
+forth the heart of tortured Europe. Why does no impulse from Thy
+renovating will strike again into the soul of man? Faith fades and duty
+dies, and a profound melancholy falls upon the world. Our kings cannot
+rule, our priests doubt, and our multitudes toil and moan, and call in
+their madness upon unknown gods. If this transfigured mount may not
+again behold Thee, if Thou wilt not again descend to teach and console
+us, send, oh send, one of the starry messengers that guard Thy throne,
+to save Thy creatures from their terrible despair!"
+
+As he prayed all the stars of Arabia grew strangely dim. The wild peaks
+of Sinai, standing sharp and black in the lucid, purple air, melted into
+shadowy, changing masses. The huge branches of the cypress-tree moved
+mysteriously above his head, and he fell upon the earth senseless and in
+a trance.
+
+It seemed to Tancred that a mighty form was bending over him with a
+countenance like an oriental night, dark yet lustrous, mystical yet
+clear. The solemn eyes of the shadowy apparition were full of the
+brightness and energy of youth and the calm wisdom of the ages.
+
+"I am the Angel of Arabia," said the spectral figure, waving a sceptre
+fashioned like a palm-tree, "the guardian spirit of the land which
+governs the world; for its power lies neither in the sword nor in the
+shield, for these pass away, but in ideas which are divine. All the
+thoughts of every nation come from a higher power than man, but the
+thoughts of Arabia come directly from the Most High. You want a new
+revelation to Christendom? Listen to the ancient message of Arabia!
+
+"Your people now hanker after other gods than the God of Sinai and
+Calvary. But the eternal principles of that Arabian faith, which moulded
+them from savages into civilised men when they descended from their
+northern forests fifteen hundred years ago, and spread all over the
+world, can alone breathe new vigour into them, now that they are
+decaying in the dust and fever of their great cities. Tell them that
+they must cease from seeking in their vain philosophies for the solution
+of their social problems. Their, longing for the brotherhood of mankind
+can only be satisfied when they acknowledge the sway of a common father.
+Tell them that they are the children of God. Announce the sublime and
+solacing doctrine of theocratic equality. Fear not, falter not. Obey the
+impulse of thine own spirit, and find a ready instrument in every human
+being."
+
+A sound as of thunder roused Tancred from his trance. Above him the
+mountains rose sharp and black in the clear purple air, and the Arabian
+stars shone with undimmed brightness; but the voice of the angel still
+lingered in his ear. He went down the mountain; at its base he found his
+followers sleeping amid their camels. He aroused Fakredeen, and told him
+that he had received the word which would bind together the warring
+nations of Arabia and Palestine, and reshape the earth.
+
+
+_IV.--The Mystic Queen_
+
+
+"It has been a great day," said Tancred to Fakredeen, as they were
+sitting some months afterwards in the castle of the young emir of
+Lebanon, where all the princes of Syria had assembled to discuss the
+foundation of the new empire. "If your friends will only work together
+as they promise, Syria is ours."
+
+"Even Lebanon," said Fakredeen, "can send forth more than fifty thousand
+well-armed footmen, and Amalek is gathering all the horsemen of the
+desert, from Petraea to Yemen, under our banner. If we can only win over
+the Ansarey," he continued, "we shall have all Syria and Arabia as a
+base for our operations."
+
+"The Ansarey?" exclaimed Tancred. "They hold the mountains around
+Antioch, which are the key of Palestine, don't they? What is their
+religion? Do you think that the doctrine of theocratic equality would
+appeal to them as it did to the Arabians?"
+
+"I don't know," said the emir. "They never allow strangers to enter
+their country. They are a very ancient people, and they fight so well in
+their mountains that even the Turks have not been able to conquer them."
+
+"But can't we make overtures?" said Tancred.
+
+"That is what I have done," said Fakredeen. "The Queen of the Ansarey
+has heard about you, and I have arranged that we should go and see her
+as soon as the Syrian assembly was over. Everything is ready for our
+journey, so, if you like, we will start at once."
+
+It was a difficult expedition, as the Queen of the Ansarey was then
+waging war on the Turkish pasha of Aleppo. Happily, the travellers came
+upon a band of Ansareys who were raiding the Turkish province, and were
+led by them through their black ravines to the fortress palace of the
+queen.
+
+She received them, sitting on her divan, clothed in a purple robe, and
+shrouded in a long veil. This she took off when Tancred came towards
+her, and he marvelled at the strangeness of her beauty. There was
+nothing oriental about her. She was a Greek girl of the ancient type,
+with violet eyes, fair cheeks, and dark hair.
+
+"Prince," she said, "we are a people who wish neither to see nor to be
+seen. We do not care what goes on in the world around. Our mountains are
+wild and barren, but while Apollo dwells among us, we do not care for
+gold, or silk, or jewels."
+
+"Apollo!" cried Tancred. "Are the gods of Olympus still worshipped on
+earth?"
+
+"Yes, Apollo still lives among us, and another greater than Apollo,"
+said the young queen, looking at Tancred long and earnestly. "Follow me,
+and you shall now behold the secret of the Ansarey."
+
+Her maidens adorned her with a garland of roses, and put a garland on
+the head of Tancred, and she led him through a portal of bronze, down an
+underground passage, into an Ionic temple, filled with the white and
+lovely forms of the gods of ancient Greece.
+
+"Do you know this?" said the queen to Tancred, looking at a statue in
+golden ivory, and then at the young Englishman, whose clear-cut features
+and hyacinthine locks curiously resembled those of the carven image.
+
+"It is Phoebus Apollo," said Tancred, and, moved by admiration at the
+beauty of the figure, he murmured some lines of Homer.
+
+"Ah, you know all!" cried the queen. "You know our secret language. Yes,
+this is Phoebus Apollo. He used to stand in Antioch in the ancient days
+before the Christians drove us into the mountains. And look," she said,
+pointing to the statue beside Apollo, "here is the Syrian goddess before
+whom the pilgrims of the world once knelt. She is named Astarte, and I
+am called after her."
+
+"Oh, angels watch over me!" said Tancred to himself as Queen Astarte
+fixed her violet eyes upon him with a glance of love that could not be
+mistaken, and led him back into the hall of audience.
+
+There he saw Fakredeen bending over a maiden with a flower-like face,
+and large, dark, lustrous eyes.
+
+"She is my foster-sister, Eva," said Fakredeen. "The Ansareys captured
+her on the plain of Aleppo."
+
+Tancred had met Eva at the house of Besso in Jerusalem, but she did not
+then exercise over him the strange charm which now drew him to her side.
+It seemed to him that the beautiful Jewish girl had been sent to help
+him in his struggle against the heathen spells of Astarte. As he was
+meditating how he could rescue her, a messenger came in, and announced
+that the pasha of Aleppo had invaded the mountains at the head of 5,000
+troops.
+
+"Ah!" cried Astarte. "Few of them will ever see Aleppo again. I have
+25,000 men under arms, and you, my prince," she said, turning to
+Tancred, "shall command them."
+
+Tancred had learnt something of the arts of mountain warfare from Sheikh
+Amalek. He allowed the Turkish troops to penetrate into the heart of the
+wild hills, and then, as they were marching down a long defile, he
+attacked them from the crests above, shooting them down like sheep and
+burying them in avalanches of rolling rock. Instead of returning to the
+fortress palace, he sent his men on ahead, and rode out alone into the
+desert, and went through the Syrian wilderness back to Jerusalem.
+
+Riding up to the door of Besso's house by Sion gate, he asked if there
+were any news of Eva. A negro led him into a garden, and there, sitting
+by the side of a fountain, was the lovely Jewish maiden.
+
+"So Fakredeen brought you safely away, Eva," he said tenderly. "I was
+afraid that Astarte meant to harm you."
+
+"She would have killed me," said Eva, "if she could. I am afraid that
+your faith in your idea of theocratic equality has been destroyed by the
+Ansareys. How can you build up an empire in a land divided by so many
+jarring creeds? Do you still believe in Arabia?"
+
+"I believe in Arabia," cried Tancred, kneeling down at her feet,
+"because I believe in you. You are the angel of Arabia, and the angel of
+my life. You cannot guess what influence you have had on my fate. You
+came into my life like another messenger from God. Thanks to you, my
+faith has never faltered. Will you not share it, dearest?"
+
+He clasped her hand, and gazed with passionate adoration into her face.
+As her head fell upon his shoulder, the negro came running to the
+fountain.
+
+"The Duke of Bellamont!" he said to Tancred.
+
+Tancred looked up, and saw the Duke of Bellamont coming through the
+pomegranate trees of the garden.
+
+"Father," he said, advancing towards the duke, "I have found my mission
+in life, and I am going to marry this lady."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ALEXANDRE DUMAS
+
+
+
+Marguerite de Valois
+
+
+      Alexandre Dumas, _père_ (to distinguish him from his son of
+     the same name), early became known as a talented writer, and
+     especially as a poet and dramatist. His first published work
+     appeared in 1823; then came volumes of poems in 1825, 1826,
+     and the drama of "Henry III." in 1828. In "Marguerite de
+     Valois," published in 1845, the first of the "Valois" series
+     of historical romances, Dumas takes us back from the days of
+     Richelieu and the "Three Musketeers" to the preceding century
+     and the early struggles of Catholic and Huguenot. It was a
+     stirring time in France, full of horrors and bloodshed, plots
+     and intrigues, when Marguerite de Valois married Henry of
+     Navarre, and Alexandre Dumas gives us, in his wonderfully,
+     vivid and attractive style, a great picture of the French
+     court in the time of Charles IX. Little affection existed
+     between Henry and his bride, but strong ties of interest and
+     ambition bound them together, and for a long time they both
+     adhered loyally to the treaty of political alliance they had
+     drawn up for their mutual advantage. Dumas died on December 5,
+     1870, after experiencing many changes of fortune. His son also
+     won considerable reputation as a dramatist and novelist.
+
+
+_I.--Henry of Navarre and Marguerite_
+
+
+On Monday, August 18, 1572, a great festival was held in the palace of
+the Louvre. It was to celebrate the marriage of Henry of Navarre and
+Marguerite de Valois, a marriage that perplexed a good many people, and
+alarmed others.
+
+For Henry de Bourbon, King of Navarre, was the leader of the Huguenot
+party, and Marguerite was the daughter of Catherine de Medici, and the
+sister of the king, Charles IX., and this alliance between a Protestant
+and a Catholic, it seemed, was to end the strife that rent the nation.
+The king, too, had set his heart on this marriage, and the Huguenots
+were somewhat reassured by the king's declaration that Catholic and
+Huguenot alike were now his subjects, and were equally beloved by him.
+Still, there were many on both sides who feared and distrusted the
+alliance.
+
+At midnight, six days later, on August 24, the tocsin sounded, and the
+massacre of St. Bartholomew began.
+
+The marriage, indeed, was in no sense a love match; but Henry succeeded
+at once in making Marguerite his friend, for he was alive to the dangers
+that surrounded him.
+
+"Madame," he said, presenting himself at Marguerite's rooms on the night
+of the wedding festival, "whatever many persons may have said, I think
+our marriage is a good marriage. I stand well with you--you stand well
+with me. Therefore, we ought to act towards each other like good allies,
+since to-day we have been allied in the sight of God! Don't you think
+so?"
+
+"Without question, sir!"
+
+"I know, madame, that the ground at court is full of dangerous abysses;
+and I know that, though I am young and have never injured any person, I
+have many enemies. The king hates me, his brothers, the Duke of Anjou
+and the Duke D'Alençon, hate me. Catherine de Medici hated my mother too
+much not to hate me. Well, against these menaces, which must soon become
+attacks, I can only defend myself by your aid, for you are beloved by
+all those who hate me!"
+
+"I?" said Marguerite.
+
+"Yes, you!" replied Henry. "And if you will--I do not say love me--but
+if you will be my ally I can brave anything; while, if you become my
+enemy, I am lost."
+
+"Your enemy! Never, sir!" exclaimed Marguerite.
+
+"And my ally."
+
+"Most decidedly!"
+
+And Marguerite turned round and presented her hand to the king. "It is
+agreed," she said.
+
+"Political alliance, frank and loyal?" asked Henry.
+
+"Frank and loyal," was the answer.
+
+At the door Henry turned and said softly, "Thanks, Marguerite; thanks!
+You are a true daughter of France. Lacking your love, your friendship
+will not fail me. I rely on you, as you, for your part, may rely on me.
+Adieu, madame."
+
+He kissed his wife's hand; and then, with a quick step, the king went
+down the corridor to his own apartment. "I have more need of fidelity in
+politics than in love," he said to himself.
+
+If on both sides there was little attempt at fidelity in love, there was
+an honourable alliance, which was maintained unbroken and saved the life
+of Henry of Navarre from his enemies on more than one occasion.
+
+On the day of the St. Bartholomew massacre, while the Huguenots were
+being murdered throughout Paris, Charles IX., instigated by his mother,
+summoned Henry of Navarre to the royal armoury, and called upon him to
+turn Catholic or die.
+
+"Will you kill me, sire--me, your brother-in-law?" exclaimed Henry.
+
+Charles IX. turned away to the open window. "I must kill someone," he
+cried, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.
+
+Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loaded and fired his
+arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim was
+successful.
+
+"It's all over with me!" said Henry to himself. "When he sees no one
+else to kill, he will kill me!"
+
+Catherine de Medici entered as the king fired his last shot. "Is it
+done?" she said, anxiously.
+
+"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. "No; the
+obstinate blockhead will not consent!"
+
+Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and
+which said, "Why, then, is he alive?"
+
+"He lives," said the king, "because he is my relative."
+
+Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend.
+
+"Madame," he said, addressing her, "I can see quite clearly that all
+this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles. It was you who
+planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us
+all. It was you who made your daughter the bait. It has been you who
+have separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed
+before her eyes!"
+
+"Yes; but that shall not be!" cried another voice; and Marguerite,
+breathless and impassioned, burst into the room.
+
+"Sir," said Marguerite to Henry, "your last words were an accusation,
+and were both right and wrong. They have made me the means for
+attempting to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you
+were going to destruction. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very
+night they all but killed me in seeking you. Directly I knew of your
+danger I sought you. If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if
+they imprison you they shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will
+also die!"
+
+She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly.
+
+"Brother," cried Marguerite to Charles IX., "remember, you made him my
+husband!"
+
+"Faith, Margot is right, and Henry is my brother-in-law," said the king.
+
+
+_II.--The Boar Hunt_
+
+
+As time went on, if Catherine's hatred of Henry of Navarre did not
+diminish, Charles IX. certainly became more friendly.
+
+Catherine was for ever intriguing and plotting for the fortune of her
+sons and the downfall of her son-in-law, but Henry always managed to
+evade the webs she wove. At a certain boar-hunt Charles was indebted to
+Henry for his life.
+
+It was at the time when the king's brother D'Anjou had accepted the
+crown of Poland, and the second brother, D'Alençon, a weak-minded,
+ambitious man, was secretly hoping for a crown somewhere, that Henry
+paid his debt for the king's mercy to him on the night of St.
+Bartholomew.
+
+Charles was an intrepid hunter, but the boar had swerved as the king's
+spear was aimed at him, and, maddened with rage, the animal had rushed
+at him. Charles tried to draw his hunting-knife but the sheath was so
+tight it was impossible.
+
+"The boar! the boar!" shouted the king. "Help, D'Alençon, help!"
+
+D'Alençon was ghastly white as he placed his arquebuse to his shoulder
+and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, felled the king's
+horse.
+
+"I think," D'Alençon murmured to himself, "that D'Anjou is King of
+France, and I King of Poland."
+
+The boar's tusk had indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an
+iron glove dashed itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife was
+plunged into its shoulder.
+
+Charles rose with difficulty, and seemed for a moment as if about to
+fall by the dead boar. Then he looked at Henry of Navarre, and for the
+first time in four-and-twenty years his heart was touched.
+
+"Thanks, Harry!" he said. "D'Alençon, for a first-rate marksman you made
+a most curious shot."
+
+On Marguerite coming up to congratulate the king and thank her husband,
+Charles added, "Margot, you may well thank him. But for him Henry III.
+would be King of France."
+
+"Alas, madame," returned Henry, "M. D'Anjou, who is always my enemy,
+will now hate me more than ever; but everyone has to do what he can."
+
+Had Charles IX. been killed, the Duke d'Anjou would have been King of
+France, and D'Alençon most probably King of Poland. Henry of Navarre
+would have gained nothing by this change of affairs.
+
+Instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have had the Duke
+d'Anjou on the throne, who, being absolutely at one with his mother,
+Catherine, had sworn his death, and would have kept his oath.
+
+These ideas were in his brain when the wild boar rushed on Charles, and
+like lightning he saw that his own existence was bound up with the life
+of Charles IX. But the king knew nothing of the spring and motive of the
+devotion which had saved his life, and on the following day he showed
+his gratitude to Henry by carrying him off from his apartments, and out
+of the Louvre. Catherine, in her fear lest Henry of Navarre should be
+some day King of France, had arranged the assassination of her son-in-
+law; and Charles, getting wind of this, warned him that the air of the
+Louvre was not good for him that night, and kept him in his company.
+Instead of Henry, it was one of his followers who was killed.
+
+
+_III.--The Poisoned Book_
+
+
+Once more Catherine resolved to destroy Henry. The Huguenots had plotted
+with D'Alençon that he should be King of Navarre, since Henry not only
+abjured Protestantism but remained in Paris, being kept there indeed by
+the will of Charles IX.
+
+Catherine, aware of D'Alençon's scheme, assured her son that Henry was
+suffering from an incurable disease, and must be taken away from Paris
+when D'Alençon started for Navarre.
+
+"Are you sure that Henry will die?" asked D'Alençon.
+
+"The physician who gave me a certain book assured me of it."
+
+"And where is this book? What is it?"
+
+Catherine brought the book from her cabinet.
+
+"Here it is. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons
+by an Italian. Give it to Henry, who is going hawking with the king
+to-day, and will not fail to read it."
+
+"I dare not!" said D'Alençon, shuddering.
+
+"Nonsense!" replied Catherine. "It is a book like any other, only the
+leaves have a way of sticking together. Don't attempt to read it
+yourself, for you will have to wet the finger in turning over each leaf,
+which takes up so much time."
+
+"Oh," said D'Alençon, "Henry is with the court! Give me the book, and
+while he is away I will put it in his room."
+
+D'Alençon's hand was trembling as he took the book from the
+queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear he entered Henry's
+apartment and placed the volume, open at the title-page.
+
+But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who found
+the book and carried it off to his own room. D'Alençon found the king
+reading.
+
+"By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cried Charles. "Only it seems
+as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the
+wonders it contains."
+
+D'Alençon's first thought was to snatch the book from his brother, but
+he hesitated.
+
+The king again moistened his finger and turned over a page. "Let me
+finish this chapter," he said, "and then tell me what you please. I have
+already read fifty pages."
+
+"He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thought
+D'Alençon. "He is a dead man!"
+
+The poison did its deadly work. Charles was taken ill while out hunting,
+and returned to find his dog dead, and in its mouth pieces of paper from
+the precious book on falconry. The king turned pale. The book was
+poisoned! Many things flashed across his memory, and he knew his life
+was doomed.
+
+Charles summoned Renè, a Florentine, the court perfumer to Catherine de
+Medici, to his presence, and bade him examine the dog.
+
+"Sire," said Renè, after a close investigation, "the dog has been
+poisoned by arsenic."
+
+"He has eaten a leaf of this book," said Charles; "and if you do not
+tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by
+red-hot pincers."
+
+"Sire," stammered the Florentine, "this book belongs to me!"
+
+"And how did it leave your hands?"
+
+"Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house."
+
+"Why did she do that?"
+
+"I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked
+for a book on hawking."
+
+"Ah," said Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room.
+It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to
+Renè, "this poison does not always kill at once?"
+
+"No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time."
+
+"Is there no remedy?"
+
+"None, sire, unless it be instantly administered."
+
+Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This
+book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de Medici.--Renè,"
+and then dismissed him.
+
+Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in
+the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the
+physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth.
+
+Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his
+disease.
+
+"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"
+
+"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity.
+
+"Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An
+enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible
+conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it,
+perhaps, but I know it for a certainty."
+
+"I never doubt what you tell me," replied the king sarcastically. "I am
+curious to know how they have sought to kill me."
+
+"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of
+yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden
+stars, and over this a royal mantle.
+
+"See, it has on its head a crown," said Catherine, "and there is a
+needle in its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"
+
+"Myself?"
+
+"Yes, in your royal robes, with the crown on your head."
+
+"And who made this figure?" asked-the king, weary of the wretched farce.
+"The King of Navarre, of course!"
+
+"No, sire; he did not actually make it, but it was found in the rooms of
+M. de la Mole, who serves the King of Navarre."
+
+"So, then, the person who seeks to kill me is M. de la Mole?" said
+Charles.
+
+"He is only the instrument, and behind the instrument is the hand that
+directs it," replied Catherine.
+
+"This, then, is the cause of my illness. And now what must I do--for I
+know nothing of sorcery?"
+
+"The death of the conspirator destroys the charm. Its power ends with
+his life. You are convinced now, are you not, of the cause of your
+illness?"
+
+"Oh, certainly," Charles answered ironically. "And I am to punish M. de
+la Mole, as you say he is the guilty party?"
+
+"I say he is the instrument, and," muttered Catherine, "we have
+infallible means for making him confess the name of his principal."
+
+Catherine left hurriedly without understanding the sardonic laughter of
+the king, and as she went out Marguerite appeared.
+
+"Oh, sire--sire," cried Marguerite, "you know what _she_ says is false.
+It is terrible to accuse anyone's own mother, but she only lives to
+persecute the man who is devoted to you, Henry--your Henry--and I swear
+to you that what she says is false!"
+
+"I think so, too, Margot. But Henry is safe. Safer in disgrace in
+Vincennes than in favour at the Louvre."
+
+"Oh, thanks, thanks! But there is another person in whose welfare I am
+interested, whom I hardly dare mention to my brother, much less to my
+king."
+
+"M. de la Mole, is it not? But do you know that a figure dressed in
+royal robes and pierced to the heart was found in his rooms?"
+
+"I know it; but it was the figure of a woman, not of a man."
+
+"And the needle?"
+
+"Was a charm not to kill a man, but to make a woman love him."
+
+"What was the name of this woman?"
+
+"Marguerite!" cried the queen, throwing herself down and bathing the
+king's hand in her tears.
+
+"Margot, what if I know the real author of the crime? For a crime has
+been committed, and I have not three months to live. I am poisoned, but
+it must be thought I die by magic."
+
+"You know who is guilty?"
+
+"Yes; but it must be kept from the world, and so it must be believed I
+die of magic, and by the agency of him they accuse."
+
+"But it is monstrous!" exclaimed Marguerite. "You know he is innocent.
+Pardon him--pardon him!"
+
+"I know it, but the world must believe him guilty. Let your friend die.
+His death alone can save the honour of our family. I am dying that the
+secret may be preserved."
+
+M. de la Mole, after enduring excruciating tortures at the hand of
+Catherine, without making any admissions, died on the scaffold.
+
+
+_IV--"The Bourbon Shall Not Reign_!"
+
+
+Before he died Charles showed Catherine the poisoned book, which he had
+kept under lock and key.
+
+"And now burn it, madame. I read this book too much, so fond was I of
+the chase. And the world must not know the weaknesses of kings. When it
+is burnt, please summon my brother Henry. I wish to speak to him about
+the regency."
+
+Catherine brought Henry of Navarre to the king, and warned him that if
+he accepted the regency he was a dead man.
+
+Charles, however, though on his death-bed, declared Henry should be
+regent.
+
+"Madame," he said, addressing his mother, "if I had a son he would be
+king, and you would be regent. In your stead, did you decline, the King
+of Poland would be regent; and in his stead, D'Alençon. But I have no
+son, and therefore the throne belongs to D'Anjou, who is absent. To make
+D'Alençon regent is to invite civil war. I have therefore chosen the
+fittest person for regent Salute him, madame; salute him, D'Alençon. It
+is the King of Navarre!"
+
+"Never," cried Catherine, "shall my race yield to a foreign one! Never
+shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives!"
+
+She left the room, followed by D'Alençon.
+
+"Henry," said Charles, "after my death you will be great and powerful.
+D'Anjou will not leave Poland--they will not let him. D'Alençon is a
+traitor. You alone are capable of governing. It is not the regency only,
+but the throne I give you."
+
+A stream of blood choked his speech.
+
+"The fatal moment is come," said Henry. "Am I to reign, or to live?"
+
+"Live, sire!" a voice answered, and Renè appeared. "The queen has sent
+me to ruin you, but I have faith in your star. It is foretold that you
+shall be king. Do you know that the King of Poland will be here very
+soon? He has been summoned by the queen. A messenger has come from
+Warsaw. You shall be king, but not yet."
+
+"What shall I do, then?"
+
+"Fly instantly to where your friends wait for you."
+
+Henry stooped and kissed his brother's forehead, then disappeared down a
+secret passage, passed through the postern, and, springing on his horse,
+galloped off.
+
+"He flies! The King of Navarre flies!" cried the sentinels.
+
+"Fire on him! Fire!" said the queen.
+
+The sentinels levelled their pieces, but the king was out of reach.
+
+"He flies!" muttered D'Alençon. "I am king, then!"
+
+At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, and Henry d'Anjou
+galloped into the court, followed by four knights, crying, "France!
+France!"
+
+"My son!" cried Catherine joyfully.
+
+"Am I too late?" said D'Anjou.
+
+"No. You are just in time. Listen!"
+
+The captain of the king's guards appeared at the balcony of the king's
+apartment. He broke the wand he held in two places, and holding a piece
+in either hand, called out three times, "King Charles the Ninth is
+dead!"
+
+King Charles the Ninth is dead! King Charles the Ninth is dead!"
+
+"Charles the Ninth is dead!" said Catherine, crossing herself. "God save
+Henry the Third!"
+
+All repeated the cry.
+
+"I have conquered," said Catherine, "and the odious Bourbon shall not
+reign!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Black Tulip
+
+      "The Black Tulip," published in 1850, was the last of
+     Alexandre Dumas' more famous stories, and ranks deservedly
+     high among the short novels of its prolific author. Dumas
+     visited Holland in May, 1849, in order to be present at the
+     coronation of William III. at Amsterdam, and according to
+     Flotow, the composer, it was the king himself who told Dumas
+     the story of "The Black Tulip," and mentioned that none of the
+     author's romances were concerned with the Dutch. Dumas,
+     however, never gave any credit to this anecdote, and others
+     have alleged that Paul Lacroix, the bibliophile, who was
+     assisting Dumas with his novels at that time, is responsible
+     for the plot. The question can never be answered, for who can
+     disentangle the work of Dumas from that of his army of
+     helpers? A feature of "The Black Tulip" is that in it is the
+     bulb, and not a human being, that is the real centre of
+     interest. The fate of the bulb is made of first importance,
+     and the fortunes of Cornelius van Baerle, the tulip fancier,
+     of Boxtel, and of Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, exciting though
+     they are, take second place.
+
+
+_I.--Mob Vengeance_
+
+
+On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of The Hague was crowded in every
+street with a mob of people, all armed with knives, muskets, or sticks,
+and all hurrying towards the Buytenhof.
+
+Within that terrible prison was Cornelius de Witt, brother of John de
+Witt, the ex-Grand Pensionary of Holland.
+
+These brothers De Witt had long served the United Provinces of the Dutch
+Republic, and the people had grown tired of the Republic, and wanted
+William, Prince of Orange, for Stadtholder. John de Witt had signed the
+Act re-establishing the Stadtholderate, but Cornelius had only signed it
+under the compulsion of an Orange mob that attacked his house at
+Dordrecht.
+
+This was the first count against the De Witts--their objection to a
+Stadtholder. The second count was that the De Witts had always done
+their best to keep at peace with France. They knew that war with France
+meant ruin to Holland, but the more violent Orangists still believed
+that such a war would bring honour to the Dutch.
+
+Hence the popular hatred against the De Witts. A miscreant named
+Tyckelaer fanned the flame against Cornelius by declaring that he had
+bribed him to assassinate William, the newly-elected Stadtholder.
+
+Cornelius was arrested, brought to trial, and tortured on the rack, but
+no confession of guilt could be wrung from the innocent, high-souled
+man. Then the judges acquitted Tyckelaer, deprived Cornelius of all his
+offices, and passed sentence of banishment. John de Witt had already
+resigned the office of Grand Pensionary.
+
+On the 20th of August, Cornelius was to leave his prison for exile, and
+a fierce Orangist populace, incited to violence by the harangues of
+Tyckelaer, was rushing to the Buytenhof prepared to do murder, and
+fearful lest the prisoner should escape alive. "To the gaol! To the
+gaol!" yelled the mob. But outside the prison was a line of cavalry
+drawn up under the command of Captain Tilly with orders to guard the
+Buytenhof, and while the populace stood in hesitation, not daring to
+attack the soldiers, John de Witt had quietly driven up to the prison,
+and had been admitted by the gaoler.
+
+The shouts and clamour of the people could be heard within the prison as
+John de Witt, accompanied by Gryphus the gaoler, made his way to his
+brother's cell.
+
+Cornelius learnt there was no time to be lost, but there was a question
+of certain correspondence between John de Witt and M. de Louvois of
+France to be discussed. These letters, entirely creditable though they
+were to the statesmanship of the Grand Pensionary, would have been
+accepted as evidence of treason by the maddened Orangists, and
+Cornelius, instead of burning them, had left them in the keeping of his
+godson, Van Baerle, a quiet, scholarly young man of Dordrecht, who was
+utterly unaware of the nature of the packet.
+
+"They will kill us if these papers are found," said John de Witt, and
+opening the window, they heard the mob shouting, "Death to traitors!"
+
+In spite of fingers and wrists broken by the rack, Cornelius managed to
+write a note.
+
+      DEAR GODSON: Burn the packet I gave you, burn without opening
+     or looking at it, so that you may not know the contents. The
+     secrets it contains bring death. Burn it, and you will have
+     saved both John and Cornelius.
+
+     Farewell, from your affectionate
+
+     CORNELIUS DE WITT.
+
+Then a letter was given to Craeke, John de Witt's faithful servant, who
+at once set off for Dordrecht, and within a few minutes the two brothers
+were driving away to the city gate. Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, unknown
+to her father, had opened the postern, and had herself bidden De Witt's
+coachman drive round to the rear of the prison, and by this means the
+fury of the mob was, for the moment, evaded.
+
+And now the clamour of the Orangists was at the prison door, for Tilly's
+horse had withdrawn on an order signed by the deputies in the town hall,
+and the people were raging to get within the Buytenhof.
+
+The mob burst open the great gate, and yelling, "Death to the traitors!
+To the gallows with Cornelius de Witt!" poured in, only to find the
+prisoner had escaped. But the escape was but from the prison, for the
+city gate was locked when the carriage of the De Witts drove up, locked
+by order of the deputies of the Town Hall, and a certain young man--who
+was none other than William, Prince of Orange--held the key.
+
+Before another gate could be reached the mob, streaming from the
+Buytenhof, had overtaken the carriage, and the De Witts were at its
+mercy.
+
+The two men, whose lives had been spent in the welfare of their country,
+were massacred with unspeakable savagery, and their bodies, stripped,
+and hacked almost beyond recognition, were then strung up on a hastily
+erected gibbet in the market-place.
+
+When the worst had been done, the young man, who had secretly watched
+the proceedings from the window of a neighbouring house, returned the
+key to the gatekeeper.
+
+Then the prince mounted a horse which an equerry held in waiting for
+him, and galloped off to camp to await the message of the States. He
+galloped proudly, for the burghers of The Hague had made of the corpses
+of the De Witts a stepping stone to power for William of Orange.
+
+
+_II.--Betrayed for his Bulbs_
+
+
+Doctor Cornelius van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius de Witt, was in his
+twenty-eighth year, an orphan, but nevertheless, a really happy man. His
+father had amassed a fortune of 400,000 guilders in trade with the
+Indies, and an estate brought him in 10,000 guilders a year. He was
+blessed with the love of a peaceful life with good nerves, ample wealth,
+and a philosophic mind.
+
+Left alone in the big house at Dordrecht, he steadily resisted all
+temptations to public life. He took up the study of botany, and then,
+not knowing what to do with his time and money, decided to go in for one
+of the most extravagant hobbies of the time--the cultivation of his
+favourite flower, the tulip. The fame of Mynheer van Baerle's tulips
+soon spread in the district, and while Cornelius de Witt had roused
+deadly hatred by sowing the seeds of political passion, Van Baerle with
+his tulips won general goodwill. Yet, all unknowingly, Van Baerle had
+made an enemy, an implacable, relentless enemy. This was his neighbour,
+Isaac Boxtel, who lived next door to him in Dordrecht.
+
+Boxtel, from childhood, had been a passionate tulip-grower. He had even
+produced a tulip of his own, and the Boxtel had won wide admiration. One
+day, to his horror, Boxtel discovered that his next-door neighbour, the
+wealthy Mynheer van Baerle, was also a tulip-grower. In bitter anguish
+Boxtel foresaw that he had a rival who, with all the resources at his
+command, might equal and possibly surpass the famous Boxtel creations.
+He almost choked with envy, and from the moment of his discovery lived
+under continual fear. The healthy pastime of tulip growing became, under
+these conditions, a morbid and evil occupation for Boxtel, while Van
+Baerle, on the other hand, totally unaware of the enmity brewing, threw
+himself into the business with the keenest zest, taking for his motto
+the old aphorism, "To despise flowers is to insult God."
+
+So fierce was the envy that seized Boxtel that though he would have
+shrunk from the infamy of destroying a tulip, he would have killed the
+man who grew them. His own plants were neglected; it was useless and
+hopeless to contend against so wealthy a rival. Then Boxtel, fascinated
+by his evil passion, bought a telescope, and, perched on a ladder,
+studied Van Baerle's tulip beds and the drying-room, the tulip-grower's
+sacred place.
+
+One night he lost all moral control, and tying the hind legs of two cats
+together with a piece of string, he flung the animals into Van Baerle's
+garden. To Boxtel's bitter mortification the cats, though they made
+havoc of many precious plants before they broke the string, left the
+four finest tulips untouched.
+
+Shortly afterwards the Haarlem Tulip Society offered a prize of 100,000
+guilders to whomsoever should produce a large black tulip, without spot
+or blemish. Van Baerle at once thought out the idea of the black tulip.
+He had already achieved a dark brown one, while Boxtel, who had only
+managed to produce a light brown one, gave up the quest as impossible,
+and could do nothing but spy on his neighbour's activities.
+
+One evening in January 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to see his grandson,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and went with him alone into the sacred drying-
+room, the laboratory of the tulip-grower. Boxtel, with his telescope,
+recognised the well-known features of the statesman, and presently he
+saw him hand his godson a packet, which the latter put carefully away in
+a cabinet. This packet contained the correspondence of John de Witt and
+M. de Louvois.
+
+Cornelius drove away, and Boxtel wondered what the packet contained. It
+could hardly be bulbs; it must be secret papers.
+
+It was not till August, as we know, that Craeke was despatched to Van
+Baerle with the note bidding him destroy the packet.
+
+Craeke arrived just when Van Baerle was nursing his precious bulbs--the
+bulbs of the black tulip--and his sudden entrance rudely disturbed the
+tulip-grower. He had not time to read the note; indeed, he was too much
+concerned with the welfare of his three particular bulbs to trouble
+about it, before a magistrate and some soldiers entered to arrest him.
+Van Baerle wrapped up the bulbs in the note from his godfather, and was
+sent off under close custody to The Hague. The magistrate carried off
+the packet from the cabinet.
+
+All this was Boxtel's work. It was he who had reported to the magistrate
+the visit of De Witt and the placing of the packet in a cabinet. And
+now, with Van Baerle out of the house as a prisoner, Boxtel in the dead
+of night broke into his neighbour's house, to secure the priceless bulbs
+of the black tulip. He had made out where they were growing, and he
+plunged his hands into the soft soil--only to find nothing. Then the
+wretched man guessed that the bulbs had gone with the prisoner to The
+Hague, and decided to go in pursuit. Van Baerle could only keep them
+while he was alive, and then--they should be his, Isaac Boxtel's.
+
+
+_III.--The Theft of the Tulip_
+
+
+Van Baerle was placed in the cell occupied by Cornelius de Witt in the
+Buytenhof. Outside, in the market-place, the bodies of the De Witts were
+hanging, and Van Baerle read with horror the inscription, "Here hang
+that great rascal John de Witt and the little rascal Cornelius de Witt,
+enemies of their country."
+
+Gryphus laughed when the prisoner asked him what it meant, and replied,
+"That's what happens to those that write secret letters to the enemies
+of the Prince of Orange."
+
+A terrible despair fell on Van Baerle, but he refused to escape when
+Rosa, the gaoler's beautiful daughter, suggested it to him. He was
+brought to trial, and though he denied all knowledge of the
+correspondence, his goods were confiscated, and he was condemned to
+death. He bequeathed his three tulip bulbs to Rosa, explained how she
+must get a certain soil from Dordrecht, and went out calmly to die. On
+the scaffold Van Baerle was reprieved and sentenced to perpetual
+imprisonment, for the Prince of Orange shrank from further bloodshed.
+
+One spectator in the crowd was bitterly disappointed. This was Boxtel,
+who had bribed the headsman to let him have Van Baerle's clothes,
+believing that he would thus obtain the priceless bulbs.
+
+Van Baerle was sent to the prison of Loewenstein, and in February 1673,
+when he was thinking his tulips lost for ever, he heard Rosa's voice.
+Gryphus had applied for the gaolership of Loewenstein, and had been
+appointed.
+
+Nothing could persuade him that if Van Baerle was not a traitor he was
+certainly in league with the devil, like all learned men, and he did all
+he could to mortify and annoy his prisoner. But Rosa would come every
+night when her father, stupefied by gin, was asleep, and talk to
+Cornelius through the barred grating of his cell door.
+
+He taught her to read, and together they planned how the tulip bulbs
+should be brought to flower. One bulb Rosa was to plant, the second Van
+Baerle would cultivate in his cell with soil placed in an old water jug,
+and the third was to be kept in reserve.
+
+Once more hope revived in Baerle's mind, but Rosa often suffered
+vexation because Cornelius thought more of his black tulip than of her.
+
+In the meantime Boxtel, under the assumed name of Jacob Gisels, had made
+his way to Loewenstein in pursuit of the bulbs, and had ingratiated
+himself with Gryphus, offering to marry his daughter. Rosa's tulip had
+to be guarded from Gisels, who was always spying on her movements. She
+kept it in her room for safety, but Boxtel had a key made, and the day
+the tulip flowered, and arose a spotless black, he resolved to take it
+at once, and rush to Haarlem and claim the prize.
+
+The day came. Rosa described to Cornelius the wonderful black tulip, and
+they drew up a letter to the president of the Horticultural Society at
+Haarlem, begging him to come and fetch the wonderful flower.
+
+That very night while Cornelius and Rosa rejoiced as lovers--for now
+even Rosa was convinced of the prisoner's love for her--over the
+happiness of the flowering tulip, Boxtel crept into her room, and
+carried off the black tulip to Haarlem.
+
+As for Van Baerle, he was beside himself with the rage of desperation
+when Rosa told him that the black tulip had been stolen. Rosa, bent on
+recovering the tulip, and certain in her own mind as to the thief,
+hastened away from Loewenstein the next day without a word, Gryphus was
+mad when he learnt his daughter was nowhere to be found, and put down
+the mysterious disappearance of Jacob Gisels and Rosa to the work of the
+devil, and was convinced that Van Baerle was the devil's agent.
+
+The third day after the theft Gryphus, armed with a stick and a knife,
+attacked Cornelius, calling out, "Give me back my daughter." Cornelius
+got hold of the stick, forced Gryphus to drop the knife, and then
+proceeded to give the gaoler a thrashing. The noise brought in turnkeys
+and guards, who speedily carried off the wounded gaoler and arrested Van
+Baerle. To comfort the prisoner they assured him he would certainly be
+shot within twelve hours.
+
+Then an officer, an aide-de-camp of the Prince of Orange, entered,
+escorted Van Baerle to the prison gate, and bade him enter a carriage.
+Believing himself about to die, he thought sadly of Rosa and of the
+tulip he was never to see again. The carriage rolled off, and they
+travelled all that day and night until the journey ended at Haarlem.
+
+
+_IV.--The Triumph of the Tulip_
+
+
+Rosa reached Haarlem just four hours after Boxtel's arrival, and she
+went at once to seek an interview with Mynheer van Systens, the
+President of the Horticultural Society. Immediate admittance was granted
+on her mentioning the magic words "black tulip."
+
+"Sir, the black tulip has been stolen from me," said Rosa.
+
+"But I only saw it two hours ago!" replied the president.
+
+"You saw it--where?"
+
+"Why, at your master's! Are you not in the service of Mynheer Isaac
+Boxtel?"
+
+"I, sir? Certainly not! But this Isaac Boxtel, is he a thin,
+bald-headed, bow-legged, crook-backed, haggard-looking man?"
+
+"You have described him exactly."
+
+"He is the thief; he stole the black tulip from me."
+
+"Well, go and find Mynheer Boxtel--he is at the White Swan Inn, and
+settle it with him." And with that the president took up his pen and
+went on writing, for he was busy over his report.
+
+But Rosa still implored him, and while she was speaking the Prince of
+Orange entered the building. Rosa told everything, how she had received
+the bulb from the prisoner at Loewenstein, and how she had first seen
+the prisoner at The Hague. Then Boxtel was sent for. He was ready with
+his tale. The girl had plotted with her lover, the state prisoner,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and had stolen his--Boxtel's--black tulip, which
+he had unwisely mentioned. However, he had recovered it.
+
+A thought struck Rosa.
+
+"There were three bulbs. What has become of the others?" she asked.
+
+"One failed, the second produced the black tulip, and the third is at
+home at Dordrecht," said Boxtel uneasily.
+
+"You lie; it is here!" cried Rosa. And she drew from her bosom the third
+bulb, still wrapped in the same paper Van Baerle had so hastily put
+round the bulbs on his flight. "Take it, my lord," she said, handing it
+to the prince. And then, glancing at the paper for the first time, she
+added, "Oh, my lord, read this!"
+
+William passed the third bulb to the president, and read the paper
+carefully. It was Cornelius de Witt's letter to his godson, exhorting
+him to burn the packet without opening it. It was the proof of Van
+Baerle's innocence and of his ownership of the bulbs.
+
+"Go, Mynheer Boxtel; you shall have justice. And you, Mynheer van
+Systens, take care of this maiden and of the tulip," said the prince.
+
+That same evening the prince summoned Rosa to the town hall, and talked
+to her. Rosa did not deny her love for Cornelius.
+
+"But what is the good of loving a man condemned to live and die in
+prison?" the prince asked.
+
+"I can help him to live and die," came the answer.
+
+The prince sealed a letter, and sent it off to Loewenstein by Colonel
+van Deken. Then he turned to Rosa, and said, "The day after to-morrow is
+Sunday, and it will be the festival of the tulip. Take these 500
+guilders, and dress yourself in the costume of a Friesland bride, for I
+want it to be a grand festival for you."
+
+Sunday came, May 15, 1673, and all Haarlem gathered to do honour to the
+black tulip. Boxtel was in the crowd, feasting his eyes on the sacred
+flower, which was born aloft in a litter. The procession stopped, and
+the flower was placed on a pedestal, while the people cheered with wild
+enthusiasm. At the solemn moment when the Prince of Orange was to
+acclaim the triumphant owner of the black tulip and present the prize of
+100,000 guilders, the coach with the unhappy prisoner Cornelius van
+Baerle drew up in the market-place.
+
+Cornelius, hearing that the celebration of the black tulip was actually
+proceeding, besought his guard to let him have one glimpse of the
+flower; and the petition was granted by the Prince of Orange.
+
+From a distance of six paces Van Baerle gazed at the black tulip, and
+then he, with the multitude, turned his eyes towards the prince. In dead
+silence the prince declared the occasion of the festival, the discovery
+of the wonderful black tulip, and concluded, "Let the owner of the black
+tulip approach."
+
+Cornelius made an involuntary movement. Boxtel and Rosa rushed forward
+from the crowd.
+
+The prince turned to Rosa. "This tulip is yours, is it not?" he said.
+
+"Yes, my lord," she answered softly. And general applause came from the
+crowd.
+
+"This tulip will henceforth bear the name of its producer, and will be
+called _Tulipa nigra Rosa Baerttensis_, because Van Baerle is to be the
+married name of this damsel," the prince announced; and at the same time
+he took Rosa's hand and placed it within the hand of the prisoner, who
+had rushed forward at the words he had heard.
+
+Boxtel fell down in a fit, and when they raised him up he was dead.
+
+The procession returned to the town hall, the prince declared Rosa the
+prizewinner, and informed Cornelius that, having been wrongfully
+condemned, his property was restored to him. Then he entered his coach,
+and was driven away.
+
+Cornelius and Rosa departed for Dordrecht, and Van Baerle remained ever
+faithful to his wife and his tulips.
+
+As for old Gryphus, after being the roughest gaoler of men, he lived to
+be the fiercest guardian of tulips at Dordrecht.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Corsican Brothers
+
+
+      "The Corsican Brothers" is one of the most famous of Dumas'
+     shorter stories. It was published in 1845, when the author was
+     at the height of his powers, and is remarkable not only for
+     its strong dramatic interest, but for its famous account of
+     old Corsican manners and customs, being inspired by a visit to
+     Corsica in 1834. The scenery of the island, and the life of
+     the inhabitants, the survival of the vendetta, and the fierce
+     family feuds, all made strong appeal to his imaginative mind.
+     Several versions of the story have been dramatised for the
+     English stage, and as a play "The Corsican Brothers" has
+     enjoyed a long popularity; but Dumas himself, who was fond of
+     adapting his works to the stage, never dramatised this story.
+
+
+_I.--The Twins_
+
+
+I was travelling in Corsica early in March 1841. Corsica is a French
+department, but it is by no means French, and Italian is the language
+commonly spoken. It is free from robbers, but it is still the land of
+the vendetta, and the province of Sartene, wherein I was travelling, is
+the home of family feuds, which last for years and are always
+accompanied by loss of life.
+
+I was travelling alone across the island, but I had been obliged to take
+a guide; and when at five o'clock we halted on a hill overlooking the
+village of Sullacro, my guide asked me where I would like to stay for
+the night. There were, perhaps, one hundred and twenty houses in
+Sullacro for me to choose from, so after looking out carefully for the
+one that promised the most comfort, I decided in favour of a strong,
+fortified, squarely-built house.
+
+"Certainly," said my guide. "That is the house of Madame Savilia de
+Franchi. Your honour has chosen wisely."
+
+I was a little uncertain whether it was quite the right thing for me to
+seek hospitality at a house belonging to a lady, for, being only
+thirty-six, I considered myself a young man. But I found it quite
+impossible to make my guide understand my feelings. The notion that my
+staying a night could give occasion for gossip concerning my hostess, or
+that it made any difference whether I was old or young, was
+unintelligible to a Corsican.
+
+Madame Savilia, I learnt from the guide, was about forty, and had two
+sons--twins--twenty-one years old. One lived with his mother, and was a
+Corsican; the other was in Paris, preparing to be a lawyer.
+
+We soon arrived at the house we sought. My guide knocked vigorously at
+the door, which was promptly opened by a man in velvet waistcoat and
+breeches and leather gaiters. I explained that I sought hospitality, and
+was answered in return that the house was honoured by my request. My
+luggage was carried off, and I entered.
+
+In the corridor a beautiful woman, tall, and dressed in black, met me.
+She bade me welcome, and promised me that of her son, telling me that
+the house was at my service.
+
+A maid-servant was called to conduct me to the room of M. Louis, and as
+supper would be served in an hour, I went upstairs.
+
+My room was evidently that of the absent son, and the most comfortable
+in the house. Its furniture was all modern, and there was a well-filled
+bookcase. I hastily looked at the volumes; they denoted a student of
+liberal mind.
+
+A few minutes later, and my host, M. Lucien de Franchi, entered. I
+observed that he was young, of sunburnt complexion, well made, and
+fearless and resolute in his bearing.
+
+"I am anxious to see that you have all you need," he said, "for we
+Corsicans are still savages, and this old hospitality, which is almost
+the only tradition of our forefathers left, has its shortcomings for the
+French."
+
+I assured him that the apartment was far from suggesting savagery.
+
+"My brother Louis likes to live after the French fashion," Lucien
+answered. He went on to speak of his brother, for whom he had a profound
+affection. They had already been parted for ten months, and it was three
+or four years before Louis was expected home.
+
+As for Lucien, nothing, he said, would make him leave Corsica. He
+belonged to the island, and could not live without its torrents, its
+rocks, and its forests. The physical resemblance between himself and his
+brother, he told me, was very great; but there was considerable
+difference of temperament.
+
+Having completed my own change of dress, I went into Lucien's room, at
+his suggestion. It was a regular armoury, and all the furniture was at
+least 300 years old.
+
+While my host put on the dress of a mountaineer, for he mentioned to me
+that he had to attend a meeting after supper, he told me the history of
+some of the carbines and daggers that hung round the room. Of a truth,
+he came of an utterly fearless stock, to whom death was of small account
+by the side of courage and honour.
+
+At supper, Madame de Franchi could not help expressing her anxiety for
+her absent son. No letter had been received, but Lucien for days had
+been feeling wretched and depressed.
+
+"We are twins," he said simply, "and however greatly we are separated,
+we have one and the same body, as we had at our birth. When anything
+happens to one of us, be it physical or mental, it at once affects the
+other. I know that Louis is not dead, for I should have seen him again
+in that case."
+
+"You would have told me if he had come?" said Madame de Franchi
+anxiously.
+
+"At the very moment, mother."
+
+I was amazed. Neither of them seemed to express the slightest doubt or
+surprise at this extraordinary statement.
+
+Lucien went on to regret the passing of the old customs of Corsica. His
+very brother had succumbed to the French spirit, and on his return would
+settle down as an advocate at Ajaccio, and probably prosecute men who
+killed their enemies in a vendetta. "And I, too, am engaged in affairs
+unworthy of a De Franchi," he concluded. "You have come to Corsica with
+curiosity about its inhabitants. If you care to set out with me after
+supper, I will show you a real bandit."
+
+I accepted the invitation with pleasure.
+
+
+_II.--M. Luden de Franchi_
+
+
+Lucien explained to me the object of our expedition. For ten years the
+village of Sullacro had been divided over the quarrel of two families,
+the Orlandi and the Colona--a quarrel that had originated in the seizure
+of a paltry hen belonging to the Orlandi, which had flown into the
+poultry-yard of the Colonas. Nine people had already been killed in this
+feud, and now Lucien, as arbitrator, was to bring it to an end. The
+local prefect had written to Paris that one word from De Franchi would
+end the dispute, and Louis had appealed to him.
+
+To-night Lucien was to arrange matters with Orlandi, as he had already
+done with Colona, and the meeting-place was at the ruins of the Castle
+of Vicentello d'Istria. It was a steep ascent, but we arrived in good
+time, and while we sat and waited, Lucien told me terrible stories of
+feuds and vengeance. Orlandi made his appearance exactly at nine
+o'clock, and after some discussion agreed to Lucien's terms. I found
+that I was expected to act as surety for Orlandi, and accepted the
+responsibility.
+
+"You will now be able to tell my brother, on your return to Paris, that
+it's all been settled as he wished," said Lucien.
+
+On our way home Lucien showed wonderful marksmanship with his gun, and
+admitted he was equally skillful with the pistol. His brother Louis, on
+the other hand, had never touched either gun or pistol.
+
+Next morning came the grand reconciliation of Orlandi and Colona, in the
+market square in the presence of the mayor and the notary. The mayor
+compelled the belligerents to shake hands, a document was signed
+declaring the vendetta at an end, and everybody went to mass.
+
+Later in the day I was compelled to bid good-bye to Madame de Franchi
+and her son, and set out for Paris; but before I left Lucien told me how
+in his family his father had appeared to him on his death-bed, and that,
+not only at death, but at any great crisis in life, an apparition
+appeared. He was certain by his own depression that his brother Louis
+was suffering.
+
+Lucien told me his brother's address, 7, Rue du Helder, and gave me a
+letter which I undertook to deliver personally.
+
+We parted with great cordiality, and a week later I was back in Paris.
+
+
+_III.--The Fate of Louis_
+
+
+I was startled by the extraordinary resemblance of M. Louis de Franchi,
+whom I had at once called upon, to his brother.
+
+I was relieved to find that he was not suffering from illness, and I
+told him of the anxiety of his family concerning his health. M. de
+Franchi replied that he had not been ill, but that he had been suffering
+from a very bitter disappointment, aggravated by the knowledge that his
+own suffering caused his brother to suffer, too. He hoped, however, that
+time would heal the wound in his heart.
+
+We agreed to meet the following night at the opera ball at midnight, on
+the young lawyer's suggestion. I rallied him on his recovery from his
+sorrow, but Louis only said mournfully that he was driven by fate,
+dragged against his will.
+
+"I am quite sure," he said, "that it would be better for me not to go,
+but nevertheless I am going."
+
+Louis was too pre-occupied to talk when we met at the masked ball, and
+he suddenly left me for a lady carrying violets. Later he rejoined me,
+and together we set off to supper at three o'clock in the morning. It
+was my friend D----'s supper party, and he had included Louis in the
+invitation.
+
+We found our friends waiting supper, and D---- announced that the only
+person who had not arrived was Château-Renard. It seemed there was a
+wager on that M. de Château-Renard would not arrive with a certain lady
+whom he had undertaken to bring to supper.
+
+Louis, who was as pale as death, implored D---- not to mention the
+lady's name, and our host acceded to the request.
+
+"Only as her husband is at Smyrna, or in India or Mexico or somewhere,
+and in such a case it's the same as if the lady wasn't married," D----
+observed.
+
+"I assure you her husband is coming back soon, and he is such a good
+fellow he would be horribly mortified to hear his wife had done anything
+silly in his absence."
+
+Château-Renard had till four o'clock to save his bet. At five minutes to
+four he had not arrived, and Louis smiled at me over his wine. At that
+very moment the bell rang. D---- went to the door, and we could hear
+some argument going on in the hall.
+
+Then a lady entered with obvious reluctance, escorted by D---- and
+Château-Renard.
+
+"It's not yet four," said Château-Renard to D----.
+
+"Quite right, my boy," the other answered. "You've won your bet."
+
+"No, hardly yet, sir," said the unknown lady. "Now I know why you were
+so persistent. You have wagered to bring me here to supper, and I
+supposed you were taking me to sup with one of my own friends."
+
+Both Château-Renard and D---- besought the lady to stay, but the fair
+unknown, after expressing her thanks to D---- for his welcome, turned to
+M. Louis de Franchi, and asked him to escort her home. Louis at once
+sprang forward.
+
+Château-Renard, furious, insisted that he would know whom to hold
+accountable.
+
+"If I am the person meant," said Louis, with great dignity, "you will
+find me at home at 7, Rue du Helder all day to-morrow."
+
+Louis departed with his fair companion, and though Château-Renard was
+ostentatiously cheerful, the end of the supper-party was not at all a
+festive business.
+
+At ten o'clock the same morning I arrived at the rooms of M. Louis de
+Franchi. The seconds of Château-Renard had already called, and I passed
+them on the stairs.
+
+Louis had written me a note; with another friend, Baron Giordano
+Martelli, the affair was to be arranged with Baron de Châteaugrand, and
+M. de Boissy, the gentleman I had met on the stairs.
+
+I looked at the cards of these two men, and asked Louis if the matter
+was of any great seriousness.
+
+Louis replied by telling the story of the quarrel. A friend of his, a
+sea captain, had married a beautiful woman, so beautiful and so young
+that Louis could not help falling in love with her. As an honourable man
+he had kept away from the house, and then on being reproached by his
+friend, had frankly told him the reason.
+
+In return, his friend, who was just setting off for Mexico, commended
+his wife, Emilie, whom he adored and trusted absolutely, to his care,
+and asked his wife to consider Louis de Franchi as her brother. For six
+months the captain had been away, and Emilie had been living at her
+mother's. To this house, among other visitors, had come M. de Château-
+Renard, and from the first, this typical man of the world had been an
+object of dislike to Louis. Emilie's flirtations with Château-Renard at
+last provoked a remonstrance from Louis, and in return the lady told him
+that he was in love with her himself, and that he was absurd in his
+notions. After that Louis had left off calling on Emilie, but gossip was
+soon busy with the lady's name.
+
+An anonymous letter had made an appointment for Louis with the lady of
+the violets at the masked ball, and from this person he was informed
+again not only of Emilie's infidelity, but further, that M. de
+Château-Renard had wagered he would bring her to supper at D----'s.
+
+The rest I knew, and I could only assent mournfully that things must go
+on, and that the proposals of Château-Renard's seconds could not be
+declined.
+
+But M. Louis de Franchi had never touched sword or pistol in his life!
+However, there was nothing for it but to return M. de Châteaugrand's
+call.
+
+Martelli and I found that Château-Renard's two supporters were both
+polite men of the world. They were as indifferent as Louis was to the
+choice of weapons, and by a spin of a coin it was decided that pistols
+were to be used.
+
+The place agreed upon for the duel was the Bois de Vincennes, and the
+time nine o'clock the following morning.
+
+I called in the evening on Louis to ask him if he had any instructions
+for me; but his only reply was "Counsel comes with the night," so I
+waited on him next morning.
+
+He was just finishing a letter when I entered, and he bade his servant
+Joseph leave us undisturbed for ten minutes.
+
+"I am anxious," said Louis, "that my friend Giordano Martelli, who is a
+Corsican, should not know of this letter. But you must promise to carry
+out my wishes, and then my family may be saved a second misfortune. Now,
+please read the letter."
+
+I read the letter Louis had written. It was to his mother, and it said
+that he was dying of brain fever. Her son, writing in a lucid interval,
+was beyond hope of recovery. It would be posted to her a quarter of an
+hour after his death. There was an affectionate postscript to Lucien.
+
+"What does this mean? I don't understand it," I said.
+
+"It means that at ten minutes past nine I shall be dead. I have been
+forewarned, that is all. My father appeared to me last night and
+announced my death."
+
+He spoke so simply of this visit, that if it was an illusion it was as
+terribly convincing as the truth.
+
+"There is one thing more," said Louis. "If my brother was to hear that I
+had been killed in a duel, he would at once leave Sullacro to come and
+fight the man who had killed me. And then if he were killed in his turn
+my mother would be thrice widowed. To prevent that I have written this
+letter. If it is believed that I have died of brain fever no one can be
+blamed." He paused. "Unless, unless--but no, that must not be."
+
+I knew that my own strange fear was his.
+
+On the way to Vincennes Baron Giordano stopped to get a case of pistols,
+powder, and balls, and we arrived at our destination just as M. de
+Château-Renard's carriage drove up. At M. de Châteaugrand's suggestion
+we all made our way to a certain glade away from the public pathway.
+
+Martelli and Châteaugrand measured, the distance together, while Louis
+bade me farewell, asking me to accept his watch, and begging me to keep
+the duel out of the papers, and to prevail upon Giordano not to let any
+word of the matter reach Sullacro.
+
+M. Château-Renard was at his post. Baron Giordano gave Louis his pistol.
+
+Châteaugrand called out, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then he clapped his
+hands "One, two, three."
+
+Two shots went off at the same moment, and Louis de Franchi fell. His
+opponent was unhurt. I rushed to Louis and raised him up. Blood came to
+his lips. It was useless to send for a surgeon.
+
+Château-Renard had withdrawn, but his seconds hastened to express their
+horror at the fatal ending of the combat.
+
+Châteaugrand added that he hoped M. de Franchi bore no malice against
+his opponent.
+
+"No, no, I forgive him!" said Louis. "But tell him to leave Paris. He
+must go."
+
+The dying man spoke with difficulty. He reminded me of my promise, and
+asked me, as he fell back, to look at my watch.
+
+It was exactly ten minutes past nine, and Louis was dead.
+
+We carried the body back to the house, and Giordano made the required
+statement to the District Commissioner of Police. Then the house was
+sealed by the police, and Louis de Franchi was laid to rest in
+Père-La-chaise. But M. de Château-Renard could not be persuaded to leave
+Paris, though MM. de Boissy and de Châteaugrand both did their best to
+induce him to go.
+
+
+_IV.--Lucien Takes Vengeance_
+
+
+One night, five days after the funeral, I was working late at my
+writing-table, when my servant entered, and told me in a frightened tone
+that M. de Franchi wanted to speak to me.
+
+"Who?" I said, in astonishment.
+
+"M. de Franchi, sir, your friend--the gentleman who has been here once
+or twice to see you."
+
+"You must be out of your senses, Victor! Don't you know that he died
+five days ago?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and that's why I am so upset. I heard a ring at the bell, and
+when I opened the door, he walked in, asked if you were at home, and
+told me to tell you that M. de Franchi desired to speak with you."
+
+"Are you out of your mind, my good man? I suppose the hall is badly lit,
+and you were half-asleep and heard the name wrong. Go back and ask the
+name again."
+
+"No, sir, I will swear that I'm not mistaken. I'm sure I heard and saw
+perfectly."
+
+"Very well, then, show him in."
+
+Victor went back to the door, trembling all the time, and said, "Please
+step in, sir."
+
+My hasty sensation of terror was quickly dispelled. It was Lucien who
+was apologising to me for disturbing me at such an hour.
+
+"The fact is," he said, "I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will
+understand how impossible it was not to come and see you at once."
+
+I at once thought of the letter I had sent. In five days it could not
+have reached Sullacro.
+
+"Good heaven!" I cried. "Nothing is known to you?"
+
+"Everything is known," he said quietly.
+
+Lucien mentioned that on going to his brother's house, the people were
+so panic-stricken that they refused the door to him.
+
+"Tell me," I said, when we were alone. "You must have been on your way
+here when you heard the fatal news?"
+
+"On the contrary, I was at Sullacro. Have you for-forgotten what I told
+you about the apparitions in my family?"
+
+"Has your brother appeared to you?" I cried.
+
+"Yes. He told me he had been killed in a duel by M. de Château-Renard. I
+saw my brother in his room the day he was killed," Lucien went on, "and
+that night in a dream I saw the place where the duel was fought, and
+heard the name of M. de Château-Renard. And I have come to Paris to kill
+the man who killed my brother. My brother had never touched a pistol in
+his life, and it was as easy to kill him as to kill a tame stag. My
+mother knows why I have come. She is a true Corsican, and she kissed me
+on the forehead and said 'Go!'"
+
+The next morning Lucien wrote to Giordano and sent a challenge to
+Château-Renard. Then he went with me to Vincennes, and, though he had
+never been there in his life before, Lucien walked straight to the spot
+where his brother had fallen. He turned round, walked twenty paces, and
+said, "This is where the villain stood, and to-morrow he will lie here."
+
+Lucien predicted with absolute confidence the death of Château-Renard.
+The challenge was accepted, the same seconds acted, and on the morrow we
+assembled in the fatal glade. Château-Renard was obviously uneasy. The
+signal was given, both men fired, and, sure enough, Château-Renard fell,
+shot through the temple as Lucien had foretold.
+
+Then, for the first time since Louis' death, Lucien burst into tears. He
+dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms. "My brother, my dear
+brother!" he cried.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Count of Monte Cristo
+
+
+      "The Count of Monte Cristo" appeared in 1844, when Dumas had
+     been writing plays and stories for twenty years, and at a
+     period when he was most extraordinarily prolific. In that
+     year, assisted by his staff of compilers and transcribers, he
+     is said to have turned out something like forty volumes!
+     "Monte Cristo" first gave Dumas' novels a world-wide audience.
+     Its unflagging spirit, the endless surprises, and the air of
+     reality which was cast over the most extravagant situations
+     made the work worthy of the popularity it enjoyed in almost
+     every country in the world. The island from which it takes its
+     name is a barren rock rising 2,000 feet out of the sea a few
+     miles south of Elba. Dumas attempted to emulate Scott, and
+     built a château near St. Germain, which he called Monte
+     Cristo, costing over $125,000. It was afterwards sold for a
+     tenth of that sum to pay his debts.
+
+
+_I.--The Conspiracy of Envy_
+
+
+On February 28, 1815, the three-masted Pharaon arrived at Marseilles
+from Smyrna, commanded by the first mate, young Edmond Dantès, the
+captain having died on the voyage. He had left a package for the
+Maréchal Bertrand on the Isle of Elba, which Dantès had duly delivered,
+conversing with the exiled Emperor Napoleon himself.
+
+The shipowner, M. Morrel, confirmed young Dantès in the command, and,
+overjoyed, he hastened to his father, and then to the village of the
+Catalans, near Marseilles, where the dark-eyed Mercédès, his betrothed,
+impatiently awaited him.
+
+But his good fortune excited envy. Danglars, the supercargo of the
+Pharaon, wanted the command for himself, and Fernand, the Catalan cousin
+of Mercédès, hated Dantès because he had won her heart. Fernand's
+jealousy so took possession of him that he fell in willingly with a
+scheme which the envious Danglars proposed. Making use of Dantès'
+compromising visit to Elba, they addressed an anonymous denunciation to
+the _procureur du roi_, which, in this period of Bonapartist plots, was
+indeed a formidable matter. Caderousse, a boon companion, was at first
+taken into their confidence, but as he came to think it a dangerous
+trick to play the young captain, he refused to take part in it.
+
+On the morrow the wedding-feast took place, and at two o'clock Dantès,
+radiant with joy and happiness, prepared to accompany his bride to the
+hotel de ville for the civil ceremony. But at that moment the measured
+tread of soldiery was heard on the stairs, and a magistrate presented
+himself, bearing an order for the arrest of Edmond Dantès. Resistance or
+remonstrance was useless, and Dantès suffered himself to be taken to
+Marseilles, where he was examined by the deputy _procureur du roi,_ M.
+de Villefort. To him, on demand, he recounted the story of his visit to
+Elba.
+
+"Ah!" said Villefort, "if you have been culpable it was imprudence. Give
+up this letter you have brought from Elba, and go and rejoin your
+friends."
+
+"You have it already," cried Dantès.
+
+Villefort glanced at it, and sank into his seat, stupefied. It was
+addressed to M. Noirtier, a staunch Bonapartist.
+
+"Oh, if he knew the contents of this," murmured he, "and that Noirtier
+is father of Villefort, I am lost!" He approached the fire, and cast the
+fatal letter in.
+
+"Sir," said he, "I shall detail you till this evening in the Palais de
+Justice. Should anyone else interrogate you do not breathe a word of
+this letter."
+
+"I promise."
+
+It was Villefort who seemed to entreat, and the prisoner to reassure
+him.
+
+But the doom of Edmond Dantès was cast. Sacrificed to Villefort's
+ambition, he was lodged the same night in a dungeon of the gloomy
+fortress-prison of the Château d'If, while Villefort posted to Paris to
+warn the king that the usurper Bonaparte was meditating a landing in
+France.
+
+Napoleon returned. There followed the Hundred Days, and Louis XVIII.
+again mounted the throne. M. Morrel's intercessions during Napoleon's
+brief triumph for the release of Dantès but served, on the restoration
+of Louis, to compromise further the unhappy prisoner, who languished in
+a foul prison in the depths of the Château d'If.
+
+In the cell next to Dantès was another political prisoner, the Abbé
+Faria. He had been in the château four years when Dantès was immured,
+and, with marvellously contrived tools and incredible toil, had burrowed
+a tunnel through the rock fifty feet long, only to find that, instead of
+leading to the outer wall of the château, whence he could have flung
+himself into the sea, it led to the cell of another prisoner--Dantès. He
+penetrated it after Dantès had been solitary six years.
+
+The prisoners met every day between the visits of their gaolers. Faria
+showed Dantès the products of his industry and ingenuity--his books,
+written on the linen of shirts, his fish-bone pens and needles, knives,
+and matches, all accomplished secretly; and beguiled much of the
+weariness of confinement by educating Dantès in the sciences, history,
+and languages. Dantès possessed a prodigious memory, combined with
+readiness of conception, and his studies progressed rapidly. Soon Dantès
+told the abbé his story, and the abbé had little difficulty in opening
+the eyes of the astonished Dantès to the villainy of his supposed
+friends and the deputy _procurer_. Thus was instilled into his heart a
+new passion--vengeance.
+
+
+_II.--The Cemetery of the Château d'If_
+
+
+More than seven years passed thus when coming into the abbé's dungeon
+one night, Dantès found him stricken with paralysis. His right arm and
+leg remained paralysed after the seizure. When Dantès next visited him
+the abbé showed him a paper, half-burnt, and rolled in a cylinder.
+
+"This paper," said Faria, "is my treasure; and if I have not been
+allowed to possess it, you will. Who knows if another attack may not
+come, and all be finished?"
+
+The abbé had been secretary to the last of the Counts of Spada, one of
+the most powerful families of mediaeval Italy, and he, dying in poverty,
+had left Faria an old breviary, which had been in the family since the
+days of the Borgias. In this, by chance, Faria found a piece of yellowed
+paper, on which, when put in the fire, writing began to appear. From the
+remains of the paper he made out during the early days of his
+imprisonment, that a Cardinal Spada, at the end of the fifteenth
+century, fearing poisoning at the hands of Pope Alexander VI., had
+buried in the Island of Monte Cristo, a rock between Corsica and Elba,
+all his ingots, gold, money, and jewels, amounting then to nearly two
+million Roman crowns.
+
+"The last Count of Spada made me his heir," said the abbé. "The treasure
+now amounts to nearly thirteen millions of money!"
+
+The abbé remained paralysed, and had given up all hope of enjoying the
+treasure himself; and presently another seizure took him, and one night
+Dantès was alone with the corpse.
+
+Next morning the preparations for burying the dead man were made, the
+body being placed in a sack and left in the cell till the evening.
+Dantès came into the cell again.
+
+"Ah!" he muttered. "Since the dead leave this dungeon, let me assume the
+place of the dead!"
+
+Opening the sack, he took out the dead body of his friend, and dragged
+it through the tunnel to his own cell. Placing it on his own bed, he
+covered it with the rags he wore himself. Then he sewed himself in the
+sack with one of the abbé's needles. In his hand he held the dead man's
+knife, and with palpitating heart awaited events.
+
+Slowly the hours dragged on, until at length he heard the heavy
+footsteps of the gaolers descending to the cell. They lifted the sack,
+and carried him on a bier through the castle passages, until they came
+to a door, which was opened. On passing through this, the noise of the
+waves was heard as they dashed on the rocks below.
+
+Then Dantès felt that they took him by the head and by the heels, and
+flung him into the sea, into whose depths he was dragged by a thirty-
+six-pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the cemetery of Château
+d'If!
+
+Although giddy, and almost suffocated, he had yet sufficient presence of
+mind to hold his breath; and as his right hand held his knife, he
+rapidly ripped up the sack, extricated his arm, and then, by a desperate
+effort, severed the cord that bound his legs at the moment he was
+suffocating. With a vigorous spring he rose to the surface, paused to
+breathe, and then dived again, in order to avoid being seen. When he
+rose again, he struck boldly out to sea, and, fortunately, was picked up
+by a sailing-vessel.
+
+Now at liberty, fourteen years after his arrest, he renewed an oath of
+implacable vengeance against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort. Nor was
+it long before he had discovered the secret cave in the island of Monte
+Cristo, with all its dazzling wealth, as the Abbe Faria had truly
+foretold. He now stood possessed of such means of vengeance as never in
+his wildest dreams had any innocent prisoner hoped to be able to
+command.
+
+
+_III.--Vengeance Begins_
+
+
+Some two years later Caspar Caderousse, the keeper of an inn near
+Beaucaire, was lounging listlessly at his door, when a traveller on
+horseback dismounted at his door and entered. The visitor--Monte
+Cristo--gave the name of Abbe Busoni, and astonished Caderousse by
+showing a minute knowledge of his earlier history. The abbé explained
+that he had been present at the death of Edmond Dantès in prison, and
+said that even in his dying moments the prisoner had protested he was
+utterly ignorant of the cause of his imprisonment.
+
+"And so he was!" exclaimed Caderousse. "How should he have been
+otherwise?"
+
+The abbè had heard of the death of Edmond's aged father, and now he was
+told the old man had died of starvation.
+
+"Thus Heaven recompenses virtue," said Caderousse. "I am in destitution
+and shall die of hunger, as old Dantès did, whilst Fernand and Danglars
+roll in wealth. All their malpractices have turned to luck. Danglars
+speculated and made a fortune. He is a millionaire, and now Count
+Danglars. Fernand played traitor at the battle of Ligny, and that served
+for his recommendation to the Bourbons. Afterwards he became Count de
+Morcerf, and got a considerable sum by the betrayal of Ali Pasha in the
+Greek war of independence."
+
+The abbé, making an effort, said, "And Mercédès--she disappeared?"
+
+"Yes, as the sun, to rise next day with more splendour. She is rich, the
+Countess de Morcerf--she waited two hopeless years for Dantès--and yet I
+am sure she is not happy."
+
+"And M. de Villefort?" asked the abbé.
+
+"Some time after having arrested Dantès, he married and left Marseilles;
+no doubt but he has been as lucky as the rest."
+
+"God may seem sometimes to forget for a time," said the abbé, "while His
+justice reposes, but there always comes a moment when He remembers."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in 1838 a certain Count of Monte Cristo became a great figure in
+the life of Paris. His name awakened thoughts of romance and dazzling
+wealth in the minds of all. It was Albert, the son of the Count de
+Morcerf, who first introduced the Count of Monte Cristo to the high
+society of Paris. They had become acquainted at Rome, where Monte Cristo
+had been able to render a great service to the Viscount Albert de
+Morcerf and his friend, the Baron Franz d'Epinay.
+
+All sorts of stories were afloat in Paris as to the history of this
+Count of Monte Cristo. When he went to the opera he was accompanied by a
+beautiful Greek girl, named Haidée, whose guardian he was.
+
+But nothing ruffled Monte Cristo. Calmness and deliberation marked all
+his movements; in some respects he was more like a machine than a human
+being. Everything he said he would do was done precisely. And now the
+schemes he had long studied in secret he had begun to carry through as
+certainly and relentlessly as Fate.
+
+M. de Villefort, now _procureur du roi,_ had a daughter by his first
+wife, for he had married a second time. Her name was Valentine, and at
+the command of her father, but not by her own wish, she was engaged to
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay. She loved a young military officer named
+Maximilian Morrel, a son of the Marseilles shipowner. But neither of
+them had dared to avow their affection for each other to Valentine's
+father.
+
+Meanwhile, the tide of fortune seemed to have turned with Baron
+Danglars. His business had suffered many losses, but his greatest loss
+of all was due to some false news about the price of shares which had
+been telegraphed to Paris by means which Monte Cristo could have
+explained.
+
+The baron's daughter was engaged to Albert de Morcerf, but the Count of
+Morcerf had now come under a cloud, for his betrayal of Ali Pasha had
+been made public; and perhaps the Count of Monte Cristo could have told
+how the truth came out at last. So the baron did not hesitate to break
+the engagement, and to accept as the suitor for his daughter a dashing
+young man known as Count Cavalcanti, who had been introduced to Paris by
+Monte Cristo, but concerning whose antecedents nothing seemed to be
+known.
+
+The Count de Morcerf was tried for his betrayal of Ali, and seemed
+likely to be acquitted, when a veiled woman was brought to the place of
+trial, and testified before the committee that she was the daughter of
+Ali Pasha, and that Morcerf had not only betrayed her father to the
+Turks, but had sold her and her mother into slavery. The veiled woman
+was Haidée, the ward of Monte Cristo. The count was now a ruined man,
+and when his son Albert discovered the part that Monte Cristo had
+played, he publicly insulted the count at the opera.
+
+A duel was averted, for Albert publicly apologised to the count when he
+learned the reasons for his actions. Furious that he had not been
+avenged by his son, Morcerf rushed to the house of Monte Cristo.
+
+"I came to tell you," said Morcerf, "that as the young people of the
+present day will not fight, it remains for us to do it."
+
+"So much the better," said Monte Cristo. "Are you prepared?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and witnesses are unnecessary, as we know each other so
+little."
+
+"Truly they are unnecessary," said Monte Cristo, "but for the reason
+that we know each other well. Are you not the soldier Fernand who
+deserted on the eve of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who
+served as guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the
+Captain Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali?"
+
+"Oh," cried the general, "wretch, to reproach me with my shame! Tell me
+your real name that I may pronounce it when I plunge my sword through
+your heart."
+
+At this Monte Cristo, bounding to a dressing room near, quickly pulled
+off his coat, and waistcoat, and, donning a sailor's jacket and hat, was
+back in an instant.
+
+Gazing for a moment in terror at this man who seemed to have risen from
+the dead to avenge his wrongs, Morcerf turned, seeking the wall to
+support him, and went out by the door uttering the cry--"Edmond Dantès!"
+
+Events marched rapidly now, and Paris had scarcely ceased talking of the
+suicide of the Count de Morcerf, when Cavalcanti, identified as a former
+galley-slave named Benedetto, was arrested for the murder of a fellow-
+convict.
+
+Danglars fled from France, his great business in ruin. With him he took
+a large sum of money belonging to Paris hospitals, which, however, was
+taken from him near Rome by brigands controlled by Monte Cristo.
+
+
+_IV.--Vengeance is Complete_
+
+
+In the household of Villefort, Monte Cristo had done nothing to bring
+vengeance on that evil man. He had seen from the first that Villefort's
+second wife was studying the art of poisoning, and he felt that revenge
+was already at work here. There had already been three mysterious deaths
+in the house, and now the beautiful Valentine seemed to be suffering
+from the early effects of some slow poison. Maximilian Morrel, in
+despair of Valentine's life, rushed to Monte Cristo for his advice and
+assistance.
+
+"Must I let one of the accursed race escape?" Monte Cristo asked
+himself, but decided, for Maxmilian's sake, that he would save
+Valentine. He had bought the house adjoining that of Villefort, and,
+clearing out the tenants, had engaged workmen to remove so much of the
+old wall between the two houses that it was a simple matter for him to
+take out the remaining stones and pass into a large cupboard in
+Valentine's room. Here the count watched while Valentine was asleep, and
+saw Madame de Villefort creep into the room and substitute for the
+medicine in Valentine's glass a dose of poison.
+
+He then entered the room and threw half the draught into the fireplace,
+leaving the rest in the glass. When Valentine awoke he gave her a pellet
+of hashish, which made her sink into a deathlike sleep.
+
+Next morning the doctor declared that Valentine was dead. In the glass
+he discovered poison, and as the same poison was found in madame's
+laboratory, there was no doubt of her guilt. She admitted all, and
+confessed that her object had been to make her own son sole heir to
+Villefort's fortune.
+
+Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He addressed her with
+passionate words of reproach as he turned to leave her.
+
+"Think of it, madame," he said; "if on my return justice has not been
+satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my
+own hands! I am going to the court to pronounce sentence of death on a
+murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in
+gaol."
+
+Madame sighed, her nerves gave way, and she sank on the carpet.
+
+But Villefort little knew at the moment he spoke these burning words to
+the woman who was his wife that he himself was not going out to condemn
+a fellow-sinner, but to be himself condemned. For the man to whom he
+referred as a murderer was the so-called Count Cavalcanti, really
+Benedetto, who now turned out to be an illegitimate son of Villefort's
+whom he had endeavoured to bury alive as an infant in the garden of a
+house at Auteuil. The night before the criminal had had a long interview
+with Monte Cristo's steward, who had disclosed to the prisoner the
+secret of his birth, and in court he declared his father was Villefort,
+the public prosecutor! This statement made a great commotion in the
+court, and all eyes were on Villefort, while Benedetto continued to
+answer the questions of the president, and proved that he was the child
+whom Villefort would have buried alive years before. The public
+prosecutor himself confirmed the prisoner's story by admitting his
+guilt, and staggering from the court.
+
+When Villefort arrived at his own house he found everything in
+confusion. Making his way to his wife's apartments, he had the horror of
+meeting her while she still lived, just at the very instant when the
+poison she had taken did its work, and of finding a moment or two after
+that she had poisoned his little son Edward.
+
+This was more than the brain of man could endure, and Villefort turned
+from the tragic scene a raving madman, rushing wildly to the garden, and
+beginning to dig with a spade.
+
+The vengeance of Edmond Dantès, so long delayed, so carefully and
+laboriously planned, was now complete, and it only remained for him to
+perform the last of his marvels, at the same time giving proof of his
+boundless generosity. Valentine de Villefort had been buried, and
+Maximilian was in despair; but Monte Cristo urged the young man to have
+patience and hope.
+
+It seemed a strange thing to ask a lover whose sweetheart had been
+placed within the tomb to have hope and to come to Monte Cristo in one
+month. But this was the bargain they made.
+
+When the month had passed, Maximilian came to the isle of Monte Cristo.
+
+"I have your word," he said to the count, "that you would help me die or
+give me Valentine!"
+
+"Ah! A miracle alone can save you--the resurrection of Valentine! Thus
+do I fulfil my promise!"
+
+Monte Cristo turned to a jewelled cabinet, and took from it a tube of
+greenish paste. Maximilian swallowed some of the mysterious substance,
+which was but hashish. He sat down and waited.
+
+"Monte Cristo," he said, "I feel that I am dying--good-bye!"
+
+Meanwhile, Monte Cristo had opened a door from which a great light
+streamed. Maximilian opened his eyes, looked towards the light; and
+then--he saw Valentine!
+
+Then Monte Cristo spoke. "He calls you, Valentine, even as he thinks he
+dies by his own will. But even as I saved you from the tomb, so have I
+saved him. I feared for his reason if he saw you, except in a trance--
+from his trance he will wake to happiness!"
+
+Next morning Valentine and Maximilian were walking on the beach, when
+Jacopo, the captain of Monte Cristo's yacht, gave them a letter. As they
+looked on the superscription they cried, simultaneously, "Gone!"
+
+In his letter, Monte Cristo, said: "All that is in this grotto, my
+friend, my house in the Champs Elysées, and my château at Tréport, are
+the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantès upon the son of his old
+master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share them with you; for
+I entreat her to give to the poor the immense fortune reverting to her
+from her father, now a madman, and her brother, who died last September
+with his mother."
+
+"But where is the count?" asked Morrel eagerly. Jacopo pointed towards
+the horizon, where a white sail was visible.
+
+"And where is Haidée?" asked Valentine. Jacopo still pointed towards the
+sail.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Three Musketeers
+
+
+      It was not till the publication of "The Three Musketeers," in
+     1844, that the amazing gifts of Dumas were fully recognised.
+     From 1844 till 1850, the literary output of novels, plays, and
+     historical memoirs was enormous, and so great was the demand
+     for Dumas' work that he made no attempt to supply his
+     customers single-handed, but engaged a host of assistants, and
+     was content to revise and amend--or in some cases only to
+     sign--their productions. "The Three Musketeers" was followed
+     by its sequel, "Twenty Years After," in 1845, and the story
+     was continued still further in the "Vicomte de Bragelonne."
+     The "Valois" series of novels, "Monte Cristo," and the
+     "Memoirs of a Physician," were all published before 1850, in
+     addition to many dramatised versions of stories.
+
+
+_I.--The Musketeer's Apprenticeship_
+
+
+D'Artagnan was without acquaintances in Paris, and now on the very day
+of his arrival he was committed to fight with three of the most
+distinguished of the king's musketeers.
+
+Coming from Gascony, a youth with all the pride and ambition of his
+race, D'Artagnan had brought no money; with him, but only a letter of
+introduction from his father to M. de Treville, captain of the
+musketeers. But he had been taught that by courage alone could a man now
+make his way to fortune, and that he was to bear nothing, save from the
+cardinal--the great Cardinal Richelieu, or from the king--Louis XIII.
+
+It was immediately after his interview with M. de Treville that
+D'Artagnan, well trained at home as a swordsman, quarrelled with the
+three musketeers.
+
+First, on the palace stairs, he ran violently into Athos, who was
+suffering from a wounded shoulder.
+
+"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry."
+
+"You are in a hurry?" said the musketeer, pale as a sheet. "Under that
+pretence, you run against me; you say 'Excuse me!' and you think that
+sufficient. You are not polite; it is easy to see that you are from the
+country."
+
+D'Artagnan had already passed on, but this remark made him stop short.
+
+"However far I may come it is not you, monsieur, who can give me a
+lesson in manners, I warn you."
+
+"Perhaps," said Athos, "you are in a hurry now, but you can find me
+without running after me. Do you understand me."
+
+"Where, and when?" said D'Artagnan.
+
+"Near the Carmes-Deschaux at noon," replied Athos. "And please do not
+keep me waiting, for at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your ears
+if you run."
+
+"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "I will be there at ten minutes to twelve."
+
+At the street gate Porthos was talking with the soldiers on guard.
+Between the two there was just room for a man to pass, and D'Artagnan
+hurried on, only to find himself enveloped in the long velvet cloak of
+Porthos, which the wind had blown out.
+
+"The fellow must be mad," said Porthos, "to run against people in this
+manner! Do you always forget your eyes when you happen to be in a
+hurry?"
+
+"No," replied D'Artagnan, who, in extricating himself from the cloak,
+had observed that the handsome cloth of gold coat worn by Porthos was
+only gold in front and plain buff at the back, "no, and thanks to my
+eyes, I can see what others cannot see."
+
+"Monsieur," said Porthos angrily, "you stand a chance of getting
+chastised if you run against musketeers in this fashion. I shall look
+for you, at one o'clock behind the Luxembourg."
+
+"Very well, at one o'clock then," replied D'Artagnan, turning into the
+street.
+
+A few minutes later D'Artagnan annoyed Aramis, the third musketeer, who
+was chatting with some gentleman of the king's musketeers. As D'Artagnan
+came up Aramis accidentally dropped an embroidered pocket-handkerchief
+and covered it at once with his foot to prevent observation. D'Artagnan,
+conscious of a certain want of politeness in his treatment of Athos and
+Porthos, and determined to be more obliging in future, stooped and
+picked up the handkerchief--much to the vexation of Aramis, who denied
+all claim to the delicate piece of cambric.
+
+D'Artagnan not taking the rebukes of Aramis in good part, they fixed two
+o'clock as the hour of meeting.
+
+The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis going up the street which
+led to the Luxembourg, whilst D'Artagnan, finding that it was near noon,
+took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, "Decidedly I
+can't draw back; but at least if I am killed, I shall be killed by a
+musketeer."
+
+Knowing nobody in Paris, D'Artagnan went to his appointment without a
+second.
+
+It was just striking twelve when he arrived on the ground, and Athos,
+still suffering from his old wound on the shoulder, was already waiting
+for his adversary.
+
+Athos explained with all politeness that his seconds had not yet
+arrived.
+
+"If you are in great haste, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "and if it be
+your will to despatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself. I am
+ready. But if you would wait three days till your shoulder is healed, I
+have a miraculous balsam given me by my mother, and I am sure this
+balsam will cure your wound. At the end of three days it would still do
+me a great honour to be your man."
+
+"That is well said," said Athos, "and it pleases me. Thus spoke the
+gallant knights of Charlemagne. Monsieur, I love men of your stamp, and
+I can tell that if we don't kill each other, I shall enjoy your society.
+But here comes my seconds."
+
+"What!" cried D'Artagnan as Porthos and Aramis appeared. "Are these
+gentlemen your seconds?"
+
+"Yes," replied Athos. "Are you not aware that we are never seen one
+without the others, and that we are called the three inseparables?"
+
+"What does this mean?" said Porthos, who had now come up and stood
+astonished.
+
+"This is the gentleman I am to fight with," said Athos, pointing to
+D'Artagnan and saluting him.
+
+"Why I am also going to fight with him," said Porthos.
+
+"But not before one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan.
+
+"Well, and I also am going to fight with that gentleman," said Aramis.
+
+"But not till two o'clock," said D'Artagnan calmly.
+
+"And now you are all assembled, gentleman, permit me to offer you my
+excuses."
+
+At this word "excuses" a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty
+smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of
+Aramis.
+
+"You do not understand me, gentleman," said D'Artagnan, throwing up his
+head. "I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my
+debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first. And now,
+gentleman, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and--guard!"
+
+At these words D'Artagnan drew his sword, and at that moment so elated
+was he that he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in
+the kingdom.
+
+Scarcely had the two rapiers sounded on meeting, when a company of the
+cardinal's guards appeared on the scene. At that time there was not only
+a standing feud between the king's musketeers and the guards of Cardinal
+Richelieu, there was also a prohibition against duelling.
+
+"The cardinal's guards! The cardinal's guards!" cried Aramis and Porthos
+at the same time. "Sheathe swords, gentlemen! Sheathe swords!" But it
+was too late.
+
+Jussac, commander of the guards, had seen the combatants in a position
+which could not be mistaken.
+
+"Hullo, musketeers," he called out; "fighting, are you, in spite of the
+edicts? Well, duty before everything. Sheathe your swords, please, and
+follow us."
+
+"That is quite impossible," said Aramis politely. "The best thing you
+can do is to pass on your way."
+
+"We shall charge upon you, then," said Jussac. "if you disobey."
+
+"There are five of them," said Athos, "and we are but three. We shall be
+beaten, and must die on the spot, for on my part I will never face my
+captain as a conquered man."
+
+Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly closed in, and Jussac drew up his
+soldiers.
+
+In that short interval D'Artagnan determined on the part he was to take;
+it was a decision of life-long importance. He had to choose between the
+king and the cardinal, and the choice made, it must be persisted in. He
+turned towards Athos and his friends. "Gentlemen," said he, "allow me to
+correct your words. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we
+are four. I do not wear the uniform, but my heart is that of a
+musketeer."
+
+"Withdraw, young man, and save your skin!" cried Jussac.
+
+The three musketeers thought of D'Artagnan's youth, and dreaded his
+inexperience.
+
+"Try me, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "and I swear to you that I will
+never go hence if we are conquered."
+
+Athos pressed the young man's hand, and exclaimed, "Well, then! Athos,
+Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forward!"
+
+The nine combatants rushed upon each other with fury, and the battle
+ended in the utter discomfiture of the cardinal's guards, one of whom
+was slain and three badly wounded. The musketeers returned walking arm
+in arm. D'Artagnan marched between Athos and Porthos, his heart full of
+delight.
+
+"If I am not yet a musketeer," said he to his new friends, "at least, I
+have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven't I?"
+
+
+_II.--The Queen's Diamonds_
+
+
+The king, always jealous of Richelieu's guards, was extremely pleased
+when he heard from M. de Treville of the fight that had taken place. He
+gave D'Artagnan a handful of gold, and promised him a place in the ranks
+of the musketeers at the first vacancy; in the meantime he was to join a
+company of royal guards. From this time the life of the four young men
+became common, for D'Artagnan fell quite easily into the habits of his
+three friends.
+
+Athos, who was scarcely thirty years old, was of great personal beauty
+and intelligence of mind. He never spoke of women, he never laughed,
+rarely smiled, and his reserved and silent habits seemed to make him a
+much older man.
+
+Porthos was exactly the opposite of Athos. He not only talked much, but
+he talked loudly, not caring whether anyone listened to him. He would
+talk about anything except the sciences, alleging that from childhood
+dated his inveterate hatred of learning. The physical strength of
+Porthos was enormous, and with all the vanity of a child he was a
+thoroughly loyal and brave man.
+
+As for Aramis, he always gave out that he intended to take orders in the
+Church, and was merely a musketeer for the time being. Aramis revelled
+in intrigues and mysteries.
+
+What the real names of his comrades were D'Artagnan had no idea. That
+the names they bore had been assumed was all he knew.
+
+The motto of the four was "all for one, one for all." D'Artagnan had
+already earned the dislike of Cardinal Richelieu by his part in the
+fight with the cardinal's guards; it was not long before his daring gave
+greater cause for offence.
+
+The king suspected his wife, Anne of Austria, of being in love with the
+Duke of Buckingham, and the cardinal suspected the queen of intriguing
+with Buckingham against France. Now, a secret interview had taken place
+at the palace between Buckingham and the queen, and the cardinal, who
+employed spies everywhere, found out this as he found out everything,
+and determined to destroy the queen's reputation, for there was deadly
+enmity between Anne of Austria and Richelieu.
+
+Buckingham had received from the queen a set of diamond studs--a present
+from the king--as a keepsake; so the cardinal despatched a certain lady,
+a woman of rare beauty, known as "Milady," to England, to get hold of
+two of these studs.
+
+Then the cardinal, by fostering the royal suspicion, persuaded the king
+to give a grand ball whereat the queen should wear the diamond studs. By
+this means Louis would be convinced of Buckingham's visit, for the set
+of studs would be incomplete.
+
+The queen was in dispair. It was D'Artagnan and the three musketeers
+who saved her honour. D'Artagnan loved Madame Bonacieux, a confidential
+dressmaker of the queen's; and this woman, devoted to her royal
+mistress, gave D'Artagnan a secret note from the queen to Buckingham.
+
+D'Artagnan went at once to M. de Treville, obtained leave of absence for
+himself and his friends, and set out for England. It was not a minute
+too soon, for the cardinal had already made plans to prevent any such
+counter-move, giving orders that no one was to sail from France without
+a permit.
+
+Between Paris and Calais, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were all left
+behind, wounded by Richelieu's guards, and D'Artagnan only effected a
+passage to Dover by fighting and nearly killing a young noble who held a
+permit from the cardinal to leave France.
+
+Once in England, D'Artagnan hastened to find Buckingham. The latter
+discovered, to his horror, that Milady had already become possessed
+cunningly of two of the precious studs, and D'Artagnan had to wait while
+the skill of the first English jeweller made good the loss beyond
+detection.
+
+He returned to Paris with the twelve studs in time for the royal ball.
+Milady had already given the two she had stolen to the cardinal, who had
+passed them on to the king.
+
+"What does this mean, Monsieur le Cardinal?" said the king severely,
+when in the middle of the ball he found, to his joy, that the queen was
+already wearing twelve diamonds.
+
+"It means, sire," the cardinal replied, with vexation, "that I was
+anxious to present her majesty with two studs, but did not dare to offer
+them myself."
+
+"I am very grateful," said Anne of Austria, fully alive to the
+cardinal's defeat, "only I am afraid these two studs must have cost your
+eminence as much as all the others cost his majesty."
+
+The man, D'Artagnan, to whom the queen owed this extraordinary triumph
+over her enemy, stood unknown in the crowd that gathered round the
+doors. It was only when the queen retired that someone touched him on
+the shoulder and bade him follow. He readily obeyed; D'Artagnan waited
+in an ante-room of the queen's apartments; he could hear voices within,
+and presently a hand and an arm, marvellously white and beautiful, came
+through the tapestry.
+
+D'Artagnan felt that this was his reward. He dropped on his knees,
+seized the hand, and touched it modestly with his lips. Then the hand
+was withdrawn, and in his own a ring was left. The tapestry closed, and
+his guide, no other than Bonacieux, reappeared and escorted him hastily
+to the corridor.
+
+
+_III.--The Musketeers at La Rochelle_
+
+
+The siege of La Rochelle was an important affair, one of the chief
+political events of the reign of Louis XIII.
+
+For a time D'Artagnan was separated from his friends, for the musketeers
+were escorting the king to the seat of war, and our intrepid Gascon was
+with the main army. It was now that D'Artagnan began to realise that he
+had attracted, not only the displeasure of the cardinal, but also the
+deadly hatred of Milady, the cardinal's secret agent, whose overtures at
+friendship, made in the cardinal's interest, he had insulted before
+leaving Paris, and whose secret shame he had discovered.
+
+Twice his life was nearly taken by hired assassins, and the third time a
+present of wine turned out to be poisoned.
+
+To add to his natural discomfort, Madame Bonacieux had disappeared from
+Paris, and probably was in prison.
+
+The arrival of the musketeers restored his spirits, and the four were
+again inseparable. One drawback to their intercourse was the fact that
+the cardinal and his spies were all over the camp, and that,
+consequently, it was difficult to talk confidentially without being
+overheard.
+
+In order to secure privacy for a conference, they decided to go and
+breakfast in a bastion near the enemy's lines, and wagered with some
+officers they would stay there an hour. It was a position of terrible
+danger, but the feat was accomplished, and the wild undertaking of the
+musketeers was acclaimed with tremendous enthusiasm in the French camp.
+
+The noise reached the cardinal's ears, and he inquired its meaning.
+
+"Monseigneur," said the officer, "three musketeers and a guard laid a
+wager that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and
+they breakfasted and held it for two hours against the enemy, killing I
+don't know how many Rochellais."
+
+"Did you inquire the names of those three musketeers?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur. MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis."
+
+"Still the three braves!" muttered the cardinal. "And the guard?"
+
+"M. D'Artagnan!"
+
+"Still my reckless young friend! I must have these four men as my own."
+
+That same night the cardinal spoke to M. de Treville of the episode of
+the bastion, and gave permission for D'Artagnan to become a musketeer,
+"for such men should be in the same company," he said.
+
+One night during the siege, the three musketeers, seeking D'Artagnan,
+were met in a country lane by the cardinal, travelling, as he often did,
+with a single attendant. Athos recognised him, and the cardinal bade the
+three men escort him to a lonely inn. At the door they all alighted. The
+landlord of the inn received the cardinal, for he had been expecting an
+officer to visit a lady who was within. The three musketeers were
+accommodated in a large room on the ground floor, and the cardinal
+passed up the staircase as a man who knew his road. Porthos and Aramis
+sat down at the table to dice, while Athos walked up and down the room
+in a thoughtful mood. To his astonishment, Athos found that, the
+stovepipe being broken, he could hear all that was passing in the room
+above.
+
+"Listen, Milady," the cardinal was saying, "this affair is of utmost
+importance. A small vessel is waiting for you at the mouth of the river.
+You will go on board to-night and set sail to-morrow morning for
+England. Half an hour after I have gone, you will leave here. When you
+reach England, you will seek the Duke of Buckingham, explain to him that
+I have proofs of his secret interviews with the queen, and tell him that
+if England moves in support of the besieged in La Rochelle, I will at
+once ruin the queen."
+
+"But what if he persists in spite of this in making war?" said Milady.
+
+"If he persists? Why, then he must be got rid of. Some woman doubtless
+exists, handsome, young, and clever, who has a grievance against the
+duke; and some fanatic can be found to be her instrument."
+
+"The woman exists, and the fanatic will be found," returned Milady. "And
+now, will monseigneur permit me to speak of my enemies, as we have
+spoken of yours?"
+
+"Your enemies? Who are they?" asked Richelieu.
+
+"First, there is a meddlesome little woman called Bonacieux. She was in
+prison at Nantes, but has been conveyed to a convent by an order which
+the queen obtained from the king. Will your eminence find out where that
+convent is?"
+
+"I don't object to that."
+
+"Then I have a much more dangerous enemy than the little Bonacieux, and
+that is her lover, the wretch D'Artagnan. I will get you a thousand
+proofs that he has conspired with Buckingham."
+
+"Very well; get me proof, and I will send him to the Bastille."
+
+For a few seconds there was silence while the cardinal was writing a
+note.
+
+Athos at once got up and told his companions he would go out to see if
+the road was safe, and left the house.
+
+The cardinal gave his final instructions to Milady, and departed with
+Porthos and Aramis. No sooner had they turned an angle of the road than
+Athos re-entered the inn, marched boldly upstairs, and before he had
+been seen, had bolted the door.
+
+Milady turned round, and became exceedingly white.
+
+"The Count de la Fère!" she said.
+
+"Yes, Milady, the Count de la Fère in person. You believed him dead, did
+you not, as I believed you to be?"
+
+"What do you want? Why do you come here?" said Milady in a hollow voice.
+
+"I have followed your actions," said Athos sternly. "It was you who had
+Madame Bonacieux carried off; it was you who sent assassins after
+D'Artagnan, and poisoned his wine. Only to-night you have agreed to
+assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, and expect D'Artagnan to be slain in
+return. Now, I care nothing about the Duke of Buckingham; he is an
+Englishman, but D'Artagnan is my friend."
+
+"M. D'Artagnan insulted me," said Milady.
+
+"Is it possible to insult you?" said Athos. He drew out a pistol and
+cocked it. "Madame, you will instantly deliver to me the paper you have
+received from the cardinal; or, upon my soul, I will blow out your
+brains."
+
+Athos slowly raised his pistol until the weapon almost touched the
+woman's forehead. Milady knew too well that with this terrible man death
+would certainly come unless she yielded. She drew the paper out of her
+bosom and handed it to Athos. "Take it," she said, "and be accursed."
+
+Athos returned the pistol to his belt, unfolded the paper, and read:
+
+      It is by my order, and for the good of the state, that the
+     bearer of this has done what he has done.
+
+     Dec. 3rd, 1627.
+
+     RICHELIEU.
+
+Athos, without looking at the woman, left the inn, mounted his horse,
+and galloping across country, managed to get in front, on the road,
+before the cardinal had passed.
+
+For a second, Milady thought of pursuing the cardinal in order to
+denounce Athos; but unpleasant revelations might be made, and it seemed
+best to carry out her mission in England, and then, when she had
+satisfied the cardinal, to claim her revenge.
+
+
+_IV.--The Doom of Milady_
+
+
+Milady accomplished the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham at
+Portsmouth, and Richelieu was relieved of the fear of English
+intervention at La Rochelle.
+
+But the doom of Milady was at hand.
+
+The king, weary of the siege, had gone to spend a few days quietly at
+St. Germains, taking for an escort only twenty of the musketeers, and at
+Paris the four friends had obtained from M. de Treville a few days'
+leave of absence.
+
+Aramis had discovered the convent where Madame Bonacieux was confined;
+it was at Bethune, and thither the musketeers hastened. Unfortunately,
+Milady reached Bethune first. She had come there to await the cardinal's
+orders, and having ingratiated herself with the abbess, learnt that
+D'Artagnan was on his way with an order from the queen to take Madame
+Bonacieux to Paris. Milady immediately dispatched a messenger to the
+cardinal, and at the very moment when the musketeers were at the front
+entrance, she poured a powder into a glass of wine and bade Madame
+Bonacieux drink.
+
+"It is not the way I meant to avenge myself," said Milady, as she
+hastily left the convent by the back gate, "but, _ma foi_, we do what we
+must!"
+
+The deadly poison did its work. Constance Bonacieux expired in
+D'Artagnan's arms.
+
+Then the four musketeers, joined by Lord de Winter, who had arrived from
+England in hot pursuit of Milady, his sister-in-law, set out to overtake
+the woman who had wrought so much evil.
+
+They came up with Milady at a solitary house near the village of
+Erquinheim.
+
+The four servants of the musketeers guarded the house; Athos,
+D'Artagnan, Aramis, Porthos, and De Winter entered.
+
+"What do you want?" screamed Milady.
+
+"We want Charlotte Backson, first called Countess de la Fère, and
+afterwards Lady de Winter," said Athos. "M. D'Artagnan, it is for you to
+accuse her first."
+
+"I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, and of
+having attempted to poison me, and I accuse her of having engaged
+assassins to shoot me," said D'Artagnan.
+
+"I accuse this woman of having procured the assassination of the Duke of
+Buckingham," said Lord de Winter. "Moreover, my brother, who made her
+his heiress, died suddenly of a strange disease."
+
+"I married this woman and gave her my name and wealth, and found
+afterwards she was branded as a felon," said Athos.
+
+The musketeers and Lord de Winter passed sentence of death upon the
+miserable woman.
+
+She was taken out to the river bank, and beheaded, and her body dropped
+into the middle of the stream.
+
+"Let the justice of Heaven be done!" they cried in a loud voice.
+
+Within three days the musketeers were back in Paris, ready to return
+with the king to La Rochelle. Then the cardinal summoned D'Artagnan to
+his presence.
+
+"You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of France,
+with having surprised state secrets, and with having attempted to thwart
+the plans of your general," said the cardinal.
+
+"The woman who charges me--a branded felon--Milady de Winter, is dead,"
+replied D'Artagnan.
+
+"Dead!" exclaimed the cardinal. "Dead!"
+
+"We have tried her and condemned her," said D'Artagnan. Then he told the
+cardinal of the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux, and of the subsequent
+trial and execution.
+
+The cardinal shuddered before he answered quietly, "You will be tried
+and condemned."
+
+"Monseigneur," said D'Artagnan, "though I have the pardon in my pocket I
+am willing to die."
+
+"What pardon?" said the cardinal, in astonishment. "From the king?"
+
+"No, a pardon signed by your eminence." D'Artagnan produced the precious
+paper which Athos had forced Milady to give him before her journey to
+England.
+
+For a time the cardinal sat looking at the paper before him. Then he
+slowly tore it up.
+
+"Now I am lost." thought D'Artagnan. "But he shall see how a gentleman
+can die."
+
+The cardinal went to a table, and wrote a few lines on a parchment.
+
+"Here, monsieur," he said; "I have taken away from you one paper; I give
+you another. Only the name is wanting in this commission, and you must
+fill that up."
+
+D'Artagnan took the document with hesitation. He looked at it, saw it
+was a lieutenant's commission in the musketeers, and fell at the
+cardinal's feet.
+
+"Monseigneur, my life is yours. Dispose of it as you will. But I do not
+deserve this. I have three friends, all more worthy----"
+
+The cardinal interrupted him.
+
+"You are a brave young man, D'Artagnan. Fill up this commission as you
+will."
+
+D'Artagnan sought out his friends, and offered the commission to them in
+turn.
+
+But each declined, and Athos filled in the name of D'Artagnan on the
+commission.
+
+"I shall soon have no more friends. Nothing but bitter recollections!"
+said D'Artagnan, thinking of Madame Bonacieux.
+
+"You are young yet," Athos answered. "In time these bitter recollections
+will give way to sweet remembrances."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Twenty Years After
+
+
+      In this first-rate romance, which is a sequel to "The Three
+     Musketeers," and was published in 1845, we have D'Artagnan and
+     the three musketeers in the prime of middle life. Their
+     efforts on behalf of Charles I. are amazing, worthy of
+     anything done when they were twenty years younger. All the
+     characters introduced are for the most part historical, and
+     they are all drawn with spirit, so that our interest in them
+     never flags. A remarkable point in regard to these historical
+     romances of Dumas is that, in spite of their enormous length,
+     no superfluous dialogue or long descriptions prolong them.
+     Dumas took considerable liberties with the facts of history in
+     several places, as, for instance, in the introduction of
+     D'Artagnan and his friends to Charles I., and in making his
+     trial and execution follow as quickly on his surrender as we
+     are made to believe in "Twenty Years After." The story is
+     further continued in "The Vicomte de Bragelonne."
+
+
+_I.--The Parsimony of Mazarin_
+
+
+The great Richelieu was dead, and his successor, Cardinal Mazarin, a
+cunning and parsimonious Italian, was chief minister of France. Paris,
+torn and distracted by civil dissension, and impoverished by heavy
+taxation, was seething with revolt, and Mazarin was the object of
+popular hatred, Anne of Austria, the queen-mother (for Louis XIV. was
+but a child), sharing his disfavour with the people.
+
+It was under these circumstances that the queen recalled how faithfully
+D'Artagnan had once served her, and reminded Mazarin of that gallant
+officer, and of his three friends. Mazarin sent for D'Artagnan, who for
+twenty years had remained a lieutenant of musketeers, and asked him what
+had become of his friends.
+
+"I want you and your three friends to be of use to me," said the
+cardinal. "Where are your friends?"
+
+"I do not know, my lord. We parted company long ago; all three have left
+the service."
+
+"Where can you find them, then?"
+
+"I can find them wherever they are. It would be my business."
+
+"And what are the conditions for finding them?"
+
+"Money, my lord; as much money as the undertaking may require.
+Travelling is dear, and I am only a poor lieutenant in the musketeers."
+
+"You will be at my service when they are found?" asked Mazarin.
+
+"What are we to do?"
+
+"Don't trouble about that. When the time for action arrives you shall
+learn all that I require of you. Wait till that comes, and find out
+where your friends are."
+
+Mazarin gave D'Artagnan a bag of money, and the latter withdrew, to
+discover in the courtyard that the bag contained silver and not gold.
+
+"Crown pieces only, silver!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "I guessed as much.
+Ah, Mazarin, Mazarin, you have no real confidence in me. So much the
+worse for you!"
+
+But the cardinal was rubbing his hands, and congratulating himself that
+he had discovered a secret for a tenth of the coin Richelieu would have
+spent on the matter.
+
+D'Artagnan first sought for Aramis, who was now an abbé, and lived in a
+convent and wrote sermons. But the heart of Aramis was not in religion,
+and when D'Artagnan found him, and the two had sat talking for some
+time, D'Artagnan said, "My friend, it seems to me that when you were a
+musketeer you were always thinking of the Church, and now that you are
+an abbé you are always longing to be a musketeer."
+
+"It's true," said Aramis. "Man is a strange bundle of inconsistencies.
+Since I became an abbé I dream of nothing but battles, and I practise
+shooting all day long here with an excellent master."
+
+Aramis indeed had both retained his swordsmanship and his interest in
+public affairs. But when D'Artagnan mentioned Mazarin, and the serious
+crisis in the state, Aramis declared that Mazarin was an upstart with
+only the queen on his side; and that the young king, the nobles, and
+princes, were all against him. Aramis was already on the side of
+Mazarin's enemies. He could not pledge himself to anyone, and the two
+separated.
+
+D'Artagnan went on to find Porthos, whose address he had learnt from
+Aramis. Porthos, who now called himself De Valon after the name of his
+estate, lived at ease as a country gentleman should; he was a widower
+and wealthy, but he was mortified because his neighbours were of ancient
+family and ignored him. He received D'Artagnan with open arms, and when
+at breakfast he confessed his weariness, D'Artagnan at once invited him
+to join him again and promised that he would get a barony for his
+services.
+
+"Go into harness again!" cried D'Artagnan. "Gird on your sword, and win
+a coronet. You want a title; I want money; the cardinal wants our help."
+
+"For my part," said the gigantic Porthos, "I certainly want to be made a
+baron."
+
+They talked of Athos, who lived on his estate at Bragelonne, and was now
+the Count de la Fère. And Porthos mentioned that Athos had an adopted
+son.
+
+"If we can get Athos, all will be well," said D'Artagnan. "If we cannot,
+we must do without him. We two are worth a dozen."
+
+"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of their old exploits;
+"but we four would be equal to thirty-six."
+
+"I have your word, then?" said D'Artagnan.
+
+"Yes. I will fight heart and soul for the cardinal; but--but he must
+make me a baron."
+
+"Oh, that's settled already!" said D'Artagnan. "I'll answer for your
+barony."
+
+With that he had his horse saddled, and rode on to the castle of
+Bragelonne. Athos was visibly moved at the sight of D'Artagnan, and
+rushed towards him and clasped him in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally
+moved, held him closely, while tears stood in his eyes. Athos seemed
+scarcely aged at all, in spite of his eight-and-forty years; but there
+was a greater dignity about his face. Formerly, too, he had been a heavy
+drinker, but now no signs of excess disturbed the calm serenity of his
+countenance. The presence of his son, whom he called Raoul--a boy of
+fifteen--seemed to explain to D'Artagnan the regenerated existence of
+Athos.
+
+Deeply as the heart of Athos was stirred at meeting his old
+comrade-in-arms, and sincere as his attachment was to D'Artagnan, the
+Count de la Fère would have nothing to do with any plan for helping
+Mazarin.
+
+D'Artagnan returned alone to await Porthos in Paris. The same night
+Athos and his son also left for Paris.
+
+
+_II.--The Four Set Out for England_
+
+
+Queen Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV. of France and wife of
+King Charles I., was lodged in the Louvre, while her husband lost his
+crown in the civil war. The queen had appealed to Mazarin either to send
+assistance to Charles I., or to receive him in France, and the cardinal
+had declined both propositions. Then it was that an Englishman, Lord de
+Winter, who had come to Paris to get help, appealed to Athos, whom he
+had known twenty years earlier, to come to England and fight for the
+king.
+
+Athos and Aramis at once responded, and waited on the queen, who
+received them in the large empty rooms--left unfurnished by the avarice
+of the cardinal--allotted to her in the Louvre.
+
+"Gentlemen," said the queen, "a few years ago I had around me knights,
+treasure, and armies. To-day look around, and know that in order to
+accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have only Lord de
+Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I see for
+the first time, and whom I know but as my countrymen."
+
+"It is enough," said Athos, bowing low, "if the life of three men can
+purchase yours, madame."
+
+"I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me. My husband, King of England, is
+leading so wretched a life that death would be a welcome exchange for
+him. He has asked for the hospitality of France, and it has been refused
+him."
+
+"What is to be done?" said Athos. "I have the honour to inquire from
+your majesty what you desire Monsieur D'Herblay (as Aramis was named)
+and myself to do in your service. We are ready."
+
+"I, madame," said Aramis, "follow M. de la Fère wherever he leads, even
+to death, without demanding any reason; but when it concerns your
+majesty's service, no one precedes me."
+
+"Well, then, gentlemen," said the queen, "since it is thus, and since
+you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess
+whom everybody has forsaken, this is what must be done for me. The king
+is alone with a few gentlemen whom he may lose any day, and he is
+surrounded by the Scotch, whom he distrusts. I ask much, too much,
+perhaps, for I have no title to ask it. Go to England, join the king, be
+his friends, his bodyguard; be with him on the field of battle and in
+his house. Gentlemen, in exchange I can only promise you my love; next
+to my husband and my children, and before everyone else, you will have
+my prayers and a sister's love."
+
+"Madame," said Athos, "when must we set out? we are ready!"
+
+The queen, moved to tears, held out her hand, which they kissed, and
+then, after receiving letters for the king, they withdrew.
+
+"Well," said Aramis, when they were alone, "what do you think of this
+business, my dear count?"
+
+"Bad!" replied Athos. "Very bad!"
+
+"But you entered on it with enthusiasm."
+
+"As I shall ever do when a great principle is to be defended. Kings are
+only strong by the aid of the aristocracy; but aristocracy cannot exist
+without kings. Let us then support monarchy in order to support
+ourselves."
+
+"We shall be murdered there," said Aramis. "I hate the English--they are
+so coarse, like all people who drink beer."
+
+"Would it be better to remain here?" said Athos. "And take a turn in the
+Bastille, by the cardinal's order? Believe me, Aramis, there is little
+left to regret. We avoid imprisonment, and we take the part of heroes--
+the choice is easy!"
+
+While Athos and Aramis were preparing to go to England on behalf of the
+king, Mazarin had decided to employ D'Artagnan and Porthos as his envoys
+to Oliver Cromwell.
+
+"Monsieur D'Artagnan," said the cardinal, "do you wish to become a
+captain?"
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"Your friend wishes to be made a baron?"
+
+"At this very moment, my lord, he's dreaming that he is one."
+
+"Then," said Mazarin, "take this dispatch, carry it to England, and when
+you get to London, tear off the outer envelope."
+
+"And on our return, may we, my friend and I, rely on getting our
+promotion--he his barony, I my captaincy?"
+
+"On the honour of Mazarin, yes."
+
+"I would rather have another sort of oath than that," said D'Artagnan to
+himself as he went out.
+
+Just as they were leaving Paris, a letter came from Athos, who had
+already gone.
+
+"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Porthos,--My friends, perhaps this is the last
+time you will hear from me. I entrust certain papers which are at
+Bragelonne to your keeping; if in three months you do not hear of me,
+take possession of them. May God and the remembrance of our friendship
+support you always.--Your devoted friend, Athos."
+
+
+_III.--In England_
+
+
+Athos and Aramis were with Charles I. at Newcastle. The king had been
+sold by the Scotch to the English Parliament, and on the approach of
+Cromwell's army the king's troops refused to fight. Only fifteen men
+stood round the king when Cromwell's cavalry came charging down. Lord de
+Winter was shot dead by his own nephew, who was in Cromwell's army.
+
+"Come, Aramis, now for the honour of France," said Athos, and the two
+Englishmen who were nearest to them fell mortally wounded.
+
+At the same instant a tremendous shout filled the air, and thirty swords
+flashed before them. Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks,
+fell upon Athos, wound his muscular arms round him, and tearing his
+sword from him, said in his ear, "Silence! Yield--you yield to me, don't
+you?"
+
+A giant from the English ranks at the same moment seized Aramis by the
+wrists, who struggled in vain to get free.
+
+"I yield myself prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to Porthos.
+
+"D'Art----" exclaimed Athos; but the musketeer covered his mouth with
+his hand.
+
+The ranks opened. D'Artagnan held the bridle of Athos' horse, and
+Porthos that of Aramis, and they led their prisoners off the field.
+
+"We are all four lost if you give the least sign you know us," said
+D'Artagnan.
+
+"The king--where is the king?" Athos exclaimed anxiously.
+
+"Ah! We have got him!"
+
+"Yes," said Aramis; "through a base act of treachery!"
+
+Porthos pressed his friend's hand, and answered, "Yes; all is fair in
+war--stratagem as well as force. Look yonder!"
+
+The squadron, which ought to have protected the king, was advancing to
+meet the English regiments.
+
+The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked alone on foot. He caught
+sight of Athos and Aramis, and greeted them.
+
+"Farewell, messieurs. The day has been unfortunate, but it is not your
+fault, thank God! But where is my old friend Winter?"
+
+"Look for him with Strafford," said a voice.
+
+Charles shuddered. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was Winter's.
+
+That hour messengers were sent off in every direction over England and
+Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was now the prisoner of Oliver
+Cromwell. D'Artagnan not only accomplished the release of the prisoners,
+he also joined with his friends in a bold attempt to rescue Charles from
+his captors.
+
+D'Artagnan at first naturally assumed they would all four return to
+France as quickly as possible; but Athos declared that he could not
+abandon the king, and still meant to save him if it were possible.
+
+"But what can you do in a foreign land; in an enemy's country?" said
+D'Artagnan. "Did you promise the queen to storm the Tower of London?
+Come, Porthos, what do you think of this business?"
+
+"Nothing good," said Porthos.
+
+"Friend," said Athos, "our minds are made up! Ah, if we had you with us!
+With you, D'Artagnan, and you, Porthos--all four, and reunited for the
+first time for twenty years--we would dare, not only England but the
+three kingdoms together!"
+
+"Very well," cried D'Artagnan furiously, "very well, since you wish it,
+let us leave our bones in this horrible land, where it is always cold,
+where the fine weather comes after a fog, and the fog after rain; in
+truth, whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must
+die sooner or later."
+
+"But your future career, D'Artagnan? Your ambition, Porthos?" said
+Athos.
+
+"Our future, our ambition!" replied D'Artagnan bitterly. "What do we
+need to think of that for, if we are to save the king? The king saved,
+we shall assemble our friends together, reconquer England, and place him
+securely on the throne."
+
+"And he shall make us dukes and peers," said Porthos joyfully at this
+cheerful prospect.
+
+"Or he will forget us," added D'Artagnan.
+
+"Then," said Athos, offering his hand to D'Artagnan, "I swear to you, my
+friend, by the God who hears us, I believe there is a power watching
+over us, and I look forward to our all meeting in France again."
+
+"So be it!" said D'Artagnan; "but I confess I have quite a contrary
+conviction. However, 'tis settled; but I stay in England only on one
+condition, that I don't have to learn the language."
+
+The attempt to rescue Charles from his guards on the way to London was
+only frustrated by the sudden arrival of General Harrison, with a large
+body of soldiers, and D'Artagnan and his friends made their escape by a
+hasty flight, and followed to London.
+
+"We must see this tragedy played out to the end," said Athos. "Do not
+let us leave England while any hope remains."
+
+And the others agreed.
+
+
+_IV.--At Whitehall_
+
+
+The intrepid four were present at the trial of Charles I., and it was
+the voice of Athos that called out, "You lie!" when the prosecutor
+declared that the accusation against the king was put forward by the
+English people.
+
+Fortunately, D'Artagnan managed to get Athos out of the court quickly,
+and then, followed by Porthos and Aramis, they mingled in the crowd
+outside undetected.
+
+Sentence having been pronounced against the king, the only thing to be
+done by the four was to get rid of the London executioner; this meant at
+least a few days delay while another executioner was being procured.
+D'Artagnan undertook this difficult task, while Aramis was to personate
+Bishop Juxon, the royal chaplain, and explain to Charles the attempt
+being made to save him. Athos engaged to get everything ready for
+leaving England.
+
+On the very night before the execution Aramis brought the king a message
+from D'Artagnan, "Tell the king that to-morrow, at ten o'clock at night,
+we shall carry him off." Aramis added, "He has said it, and he will do
+it."
+
+The scaffold was already being constructed in Whitehall as he spoke, but
+D'Artagnan had the London executioner fast bound under lock and key in a
+cellar, and Athos had a light skiff waiting at Greenwich. Not only this,
+but at midnight these four wonderful men, thanks to Athos, who spoke
+excellent English, were also at work at the scaffold--having bribed the
+carpenter in charge to let them assist--and at the same time boring a
+hole in the wall. The scaffold, which had two lower stories, and was
+covered with black serge, was at the height of twenty feet, on a level
+with the window in the king's room; and the hole communicated with a
+narrow loft, between the floor of the king's room, and the ceiling of
+the one below it.
+
+The plan was to pass through the hole into the loft, and cut out from
+below a piece of the flooring of the king's room, so as to form a kind
+of trap-door. The king was to escape through this on the following
+night, and, hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was then to
+change his dress for that of a workman, and so pass the sentinels on
+duty, and reach the skiff that was waiting for him at Greenwich.
+
+At nine o'clock in the morning Aramis, this time in attendance on Bishop
+Juxon, was once more in the king's room.
+
+"Sire," he said, "you are saved! The London executioner has vanished,
+and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol. The Count de la
+Fère is two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace, and
+strike three times on the floor. He will answer you. He has the path
+ready for your majesty to escape by."
+
+The king did as Aramis suggested, and in reply came three dull knocks
+from below.
+
+"The Count de la Fère," said Aramis.
+
+All was ready; nothing as far as D'Artagnan and Athos could see, had
+been overlooked; twenty-four hours hence would see the king beyond the
+reach of his adversaries.
+
+And then just as Charles had satisfied himself that his life was saved,
+a Parliamentary officer and a file of soldiers entered the king's room
+to announce his immediate execution.
+
+"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.
+
+"Were not you warned that it was to take place this morning?"
+
+"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the London
+executioner?"
+
+"The London executioner has disappeared, but a man has offered his
+services instead. The execution will, therefore, take place at the
+appointed hour."
+
+A fanatical Puritan, nephew of Lord de Winter--whom he slew at
+Newcastle--and a trusted lieutenant of Cromwell's did the work of the
+headsman, and upon Athos, waiting in concealment beneath the scaffold,
+fell drops of the king's blood.
+
+When all was over the four hastened away in deep dejection to the skiff
+at Greenwich, and so to France. But when they had landed at Dunkirk it
+was plain to D'Artagnan that their troubles were not yet at an end.
+
+"Porthos and I were sent by Cardinal Mazarin to fight for Cromwell;
+instead of fighting for Cromwell, we have served Charles I.; that's not
+the same thing at all."
+
+However, D'Artagnan and Porthos, on their return to Paris, rendered such
+signal service to Mazarin and to the queen, by guarding them from the
+violence of the mob, and by quelling a riot, that D'Artagnan received
+his commission as captain of musketeers, and Porthos his barony.
+
+The four old friends met once more in Paris before they separated.
+Aramis was returning to his convent, Athos and Porthos to their estates.
+As war had just broken out in Flanders, D'Artagnan made ready to go
+thither.
+
+Then all four embraced, with tears in their eyes. And after that they
+departed on their various ways, not knowing whether they were ever to
+see each other again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+by Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10748 ***
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+
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10748 ***</div>
+
+<h1>THE WORLD'S</h1> <h1>GREATEST</h1> <h1>BOOKS</h1>
+
+<h2>JOINT EDITORS</h2> <h3>ARTHUR MEE</h3> <h4>Editor and Founder of the
+Book of Knowledge</h4>
+
+<h3>J. A. HAMMERTON</h3> <h4>Editor of Harmsworth's Universal
+Encyclopaedia</h4>
+
+<h3>VOL. III</h3> <h3>FICTION</h3>
+
+<h4>MCMX</h4>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<p><i>Table of Contents</i></p>
+
+<a href="#daudet">DAUDET, ALPHONSE</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#daudet1">Tartarin of Tarascon</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#day">DAY, THOMAS</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#day1">Sandford and Merton</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#defoe">DEFOE, DANIEL</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#defoe1">Robinson Crusoe</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#defoe2">Captain Singleton</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#dickens">DICKENS, CHARLES</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens1">Barnaby Rudge</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens2">Bleak House</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens3">David Copperfield</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens4">Dombey and Son</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens5">Great Expectations</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens6">Hard Times</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens7">Little Dorrit</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens8">Martin Chuzzlewit</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens9">Nicholas Nickleby</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens10">Oliver Twist</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens11">Old Curiosity Shop</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens12">Our Mutual Friend</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens13">Pickwick Papers</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens14">Tale of Two Cities</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#disraeli">DISRAELI, BENJAMIN (Earl of Beaconsfield)</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#disraeli1">Coningsby</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#disraeli2">Sybil, or The Two Nations</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#disraeli3">Tancred, or The New Crusade</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#dumas">DUMAS, ALEXANDRE</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas1">Marguerite de Valois</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas2">Black Tulip</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas3">Corsican Brothers</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas4">Count of Monte Cristo</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas5">The Three Musketeers</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas6">Twenty Years After</a><br /><br />
+
+<p>A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
+of Volume XX.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="daudet">ALPHONSE DAUDET</a></h2>
+
+<h3><a name="daudet1">Tartarin of Tarascon</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Alphonse Daudet, the celebrated French novelist, was born at
+Nimes on May 13, 1840, and as a youth of seventeen went to Paris, where he
+began as a poet at eighteen, and at twenty-two made his first efforts in
+the drama. He soon found his feet as a contributor to the leading journals
+of the day and a successful writer for the stage. He was thirty-two when he
+wrote "Tartarin of Tarascon," than which no better comic tale has been
+produced in modern times. Tarascon is a real town, not far from the
+birthplace of Daudet, and the people of the district have always had a
+reputation for "drawing the long bow." It was to satirise this amiable
+weakness of his southern compatriots that the novelist created the
+character of Tartarin, but while he makes us laugh at the absurd
+misadventures of the lion-hunter, it will be noticed how ingeniously he
+prevents our growing out of temper with him, how he contrives to keep a
+warm corner in our hearts for the bragging, simple-minded, good-natured
+fellow. That is to say, it is a work of essential humour, and the lively
+style in which the story is told attracts us to it time and again with
+undiminished pleasure. In two subsequent books, "Tartarin in the Alps," and
+"Port Tarascon," Daudet recounted further adventures of his delightful
+hero. His "Sapho" and "Kings in Exile" have also been widely read. Daudet
+died on December 17, 1897. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Mighty Hunter at Home</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I remember my first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon as clearly as if it
+had been yesterday, though it is now more than a dozen years ago. When you
+had passed into his back garden, you would never have fancied yourself in
+France. Every tree and plant had been brought from foreign climes; he was
+such a fellow for collecting the curiosities of Nature, this wonderful
+Tartarin. His garden boasted, for instance, an example of the baobab, that
+giant of the vegetable world, but Tartarin's specimen was only big enough
+to occupy a mignonette pot. He was mightily proud of it, all the same.</p>
+
+<p>The great sight of his place, however, was the hero's private den at the
+bottom of the garden. Picture to yourself a large hall gleaming from top to
+bottom with firearms and weapons of all sorts: carbines, rifles,
+blunderbusses, bowie-knives, revolvers, daggers, flint-arrows--in a word,
+examples of the deadly weapons of all races used by man in all parts of the
+world. Everything was neatly arranged, and labelled as if it were in a
+public museum. "Poisoned Arrows. Please do not touch!" was the warning on
+one of the cards. "Weapons loaded. Have a care!" greeted you from another.
+My word, it required some pluck to move about in the den of the great
+Tartarin.</p>
+
+<p>There were books of travel and adventure, books about mighty hunting on
+the table in the centre of the room; and seated at the table was a short
+and rather fat, red-haired fellow of about forty-five, with a
+closely-trimmed beard and a pair of bright eyes. He was in his
+shirtsleeves, reading a book held in one hand while he gesticulated wildly
+with a large pipe in the other--Tartarin! He was evidently imagining
+himself the daring hero of the story.</p>
+
+<p>Now you must know that the people of Tarascon were tremendously keen on
+hunting, and Tartarin was the chief of the hunters. You may think this
+funny when you know there was not a living thing to shoot at within miles
+of Tarascon; scarcely a sparrow to attract local sportsmen. Ah, but you
+don't know how ingenious they are down there.</p>
+
+<p>Every Sunday morning off the huntsmen sallied with their guns and
+ammunition, the hounds yelping at their heels. Each man as he left in the
+morning took with him a brand new cap, and when they got well into the
+country and were ready for sport, they took their caps off, threw then high
+in the air, and shot at them as they fell. In the evening you would see
+them returning with their riddled caps stuck on the points of their guns,
+and of all these brave men Tartarin was the most admired, as he always
+swung into town with the most hopeless rag of a cap at the end of a day's
+sport. There's no mistake, he was a wonder!</p>
+
+<p>But for all his adventurous spirit, he had a certain amount of caution.
+There were really two men inside the skin of Tartarin. The one Tartarin
+said to him, "Cover yourself with glory." The other said to him, "Cover
+yourself with flannel." The one, imagining himself fighting Red Indians,
+would call for "An axe! An axe! Somebody give me an axe!" The other,
+knowing that he was cosy by his fireside, would ring the bell and say,
+"Jane, my coffee."</p>
+
+<p>One evening at Costecalde's, the gunsmith's, when Tartarin was
+explaining some mechanism of a rifle, the door was opened and an excited
+voice announced, "A lion! A lion!" The news seemed incredible, but you can
+imagine the terror that seized the little group at the gunsmith's as they
+asked for more news. It appeared that the lion was to be seen in a
+travelling menagerie newly arrived from Beaucaire.</p>
+
+<p>A lion at last, and here in Tarascon! Suddenly, when the full truth had
+dawned upon Tartarin, he shouldered his gun, and, turning to Major Bravida,
+"Let us go to see him!" he thundered. Following him went the cap-hunters.
+Arrived at the menagerie, where many Tarasconians were already wandering
+from cage to cage, Tartarin entered with his gun over his shoulder to make
+inquiries about the king of beasts. His entrance was rather a wet blanket
+on the other visitors, who, seeing their hero thus armed, thought there
+might be danger, and were about to flee. But the proud bearing of the great
+man reassured them, and Tartarin continued his round of the booth until he
+faced the lion from the Atlas Mountains.</p>
+
+<p>Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled
+in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a
+terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.</p>
+
+<p>Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the
+cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery, again
+drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, "Ah, yes, there's
+a hunt for you!"</p>
+
+<p>Not another word did Tartarin utter that day. Yet next day nothing was
+spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt the
+lions of the Atlas Mountains. When asked if this were true his pride would
+not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true. So the notion
+grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid tremendous
+cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very soon to set forth
+in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.</p>
+
+<p>Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins. While the one was
+strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to
+leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon. But he had
+let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through. So he
+began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these how some
+of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by enduring hunger,
+thirst, and other privations before they set out. Tartarin began cutting
+down his food, taking very watery soup. Early in the morning, too, he
+walked round the town seven or eight times, and at nights he would stay in
+the garden from ten till eleven o'clock, alone with his gun, to inure
+himself to night chills; while, so long as the menagerie remained in
+Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in the dark, prowling
+around the tent, listening to the growling of the lion. This was Tartarin,
+accustoming himself to be calm when the king of beasts was raging.</p>
+
+<p>The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking. He
+showed no haste to be off. At length, one night Major Bravida went to
+Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, "Tartarin, you must go!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of
+the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he
+replied at length in a choking voice, "Bravida, I shall go!" Having made
+this irrevocable decision, he now pushed ahead his final preparations with
+some show of haste. From Bompard's he had two large trunks, one inscribed
+with "Tartarin of Tarascon. Case of Arms," and he sent to Marseilles all
+manner of provisions of travel, including a patent camp-tent of the latest
+style.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Tartarin Sets off to Lion-Land</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Then the great day of his departure arrived. All the town was agog. The
+neighbourhood of Baobab Villa was crammed with spectators. About ten
+o'clock the bold hero issued forth.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a Turk! He's wearing spectacles!" This was the astonished cry of
+the beholders, and, sure enough, Tartarin had thought it his duty to don
+Algerian costume because he was going to Algeria. He also carried two heavy
+rifles, one on each shoulder, a huge hunting-knife at his waist and a
+revolver in a leather case. A pair of large blue spectacles were worn by
+him, for the sun in Algeria is terribly strong, you know.</p>
+
+<p>At the station the doors of the waiting-room had to be closed to keep
+the crowd out, while the great man took leave of his friends, making
+promises to each, and jotting down notes on his tablets of the various
+people to whom he would send lion-skins.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, that I had the brush of an artist, that I might paint you some
+pictures of Tartarin during his three days aboard the Zouave on the voyage
+from Marseilles! But I have no facility with the brush, and mere words
+cannot convey how he passed from the proudly heroic to the hopelessly
+miserable in the course of the journey. Worst of all, while he was groaning
+in his stuffy bunk, he knew that a very merry party of passengers were
+enjoying themselves in the saloon. He was still in his bunk when the ship
+came to her moorings at Algiers, and he got up with a sudden jerk, under
+the impression that the Zouave was sinking. Seizing his many weapons, he
+rushed on deck, to find it was not foundering, but only arriving.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after Tartarin had set foot on shore, following a great negro
+porter, he was almost stupefied by the babel of tongues; but, fortunately,
+a policeman took him in hand and had him directed, together with his
+enormous collection of luggage, to the European hotel.</p>
+
+<p>On arriving at his hotel, he was so fatigued that his marvellous
+collection of weapons had to be taken from him, and he had to be carried to
+bed, where he snored very soundly until it was striking three o'clock. He
+had slept all the evening, through the night and morning, and well into the
+next afternoon!</p>
+
+<p>He awakened refreshed, and the first thought in his mind was, "I'm in
+lion-land at last!" But the thought sent a cold shiver through him, and he
+dived under the bedclothes. A moment later he determined to be up.
+Exclaiming, "Now for the lions!" he jumped on the floor and began his
+preparations.</p>
+
+<p>His plan was to get out at once into the country, take ambush for the
+night, shoot the first lion that came along, and then back to the hotel for
+breakfast. So off he went, carrying not only his usual arsenal, but the
+marvellous patent tent strapped to his back. He attracted no little
+attention as he trudged along, and catching sight of a very fine camel, his
+heart beat fast, for he thought the lions could not be far off now.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite dark by the time he had got only a little way beyond the
+outskirts of the town, scrambling over ditches and bramble-hedges. After
+much hard work of this kind, the mighty hunter suddenly stopped, whispering
+to himself, "I seem to smell a lion hereabouts." He sniffed keenly in all
+directions. To his excited imagination, it seemed a likely place for a
+lion; so, dropping on one knee, and laying one of his guns in front of him,
+he waited.</p>
+
+<p>He waited very patiently. One hour, two hours; but nothing stirred. Then
+he suddenly remembered that great lion-hunters take a little young goat
+with them to attract the lion by its bleating. Having forgotten to supply
+himself with one, Tartarin conceived the happy idea of bleating like a kid.
+He started softly, calling, "Meh, meh!" He was really afraid that a lion
+might hear him, but as no lion seemed to be paying attention, he became
+bolder in his "mehs," until the noise he made was more like the bellowing
+of a bull.</p>
+
+<p>But hush! What was that? A huge black object had for the moment loomed
+up against the dark blue sky. It stooped, sniffing the ground; then seemed
+to move away again, only to return suddenly. It must be the lion at last;
+so, taking a steady aim, bang went the gun of Tartarin, and a terrible
+howling came in response. Clearly his shot had told; the wounded lion had
+made off. He would now wait for the female to appear, as he had read in
+books.</p>
+
+<p>But two or more hours passed, and she did not come; and the ground was
+damp, and the night air cold, so the hunter thought he would camp for the
+night. After much struggling, he could not get his patent tent to open.
+Finally, he threw it on the ground in a rage, and lay on the top of it.
+Thus he slept until the bugles in the barracks near by wakened him in the
+morning. For behold, instead of finding himself out on the Sahara, he was
+in the kitchen garden of some suburban Algerian!</p>
+
+<p>"These people are mad," he growled to himself, "to plant their
+artichokes where lions are roaming about. Surely I have been dreaming.
+Lions do come here; there's proof positive."</p>
+
+<p>From artichoke to artichoke, from field to field, he followed the thin
+trail of blood, and came at length to a poor little donkey he had
+wounded!</p>
+
+<p>Tartarin's first feeling was one of vexation. There is such a difference
+between a lion and an ass, and the poor little creature looked so innocent.
+The great hunter knelt down and tried to stanch the donkey's wounds, and it
+seemed grateful to him, for it feebly flapped its long ears two or three
+times before it lay still for ever.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a voice was heard calling, "Noiraud! Noiraud!" It was "the
+female." She came in the form of an old French woman with a large red
+umbrella, and it would have been better for Tartarin to have faced a female
+lion.</p>
+
+<p>When the unhappy man tried to explain how he had mistaken her little
+donkey for a lion, she thought he was making fun of her, and belaboured him
+with her umbrella. When her husband came on the scene the matter was soon
+adjusted by Tartarin agreeing to pay eight pounds for the damage he had
+done, the price of the donkey being really something like eight shillings.
+The donkey owner was an inn-keeper, and the sight of Tartarin's money made
+him quite friendly. He invited the lion-hunter to have some food at the inn
+with him before he left. And as they walked thither he was amazed to be
+told by the inn-keeper that he had never seen a lion there in twenty
+years!</p>
+
+<p>Clearly, the lions were to be looked for further south. "I'll make
+tracks for the south, too," said Tartarin to himself. But he first of all
+returned to his hotel in an omnibus. Think of it! But before he was to go
+south on the high adventure, he loafed about the city of Algiers for some
+time, going to the theatres and other places of amusement, where he met
+Prince Gregory of Montenegro, with whom he made friends.</p>
+
+<p>One day the captain of the Zouave came across him in the town, and
+showed him a note about himself in a Tarascon newspaper. This spoke of the
+uncertainty that prevailed as to the fate of the great hunter, and wound up
+with these words:</p>
+
+<p>"Some Negro traders state, however, that they met in the open desert a
+European whose description answers to that of Tartarin, and who was making
+tracks for Timbuctoo. May Heaven guard for us our hero!"</p>
+
+<p>Tartarin went red and white by turns as he read this, and realised that
+he was in for it. He very much wished to return to his beloved Tarascon,
+but to go there without having shot some lions--one at least--was
+impossible, and so it was Southward ho!</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Tartarin's Adventures in the Desert</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The lion-hunter was keenly disappointed, after a very long journey in
+the stage-coach, to be told that there was not a lion left in all Algeria,
+though a few panthers might still be found worth shooting.</p>
+
+<p>He got out at the town of Milianah, and let the coach go on, as he
+thought he might as well take things easily if, after all, there were no
+lions to be shot. To his amazement, however, he came across a real live
+lion at the door of a caf&eacute;.</p>
+
+<p>"What made them say there were no more lions?" he cried, astounded at
+the sight. The lion lifted in its mouth a wooden bowl from the pavement,
+and a passing Arab threw a copper in the bowl, at which the lion wagged its
+tail. Suddenly the truth dawned on Tartarin. He was a poor, blind, tame
+lion, which a couple of negroes were taking through the streets, just like
+a performing dog. His blood was up at the very idea. Shouting, "You
+scoundrels, to humiliate these noble beasts so!" he rushed and took the
+degrading bowl from the royal jaws of the lion. This led to a quarrel with
+the negroes, at the height of which Prince Gregory of Montenegro came upon
+the scene.</p>
+
+<p>The prince told him a most untrue story about a convent in the north of
+Africa where lions were kept, to be sent out with priests to beg for money.
+He also assured him that there were lots of lions in Algeria, and that he
+would join him in his hunt.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was in the company of Prince Gregory, and with a following of
+half a dozen negro porters, that Tartarin set off early next morning for
+the Shereef Plain; but they very soon had trouble, both with the porters
+and with the provisions Tartarin had brought for his great journey. The
+prince suggested dismissing the negroes and buying a couple of donkeys, but
+Tartarin could not bear the thought of donkeys, for a reason with which we
+are acquainted. He readily agreed, however, to the purchase of a camel, and
+when he was safely helped up on its hump, he sorely wished the people of
+Tarascon could see him. But his pride speedily had a fall, for he found the
+movement of the camel worse than that of the boat in crossing the
+Mediterranean. He was afraid he might disgrace France. Indeed, if truth
+must out, France was disgraced! So, for the remainder of their expedition,
+which lasted nearly a month, Tartarin preferred to walk on foot and lead
+the camel.</p>
+
+<p>One night in the desert, Tartarin was sure he heard sounds just like
+those he had studied at the back of the travelling menagerie at Tarascon.
+He was positive they were in the neighbourhood of a lion at last. He
+prepared to go forward and stalk the beast. The prince offered to accompany
+him, but Tartarin resolutely refused. He would meet the king of beasts
+alone! Entrusting his pocket-book, full of precious documents and
+bank-notes, to the prince, in case he might lose it in a tussle with the
+lion, he moved forward. His teeth were chattering in his head when he lay
+down, trembling, to await the lion.</p>
+
+<p>It must have been two hours before he was sure that the beast was moving
+quite near him in the dry bed of a river. Firing two shots in the direction
+whence the sound came, he got up and bolted back to where he had left the
+camel and the prince--but there was only the camel there now! The prince
+had waited a whole month for such a chance!</p>
+
+<p>In the morning he realised that he had been robbed by a thief who
+pretended to be a prince. And here he was in the heart of savage Africa
+with a little pocket money only, much useless luggage, a camel, and not a
+single lion-skin for all his trouble.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting on one of the desert-tombs erected over pious Mohammedans, the
+great man fell to weeping bitterly. But, even as he wept the bushes were
+pushed aside a little in front of him, and a huge lion presented itself. To
+his honour, be it said, Tartarin never moved a muscle, but, breathing a
+fervent "At last!" he leapt to his feet, and, levelling his rifle, planted
+two explosive bullets in the lion's head. All was over in a moment, for he
+had nearly blown the king of beasts to pieces! But in another moment he saw
+two tall, enraged negroes bearing down upon him. He had seen them before at
+Milianah, and this was their poor blind lion! Fortunately for Tartarin, he
+was not so deeply in the desert as he had thought, but merely outside the
+town of Orleansville, and a policeman now came up, attracted by the firing,
+and took full particulars.</p>
+
+<p>The upshot of it was that he had to suffer much delay in Orleansville,
+and was eventually fined one hundred pounds. How to pay this was a problem
+which he solved by selling all his extensive outfit, bit by bit. When his
+debts were paid, he had nothing but the lion's skin and the camel. The
+former he dispatched to Major Bravida at Tarascon. Nobody would buy the
+camel, and its master had to face all the journey back to Algiers in short
+stages on foot.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Home-Coming of the Hero</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The camel showed a curious affection for him, and followed him as
+faithfully as a dog. When, at the end of eight days' weary tramping, he
+came at last to Algiers, he did all he could to lose the animal, and hoped
+he had succeeded. He met the captain of the Zouave, who told him that all
+Algiers had been laughing at the story of how he had killed the blind lion,
+and he offered Tartarin a free passage home.</p>
+
+<p>The Zouave was getting up steam next day as the dejected Tartarin had
+just stepped into the captain's long-boat, when, lo! his faithful camel
+came tearing down the quay and gazed affectionately at its friend. Tartarin
+pretended not to notice it; but the animal seemed to implore him with his
+eyes to be taken away. "You are the last Turk," it seemed to say, "I am the
+last camel. Let us never part again, O my Tartarin!"</p>
+
+<p>But the lion-hunter pretended to know nothing of this ship of the
+desert.</p>
+
+<p>As the boat pulled off to the Zouave, the camel jumped into the water
+and swam after it, and was taken aboard. At last Tartarin had the joy of
+hearing the Zouave cast anchor at Marseilles, and, having no luggage to
+trouble him, he rushed off the boat at once and hastened through the town
+to the railway station, hoping to get ahead of the camel.</p>
+
+<p>He booked third class, and quickly hid himself in a carriage. Off went
+the train. But it had not gone far when everybody was looking out of the
+windows and laughing. Behind the train ran the camel--holding his own,
+too!</p>
+
+<p>What a humiliating home-coming! All his weapons of the chase left on
+Moorish soil, not a lion with him, nothing but a silly camel!</p>
+
+<p>"Tarascon! Tarascon!" shout the porters as the train slows up at the
+station, and the hero gets out. He had hoped to slink home unobserved; but,
+to his amazement, he is received with shouts of "Long live Tartarin!"
+"Three cheers for the lion-slayer!" The people are waving their caps in the
+air; it is no joke, they are serious. There is Major Bravida, and there the
+more noteworthy cap-hunters, who cluster round their chief and carry him in
+triumph down the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Now, all this was the result of sending home the skin of the blind lion.
+But the climax was reached when, following the crowd down the stairs of the
+station, limping from his long run, came the camel. Even this Tartarin
+turned to good account. He reassured his fellow-citizens, patting the
+camel's hump.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my camel; a noble beast! It has seen me kill all my lions."</p>
+
+<p>And so, linking his arm with the worthy major, he calmly wended his way
+to Baobab Villa, amid the ringing cheers of the populace. On the road he
+began a recital of his hunts.</p>
+
+<p>"Picture to yourself," he said, "a certain evening in the open
+Sahara----"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="day">THOMAS DAY</a></h2>
+
+<h3><a name="day1">Sandford and Merton</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Thomas Day was born in London on June 22, 1748, and educated
+at the Charterhouse and at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. Entering the
+Middle Temple in 1765, he was called to the Bar ten years later, but never
+practised. A contemporary and disciple of Rousseau, he convinced himself
+that human suffering was, in the main, the result of the artificial
+arrangements of society, and inheriting a fortune at an early age he spent
+large sums in philanthropy. A poem written by him in 1773, entitled "The
+Dying Negro," has been described as supplying the keynote of the
+anti-slavery movement. His "History of Sandford and Merton," published in
+three volumes between the years 1783 and 1789, provided a channel through
+which many generations of English people have imbibed a kind of refined
+Rousseauism. It retains its interest for the philosophic mind, despite the
+burlesque of <i>Punch</i> and its waning popularity as a book for children.
+Thomas Day died through a fall from his horse on September 28, 1789.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Barlow and his Pupils</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the western part of England lived a gentleman of a large fortune,
+whose name was Merton. He had a great estate in Jamaica, but had determined
+to stay some years in England for the education of his only son. When Tommy
+Merton came from Jamaica he was six years old. Naturally very good-natured,
+he had been spoiled by indulgence. His mother was so fond of him that she
+gave him everything he cried for, and would not let him learn to read
+because he complained that it made his head ache. The consequence was that,
+though Master Merton had everything he wanted, he was fretful and unhappy,
+made himself disagreeable to everybody, and often met with very dangerous
+accidents. He was also so delicately brought up that he was perpetually
+ill.</p>
+
+<p>Very near to Mr. Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer named
+Sandford, whose only son, Harry, was not much older than Master Merton, but
+who, as he had always been accustomed to run about in the fields, to follow
+the labourers when they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to their
+pasture, was active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. Harry had an
+honest, good-natured countenance, was never out of humour, and took the
+greatest pleasure in obliging others, in helping those less fortunate than
+himself, and in being kind to every living thing. Harry was a great
+favourite, particularly with Mr. Barlow, the clergyman of the parish, who
+taught him to read and write, and had him almost always with him.</p>
+
+<p>One summer morning, while Master Merton and a maid were walking in the
+fields, a large snake suddenly started up and curled itself round Tommy's
+leg. The maid ran away, shrieking for help, whilst the child, in his
+terror, dared not move. Harry, who happened to be near, ran up, and seizing
+the snake by the neck, tore it from Tommy's leg, and threw it to a great
+distance. Mrs. Merton wished to adopt the boy who had so bravely saved her
+son, and Harry's intelligence so appealed to Mr. Merton that he thought it
+would be an excellent thing if Tommy could also benefit by Mr. Barlow's
+instruction. With this view he decided to propose to the farmer to pay for
+the board and education of Harry that he might be a constant companion to
+Tommy. Mr. Barlow, on being consulted, agreed to take Tommy for some months
+under his care; but refused any monetary recompense.</p>
+
+<p>The day after Tommy went to Mr. Barlow's the clergyman took his two
+pupils into the garden, and, taking a spade in his own hand, and giving
+Harry a hoe, they both began to work. "Everybody that eats," he said,
+"ought to assist in procuring food. This is my bed, and that is Harry's.
+If, Tommy, you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground,
+all the produce of which shall be your own."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," said Tommy; "I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave
+like a ploughboy."</p>
+
+<p>"Just as you please, Mr. Gentleman," said Mr. Barlow. And Tommy, not
+being asked to share the plate of ripe cherries with which Mr. Barlow and
+Harry refreshed themselves after their labour, wandered disconsolately
+about the garden, surprised and vexed to find himself in a place where
+nobody felt any concern whether he was pleased or not. Meanwhile, Harry,
+after a few words of advice from Mr. Barlow, read aloud the story of "The
+Ants and the Flies," in which it is related how the flies perished for lack
+of laying up provisions for the winter, whereas the industrious ants, by
+working during the summer, provided for their maintenance when the bad
+weather came.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Barlow and Harry then rambled into the fields, where Mr. Barlow
+pointed out the several kinds of plants to be seen, and told his little
+companion the name and nature of each. When they returned to dinner Tommy,
+who had been skulking about all day, came in, and being very hungry, was
+going to sit down to the table, when Mr. Barlow said, "No, sir; though you
+are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not so proud, do not
+choose to work for the idle!"</p>
+
+<p>Upon this Tommy retired into a corner, crying as if his heart would
+break; when Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy, looked
+up, half-crying, into Mr. Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir, may I do as
+I please with my dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to be sure, my boy," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then," said Harry, "I will give it to poor Tommy, who wants it
+more than I do."</p>
+
+<p>Tommy took it and thanked Harry; but without turning his eyes from the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said Mr. Barlow, "that though certain gentlemen are too proud
+to be of any use to themselves, they are not above taking the bread that
+other people have been working hard for."</p>
+
+<p>At this Tommy cried more bitterly than before.</p>
+
+<p>The next day, when they went into the garden, Tommy begged that he might
+have a hoe, too, and, having been shown how to use it, soon worked with the
+greatest pleasure, which was much increased when he was asked to share the
+fruit provided after the work was done. It seemed to him the most delicious
+fruit that he had ever tasted.</p>
+
+<p>Harry read as before, the story this time being about the gentleman and
+the basket-maker. It described how a rich man, jealous of the happiness of
+a poor basket-maker, destroyed the latter's means of livelihood, and was
+sent by a magistrate with his humble victim to an island, where the two
+were made to serve the natives. On this island the rich man, because he
+possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was condemned
+to be the basket-maker's servant. When they were recalled, the rich man,
+having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated the
+basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed his
+riches in relieving the poor.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Gentleman Tommy Learns to Read</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>From this time forward Mr. Barlow and his two pupils used to work in
+their garden every morning; and when they were fatigued they retired to the
+summer-house, where Harry, who improved every day in reading, used to
+entertain them with some pleasant story. Then Harry went home for a week,
+and the morning after, when Tommy expected that Mr. Barlow would read to
+him as usual, he found to his great disappointment, that gentleman was busy
+and could not. The same thing happening the next day and the day after,
+Tommy said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like Harry, I should not
+need to ask anybody to do it for me." So when Harry returned, Tommy took an
+early opportunity of asking him how he came to be able to read.</p>
+
+<p>"Why," said Harry, "Mr. Barlow taught me my letters; and then, by
+putting syllables together, I learnt to read."</p>
+
+<p>"And could you not show me my letters?" asked Tommy.</p>
+
+<p>"Very willingly," was Harry's reply. And the lessons proceeded so well
+that Tommy, who learned the whole alphabet at the very first lesson, at the
+end of two months was able to read aloud to Mr. Barlow "The History of the
+Two Dogs," which shows how vain it is to expect courage in those who lead a
+life of indolence and repose, and that constant exercise and proper
+discipline are frequently able to change contemptible characters into good
+ones.</p>
+
+<p>Later, Harry read the story of Androcles and the Lion, and asked how it
+was that one person should be the servant of another and bear so much
+ill-treatment.</p>
+
+<p>"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
+must command others; and some are born servants, and they must do as they
+are bid." And he recalled how the black men and women in Jamaica had to
+wait upon him, and how he used to beat them when he was angry. But when Mr.
+Barlow asked him how these people came to be slaves, he could only say that
+his father had bought them, and that he was born a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Mr. Barlow, "if you were no longer to have a fine house,
+nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these
+things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and do whatever he liked
+with you."</p>
+
+<p>Seeing that he could not but admit this, Tommy became convinced that no
+one should make a slave, of another, and decided that for the future he
+would never use their black William ill.</p>
+
+<p>Some days after this Tommy became interested in the growing of corn, and
+Harry promising to get some seed from his father, Tommy got up early and,
+having dug very perseveringly in a corner of his garden to prepare the
+ground for the seed, asked Mr. Barlow if this was not very good of him.</p>
+
+<p>"That," said Mr. Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of the
+corn when you have raised it. Where," he asked, "will be the great goodness
+in your sowing corn for your own eating? That is no more than all the
+people round here continually do. And if they did not do it, they would be
+obliged to fast."</p>
+
+<p>"But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."</p>
+
+<p>"What," answered Mr. Barlow, "must not gentlemen eat as well as others;
+and therefore, is it not for their interest to know how to procure food as
+well as other people?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," answered Tommy; "but they can have other people to raise it
+for them."</p>
+
+<p>"How does that happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is
+made."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they pay for it with money?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they must have money before they can buy corn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"But have all gentlemen money?"</p>
+
+<p>Tommy hesitated some time, and at last said, "I believe not always,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then," said Mr. Barlow, "if they have not money, they will find it
+difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves." And he
+proceeded to recount the History of the Two Brothers, Pizarro and Alonzo,
+the former of whom, setting out on a gold-hunting expedition, prevailed
+upon the latter to accompany him, and became dependent upon Alonzo, who,
+instead of taking gold-seeking implements, provided himself with the
+necessaries for stocking a farm.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Town Life and Country Life</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>This story was followed by others, describing life in different and
+distant parts of the world; and in addition to the knowledge they acquired
+in this way, Tommy and Harry, in their intercourse with their neighbours
+and in the cultivation of their gardens, learned a great deal. Tommy in
+particular, growing much kinder towards the poor and towards dumb animals,
+as well as growing in physical well-being.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Barlow's young pupils were gradually taught many interesting and
+useful facts about natural history. They learned to cultivate their powers
+of observation also by studying the heavens. From a study of the stars
+their tutor drew them on to an acquaintance with the compass, the
+telescope, the magic lantern, the magnet, and the wonders of
+arithmetic.</p>
+
+<p>The stories of foreign lands were interspersed with others illustrating
+the habits of society; one for example, told how a certain rich man was
+cured of the gout, showing how, while most of the diseases of the poor
+originate in the want of food and necessaries, the rich are generally the
+victims of their own sloth and intemperance.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me," said Tommy on one occasion, "what a number of accidents
+people are subject to in this world."</p>
+
+<p>"It is very true," said Mr. Barlow; "but as that is the case, it is
+necessary to improve ourselves in every manner, that we may be able to
+struggle against them."</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: Indeed, sir, I begin to believe it is; for when I was younger
+than I am now, I remember I was always fretful and hurting myself, though I
+had two or three people constantly to take care of me. At present I seem
+quite another thing, I do not mind falling down and hurting myself, or
+cold, or scarcely anything that happens.</p>
+
+<p>MR. BARLOW: And which do you prefer--to be as you are now, or as you
+were before?</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: As I am now, a great deal, sir; for then I always had something
+or another the matter with me. At present I think I am ten times stronger
+and healthier than ever I was in my life.</p>
+
+<p>All the same, Tommy found it difficult at first to understand how people
+who lived in countries where they had to undergo great hardships could be
+so attached to their own land as to prefer it to any other country in the
+world. "I have," he said, "seen a great many ladies and little misses at
+our house, and whenever they were talking of the places where they should
+like to live, I have always heard them say that they hated the country of
+all things, though they were born and bred there."</p>
+
+<p>MR. BARLOW: And yet there are thousands who bear to live in it all their
+lives, and have no desire to change. Should you, Harry, like to go to live
+in some town?</p>
+
+<p>HARRY: Indeed, sir, I should not, for then I must leave everything I
+love in the world.</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: And have you ever been in any large town?</p>
+
+<p>HARRY: Once I was in Exeter, but I did not much like it. The houses
+seemed to me to stand too thick and close, and then there are little,
+narrow alleys where the poor live, and the houses are so high that neither
+light nor air can ever get to them. And they most of them appeared so dirty
+and unhealthy that it made my heart ache to look at them. I went home the
+next day, and never was better pleased in my life. When I came to the top
+of the great hill, from which you have a prospect of our house, I really
+thought I should have cried with joy. The fields looked all so pleasant,
+and the very cattle, when I went about to see them, all seemed glad that I
+was come home again.</p>
+
+<p>MR. BARLOW: You see by this that it is very possible for people to like
+the country, and to be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies you
+talk of, the truth is that they neither love nor would be contented in any
+place. It is no wonder they dislike the country, where they find neither
+employment nor amusement. They wish to go to London, because they there
+meet with numbers of people as idle and as frivolous as themselves; and
+these people assist each other to talk about trifles and to waste their
+time.</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: That is true, sir, really; for when we have a great deal of
+company, I have often observed that they never talk about anything but
+eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the
+playhouse or a great room called Ranelagh, where everybody goes to meet
+their friends.</p>
+
+<p>Which discourse led on to a story of the ancient Spartans, and their
+superiority to the luxury-loving Persians.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Bull-Baiting</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The time had now arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and
+spend some time with his parents. Mr. Barlow had been long afraid of this
+visit, as he knew his pupil would meet a great deal of company there who
+would give him impressions of a nature very different from those he had,
+with so much assiduity, been labouring to excite. However, the visit was
+unavoidable, and Mrs. Merton sent so pressing an invitation for Harry to
+accompany his friend, after having obtained the consent of his father, that
+Mr. Barlow, with much regret, took leave of his pupils.</p>
+
+<p>When the boys arrived at Mr. Merton's they were introduced into a
+crowded drawing-room full of the most elegant company which that part of
+the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies of
+different ages who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays with
+Master Merton.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his
+praise. As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by
+nobody except Mr. Merton, who received him with great cordiality, and a
+Miss Simmons, who had been brought up by an uncle who endeavoured, by a
+hardy and robust education, to prevent in his niece that sickly delicacy
+which is considered so great an ornament in fashionable life. Harry and
+this young lady became great friends, though to a considerable extent they
+were the butt of the others.</p>
+
+<p>A lady who sat by Mrs. Merton, asked her, in a whisper loud enough to be
+heard all over the room, whether (indicating Harry) that was the little
+ploughboy whom she had heard Mr. Barlow was attempting to bring up like a
+gentleman? Mrs. Merton answered "Yes." "Indeed," said the lady, "I should
+have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I wonder, my dear
+madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without flattery, is one of the
+most accomplished children I ever saw, with quite the air of fashion, to
+keep such company."</p>
+
+<p>Whilst Tommy was being estranged from his friend by a constant
+succession of flattery from his elders and the example of others of his own
+age, Harry, who never said any of those brilliant things that render a boy
+the darling of the ladies, and who had not that vivacity, or rather
+impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial people, paid
+the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made the most judicious
+observations upon subjects he understood. For this reason, Miss Simmons,
+although much older and better informed, received great satisfaction from
+conversing with him, and thought him infinitely more agreeable and sensible
+than any of the smart young gentlemen she had hitherto seen.</p>
+
+<p>One morning the young gentlemen agreed to take a walk in the country.
+Harry went with them. As they walked across a common they saw a great
+number of people moving forward towards a bull-baiting. Instantly they were
+seized with a desire to see the diversion. One obstacle alone presented
+itself. Their parents, particularly Mrs. Merton, had made them promise to
+avoid every kind of danger. However, all except Harry, agreed to go,
+insisting among themselves that there was no danger.</p>
+
+<p>"Master Harry," said one, "has not said a word. Surely he will not tell
+of us."</p>
+
+<p>Harry said he did not wish to tell; but if, he added, he were asked, he
+would have to tell the truth.</p>
+
+<p>A quarrel followed, in which Tommy struck his friend in the face with
+his fist. This, added to Tommy's recent conduct towards him, caused the
+tears to start to Harry's eyes, whereupon the others assailed him with
+cries of "Coward!" "Blackguard!" and so on. Master Mash went further and
+slapped him in the face. Harry, though Master Mash's inferior in size and
+strength, returned this by a punch, and a fight ensued, from which, though
+severely punished himself, Harry emerged the victor, to be assailed with a
+chorus of congratulation from those who before were loading him with taunts
+and outrages.</p>
+
+<p>The young gentlemen persisting in their intention to see the
+bull-baiting, Harry followed at some distance, deciding not to quit his
+friend till he had once more seen him in a place of safety. As it happened,
+the bull, after disposing of his early tormentors, broke loose when three
+fierce dogs were set upon it at once. In the stampede little Tommy fell
+right in the path of the infuriated animal, and would have lost his life
+had not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above his years,
+suddenly seized a prong which one of the fugitives had dropped, and, at the
+very moment when the bull was stopping to gore his defenceless friend,
+advanced and wounded it in the flank. The bull turned, and with redoubled
+rage made at his new assailant, and it is probable that, notwithstanding
+his intrepidity, Harry would have paid with his own life the price of his
+assistance to his friend had not a poor negro, whom he had helped earlier
+in the day, come opportunely to his aid, and by his promptitude and address
+secured the animal.</p>
+
+<p>The gratitude of Mr. Merton for his son's escape was unbounded, and even
+Mrs. Merton was ashamed of her disparaging remarks about Harry. As for
+Tommy, he went to his friend's home to seek reconciliation, reflecting with
+shame and contempt upon the ridiculous prejudices he had once
+entertained.</p>
+
+<p>He had now learned to consider all men as his brethren, not forgetting
+the poor negro; and that, as he said, it is much better to be useful than
+rich or fine.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="defoe">DANIEL DEFOE</a></h2>
+
+<h3><a name="defoe1">Robinson Crusoe</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Daniel Defoe, English novelist, historian and pamphleteer, was
+born in 1660 or 1661, in London, the son of James Foe, a butcher, and only
+assumed the name of De Foe, or Defoe, in middle life. He was brought up as
+a dissenter, and became a dealer in hosiery in the city. He early began to
+publish his opinions on social and political questions, and was an
+absolutely fearless writer, audacious and independent, so that he twice
+suffered imprisonment for his daring. The immortal "Robinson Crusoe" was
+published on April 25, 1719. Defoe was already fifty-eight years of age. It
+was the first English work of fiction that represented the men and manners
+of its own time as they were. It appeared in several parts, and the first
+part, which is here epitomised, was so successful that no fewer than four
+editions were printed in as many months. "Robinson Crusoe" was widely
+pirated, and its authorship gave rise to absurd rumours. Some claimed it
+had been written by Lord Oxford in the Tower; others that Defoe had
+appropriated Alexander Selkirk's papers. The latter idea was only justified
+inasmuch as the story was partly founded on Selkirk's adventures and partly
+on Dampier's voyages. Defoe died on April 26, 1731. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--I Go to Sea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was born of a good family in the city of York, where my father--a
+foreigner, of Bremen--settled after having retired from business. My father
+had given me a competent share of learning and designed me for the law; but
+I would be satisfied in nothing but going to sea. My mind was filled with
+thoughts of seeing the world, and nothing could persuade me to give up my
+desire.</p>
+
+<p>At length, on September 1, 1651, I left home, and went on board a ship
+bound for London. The ship was no sooner out of the Humber than the wind
+began to blow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner; and as I had
+never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in body and
+terrified in mind. The next day, however, the wind abated, and for several
+days the weather continued calm. My fears being forgotten, and the current
+of my desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows to return home that I
+made in my distress.</p>
+
+<p>The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads and cast
+anchor. Our troubles were not yet over, however, for a few days later the
+wind increased till it blew a terrible storm indeed. I began to see terror
+in the faces even of the seamen themselves; and as the captain passed me, I
+could hear him softly to himself say, several times, "We shall be all
+lost!"</p>
+
+<p>My horror of mind put me into such a condition that I can by no words
+describe it. The storm increased, and the seamen every now and then cried
+out the ship would founder. One of the men cried out that we had sprung a
+leak, and all hands were called to the pumps; but the water increasing in
+the hold, it was apparent that the ship would founder. We fired guns for
+help, and a ship who had rid it out just ahead of us ventured a boat out.
+It was with the utmost hazard the boat came near us, but at last we got all
+into it, and got into shore, though not without much difficulty, and walked
+afterwards on foot to Yarmouth.</p>
+
+<p>Having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London, and there got
+acquainted with the master of a ship which traded on the coast of Guinea.
+This captain, taking a fancy to my conversation, told me if I would make a
+voyage with him I might do some trading on my own account. I embraced the
+offer, and went the voyage with him. With the help of some of my relations
+I raised &pound;40, which I laid out in toys, beads, and such trifles as my
+friend the captain said were most in demand on the Guinea Coast. It was a
+prosperous voyage. It made me both a sailor and a merchant, for my
+adventure yielded me on my return to London almost &pound;300, and this
+filled me with those aspiring thoughts which have since so completed my
+ruin.</p>
+
+<p>I was now set up as a Guinea trader, and made up my mind to go the same
+voyage again in the same ship; but this was the unhappiest voyage ever man
+made, for as we were off the African shore we were surprised by a Moorish
+rover of Salee, who gave chase with all sail. About three in the afternoon
+he came up with us, and after a great fight we were forced to yield, and
+were carried all prisoners into the port of Salee, where we were sold as
+slaves.</p>
+
+<p>I was fortunate enough to fall into the hands of a master who treated me
+with no little kindness. He frequently went fishing, and as I was dexterous
+in catching fish, he never went without me. One day he sent me out with a
+Moor to catch fish for him. Then notions of deliverance darted into my
+thoughts, and I prepared not for fishing, but for a voyage. When everything
+was ready, we sailed away to the fishing-grounds. Purposely catching
+nothing, I said we had better go farther out. The Moor agreed, and I ran
+the boat out near a league farther; then I brought to as if I would fish.
+Instead of that, however, I stepped forward, and, stooping behind the Moor,
+took him by surprise and tossed him overboard. He rose to the surface, and
+called on me to take him in. For reply I presented a gun at him, and told
+him if he came nearer the boat I would shoot him, and that as the sea was
+calm, he might easily swim ashore. So he turned about, and swam for the
+shore, and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease.</p>
+
+<p>About ten days afterwards, as I was steering out to double a cape, I
+came in sight of a Portuguese ship. On coming nearer, they hailed me, but I
+understood not a word. At last a Scotch sailor called to me, and I answered
+I was an Englishman, and had made my escape from the Moors of Salee. They
+then bade me come on board, and very kindly took me in, with all my
+goods.</p>
+
+<p>We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and when we reached our
+destination the captain recommended me to an honest man who had a sugar
+plantation. Here I settled down for a while, and learned the planting of
+sugar. Then I took a piece of land, and became a planter myself. My affairs
+prospered, and had I continued in the station I was now in, I had room for
+many happy things to have yet befallen me; but I was still to be the agent
+of my own miseries.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Lord of an Island and Alone</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Some of my neighbours, hearing that I had a knowledge of Guinea trading,
+proposed to fit out a vessel and send her to the coast of Guinea to
+purchase negroes to work in our plantations. I was well pleased with the
+idea; and when they asked me to go to manage the trading part, I forgot all
+the perils and hardships of the sea, and agreed to go. A ship being fitted
+out, we set sail on September 1, 1659.</p>
+
+<p>We had very good weather for twelve days, but after crossing the line,
+violent hurricanes took us, and drove us out of the way of all human
+commerce. In this distress, one morning, there was a cry of "Land!" and
+almost at the same moment the ship struck against a sandbank. We took to a
+boat, and worked towards the land; but before we could reach it, a raging
+wave came rolling astern of us, and overset the boat. We were all thrown
+into the sea, and out of fifteen who were on board, none escaped but
+myself. I managed, somehow, to scramble to shore, and clambered up the
+cliffs, and sat me down on the grass half-dead. Night coming on me, I took
+up my lodging in a tree.</p>
+
+<p>When I waked, it was broad day, the weather clear, and the storm abated.
+What surprised me most was that in the night the ship had been lifted from
+the bank by the swelling tide, and driven ashore almost as far as the place
+where I had landed. I saw that if we had all kept on board we had been all
+safe, and I had not been so miserable as to be left entirely destitute of
+all company as I now was.</p>
+
+<p>I swam out to the ship, and found that her stern lay lifted up on the
+bank. All the ship's provisions were dry, and, being well disposed to eat,
+I filled my pockets and ate as I went about other things, for I had no time
+to lose. We had several spare yards and planks, and with these I made a
+raft. I emptied three of the seamen's chests, and let them down upon the
+raft, and filled them with provisions. I also let down the carpenter's
+chest, and some arms and ammunition--all of which, after much labour, I got
+safely to land.</p>
+
+<p>My next work was to view the country. Where I was I yet knew not, but
+after I had with great labour got to the top of a hill which rose up very
+steep and high, I saw my fate, to my great affliction--<i>viz</i>., that I
+was in an island, uninhabited except by wild beasts.</p>
+
+<p>I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many things out of
+the ship which would be useful to me; so every day at low water I went on
+board, and brought away something or other until I had the biggest magazine
+that was ever laid up, I believe, for one man. I verily believe, had the
+calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole ship piece by
+piece; but on the fourteenth day it blew a storm, and next morning, behold,
+no more ship was to be seen. I must not forget that I brought on shore two
+cats and a dog. He was a trusty servant to me many years. I wanted nothing
+that he could fetch me, nor any company. I only wanted him to talk to me,
+but that he could not do. Later, I managed to catch a parrot, which did
+much to cheer my loneliness. I taught him to speak, and it would have done
+your heart good to have heard the pitying tones in which he used to say,
+"Robin--poor Robin Crusoe!"</p>
+
+<p>I now went in search of a place where to fix my dwelling. I found a
+little plain on the side of a rising hill, which was there as steep as a
+house-side, so that nothing could come down on me from the top. On the side
+of this rock was a hollow space like the entrance of a cave, before which I
+resolved to pitch my tent. Before I set up my tent, I drew a half-circle
+before the hollow place, which extended backwards about twenty yards. In
+this half-circle I planted two rows of strong stakes, driving them into the
+ground like piles, above five feet and a half high, and sharpened at the
+top. Then I took some pieces of cable I had found in the ship, and laid
+them in rows one upon another between the stakes; and this fence was so
+strong that neither man nor beast could get into it or over it. The
+entrance I made to be by a short ladder to go over the top, and when I was
+in I lifted the ladder after me.</p>
+
+<p>Inside the fence, with infinite labour, I carried all my riches,
+provisions, ammunition, and stores. And I made me a large tent, also, to
+preserve me from the rains. When I had done this I began to work my way
+into the rock. All the earth and stones I dug out I laid up within my
+fence, and thus I made me a cave just behind my tent which served me like a
+cellar.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of my labours it happened that, rummaging in my things, I
+found a little bag with but husks of corn and dust in it. Wishing to make
+use of the bag, I shook it out on one side of my fortification. It was a
+little before the great rains that I threw this stuff away, not remembering
+that I had thrown anything there; about a month after, I saw some green
+stalks shooting up. I was perfectly astonished when, after a little longer
+time, I saw ten or twelve ears of barley. I knew not how it came there. At
+last it occurred to me that I had shaken out the bag there. Besides the
+barley there were also a few stalks of rice. I carefully saved the ears of
+this corn, you may be sure, and resolved to sow them all again. When my
+corn was ripe, I used a cutlass as a scythe, and cut off the ears, and
+rubbed them out with my hands. At the end of my harvesting I had nearly two
+bushels of rice, and two bushels and a half of barley. I kept all this for
+seed, and bore the want of bread with patience.</p>
+
+<p>I soon found that I needed many things to make me comfortable. First I
+wanted a chair and a table, for without them I must live like a savage. So
+I set to work. I had never handled a tool in my life, but I had a saw, an
+axe, and several hatchets, and I soon learned to use them all. If I wanted
+a board, I had to chop down a tree. From the trunk of the tree I cut a log
+of the length my board was to be. Then I split the log, and, with infinite
+labour, hewed it flat till it was as thin as a board. I made myself a table
+and a chair out of short pieces of board, and from the large boards I made
+some wide shelves. On these I laid my tools and other things.</p>
+
+<p>From time to time I made many useful things. From a piece of ironwood,
+cut in the forest with great labour, I made a spade to dig with. Then I
+wanted a pick-axe, but for long I could not think how I was to get one. At
+length I made use of crowbars from the wreck. These I heated in the fire,
+and, little by little, shaped them till I made a pick-axe, proper enough,
+though heavy.</p>
+
+<p>At first I felt the need of baskets in which to carry things, so I set
+to work as a basket-maker. It came to my mind that the twigs of the tree
+whence I cut my stakes might serve. I found them to my purpose as much as I
+could desire, and, during the next rainy season, I employed myself in
+making a great many baskets. Though I did not finish them handsomely, yet I
+made them sufficiently serviceable.</p>
+
+<p>I had, however, one want greater than all the others--bread. My barley
+was very fine, the grains were large and smooth; but before I could make
+bread I must grind the grains into flour. I spent many a day to find out a
+Stone to cut hollow and make fit for a mortar, and could find none; nor
+were the rocks of the island of hardness sufficient. So I gave it over and
+rounded a great block of hard wood and, with the help of fire and great
+labour, made a hollow in it. I made a great heavy pestle of the wood called
+ironwood.</p>
+
+<p>The baking part was the next thing to be considered; for, first, I had
+no yeast. As to that, there was no supplying the want, so I did not concern
+myself much about it. But for an oven I was indeed in great pain. At length
+I found out an experiment for that also. I made some earthen vessels, broad
+but not deep, about two feet across, and about nine inches deep. These I
+burned in the fire till they were as hard as nails and as red as tiles, and
+when I wanted to bake I made a great fire upon a hearth which I paved with
+some square tiles of my own making.</p>
+
+<p>When the fire had all burned I drew the embers forward upon my hearth,
+and let them be there till the hearth was very hot. My loaves being ready,
+I swept the hearth and set them on the hottest part of it. Over each loaf I
+placed one of the large earthen pots, and drew the embers all round to keep
+in and add to the heat. And thus I baked my barley loaves and became, in a
+little time, a good pastrycook into the bargain.</p>
+
+<p>It need not be wondered at if all these things took up most of the third
+year of my abode in the island. I had now brought my state of life to be
+much easier than it was at first, and I learned to look more upon the
+bright side of my condition and less on the dark.</p>
+
+<p>Had anyone in England met such a man as I was, it must have frightened
+them, or raised great laughter. On my head I wore a great, high, shapeless
+cap of goat's skin. Stockings and shoes I had none, but I had made a pair
+of somethings, I scarce knew what to call them, to slip over my legs; a
+jacket, with the skirts coming down to the middle of my thighs, and a pair
+of open-kneed breeches of the same, completing my outfit. I had a broad
+belt of goat's skin, and in this I hung, on one side, a saw, on the other,
+a hatchet. Under my arm hung two pouches for shot and powder; at my back I
+carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun, and over my head a great clumsy
+goat's skin umbrella.</p>
+
+<p>A stoic would have smiled to have seen me at dinner. There was my
+majesty, prince and lord of the whole island. How like a king I dined, too,
+all alone, attended by my servants! Poll, my parrot, as if he had been my
+favourite, was the only person permitted to talk to me. My old dog sat at
+my right hand, and two cats on each side of the table, expecting a bit from
+my hand as a mark of special favour.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Footprint</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was my custom to make daily excursions to some part of the island.
+One day, walking along the beach, I was exceedingly surprised with the
+print of a man's naked foot plainly impressed on the sand. I stood like one
+thunderstruck. I listened, I looked around, but I could hear nothing nor
+see anything. I went up to a rising ground to look further; I walked
+backwards and forwards on the shore, but I could see only that one
+impression.</p>
+
+<p>I went to it again. There was exactly a foot--toes, heel, and every part
+of a foot. How it came thither I knew not; but I hurried home, looking
+behind me at every two or three steps, and mistaking every bush and tree,
+fancying every stump to be a man. I had no sleep that night; but my terror
+gradually wore off, and after some days I ventured down to the beach to
+take measure of the footprint by my own.</p>
+
+<p>I found it much larger! This filled me again with all manner of fears,
+and when I went home I began to prepare against an attack. I got out my
+muskets, loaded them, and went to an enormous amount of labour and
+trouble--all because I had seen the print of a naked foot on the sand.
+There seemed to me then no labour too great, no task too toilsome, and I
+made me a second fortification, and planted a vast number of stakes on the
+outside of my outer wall, which grew and became a thick grove of trees,
+entirely concealing the place of my retreat, and adding greatly to my
+security.</p>
+
+<p>I had now been twenty-two years on the island, and had grown so
+accustomed to the place that, had I felt myself secure from the attack by
+savages, I fancied I could have been contented to remain there till I died
+of old age.</p>
+
+<p>For many months the perturbation of my mind was very great; in the day
+great troubles overwhelmed me, and in the night I dreamed often of killing
+savages. About two years after I first knew these fears, I was surprised
+one morning by seeing five canoes on the shore. I could not tell what to
+think of it, so went and lay in my castle perplexed and discomforted. At
+length, becoming very impatient, I clambered up to the top of the hill and
+perceived, by the help of my perspective glass, no less than thirty men
+dancing round a fire with barbarous gestures. While I was looking, two
+miserable wretches were dragged from the boats. One was immediately knocked
+down, while the other, seeing himself a little at liberty, started away
+from them and ran along the sands directly towards me. I was dreadfully
+frightened, that I must acknowledge, when I perceived him run my way,
+especially when, as I thought, I saw him pursued by the whole body. But my
+spirits began to recover when I found that but three men followed him, and
+that he outstripped them exceedingly, in running.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he came to a creek and, making nothing of it, plunged in,
+landed, and ran on with exceeding strength. Two of the pursuers swam the
+creek, but the third went no farther, and soon after went back again. I
+immediately took my two guns, ran down the hill and clapped myself in the
+way between the pursuers and the pursued, hallooing aloud to him that fled.
+Then, rushing on the foremost of the pursuers, I knocked him down with the
+stock of my piece. The other stopped, as if frightened, but as I came
+nearer, I perceived he was fitting a bow and arrow to shoot at me; so I was
+then obliged to shoot at him first, which I did and killed him.</p>
+
+<p>The poor savage who fled was so frightened with the noise of my piece
+that he seemed inclined still to fly. I gave him all the signs of
+encouragement I could think of, and he came nearer, kneeling down every ten
+or twelve steps. I took him up and made much of him, and comforted him.
+Then, beckoning him to follow me, I took him to my cave on the farther part
+of the island. Here, having refreshed him, I made signs for him to lie down
+to sleep, which the poor creature did. After he had slumbered about half an
+hour, he came out of the cave, running to me, laying himself down and
+setting my foot upon his head to let me know he would serve me so long as
+he lived.</p>
+
+<p>In a little time I began to speak to him and teach him to speak to me;
+and, first, I let him know his name should be Friday, which was the day I
+saved his life. I likewise taught him to say "Master," and then let him
+know that was to be my name. I made a little tent for him, and took in my
+ladders at night, so that he could no way come at me.</p>
+
+<p>But I needed not this precaution, for never man had a more faithful,
+loving servant than Friday was to me. I made it my business to teach him
+everything that was proper to make him useful, especially to make him
+speak, and he was the aptest scholar that ever was. Indeed, this was the
+pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place. I began now to have
+some use for my tongue again, and, besides the pleasure of talking to
+Friday, I had a singular satisfaction in the fellow himself. His simple,
+unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and more every day, and I began
+really to love the creature; and I believe he loved me more than it was
+possible for him ever to love anything before.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The End of Captivity</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my captivity on the
+island. One morning I bade Friday go to the seashore and see if he could
+find a turtle. He had not been gone long when he came running back like one
+that felt not the ground, or the steps he set his feet on, and cries out to
+me, "O master! O sorrow! O bad!"</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Friday?" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"O yonder, there," says he; "one, two, three canoes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," says I, "do not be frightened."</p>
+
+<p>However, I saw the poor fellow was most terribly scared, for nothing ran
+in his head but that the savages were come back to look for him, and would
+cut him in pieces and eat him. I comforted him, and told him I was in as
+much danger as he. Then I went up the hill and found quickly by my glass
+that there were one-and-twenty savages, whose business seemed to be a
+triumphant banquet upon three human bodies. I came down again to Friday
+and, going towards the wretches, sent Friday a little ahead to see what
+they were doing. He came back and told me that they were eating the flesh
+of one of their prisoners, and that a bearded man lay bound, whom he said
+they would kill next.</p>
+
+<p>This fired the very soul within me, and, going to a little rising
+ground, I turned to Friday and said, "Now, Friday, do exactly as you see me
+do." So, with a musket, I took aim at the savages; Friday did the like, and
+we fired, killing three of them and wounding five more. They were in a
+dreadful consternation, and after we fired again among the amazed wretches,
+I made directly towards the poor victim who was lying upon the beach.
+Loosing him, I found he was a Spaniard. He took pistol and sword from me
+thankfully, and flew upon his murderers, and, Friday, pursuing the flying
+wretches, in the end but four of the twenty-one escaped in a canoe.</p>
+
+<p>I was minded to pursue them lest they should return with a greater force
+and devour us by mere multitude. So, running to a canoe, I bade Friday
+follow me, but was surprised to find another poor creature lying therein,
+bound hand and foot. I immediately cut his fastenings and bade Friday tell
+him of his deliverance. But when Friday came to hear him speak and to look
+in his face, it would have moved anyone to tears to have seen how Friday
+kissed him, embraced him, hugged him, cried, danced, sung, and then cried
+again. It was a good while before I could make him tell me what was the
+matter, but when he came a little to himself, he told me it was his father.
+He sat down by the old man a long while, and took his arms and ankles,
+which were numbed with the binding, and chafed and rubbed them with his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>My island was now peopled, and I thought myself rich in subjects. The
+Spaniard and the old savage had been with us about seven months, sharing in
+our labours, when, being unable to keep means of deliverance out of my
+thoughts, I gave them leave to go over in one of the canoes to the
+mainland, where some of the Spaniard's shipmates were cast away, giving
+them provisions sufficient for themselves and all the Spaniards, for eight
+days.</p>
+
+<p>It was no less than eight days I had waited for their return when Friday
+came to me and called aloud, "Master, master, they are come!" I jumped up
+and climbed to the top of the hill, and with my glass plainly made out an
+English ship, and its long-boat standing in for the shore. I cannot express
+the joy I was in at seeing a ship, and one that was manned by my own
+countrymen; but yet I had some secret doubts, bidding me keep on my guard.
+Presently the boat was run upon the beach, and in all eleven men landed,
+whereof three were unarmed and bound, whom I could perceive using
+passionate gestures of entreaty and despair. Presently the seamen were all
+gone straggling in the woods, leaving the three distressed men under a tree
+a little distance from me. I resolved to discover myself to them, and
+marched with Friday towards them, and called aloud in Spanish, "What are
+ye, gentlemen?" They started up at the noise, and I perceived them about to
+fly from me, when I spoke to them in English.</p>
+
+<p>"Gentlemen," says I, "do not be surprised at me; perhaps you may have a
+friend near, when you did not expect it. Can you not put a stranger in the
+way to help you?"</p>
+
+<p>One of them, looking like one astonished, returned, "Sir, I was captain
+of that ship; my men have mutinied against me, and have set me on shore in
+this desolate place with these two men--my mate and a passenger."</p>
+
+<p>He then told me that if two among the mutineers, who were desperate
+villains, were secured, he believed the rest on shore would return to their
+duty. He anticipated my proposals in venturing their deliverance by telling
+me that both he and the ship, if recovered, should be wholly directed by me
+in everything. Then I gave them muskets, and the mutineers returning, the
+two villains were killed, and the rest begged for mercy, and joined us.
+More of them coming ashore, we fell upon them at night, so that at the
+captain's call they laid down their arms, trusting to the mercy of the
+governor of the island, for such they supposed me to be.</p>
+
+<p>It now occurred to me that the time of my deliverance was come, and that
+it would be easy to bring these fellows in to be hearty in getting
+possession of the ship. And so it proved, for, the ship being boarded next
+morning, and the new rebel captain shot, the rest yielded without any more
+lives lost.</p>
+
+<p>When I saw my deliverance then put visibly into my hands, I was ready to
+sink down with the surprise, and it was a good while before I could speak a
+word to the captain, who was in as great an ecstasy as I. After some time,
+I came dressed in a new habit of the captain's, being still called
+governor. Being all met, and the captain with me, I caused the prisoners to
+be brought before me, told them I had got a full account of their
+villainous behaviour to the captain, and asked of them what they had to say
+why I should not execute them as pirates. I told them I had resolved to
+quit the island, but that they, if they went, could only go as prisoners in
+irons; so that I could not tell what was the best for them, unless they had
+a mind to take their fate in the island. They seemed thankful for this, and
+said they would much rather venture to stay than be carried to England to
+be hanged. So I left it on that issue. When the captain was gone I sent for
+the men up to me in my apartment and let them into the story of my living
+there; showed them my fortifications, the way I made my bread, planted my
+corn; and, in a word, all that was necessary to make them easy. I told them
+the story, also of the Spaniards that were to be expected, and made them
+promise to treat them in common with themselves.</p>
+
+<p>I left the next day and went on board the ship with Friday. And thus I
+left the island the 19th of December, in the year 1686, after eight and
+twenty years, and, after a long voyage, I arrived in England, the 11th of
+June, 1687, having been thirty-five years absent.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="defoe2">Captain Singleton</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Defoe was fifty-nine when he published this remarkable book,
+in 1720. "Robinson Crusoe" had appeared in the previous year, and "Moll
+Flanders" came out in 1722. Shrewdness and wit, the study of character,
+vividness of imagination, and, beyond these, the pure literary style, make
+"Captain Singleton" a classic in English literature. William the Quaker,
+the first Quaker in English fiction, has never been surpassed in any later
+novel, and remains an immortal creation. The clear common sense of this
+man, the combination of business ability and a real humaneness, the quiet
+humour which prevails over the stupid barbarity of his pirate
+companions--who but Defoe could have drawn such a character as the guide,
+philosopher, and friend of a crew of pirates? Bob Singleton himself, who
+tells the story with a frankness of extraordinary charm, confessing his
+willingness for evil courses as readily as his later repentance, is no less
+striking a personality. By sheer imagination the genius of Defoe makes
+Singleton's adventures, including the impossible journey across Central
+Africa, real and credible. The book is a model of fine narrative.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Sailing With the Devil</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>If I may believe the woman whom I was taught to call mother, I was a
+little boy about two years old, very well dressed, and had a nurse-maid to
+attend me, who took me out on a fine summer's evening into the fields
+towards Islington, to give the child some air; a little girl being with
+her, of twelve or fourteen years old, that lived in the neighbourhood.</p>
+
+<p>The maid meets with a fellow, her sweetheart; he carries her into a
+public-house, and while they are toying in there the girl plays about with
+me in her hand, sometimes in sight, sometimes out of sight, thinking no
+harm.</p>
+
+<p>Then comes by one of those sort of people who make it their business to
+spirit away little children, a trade chiefly practised where they found
+little children well dressed, and for bigger children, to sell them to the
+plantations.</p>
+
+<p>The woman, pretending to take me up in her arms and play with me, draws
+the girl a good way from the house, and then bids her go back to the maid,
+and tell her that a gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child. And so,
+while the girl went, she carries me quite away.</p>
+
+<p>From that time, it seems, I was disposed of to a beggar woman, and after
+that to a gipsy, till I was about six years old.</p>
+
+<p>And this gipsy, though I was continually dragged about with her from one
+part of the country to the other, never let me want for anything. I called
+her mother, but she told me at last she was not my mother, but that she
+bought me for twelve shillings, and that my name was Bob Singleton, not
+Robert, but plain Bob.</p>
+
+<p>Who my father and mother really were I have never learnt.</p>
+
+<p>When my gipsy mother happened in process of time to be hanged, I was
+sent to a parish school; and then I was moved from one parish to another,
+and at Bussleton, near Southampton, the master of a ship took a fancy to
+me, and though I was not above twelve years old, he carried me to sea with
+him on a voyage to Newfoundland.</p>
+
+<p>I went several voyages with him, when, coming home from Newfoundland
+about the year 1695, we were taken by an Algerine rover, which was in its
+turn taken by two great Portuguese men-of-war.</p>
+
+<p>We were carried into Lisbon, and there my master, the only friend I had
+in the world, dying of his wounds, I was left starving in a foreign country
+where I knew nobody, and could not speak a word of the language.</p>
+
+<p>However, an old pilot found me, and, speaking in broken English, asked
+me if I would go with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I, "with all my heart."</p>
+
+<p>For two years I lived with him, and then he got to be master under Don
+Garcia de Carravallas, captain of a Portuguese galleon, which was bound to
+Goa in the East Indies. On this voyage I began to get a smattering of the
+Portuguese tongue and a superficial knowledge of navigation. I also learnt
+to be an arrant thief and a bad sailor.</p>
+
+<p>I was reputed as mighty diligent and faithful to my master, but I was
+very far from honest.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, I had no sense of virtue or religion in me, never having heard
+much of either, and was growing up apace to be as wicked as anybody could
+be.</p>
+
+<p>Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most abominable
+lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew; adding to it that,
+with the most insufferable boasts of their own courage, they were,
+generally speaking, the most complete cowards that I ever met with. And I
+was exactly fitted for their society.</p>
+
+<p>According to the English proverb, he that is shipped with the devil must
+sail with the devil; I was among them, and I managed myself as well as I
+could.</p>
+
+<p>When we came to anchor on the coast of Madagascar to repair some damage
+to the ship, there happened a most desperate mutiny among the men upon
+account of a deficiency in their allowance, and I, being full of mischief
+in my head, readily joined.</p>
+
+<p>Though I was but a boy, as they called me, yet I prompted the mischief
+all I could, and embarked in it so openly that I escaped very little being
+hanged in the first and most early part of my life.</p>
+
+<p>For the captain, getting wind of the plot, brought two fellows to
+confess the particulars, and presently no less than sixteen men were seized
+and put into irons, whereof I was one.</p>
+
+<p>The captain, who was made desperate by his danger, tried us all, and we
+were all condemned to die. The gunner and purser were hanged immediately,
+and I expected it with the rest. I do not remember any great concern I was
+under about it, only that I cried very much; for I knew little then of this
+world, and nothing at all of the next.</p>
+
+<p>However, the captain contented himself with executing these two, and
+some of the rest, upon their humble submission, were pardoned; but five
+were ordered to be set on shore on the island and left there, of which I
+was one.</p>
+
+<p>At our first coming into the island we were terrified exceedingly with
+the sight of the barbarous people; but when we came to converse with them
+awhile, we found they were not cannibals, as was reported, but they came
+and sat down by us, and wondered much at our clothes and arms. Nor did we
+suffer any harm from them during our whole stay on the island.</p>
+
+<p>Before the ship sailed twenty-three of the crew decided to join us, and
+the captain, not unwilling to lose them, sent us two barrels of powder, and
+shot and lead, as well as a great bag of bread.</p>
+
+<p>Being now a considerable number, and in condition to defend ourselves,
+the first thing we did was to give everyone his hand that we would not
+separate from one another, but that we would live and die together, that we
+would be in all things guided by the majority, that we would appoint a
+captain among us to be our leader, and that we would obey him on pain of
+death.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--A Mad Venture</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>For two years we remained on the island of Madagascar, for at the
+beginning we had no vessel large enough to pass the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>I never proposed to speak in the general consultations, but one day I
+told the company that our best plan was to cruise along the coast in
+canoes, and seize upon the first vessel we could get that was better than
+our own, and so from that to another, till perhaps we might at last get a
+good ship to carry us wherever we pleased to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent advice," says one of them. "Admirable advice," says another.
+"Yes, yes," says the third (which was a gunner), "the English dog has given
+excellent advice, but it is just the way to bring us all to the gallows. To
+go a-thieving, till from a little vessel we come to a great ship, and so
+shall we turn downright pirates, the end of which is to be hanged."</p>
+
+<p>"You may call us pirates," says another, "if you will, and if we fall
+into bad hands we may be used like pirates; but I care not for that. I'll
+be a pirate or anything, rather than starve here!"</p>
+
+<p>And so they cried all, "Let us have a canoe!"</p>
+
+<p>The gunner, overruled by the rest, submitted; but as we broke up the
+council, he came to me and very gravely. "My lad," says he, "thou art born
+to do a world of mischief; thou hast commenced pirate very young; but have
+a care of the gallows, young man; have a care, I say, for thou wilt be an
+eminent thief."</p>
+
+<p>I laughed at him, and told him I did not know what I might come to
+hereafter; but as our case was now, I should make no scruple to take the
+first ship I came at to get our liberty. I only wished we could see one,
+and come at her.</p>
+
+<p>When we had made three canoes of some size, we set out on as odd a
+voyage as ever man went. We were a little fleet of three ships, and an army
+of between twenty and thirty as dangerous fellows as ever lived. We were
+bound somewhere and nowhere, for though we knew what we intended to do, we
+really did not know what we were doing.</p>
+
+<p>We cruised up and down the coast, but no ship came in sight, and at
+last, with more courage than discretion, more resolution than judgment, we
+launched for the main coast of Africa.</p>
+
+<p>The voyage was much longer than we expected, and when we were landed
+upon the continent it seemed the most desolate, desert, and inhospitable
+country in the world.</p>
+
+<p>It was here that we took one of the rashest and wildest and most
+desperate resolutions that ever was taken by man; this was to travel
+overland through the heart of the country, from the coast of Mozambique to
+the coast of Angola or Guinea, a continent of land of at least 1,800 miles,
+in which journey we had excessive heats to support, impassable deserts to
+go over, no carriages, camels, or beasts of any kind to carry our baggage,
+innumerable wild and ravenous beasts to encounter, such as lions, leopards,
+tigers, lizards, and elephants; we had nations of savages to encounter,
+barbarous and brutish to the last degree; hunger and thirst to struggle
+with, and, in one word, terrors enough to have daunted the stoutest hearts
+that ever were placed in cases of flesh and blood.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, fearless of all these, we resolved to adventure, and not only did
+we accomplish our journey, but we came to a river where there were vast
+quantities of gold.</p>
+
+<p>The hardships and difficulties of our march were much mitigated by a
+method which I proposed and was found very convenient. This was to quarrel
+with some of the negro natives, take them as prisoners, and binding them,
+as slaves, cause them to travel with us and make them carry our
+baggage.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly, we secured about sixty lusty young fellows as prisoners,
+for the natives stood in great awe of us because of our firearms, and they
+not only served us faithfully--the more so as we treated them without
+harshness--but were of great help in showing us the way, and in conversing
+with the savages we afterwards met.</p>
+
+<p>When we reached the country where the gold was, we at once agreed, in
+order that the good harmony and friendship of our company might be
+maintained, that however much gold was gotten, it should be brought into
+one common stock, and equally divided at last, the negroes sharing with the
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>This was done, and at the end of our long journey we found each man's
+share amounted to many pounds of gold. We also got a cargo of elephants'
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>We parted at the Gold Coast from our black companions on the best of
+terms. Then most of my comrades went off to the Portuguese factories near
+Gambia, and I went to Cape Coast Castle, and got passage for, England,
+where I arrived in September.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Quaker and Pirate</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I had neither friend nor relation in England, though it was my native
+country; I had not a person to trust with what I had, or to counsel me to
+secure or save it; but falling into ill company, and trusting the keeper of
+a public-house in Rotherhithe with a great part of my money, all that great
+sum, which I got with so much pains and hazard, was gone in little more
+than two years' time--spent in all kinds of folly and wickedness.</p>
+
+<p>Then I began to see it was time to think of further adventures, and I
+next shipped myself, in an evil hour to be sure, on a voyage to Cadiz.</p>
+
+<p>On the coast of Spain I fell in with some masters of mischief, and,
+among them, one, forwarder than the rest, named Harris, who began an
+intimate confidence with me, so that we called one another brothers.</p>
+
+<p>This Harris was afterwards captured by an English man-of-war, and, being
+laid in irons, died of grief and anger.</p>
+
+<p>When we were together, he asked me if I had a mind for an adventure that
+might make amends for all past misfortunes. I told him, yes, with all my
+heart; for I did not care where I went, having nothing to lose, and no one
+to leave behind me.</p>
+
+<p>He told me, then, there was a brave fellow, whose name was Wilmot, in
+another English ship which rode in the harbour, who had resolved to mutiny
+the next morning, and run away with the ship; and that if we could get
+strength enough among our ship's company, we might do the same.</p>
+
+<p>I liked the proposal very well, but we could not bring our part to
+perfection. For there were but eleven in our ship who were in the
+conspiracy, nor could we get any more that we could trust. So that when
+Wilmot began his work, and secured the ship, and gave the signal to us, we
+all took a boat and went off to join him.</p>
+
+<p>Being well prepared for all manner of roguery, without the least checks
+of conscience, I thus embarked with this crew, which at last brought me to
+consort with the most famous pirates of the age.</p>
+
+<p>I, that was an original thief, and a pirate even by inclination before,
+was now in my element, and never undertook anything in my life with more
+particular satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Wilmot--for so we now called him--at once stood out for sea,
+steering for the Canaries, and thence onward to the West Indies. Our ship
+had twenty-two guns, and we obtained plenty of ammunition from the
+Spaniards in exchange for bales of English cloth.</p>
+
+<p>We cruised near two years in those seas of the West Indies, chiefly upon
+the Spaniards--not that we made any difficulty of taking English ships, or
+Dutch, or French, if they came in our way. But the reason why we meddled as
+little with English vessels as we could was, first, because if they were
+ships of any force, we were sure of more resistance from them; and,
+secondly, because we found the English ships had less booty when taken; for
+the Spaniards generally had money on board, and that was what we best knew
+what to do with.</p>
+
+<p>We increased our stock considerably in these two years, having taken
+60,000 pieces of gold in one vessel, and 100,000 in another; and being thus
+first grown rich, we resolved to be strong, too, for we had taken a
+brigantine, an excellent sea-boat, able to carry twelve guns, and a large
+Spanish frigate-built ship, which afterwards, by the help of good
+carpenters, we fitted up to carry twenty-eight guns.</p>
+
+<p>We had also taken two or three sloops from New England and New York,
+laden with flour, peas, and barrelled beef and pork, going for Jamaica and
+Barbados, and for more beef we went on shore on the island of Cuba, where
+we killed as many black cattle as we pleased, though we had very little
+salt to cure them.</p>
+
+<p>Out of all the prizes we took here we took their powder and bullets,
+their small-arms and cutlasses; and as for their men, we always took the
+surgeon and the carpenter, as persons who were of particular use to us upon
+many occasions; nor were they always unwilling to go with us.</p>
+
+<p>We had one very merry fellow here, a Quaker, whose name was William
+Walters, whom we took out of a sloop bound from Pennsylvania to Barbados.
+He was a surgeon and they called him doctor, and we made him go with us,
+and take all his implements with him. He was a comic fellow indeed, a man
+of very good solid sense, and an excellent surgeon; but, what was worth
+all, very good-humoured and pleasant in his conversation, and a bold,
+stout, brave fellow too, as any we had among us.</p>
+
+<p>I found William not very averse to go along with us, and yet resolved to
+do it so that it might be apparent he was taken away by force. "Friend," he
+says, "thou sayest I must go with thee, and it is not in my power to resist
+thee if I would; but I desire thou wilt oblige the master of the sloop to
+certify under his hand that I was taken away by force, and against my
+will." So I drew up a certificate myself, wherein I wrote that he was taken
+away by main force, as a prisoner, by a pirate ship; and this was signed by
+the master and all his men.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou hast dealt friendly by me," says he, when we had brought him
+aboard, "and I will be plain with thee, whether I came willingly to thee or
+not. But thou knowest it is not my business to meddle when thou art to
+fight."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," says the captain, "but you may meddle a little when we share
+the money."</p>
+
+<p>"Those things are useful to furnish a surgeon's chest," says William,
+and smiled, "but I shall be moderate."</p>
+
+<p>In short, William was a most agreeable companion; but he had the better
+of us in this part, that if we were taken we were sure to be hanged, and he
+was sure to escape. But he was a sprightly fellow, and fitter to be captain
+than any of us.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--A Respectable Merchant</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>We cruised the seas for many years, and after a time William and I had a
+ship to ourselves with 400 men in authority under us. As for Captain
+Wilmot, we left him with a large company at Madagascar, while we went on to
+the East Indies.</p>
+
+<p>At last we had gotten so rich, for we traded in cloves and spices to the
+merchants, that William one day proposed to me that we should give up the
+kind of life we had been leading. We were then off the coast of Persia.</p>
+
+<p>"Most people," said William, "leave off trading when they are satisfied
+of getting, and are rich enough; for nobody trades for the sake of trading;
+much less do men rob for the sake of thieving. It is natural for men that
+are abroad to desire to come home again at last, especially when they are
+grown rich, and so rich as they would know not what to do with more if they
+had it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, William," said I, "but you have not explained what you mean by
+home. Why, man, I am at home; here is my habitation; I never had any other
+in my lifetime; I was a kind of charity school-boy; so that I can have no
+desire of going anywhere for being rich or poor; for I have nowhere to
+go."</p>
+
+<p>"Why," says William, looking a little confused, "hast thou no relatives
+or friends in England? No acquaintance; none that thou hast any kindness or
+any remains of respect for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not I, William," said I, "no more than I have in the court of the Great
+Mogul. Yet I do not say I like this roving, cruising life so well as never
+to give it over. Say anything to me, I will take it kindly." For I could
+see he was troubled, and I began to be moved by his gravity.</p>
+
+<p>"There is something to be thought of beyond this way of life," says
+William.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what is that," said I, "except it be death?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is repentance."</p>
+
+<p>"Why," says I, "did you ever know a pirate repent?"</p>
+
+<p>At this he was startled a little, and returned.</p>
+
+<p>"At the gallows I have known one, and I hope thou wilt be the
+second."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke this very affectionately, with an appearance of concern for
+me.</p>
+
+<p>"My proposal," William went on, "is for thy good as well as my own. We
+may put an end to this kind of life, and repent."</p>
+
+<p>"Look you, William," says I, "let me have your proposal for putting an
+end to our present way of living first, and you and I will talk of the
+other afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay," says William, "thou art in the right there; we must never talk of
+repenting while we continue pirates."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," says I, "William, that's what I meant; for if we must not
+reform, as well as be sorry for what is done, I have no notion what
+repentance means: the nature of the thing seems to tell me that the first
+step we have to take is to break off this wretched course. Dost thou think
+it practicable for us to put an end to our unhappy way of living, and get
+off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," says he, "I think it very practicable."</p>
+
+<p>We were then anchored off the city of Bassorah, and one night William
+and I went ashore, and sent a note to the boatswain telling him we were
+betrayed and bidding him make off with the ship.</p>
+
+<p>By this means we frighted the rogues our comrades; and we had nothing to
+do then but to consider how to convert our treasure into things proper to
+make us look like merchants, as we were now to be, and not like
+freebooters, as we really had been.</p>
+
+<p>Then we clothed ourselves like Armenian merchants, and after many days
+reached Venice; and at last we agreed to go to London. For William had a
+sister whom he was anxious to see once more.</p>
+
+<p>So we came to England, and some time later I married William's sister,
+with whom I am much more happy than I deserve.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="dickens">CHARLES DICKENS</a></h2>
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens1">Barnaby Rudge</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Charles Dickens, son of a clerk in the Navy Pay Office, was
+born at Landport on February 7, 1812. Soon afterwards the family removed to
+Chatham and then to London. With all their efforts, they failed to keep out
+of distress, and at the age of nine Dickens was employed at a blacking
+factory. With the coming of brighter days, he was sent back to school;
+afterwards a place was found for him in a solicitor's office. In the
+meantime, his father had obtained a position as reporter on the "Morning
+Herald," and Dickens, too, resolved to try his fortune in that direction.
+Teaching himself shorthand, and studying diligently at the British Museum,
+at the age of twenty-two he secured permanent employment on the staff of a
+London paper. "Barnaby Rudge," the fifth of Dickens's novels, appeared
+serially in "Master Humphrey's Clock" during 1841. It thus followed "The
+Old Curiosity Shop," the character of Master Humphrey being revived merely
+to introduce the new story, and on its conclusion "The Clock" was stopped
+for ever. In 1849 "Barnaby Rudge" was published in book form. Written
+primarily to express the author's abhorrence of capital punishment, from
+the use he made of the Gordon Riots of 1780, "Barnaby Rudge," like "A Tale
+of Two Cities," may be considered an historical work. It is more of a story
+than any of its predecessors. Lord George Gordon, the instigator of the
+riots, died a prisoner in the Tower of London, after making public
+renunciation of Christianity in favour of the Jewish religion. "The raven
+in this story," said Dickens, "is a compound of two originals, of whom I
+have been the proud possessor." Dickens died at Gad's Hill on June 9, 1870,
+having written fourteen novels and a great number of short stories and
+sketches. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Barnaby and the Robber</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the year 1775 there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, in the
+village of Chigwell, about twelve miles from London, a house of public
+entertainment called the Maypole, kept by John Willet, a large-headed man
+with a fat face, of profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension,
+combined with a very strong reliance upon his own merits.</p>
+
+<p>From this inn, Gabriel Varden, stout-hearted old locksmith of
+Clerkenwell, jogged steadily home on a chaise, half sleeping and half
+waking, on a certain rough evening in March.</p>
+
+<p>A loud cry roused him with a start, just where London begins, and he
+descried a man extended in an apparently lifeless state wounded upon the
+pathway, and, hovering round him, another person, with a torch in his hand,
+which he waved in the air with a wild impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"What's here to do?" said the old locksmith. "How's this? What, Barnaby!
+You know me, Barnaby?"</p>
+
+<p>The bearer of the torch nodded, not once or twice, but a score of times,
+with a fantastic exaggeration.</p>
+
+<p>"How came it here?" demanded Varden, pointing to the body.</p>
+
+<p>"Steel, steel, steel!" Barnaby replied fiercely, imitating the thrust of
+a sword.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he robbed?" said the blacksmith.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded "Yes," pointing towards the
+city.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said the old man. "The robber made off that way, did he? Now let's
+see what can be done."</p>
+
+<p>They covered the wounded man with Varden's greatcoat, and carried him to
+Mrs. Rudge's house hard by. On his way home Gabriel congratulated himself
+on having an adventure which would silence Mrs. Varden on the subject of
+the Maypole for that night, or there was no faith in woman.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Varden was a lady of uncertain temper, and she was on this
+occasion so ill-tempered, and put herself to so much anxiety and agitation,
+aided and abetted by her shrewish hand-maiden, Miggs, that next morning she
+was, she said, too much indisposed to rise. The disconsolate locksmith had,
+therefore, to deliver himself of his story of the night's experiences to
+his daughter, buxom, bewitching Dolly, the very pink and pattern of good
+looks, and the despair of the youth of the neighbourhood.</p>
+
+<p>Calling next day in the evening, Gabriel Varden learnt the wounded man
+was better, and would shortly be removed.</p>
+
+<p>Varden chatted as an old friend with Barnaby's mother. He knew the
+Maypole story of the widow Rudge--how her husband, employed at Chigwell,
+and his master had been murdered; and how her son, born upon the very day
+the deed was known, bore upon his wrist a smear of blood but half washed
+out.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what's that?" said the locksmith suddenly. "Is that Barnaby
+tapping at the door?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," returned the widow; "it was in the street, I think. Hark! 'Tis
+someone knocking softly at the shutter."</p>
+
+<p>"Some thief or ruffian," said the locksmith. "Give me a light."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," she returned hastily. "I would rather go myself, alone."</p>
+
+<p>She left the room, and Varden heard the sound of whispers without. Then
+the words "My God!" came, tittered in a voice dreadful to hear.</p>
+
+<p>Varden rushed out. A look of terror was on the woman's face, and before
+her stood a man, of sinister appearance, whom the locksmith had passed on
+the road from Chigwell the previous night.</p>
+
+<p>The man fled, but the locksmith was after him and would have held him
+but for the widow, who clutched his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"The other way--the other way!" she cried. "Do not touch him, on your
+life! He carries other lives besides his own. Don't ask what it means. He
+is not to be followed or stopped! Come back!"</p>
+
+<p>"The other way!" said the locksmith. "Why, there he goes!"</p>
+
+<p>The old man looked at her in wonder, and let her draw him into the
+house. Still that look of terror was on her face, as she implored him not
+to question her.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she withdrew, and left him in his perplexity alone, and
+Barnaby came in.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been asleep," said the idiot, with widely opened eyes. "There
+have been great faces coming and going--close to my face, and then a mile
+away. That's sleep, eh? I dreamed just now that something--it was in the
+shape of a man--followed me and wouldn't let me be. It came creeping on to
+worry me, nearer and nearer. I ran faster, leaped, sprang out of bed and to
+the window, and there in the street below--"</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Bow, wow, wow!" cried a hoarse voice. "What's
+the matter here? Halloa!"</p>
+
+<p>The locksmith started, and there was Grip, a large raven, Barnaby's
+close companion, perched on the top of a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Keep up your spirits! Never say die!" the bird
+went on, in a hoarse voice. "Bow, wow, wow!" And then he began to
+whistle.</p>
+
+<p>The locksmith said "Good-night," and went his way home, disturbed in
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>"In league with that ill-looking figure that might have fallen from a
+gibbet. He listening and hiding here. Barnaby first upon the spot last
+night. Can she, who has always borne so fair a name, be guilty of such
+crimes in secret?" said the locksmith, musing. "Heaven forgive me if I am
+wrong, and send me just thoughts."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II--Barnaby Is Enrolled</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It is seven in the forenoon, on June 2, 1780, and Barnaby and his
+mother, who had travelled to London to escape that unwelcome visitor whom
+Varden had noticed, were resting in one of the recesses of Westminster
+Bridge.</p>
+
+<p>A vast throng of persons were crossing the river to the Surrey shore in
+unusual haste and excitement, and nearly every man in this great concourse
+wore in his hat a blue cockade.</p>
+
+<p>When the bridge was clear, which was not till nearly two hours had
+elapsed, the widow inquired of an old man what was the meaning of the great
+assemblage.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, haven't you heard?" he returned. "This is the day Lord George
+Gordon presents the petition against the Catholics, and his lordship has
+declared he won't present it to the House of Commons at all unless it is
+attended to the door by forty thousand good men and true, at least. There's
+a crowd for you!"</p>
+
+<p>"A crowd, indeed!" said Barnaby. "Do you hear that, mother? That's a
+brave crowd he talks of. Come!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not to join it!" cried his mother. "You don't know what mischief they
+may do, or where they may lead you. Dear Barnaby, for my sake----"</p>
+
+<p>"For your sake!" he answered. "It <i>is</i> for your sake, mother.
+Here's a brave crowd! Come--or wait till I come back! Yes, yes, wait
+here!"</p>
+
+<p>A stranger gave Barnaby a blue cockade and bade him wear it, and while
+he was still fixing it in his hat Lord Gordon and his secretary, Gashford,
+passed, and then turned back.</p>
+
+<p>"You lag behind, friend, and are late," said Lord George. "It's past ten
+now. Didn't you know the hour of assemblage was ten o'clock?"</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby shook his head, and looked vacantly from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p>"He cannot tell you, sir," the widow interposed. "It's no use to ask
+him. We know nothing of these matters. This is my son--my poor, afflicted
+son, dearer to me than my own life. He is not in his right senses--he is
+not, indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"He has surely no appearance," said Lord George, whispering in his
+secretary's ear, "of being deranged. We must not construe any trifling
+peculiarity into madness. You desire to make one of this body?" he added,
+addressing Barnaby. "And intended to make one, did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. "To be sure, I did. I
+told her so myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Then follow me." replied Lord George, "and you shall have your
+wish."</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly, and telling her their fortunes were
+made now, did as he was desired.</p>
+
+<p>They hastened on to St. George's Fields, where the vast army of men was
+drawn up in sections. Doubtless there were honest zealots sprinkled here
+and there, but for the most part the throng was composed of the very scum
+and refuse of London.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby was acclaimed by a man in the ranks, Hugh, the rough hostler of
+the Maypole, whom Barnaby in his frequent wanderings had long known.</p>
+
+<p>"What! you wear the colour, do you? Fall in, Barnaby. You shall march
+between me and Dennis, and you shall carry," said Hugh, taking a flag from
+the hand of a tired man, "the gayest silken streamer in this valiant
+army."</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of God, no!" shrieked the widow, who had followed in
+pursuit and now darted forward. "Barnaby, my lord, he'll come
+back--Barnaby!"</p>
+
+<p>"Women in the field!" cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her
+off with his outstretched hand. "It's against all orders--ladies carrying
+off our gallant soldiers from their duty. Give the word of command,
+captain."</p>
+
+<p>The words, "Form! March!" rang out.</p>
+
+<p>She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was
+whirled away into the heart of a dense mass of men, and the widow saw him
+no more.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby himself, heedless of the weight of the great banner he carried,
+marched proud, happy, and elated past all telling. Hugh was at his side,
+and next to Hugh came a squat, thick-set personage called Dennis, who,
+unknown to his companions, was no other than the public hangman.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could see her somewhere," said Barnaby, looking anxiously
+around. "She would be proud to see me now, eh, Hugh? She'd cry with joy, I
+know she would."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what palaver's this?" asked Mr. Dennis, with supreme disdain. "We
+ain't got no sentimental members among us, I hope."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be uneasy, brother," cried Hugh, "he's only talking of his
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"His mother!" growled Mr. Dennis, with a strong oath, and in tones of
+deep disgust. "And have I combined myself with this here section, and
+turned out on this here memorable day, to hear men talk about their
+mothers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Barnaby's right," cried Hugh, with a grin, "and I say it. Lookee, bold
+lad, if she's not here to see it's because I've provided for her, and sent
+half-a-dozen gentlemen, every one of 'em with a blue flag, to take her to a
+grand house all hung round with gold and silver banners, where she'll wait
+till you come and want for nothing. And we'll get money for her. Money,
+cocked hats, and gold lace will all belong to us if we are true to that
+noble gentleman, if we carry our flags and keep 'em safe. That's all we've
+got to do.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you see, man," Hugh whispered to Dennis, "that the lad's a
+natural, and can be got to do anything if you take him the right way? He's
+worth a dozen men in earnest, as you'd find if you tried a fall with him.
+You'll soon see whether he's of use or not."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dennis received this explanation with many nods and winks, and
+softened his behaviour towards Barnaby from that moment.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh was right. It was Barnaby who stood his ground, and grasped his
+pole more firmly when the Guards came out to clear the mob away from
+Westminster.</p>
+
+<p>One soldier came spurring on, cutting at the hands of those who would
+have forced his charger back, and still Barnaby, without retreating an
+inch, waited for his coming. Some called to him to fly, when the pole swept
+the air above the people's heads, and the man's saddle was empty in an
+instant.</p>
+
+<p>Then he and Hugh turned and fled, the crowd opening and closing so
+quickly that there was no clue to the course they had taken.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Storming of Newgate</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>For several days London was in the hands of the rioters. Catholic
+chapels were burned, the private residences of Catholics were sacked. From
+the moment of the first outbreak at Westminster every symptom of order
+vanished. Fifty resolute men might have turned the rioters; a single
+company of soldiers could have scattered them like dust; but no man
+interposed, no authority restrained them.</p>
+
+<p>But Barnaby, bold Barnaby, had been taken. Left behind at the resort of
+the rioters by Hugh, who led a body of men to Chigwell, he had been
+captured by the soldiers, a proclamation of the Privy Council having at
+last encouraged the magistrates to set the military in motion for the
+arrest of certain ringleaders.</p>
+
+<p>He was placed in Newgate and heavily ironed, and presently Grip, with
+drooping head and plumes rough and tumbled, was thrust into his cell.</p>
+
+<p>Another man was also taken and placed in Newgate on that day, and
+presently he and Barnaby stood staring at each other, face to face.
+Suddenly Barnaby laid hands upon him, and cried, "Ah, I know! You are the
+robber!"</p>
+
+<p>The other struggled with him silently, but finding the young man too
+strong for him, raised his eyes and said, "I am your father."</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby released his hold, fell back, and looked at him aghast. Then he
+sprang towards him, put his arms about his neck, and pressed his head
+against his cheek. He never learnt that his father, supposed to have been
+murdered, was himself a murderer. This was the widow's dreadful secret.</p>
+
+<p>And now Hugh, with a huge army, was at the gates of Newgate, bent on
+rescue. He had returned, to find Barnaby taken, and at once announced that
+the prison must be stormed. In vain the military commanders tried to rouse
+the magistrates, and in particular the Lord Mayor; no orders were given,
+and the soldiers could do nothing within the precincts of the city without
+the warrant of the civil authorities.</p>
+
+<p>In a dense mass the rioters halted before the prison-gate. All those who
+had already been conspicuous were there, and others who had friends or
+relatives within the jail hastened to the attack.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh had brought, by force, old Gabriel Varden to pick the lock of the
+great door, but this the sturdy locksmith resolutely refused to do.</p>
+
+<p>"You have got some friends of ours in your custody, master," Hugh called
+out to the head jailer, who had appeared on the roof. "Deliver up our
+friends, and you may keep the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"It's my duty to keep them all. I shall do my duty," replied the jailer,
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>A shower of stones compelled the keeper of the jail to retire.</p>
+
+<p>Gabriel Varden was urged by blows, by offers of reward, and by threats
+of instant death to do the office the rioters required of him, and all in
+vain. He was knocked down, was up again, buffeting with a score of them. He
+had never loved his life so well as then, but nothing could move him.</p>
+
+<p>The cry was raised, "You lose time. Remember the prisoners! Remember
+Barnaby!" And the crowd left the locksmith, to gather fuel, for an entrance
+was to be forced by fire. Furniture from the prison lodge was piled up in a
+monstrous heap and set blazing, oil was poured on, and at last the great
+gate yielded to the flames. It settled deeper in the red-hot cinders,
+tottered, and was down.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh leaped upon the blazing heap, and dashed into the jail. The hangman
+followed. And then so many rushed upon their track that the fire got
+trodden down. There was no need of it now, for, inside and out, the prison
+was soon in flames.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby and his father were quickly released, and passed from hand to
+hand into the street. Soon all the wretched inmates of the jail were free,
+except four condemned to die whom Dennis kept under guard. And these Hugh
+roughly insisted on liberating, to the sullen anger of the hangman.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't let these men alone, and leave 'em to me? You've no respect
+for nothing, haven't you?" said Dennis, and with a scowl he
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Three hundred prisoners in all were released from Newgate, and many of
+these returned to haunt the place of their captivity, and were retaken. The
+day after the storming of Newgate, the mob having now had London at its
+mercy for a week, the authorities at last took serious action, and at
+nightfall the military held the streets.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh and Barnaby and old Rudge had taken refuge in a rough out-house in
+the outskirts of London, where they were wont to rest, when Dennis stood
+before them; he had not been seen since the storming of Newgate.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later, and the shed was filled with soldiers, while a body
+of horse galloping into the field drew op before it.</p>
+
+<p>"Here!" said Dennis, "it's them two young ones, gentlemen, that the
+proclamation puts a price on. This other's an escaped felon. I'm sorry for
+it, brother," he added, addressing himself to Hugh; "but you've brought it
+on yourself; you forced me to do it; you wouldn't respect the soundest
+constitutional principles, you know; you went and wiolated the wery
+framework of society."</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby and his father were carried off by one road in the centre of a
+body of foot-soldiers; Hugh, fast bound upon a horse, was taken by
+another.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Fate of the Rioters</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The riots had been stamped out, and once more the city was quiet.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby sat in his dungeon. Beside him, with his hand in hers, sat his
+mother; worn and altered, full of grief, and heavy-hearted, but the same to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," he said, "how long--how many days and nights--shall I be kept
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not many, dear. I hope not many."</p>
+
+<p>"If they kill me--they may; I heard it said--what will become of
+Grip?"</p>
+
+<p>The sound of the word suggested to the raven his old phrase, "Never say
+die!" But he stopped short in the middle of it as if he lacked the heart to
+get through the shortest sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"Will they take his life as well as mine?" said Barnaby. "I wish they
+would. If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to feel
+sorry, or to grieve for us. Don't you cry for me. They said that I am bold,
+and so I am, and so I will be."</p>
+
+<p>The turnkey came to close the cells for the night, the widow tore
+herself away, and Barnaby was alone.</p>
+
+<p>He was to die. There was no hope. They had tried to save him. The
+locksmith had carried petitions and memorials to the fountain-head with his
+own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and Barnaby was to die. From
+the first, his mother had never left him, save at night; and, with her
+beside him, he was contented.</p>
+
+<p>"They call me silly, mother. They shall see--to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. "No reprieve, no reprieve! Nobody
+comes near us. There's only the night left now!" moaned Dennis. "Do you
+think they'll reprieve me in the night, brother? I've known reprieves come
+in the night afore now. Don't you think there's a good chance yet? Don't
+you? Say you do."</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to be the best instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping
+before him. "Ha, ha, ha! See the hangman when it comes home to him."</p>
+
+<p>The clock struck. Barnaby looked in his mother's face, and saw that the
+time had come. After a long embrace he rushed away, and they carried her
+away, insensible.</p>
+
+<p>"See the hangman when it comes home to him!" cried Hugh, as Dennis,
+still moaning, fell down in a fit. "Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we? A
+man can die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily, and
+fall asleep again."</p>
+
+<p>The time wore on. Five o'clock had struck--six--seven--and eight. They
+were to die at noon, and in the crowd without it was said they could tell
+the hangman, when he came out, by his being the shorter one, and that the
+man who was to suffer with him was named Hugh; and that it was Barnaby
+Rudge who would be hanged in Bloomsbury Square.</p>
+
+<p>At the first stroke of twelve the prison bell began to toll, and the
+three were brought forth into the yard together.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby was the only one who had washed or trimmed himself that morning.
+He still wore the broken peacock's feathers in his hat; and all his usual
+scraps of finery were carefully disposed about his person.</p>
+
+<p>"What cheer, Barnaby?", cried Hugh. "Don't be downcast, lad. Leave that
+to <i>him</i>," he added, with a nod in the direction of Dennis, held up
+between two men.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless you!" cried Barnaby, "I'm not frightened, Hugh. I'm quite happy.
+Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see <i>me</i> tremble?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd say this," said Hugh, wringing Barnaby by the hand, and looking
+round at the officers and functionaries gathered in the yard, "that if I
+had ten lives to lose I'd lay them all down to save this one. This one that
+will be lost through mine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not through you," said Barnaby mildly. "Don't say that. You were not to
+blame. You have always been very good to me. Hugh, we shall know what makes
+the stars shine <i>now</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Hugh spoke no more, but moved onward in his place with a careless air,
+listening as he went to the service for the dead. As soon as he had passed
+the door, his miserable associate was carried out; and the crowd beheld the
+rest. Barnaby would have mounted the steps at the same time, but he was
+restrained, as he was to undergo the sentence elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>It was only just when the cart was starting that the courier reached the
+jail with the reprieve. All night Gabriel Varden and his friends had been
+at work; they had gone to the young Prince of Wales, and even to the
+ante-chamber of the king himself. Successful, at last, in awakening an
+interest in his favour, they had an interview with the minister in his bed
+as late as eight o'clock that morning. The result of a searching inquiry
+was that, between eleven and twelve o'clock, a free pardon to Barnaby Rudge
+was made out and signed, and Gabriel Varden had the grateful task of
+bringing him home in triumph with an enthusiastic mob.</p>
+
+<p>"I needn't say," observed the locksmith, when his house in Clerkenwell
+was reached at last, and he and Barnaby were safe within, "that, except
+among ourselves, <i>I</i> didn't want to make a triumph of it. But directly
+we got into the street, we were known, and the hub-bub began. Of the two,
+and after experience of both, I think I'd rather be taken out of my house
+by a crowd of enemies than escorted home by a mob of friends!"</p>
+
+<p>At last the crowd dispersed. And Barnaby stretched himself on the ground
+beside his mother's couch, and fell into a deep sleep.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens2">Bleak House</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> "Bleak House," a story with a purpose, like most of Dickens's
+works, was published when the author was forty years old. The object of the
+story was to ventilate the monstrous injustice wrought by delays in the old
+Court of Chancery, which defeated all the purposes of a court of justice.
+Many of the characters, who, though famous, are not essential to the
+development of the story, were drawn from real life. Turveydrop was
+suggested by George IV., and Inspector Bucket was a friend of the author in
+the Metropolitan Police Force. Harold Skimpole was identified with Leigh
+Hunt. Dickens himself admitted the resemblance; but only in so far as none
+of Skimpole's vices could be attributed to his prototype. The original of
+Bleak House was a country mansion in Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, though
+it is usually said to be a summer residence of the novelist at Broadstairs.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--In Chancery</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>London. Implacable November weather. The Lord Chancellor sitting in
+Lincoln's Inn Hall. Fog everywhere, and at the very heart of the fog sits
+the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery. The case of
+Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on. No man alive knows what it means. It has
+passed into a joke. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in the
+profession.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenge (of Kenge and Carboy, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn) first
+mentioned Jarndyce and Jarndyce to me, and told me that the costs already
+amounted to from sixty to seventy thousand pounds.</p>
+
+<p>My godmother, who brought me up, was just dead, and Mr. Kenge came to
+tell me that Mr. Jarndyce proposed, knowing my desolate position, that I
+should go to a first-rate school, where my education should be completed
+and my comfort secured. What did I say to this? What could I say but accept
+the proposal thankfully?</p>
+
+<p>I passed at this school six happy, quiet years, and then one day came a
+note from Kenge and Carboy, mentioning that their client, Mr. Jarndyce,
+being in the house, desired my services as an eligible companion to this
+young lady.</p>
+
+<p>So I said good-bye to the school and went to London, and was driven to
+Mr. Kenge's office. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how
+altered I was, and appeared quite pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in
+the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it
+well that you should be in attendance also."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenge gave me his arm, and we went out of his office and into the
+court, and then into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a
+young gentleman were standing talking.</p>
+
+<p>They looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady a beautiful
+girl, with rich golden hair, and a bright, innocent, trusting face.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."</p>
+
+<p>She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but
+seemed to change her mind in a moment, and kissed me.</p>
+
+<p>The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
+Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth, and after she had called him up
+to where we sat, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted boy.
+He was very young, not more than nineteen then, but nearly two years older
+than she was. They were both orphans, and had never met before that day.
+Our all three coming together for the first time in such an unusual place
+was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it.</p>
+
+<p>Presently we heard a bustle, and Mr. Kenge said that the court had
+risen, and soon after we all followed him into the next room. There was the
+Lord Chancellor sitting in an armchair at the table, and his manner was
+both courtly and kind.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Clare," said his lordship. "Miss Ada Clare?" Mr. Kenge presented
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, turning over
+papers, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House--a dreary name."</p>
+
+<p>"But not a dreary place, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.</p>
+
+<p>"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor.</p>
+
+<p>Richard bowed and stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed, "if I may
+venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for----"</p>
+
+<p>"For Mr. Richard Carstone!" I thought I heard his lordship say in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady, Miss Esther Summerson."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"No, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said his lordship, after taking Miss Ada aside and asking
+her if she thought she would be happy at Bleak House. "I shall make the
+order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge, a
+very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement seems the best
+of which the circumstances admit."</p>
+
+<p>He dismissed us pleasantly and we all went out. As we stood for a
+minute, waiting for Mr. Kenge, a curious little old woman, Miss Flite, in a
+squeezed bonnet, and carrying a reticule, came curtsying and smiling up to
+us, with an air of great ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said she, "The wards in Jarndyce. Very happy, I am sure, to have
+the honour. It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they
+find themselves in this place, and don't know what's to come of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.</p>
+
+<p>"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned quickly. "I was a ward
+myself. I was not mad at that time. I had youth and hope; I believe beauty.
+It matters very little now. Neither of the three served, or saved me. I
+have the honour to attend court regularly. I expect a judgment. On the Day
+of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal mentioned in the
+Revelations is the great seal. Pray accept my blessing."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenge coming up, the poor old lady went on. "I shall confer estates
+on both. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you.
+Accept my blessing."</p>
+
+<p>We left her at the bottom of the stairs. She was still saying, with a
+curtsy, and a smile between every little sentence, "Youth. And hope. And
+beauty. And Chancery."</p>
+
+<p>The morning after, walking out early, we met the old lady again, smiling
+and saying in her air of patronage, "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy, I
+am sure! Pray come and see my lodgings. It will be a good omen for me.
+Youth, and hope, and beauty, are very seldom there."</p>
+
+<p>She took my hand and beckoned Richard and Ada to come too, and in a few
+moments she was at home.</p>
+
+<p>She had stopped at a shop over which was written, "Krook, Rag and Bottle
+Warehouse." Inside was an old man in spectacles and a hair cap, and
+entering the shop the little old lady presented him to us.</p>
+
+<p>"My landlord, Krook," she said. "He is called among the neighbours the
+Lord Chancellor. His shop is called the Court of Chancery."</p>
+
+<p>She lived at the top of the house in a room from which she had a glimpse
+of the roof of Lincoln's Inn Hall, and this seemed to be her principal
+inducement for living there.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Bleak House</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>We drove down to Bleak House, in Hertfordshire, next day, and all three
+of us were anxious and nervous when the night closed in, and the driver,
+pointing to a light sparkling on the top of a hill, cried, "That's Bleak
+House!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. Rick, if I had a hand
+to spare at present I would give it you!"</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman who said these words in a clear, hospitable voice, kissed
+us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy little
+room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Rick!" said he, "I have a hand at liberty. A word in earnest is as
+good as a speech. I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm
+yourself!"</p>
+
+<p>While he spoke I glanced at his face. It was a handsome face, full of
+change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron grey. I took him to be
+nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust.</p>
+
+<p>So this was our coming to Bleak House.</p>
+
+<p>The very next morning I was installed as housekeeper and presented with
+two bunches of keys--a large bunch for the housekeeping and a little bunch
+for the cellars. I could not help trembling when I met Mr. Jarndyce, for I
+knew it was he who had done everything for me since my godmother's
+death.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" he said. "I hear of a good little orphan girl without a
+protector, and I take it into my head to be that protector. She grows up,
+and more than justifies my good opinion, and I remain her guardian and her
+friend. What is there in all this?"</p>
+
+<p>He soon began to talk to me confidentially as if I had been in the habit
+of conversing with him every morning for I don't know how long.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, Esther," he said, "you don't understand this Chancery
+business?"</p>
+
+<p>I shook my head.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know who does," he returned. "The lawyers have twisted it into
+such a state of bedevilment that the original merits of the case have long
+disappeared. Its about a will, and the trusts under a will--or it was once.
+It's about nothing but costs now. It was about a will when it was about
+anything. A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great fortune and
+made a great will. In the question how the trusts under that will are to be
+administered, the fortune left by the will is squandered away; the legatees
+under the will are reduced to such a miserable condition that they would be
+sufficiently punished if they had committed an enormous crime in having
+money left them, and the will itself is made a dead letter. All through the
+deplorable cause everybody must have copies, over and over again, of
+everything that has accumulated about it in the way of cartloads of papers,
+and must go down the middle and up again, through such an infernal
+country-dance of costs and fees and nonsense and corruption as was never
+dreamed of in the wildest visions of a witch's sabbath. And we can't get
+out of the suit on any terms, for we are made parties to it, and <i>must
+be</i> parties to it, whether we like it or not. But it won't do to think
+of it! Thinking of it drove my great-uncle, poor Tom Jarndyce, to blow his
+brains out."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope sir--" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you had better call me Guardian, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, Guardian," said I, giving the housekeeping keys the least shake
+in the world, "that you may not be trusting too much to my discretion. I am
+not clever, and that's the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"You are clever enough to be the good little woman of our lives here, my
+dear," he returned playfully; "the little old woman of the rhyme, who
+sweeps the cobwebs of the sky, and you will sweep them out of <i>our</i>
+sky in the course of your housekeeping, Esther."</p>
+
+<p>This was the beginning of my being called Old Woman, and Mother Hubbard,
+and Dame Durden, and so many names of that sort, that my own soon became
+quite lost.</p>
+
+<p>One of the things I noticed from the first about my guardian was that,
+though he was always doing a thousand acts of kindness, he could not bear
+any acknowledgments.</p>
+
+<p>We had somehow got to see more of Miss Flite on our visits to London:
+for the Lord Chancellor always had to be consulted before Richard could
+settle in any profession, and as Richard first wanted to be a doctor and
+then tired of that in favour of the army, there were several consultations.
+I remember one visit because it was the first time we met Mr.
+Woodcourt.</p>
+
+<p>My guardian and Ada and I heard of Miss Flite having been ill, and when
+we called we found a medical gentleman attending her in her garret in
+Lincoln's Inn.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Flite dropped a general curtsy.</p>
+
+<p>"Honoured, indeed," she said, "by another visit from the wards in
+Jarndyce! Very happy to receive Jarndyce of Bleak House beneath my humble
+roof!"</p>
+
+<p>"Has she been very ill?" asked Mr. Jarndyce in a whisper of the
+doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, decidedly unwell!" she answered confidentially. "Not pain, you
+know--trouble. Only Mr. Woodcourt knows how much. My physician, Mr.
+Woodcourt"--with great stateliness--"The wards in Jarndyce; Jarndyce of
+Bleak House. The kindest physician in the college," she whispered to me. "I
+expect a judgment. On the Day of Judgment. And shall then confer
+estates."</p>
+
+<p>"She will be as well, in a day or two," said Mr. Woodcourt, with an
+observant smile, "as she ever will be. Have you heard of her good
+fortune?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most extraordinary!" said Miss Flite. "Every Saturday Kenge and Carboy
+place a paper of shillings in my hand. Always the same number. One for
+every day in the week. <i>I</i> think that the Lord Chancellor forwards
+them. Until the judgment I expect is given."</p>
+
+<p>My guardian was contemplating Miss Flite's birds, and I had no need to
+look beyond him.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--I Am Made Happy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I sometimes thought that Mr. Woodcourt loved me, and that, if he had
+been richer, he would perhaps have told me that he loved me before he went
+away. I had thought sometimes that if he had done so I should have been
+glad. As it was, he went to the East Indies, and later we read in the
+papers of a great shipwreck, that Allan Woodcourt had worked like a hero to
+save the drowning, and succour the survivors.</p>
+
+<p>I had been ill when my dear guardian asked me one day if I would care to
+read something he had written, and I said "Yes." There was estrangement at
+that time between Richard and Mr. Jarndyce, for the unhappy boy had taken
+it into his head that the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce would yet be
+settled, and would bring him fortune, and this kept him from devoting
+himself seriously to any profession. Of course, he and my darling Ada had
+fallen in love, and my guardian insisting on their waiting till Richard was
+earning some income before any engagement could be recognised, increased
+the estrangement. I knew, to my distress, that Richard suspected my
+guardian of having a conflicting claim in the horrible lawsuit and this
+made him think unjustly of Mr. Jarndyce.</p>
+
+<p>I read the letter. It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the
+unselfish caution it gave me, that my eyes were too often blinded to read
+much at a time. But I read it through three times before I laid it down. It
+asked me would I be the mistress of Bleak House. It was not a love-letter,
+though it expressed so much love, but was written just as he would at any
+time have spoken to me.</p>
+
+<p>I felt that to devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly
+for all he had done for me. Still I cried very much; not only in the
+fulness of my heart after reading the letter, but as if something for which
+there was no name or distinct idea were lost to me. I was very happy, very
+thankful, very hopeful, but I cried very much.</p>
+
+<p>On entering the breakfast-room next morning I found my guardian just as
+usual; quite as frank, as open, as free. I thought he might speak to me
+about the letter, but he never did.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of a week I went to him and said, rather hesitating and
+trembling, "Guardian, when would you like to have the answer to the
+letter?"</p>
+
+<p>"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's ready," said I, "and I have brought it myself."</p>
+
+<p>I put my two arms around his neck and kissed him, and he said was this
+the mistress of Bleak House? And I said "Yes," and it made no difference
+presently, and I said nothing to my pet, Ada, about it.</p>
+
+<p>It was a few days after this, when Mr. Vholes, the attorney whom Richard
+employed to watch his interests, called at Bleak House, and told us that
+his client was very embarrassed financially, and so thought of throwing up
+his commission in the army.</p>
+
+<p>To avert this I went down to Deal and found Richard alone in the
+barracks. He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes, tin
+cases, books, boots, and brushes strewn all about the floor. So worn and
+haggard he looked, even in the fulness of his handsome youth!</p>
+
+<p>My mission was quite fruitless.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid. The first is John Jarndyce. The
+second, you know what. Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it now,
+and can't be sane. But it is no such thing; it is the one object I have to
+pursue."</p>
+
+<p>He went on to tell me that it was impossible to remain a soldier; that,
+apart from debts and duns, he took no interest in his employment and was
+not fit for it. He showed me papers to prove that his retirement was
+arranged. Knowing I had done no good by coming down, I prepared to return
+to London on the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>There was some excitement in the town by reason of the arrival of a big
+Indiaman, and, as it happened, amongst those who came on shore from the
+ship was Mr. Allan Woodcourt. I met him in the hotel where I was staying,
+and he seemed quite pleased to see me. He was glad to meet Richard again,
+too, and promised, on my asking him, to befriend Richard in London.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--End of Jarndyce and Jarndyce</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Richard always declared that it was Ada he meant to see righted, no less
+than himself, and his anxiety on that point so impressed Mr. Woodcourt that
+he told me about it. It revived a fear I had had before, that my dear
+girl's little property might be absorbed by Mr. Vholes, and that Richard's
+justification to himself would be this.</p>
+
+<p>So I went up to London to see Richard, who now lived in Symond's Inn,
+and my darling Ada went with me. He was poring over a table covered with
+dusty papers, but he received us very affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>I noticed, as he passed his two hands over his head, how sunken and how
+large his eyes appeared, and how dry his lips were. He spoke of the case
+half-hopefully, half-despondently, "Either the suit must be ended, Esther,
+or the suitor. But it shall be the suit--the suit." Then he took a few
+turns up and down, and sank upon the sofa. "I get so tired," he said
+gloomily. "It is such weary, weary work."</p>
+
+<p>"Esther, dear," Ada said, very quietly, "I am not going home again.
+Never any more. I am going to stay with my dear husband. We have been
+married above two months. Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall never
+go home any more."</p>
+
+<p>I often came to Richard and his wife, and I often met Mr. Woodcourt
+there. Richard still suspected my guardian, and refused to see him, and
+when I said this was so unreasonable, my guardian only said, "What shall we
+find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce? Unreason and injustice from
+beginning to end, if it ever has an end. How should poor Rick, always
+hovering near it, pluck reason out of it?"</p>
+
+<p>It was some months after this when Mr. Woodcourt asked me to be his
+wife, and I had to tell him I was not free. But I had to tell him that I
+could never forget how proud and glad I was at having been beloved by
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He took my hand and kissed it, and was like himself again.</p>
+
+<p>All this time my guardian had never referred to his letter or my answer,
+so I said to him next morning I would be the mistress of Bleak House
+whenever he pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"Next month?" my guardian said gaily.</p>
+
+<p>"Next month, dear guardian."</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the month my guardian went away to Yorkshire, and asked me
+to follow him. I was very much surprised, and when the journey was over my
+guardian explained that he had asked me to come down to see a house he had
+bought for Mr. Woodcourt, with whom he was always very pleased.</p>
+
+<p>It was a beautiful summer morning when we went out to look at the house,
+and there over the porch was written. "Bleak House." He led me to a seat,
+and sitting down beside me, said:</p>
+
+<p>"When I wrote you the letter to which you brought the answer"--my
+guardian smiled as he referred to it--"I had my own happiness too much in
+view; but I had yours, too. Hear me, my love, but do not speak. When
+Woodcourt came home, I saw that there was other happiness for you; I saw
+with whom you would be happier. Well, I have long been in Allan Woodcourt's
+confidence, although he was not, until yesterday, in mine. One more last
+word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear, he spoke with my
+knowledge and consent. But I gave him no encouragement; not I, for these
+surprises were my great reward, and I was too miserly to part with a scrap
+of it. He was to come and tell me all that passed, and he did. I have no
+more to say. This is Bleak House. This day I give this house its little
+mistress, and before God it is the brightest day in all my life."</p>
+
+<p>He rose, and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My husband--I
+have called him by that name full seven happy years now--stood at my
+side.</p>
+
+<p>"Allan," said my guardian, "take from me the best wife that ever man
+had. What more can I say for you than that I know you deserve her?"</p>
+
+<p>He kissed me once again. And now the tears were in his eyes as he said,
+more softly, "Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind of
+parting in this too. I know that my mistake has caused you some distress.
+Forgive your old guardian in restoring him to his old place in your
+affections. Allan, take my dear."</p>
+
+<p>We all three went home together next day. We had an intimation from Mr.
+Kenge that the case would come on at Westminster in two days, and that a
+certain will had been found which might end the suit in Richard's
+favour.</p>
+
+<p>Allan took me down to Westminster, and when we came to Westminster Hall
+we found that the Court of Chancery was full, and that something unusual
+had occurred. We asked a gentleman by us if he knew what case was on. He
+told us Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and that, as well as he could make out, it
+was over. Over for the day? "No," he said; "over for good."</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes a crowd came streaming out, and we saw Mr. Kenge. He
+told us that Jarndyce and Jarndyce was a monument of Chancery practice,
+and--in a good many words--that the case was over because the whole estate
+was found to have been absorbed in costs.</p>
+
+<p>We hurried away, first to my guardian, and then to Ada and Richard.</p>
+
+<p>Richard was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed when I went in. When
+he opened them, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn he was. But he
+spoke cheerfully, and said how glad he was to think of our intended
+marriage.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening my guardian came in and laid his hand softly on
+Richard's.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir," said Richard, "you are a good man, a good man!" and burst
+into tears.</p>
+
+<p>My guardian sat down beside him, keeping his hand on Richard's.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Rick," he said, "the clouds have cleared away, and it is bright
+now. We can see now. And how are you, my dear boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am very weak, sir, but I hope I shall be stronger. I have to begin
+the world."</p>
+
+<p>He sought to raise himself a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Ada, my darling!" Allan raised him, so that she could hold him on her
+bosom. "I have done you many wrongs, my own. I have married you to poverty
+and trouble, I have scattered your means to the winds. You will forgive me
+all this, my Ada, before I begin the world?"</p>
+
+<p>A smile lit up his face as she bent to kiss him. He slowly laid his face
+upon her bosom, drew his arms closer round her neck, and with one parting
+sob began the world. Not this--oh, not this! The world that sets this
+right.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens3">David Copperfield</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "David Copperfield"--published in 1849-50--will always be
+acclaimed by many as the best of all Dickens's books. It was its author's
+favourite, and its universal and lasting popularity is entirely deserved.
+"David Copperfield" is especially remarkable for the autobiographical
+element, not only in the wretched days of childhood at the wine merchant's,
+but in the shorthand-reporting in the House of Commons. Dickens never
+forgot his early degradation, as it seemed to him, in the blacking
+warehouse at Hungerford Stairs, or quite forgave those who sent him to an
+occupation he so loathed. Much of "David Copperfield" is familiar in our
+mouths as household words, and Swinburne has maintained that Micawber ranks
+with Dick Swiveller as one of the greatest characters in all Dickens's
+novels. "Copperfield" comes midway in the great list of works by Charles
+Dickens. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--My Early Childhood</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve
+o'clock at night, at Blunderstone, in Suffolk. I was a posthumous child. My
+father's eyes had been closed upon the light of this world six months when
+mine opened upon it. Miss Betsey Trotwood, an aunt of my father's, and
+consequently a great-aunt of mine, arrived on the afternoon of the day I
+was born, and explained to my mother (who was very much afraid of her) that
+she meant to provide for her child, which was to be a girl.</p>
+
+<p>My aunt said never a word when she learnt that it was a boy, and not a
+girl, but took her bonnet by the strings in the manner of a sling, aimed a
+blow at the doctor's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, and never
+came back. She vanished like a discontented fairy.</p>
+
+<p>The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I look
+far back into the blank of my infancy, are my mother, with her pretty air
+and youthful shape, and Peggotty, my old nurse, with no shape at all, and
+with cheeks and arms so red and hard that I wondered the birds didn't peck
+her in preference to apples.</p>
+
+<p>I remember a few years later, a gentleman with beautiful black hair and
+whiskers walking home from church on Sunday with us; and, somehow, I didn't
+like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my
+mother's in touching me--which it did.</p>
+
+<p>It must have been about this time that, waking up from an uncomfortable
+doze one night, I found Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both
+talking.</p>
+
+<p>"Not such a one as this Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked," said
+Peggotty. "That I say, and that I swear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens!" cried my mother. "You'll drive me mad! How can you have
+the heart to say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that out
+of this place I haven't a single friend to turn to?" But the following
+Sunday I saw the gentleman with the black whiskers again, and he walked
+home from church with us, and gradually I became used to seeing him and
+knowing him as Mr. Murdstone. I liked him no better than at first, and had
+the same uneasy jealousy of him.</p>
+
+<p>It was on my return from a visit to Yarmouth, where I went with Peggotty
+to spend a fortnight at her brother's, that I found my mother married to
+Mr. Murdstone. They were sitting by the fire in the best parlour when I
+came in.</p>
+
+<p>I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my
+mother. I could not look at her, I could not look at him; I knew quite well
+he was looking at us both. As soon as I could creep away, I crept upstairs,
+and cried myself to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>A word of encouragement, of pity for my childish ignorance, of welcome
+home, of reassurance to me that it <i>was</i> home, might have made me
+dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my hypocritical
+outside, and might have made me respect instead of hating him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Murdstone arrived next day; she was dark, like her brother, and
+greatly resembled him in face and voice. Firmness was the grand quality on
+which both of them took their stand.</p>
+
+<p>I soon fell into disgrace over my lessons. I never could do them with my
+mother satisfactorily with the Murdstones sitting by; their influence upon
+me was like the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird.</p>
+
+<p>One dreadful morning, when the lessons had turned out even more badly
+than usual, Mr. Murdstone seized hold of me and twisted my head under his
+arm preparatory to beating me with a cane. At the first stroke I caught the
+hand with which he held me, in my mouth, between my teeth, and bit it
+through. He beat me then as if he would have beaten me to death. And when
+he had gone, I was kept a close prisoner in my room, and was not allowed to
+see my mother, and was only permitted to walk in the garden for half an
+hour every day. Miss Murdstone acted as gaoler, and after five days of this
+confinement, she told me I was to be sent away to school--to Salem House
+School, Blackheath.</p>
+
+<p>I saw my mother before I left. They had persuaded her I was a wicked
+fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--I Begin Life on My own Account</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was doing my second term at school when I was told that my mother was
+dead, and that I was to go home to the funeral.</p>
+
+<p>I never returned to Salem House. Mr. Murdstone and his sister left me to
+myself, and I could see that Mr. Murdstone liked me less than ever. At odd
+times I speculated on the possibility of not being taught any more or cared
+for any more, and growing up to be a shabby, moody man, lounging an idle
+life away about the village.</p>
+
+<p>Peggotty was under notice to quit, and thought of going to live with her
+brother at Yarmouth; but as it turned out, she didn't do this, but married
+the old carrier Barkis instead.</p>
+
+<p>"Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive, and have this house
+over my head," said Peggotty to me on the day she was married, "you shall
+find it as if I expected you here directly. I shall keep it every day, as I
+used to keep your old little room, my darling."</p>
+
+<p>The solitary condition I now fell into for some weeks was ended one day
+by Mr. Murdstone telling me that I was to be put into the business of
+Murdstone and Grinby.</p>
+
+<p>"You will earn enough to provide for your eating and drinking, and
+pocket money," said Mr. Murdstone. "Your lodging, which I have arranged
+for, will be paid by me. So will your washing, and your clothes will be
+looked after for you, too. You are now going to London, David, to begin the
+world on your own account."</p>
+
+<p>"In short, you are provided for," observed his sister, "and will please
+to do your duty."</p>
+
+<p>So I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hind in the service of
+Murdstone and Grinby.</p>
+
+<p>Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the waterside, down in
+Blackfriars, and an important branch of their trade was the supply of wines
+and spirits to certain packet ships. A great many empty bottles were one of
+the consequences of this traffic, and a certain number of men and boys, of
+whom I was one, were employed to rinse and wash them. When the empty
+bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full ones, or corks to
+be fitted to them, or finished bottles to be packed in casks.</p>
+
+<p>There were three or four boys, counting me. Mick Walker was the name of
+the oldest; he wore a ragged apron, and a paper cap. The next boy was
+introduced to me under the extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes, which had
+been bestowed upon him on account of his complexion, which was pale, or
+mealy.</p>
+
+<p>No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
+companionship, and compared these associates with those of my happier
+childhood, with the boys at Salem House. Often in the early morning, when I
+was alone, I mingled my tears with the water in which I was washing the
+bottles, and sobbed as if there were a flaw in my breast, and it were in
+danger of bursting.</p>
+
+<p>My salary was six or seven shillings a week--I think it was six at
+first, and seven afterwards--and I had to support myself on that money all
+the week. My breakfast was a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk, and I
+kept another small loaf and a modicum of cheese to make my supper on at
+night.</p>
+
+<p>I was so young and childish, and so little qualified to undertake the
+whole charge of my existence, that often of a morning I could not resist
+the stale pastry put out for sale at half price at the pastry-cooks' doors,
+and spent on that the money I should have kept for my dinner. On those days
+I either went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice of
+pudding.</p>
+
+<p>I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into the
+bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter to moisten what
+I had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me.</p>
+
+<p>I know I do not exaggerate the scantiness of my resources or the
+difficulties of my life. I know that if a shilling were given me at any
+time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know that I worked from morning
+until night, a shabby child, and that I lounged about the streets,
+insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for the mercy of
+God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, a little
+robber or a little vagabond.</p>
+
+<p>Arrangements had been made by Mr. Murdstone for my lodging with Mr.
+Micawber--who took orders on commission for Murdstone and Grinby--and Mr.
+Micawber himself escorted me to his house in Windsor Terrace, City
+Road.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Micawber was a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout,
+with no more hair upon his head than there is upon an egg, and with a very
+extensive face. His clothes were shabby, but he wore an imposing
+shirt-collar. He carried a jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of
+rusty tassels to it; and an eyeglass hung outside his coat--for ornament, I
+afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and couldn't see
+anything when he did.</p>
+
+<p>Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace--which, I noticed, was shabby,
+like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could--he
+presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all young.</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber, as she showed me my room at the
+top of the house at the back, "before I was married that I should ever find
+it necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all
+considerations of private feeling must give way."</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Yes, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,"
+said Mrs. Micawber, "and whether it is possible to bring him through them I
+don't know. If Mr. Micawber's creditors <i>will not</i> give him time, they
+must take the consequences."</p>
+
+<p>In my forlorn state, I soon became quite attached to this family, and
+when Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he was arrested and
+carried to the King's Bench Prison in the Borough, and Mrs. Micawber
+shortly afterwards followed him, I hired a little room in the neighbourhood
+of that institution.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Micawber was in due time released under the Insolvent Debtors' Act,
+and it was decided that he should go down to Plymouth, where Mrs. Micawber
+held that her family had influence.</p>
+
+<p>My own mind was now made up. I had resolved to run away--to go by some
+means or other down into the country, to the only relation I had in the
+world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. I knew from Peggotty that
+Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at Hythe,
+Sandgate, or Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men, however,
+informing me on my asking him about these places that they were all close
+together, I deemed this enough for my object; and after seeing the
+Micawbers off at the coach office, I set off.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--My Aunt Provides for Me</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was on the sixth day of my flight that I reached the wide downs near
+Dover and set foot in the town.</p>
+
+<p>I had walked every step of the way, sleeping under haystacks at night.
+Fortunately, it was summer weather, for I was obliged to part with coat and
+waistcoat to buy food. My shoes were in a woeful condition, and my
+hat--which had served me for a nightcap, too--was so crushed and bent that
+no old battered saucepan on the dunghill need have been ashamed to vie with
+it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and the Kentish
+soil on which I had slept, might have frightened the birds from my aunt's
+garden as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb or brush since I
+left London. In this plight I waited to introduce myself to my formidable
+aunt.</p>
+
+<p>As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over
+her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great
+knife. I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother had
+often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.</p>
+
+<p>"Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Go along! No boys
+here!"</p>
+
+<p>I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in
+desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, ma'am--if you please, aunt, I am your nephew."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.</p>
+
+<p>"I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came
+when I was born. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. I have been
+taught nothing and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to you,
+and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since I began
+the journey."</p>
+
+<p>Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of
+crying.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me
+into the parlour.</p>
+
+<p>The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles
+down my throat. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I am
+sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. Then she
+put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking,
+grey-headed gentleman, whom she called "Mr. Dick," heated a bath for me.
+After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick,
+tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of my aunt's adoption of me. She wrote to Mr.
+Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were routed
+by my aunt.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally,
+and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut against
+me henceforth.</p>
+
+<p>"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go,
+David?"</p>
+
+<p>I answered "No," and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed
+my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father's sake.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, "Have him
+measured for a suit of clothes directly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "give me your hand, for your commonsense is
+invaluable." She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, "You can
+go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy!"</p>
+
+<p>When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint
+guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood
+Copperfield.</p>
+
+<p>Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
+me.</p>
+
+<p>My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the
+school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer, Mr.
+Wickfield.</p>
+
+<p>My aunt was as happy as I was in this arrangement. For Mr. Wickfield's
+house was quiet and still; and Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper was his
+only daughter, Agnes, a child of about my own age, whose face, so bright
+and happy, was the child likeness of a woman's portrait that was on the
+staircase. There was a tranquility about the house, and about Agnes, a
+good, calm spirit, that I have never forgotten and never shall.</p>
+
+<p>The school I now went to was better in every way than Salem House. It
+seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among any companions of my
+own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt very strange at
+first. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me that when I was
+examined about what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put in the lowest form
+of the school.</p>
+
+<p>But I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school the
+next day, and a good deal the better the day after, and so shook it off, by
+degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy among
+my new companions.</p>
+
+<p>"Trot," said my aunt, when she left me at Mr. Wickfield's, "be a credit
+to yourself, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you! Never be mean in
+anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these vices, Trot, and I
+can always be hopeful of you. And now the pony's at the door, and I am
+off!"</p>
+
+<p>She embraced me hastily, and went out of the house, shutting the door
+after her. When I looked into the street I noticed how dejectedly she got
+into the chaise, and that she drove away without looking up.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Uriah Heep and Mr. Micawber</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I first saw Uriah Heep on the day my aunt introduced me to Mr.
+Wickfield's house. He was then a red-haired youth of fifteen, but looking
+much older, whose hair was cropped as close as the closest stubble; who had
+hardly any eyebrows and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown. He was
+high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black, with a white wisp of a
+neck-cloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a long, lank, skeleton
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>Heep was Mr. Wickfield's clerk, and I often saw him of an evening in the
+little round office reading, and from time to time strayed in to talk to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He told me, one night, he was not doing office work, but was improving
+his legal knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him
+for some time.</p>
+
+<p>"Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very 'umble person.
+I am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going, let the other be where
+he may. My mother is likewise a very 'umble person. We live in a 'umble
+abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My father's
+former calling was 'umble; he was a sexton."</p>
+
+<p>"What is he now?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah
+Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be thankful
+for in living with Mr. Wickfield!"</p>
+
+<p>I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been with him going on four years, Master Copperfield," said
+Uriah, "since a year after my father's death. How much I have to be
+thankful for in that! How much have I to be thankful for in Mr. Wickfield's
+kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise not lay within
+the 'umble means of mother and self!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps, when you're a regular lawyer, you'll be a partner in Mr.
+Wickfield's business, one of these days," I said to make myself agreeable;
+"and it will be Wickfield and Heep or Heep late Wickfield."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking his head, "I am
+much too 'umble for that!"</p>
+
+<p>It must have been five or six years later, when I was in London, that
+Uriah recalled my prophecy to me.</p>
+
+<p>Agnes had noticed as I had noticed, long before this, a gradual
+alteration in Mr. Wickfield. He sat longer and longer over his wine, and it
+was at such times, when his hands trembled, and his speech was not plain,
+that Uriah was most certain to want him on some business.</p>
+
+<p>So it came about that Agnes had to tell me that Uriah had made himself
+indispensable to her father.</p>
+
+<p>"He is subtle and watchful," she said. "He has mastered papa's
+weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until papa is
+afraid of him."</p>
+
+<p>If I was indignant to hear that Uriah had wormed himself into such
+promotion, I restrained my feelings when we met, for Agnes had bidden me
+not to repel him, for her father's sake, and for her own.</p>
+
+<p>"What a prophet you have shown yourself, Master Copperfield!" said
+Uriah, reminding me of my early words. "You may not recollect it; but when
+a person is 'umble, a person treasures such things up. But the 'umblest
+persons, Master Copperfield, may be instruments of good. I am glad to think
+I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more
+so. Oh, what a worthy man he is; but how imprudent he has been!"</p>
+
+<p>When the rascal went on to tell me confidentially that he "loved the
+ground his Agnes walked on," and that he thought she might come to be kind
+to him, knowing his usefulness to her father, I had a delirious idea of
+seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire and running him through with it.
+However, I thought of Agnes, and could say nothing. In the end all the evil
+machinations of Uriah Heep were frustrated by my old friend Mr. Micawber,
+who, visiting Canterbury on the chance of something suitable turning up,
+and meeting me in Heep's company, was subsequently engaged by Heep as a
+clerk at twenty-two and sixpence per week.</p>
+
+<p>It was only after Micawber had found that Uriah Heep had forged Mr.
+Wickfield's name to various documents, and had fraudulently speculated with
+moneys entrusted by my aunt, amongst others, to his partner, that he turned
+upon him and denounced him, and accomplished what he called "the final
+pulverisation of Keep."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Micawber being once more "in pecuniary shackles," my aunt, so
+grateful, as we all were, for the services he had rendered, suggested
+emigration to Australia to him; he at once responded to the idea.</p>
+
+<p>"The climate, I believe, is healthy," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then the
+question arises: Now, <i>are</i> the circumstances of the country such that
+a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities would have a fair chance of rising?--I
+will not say, at present, to be governor or anything of that sort; but
+would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to develop themselves?
+If so, it is evident to me that Australia is the legitimate sphere of
+action for Mr. Micawber."</p>
+
+<p>"I entertain the conviction," said Mr. Micawber, "that it is, under
+existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself and family; and
+that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up on that shore."</p>
+
+<p>But the defeat of Heep and Micawber's departure belong to the days of my
+manhood. Let me look back at intervening years.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--I Achieve Manhood</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
+unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth!</p>
+
+<p>Time has stolen on unobserved, and <i>I</i> am the head boy now in the
+school, and look down on the line of boys below me with a condescending
+interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself when I
+first came here. That little fellow seems to be no part of me; I remember
+him as something left behind upon the road of life, and almost think of him
+as of someone else.</p>
+
+<p>And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is
+she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture, a child
+likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet sister, as I
+call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend--the better angel of the
+lives of all who come within her calm, good, self-denying influence--is
+quite a woman.</p>
+
+<p>It is time for me to have a profession, and my aunt proposes that I
+should be a proctor in Doctors' Commons. I learn that the proctors are a
+sort of solicitors, and that the Doctors' Commons is a faded court held
+near St. Paul's Churchyard, where people's marriages and wills are disposed
+of and disputes about ships and boats are settled.</p>
+
+<p>So I am articled, and later, when my aunt has lost her money, through no
+fault of her own, but through the rascality of Uriah Heep, and I seek Mr.
+Spenlow to know if it is possible for my articles to be cancelled, it is, I
+am assured, Mr. Jorkins who is inexorable.</p>
+
+<p>"If it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered, if I had not a
+partner--Mr. Jorkins," says Mr. Spenlow. "But I know my partner,
+Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is <i>not</i> a man to respond to a proposition of
+this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten
+track."</p>
+
+<p>The years pass.</p>
+
+<p>I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the dignity of
+twenty-one. Let me think what I have achieved.</p>
+
+<p>Determined to do something to bring in money, I have mastered the savage
+mystery of shorthand, and make a respectable income by reporting the
+debates in Parliament for a morning newspaper. Night after night I record
+predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never fulfilled,
+explanations that are only meant to mystify.</p>
+
+<p>I have come out in another way. I have taken, with fear and trembling,
+to authorship. I wrote a little something in secret, and sent it to a
+magazine, and it was published. Since then I have taken heart to write a
+good many trifling pieces.</p>
+
+<p>My record is nearly finished.</p>
+
+<p>Peggotty, a widow, is with my aunt, and Mr. Dick is in the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness me!" said my aunt, "who's this you're bringing home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Agnes," said I.</p>
+
+<p>We were to be married within a fortnight. It was not till I had told
+Agnes of my love that I learnt from her, as she laid her gentle hands upon
+my shoulders and looked calmly in my face, that she had loved me all my
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Let me look back once more, for the last time, before I close these
+leaves.</p>
+
+<p>I have advanced in fame and fortune. I have been married ten years, and
+I see my children playing in the room.</p>
+
+<p>Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of fourscore years
+and more, but upright yet, and godmother to a real, living Betsey Trotwood.
+Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse, likewise in
+spectacles. A newspaper from Australia tells me that Mr. Micawber is now a
+magistrate and a rising townsman at Port Middlebay.</p>
+
+<p>One face is above all these and beyond them all. I turn my head and see
+it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me. So may thy face be by me, Agnes,
+when I close my life; and when realities are melting from me, may I still
+find thee near me, pointing upward!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens4">Dombey and Son</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> The publication of "Dombey and Son" began in October, 1846,
+and the story was completed in twenty monthly parts at one shilling each,
+the last number being issued in April, 1848. Its success was striking and
+immediate, the sale of its first number exceeding that of "Martin
+Chuzzlewit" by more than 12,000 copies--a remarkable thing considering the
+immense superiority of "Chuzzlewit." "Dombey and Son," indeed, is by no
+means one of Dickens's best books; though little Paul will always retain
+the sympathies of the reader, and the story of his short life for ever move
+us with its pathos. The popularity of "Dombey and Son" provoked an impudent
+publication called "Dombey and Daughter," which was started in January,
+1847, and was issued monthly at a penny. Two stage versions of "Dombey"
+appeared--in London in 1873, and in New York in 1888, but in neither case
+was the adaptation particularly successful. "What are the wild waves
+saying?" was made the subject of a song--a duet--which at one time was
+widely sung, but is now, happily forgotten. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Dombey and Son</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair by
+the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket-bedstead.</p>
+
+<p>Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age; Son about eight-and-forty
+minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome,
+well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be prepossessing. Son
+was very bald, and very red, and somewhat crushed and spotted in his
+general effect, as yet.</p>
+
+<p>"The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey," said Mr. Dombey, "be not only
+in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son; Dombey and Son! He will be christened
+Paul, Mrs. Dombey, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>The sick lady feebly echoed, "Of course," and closed her eyes again.</p>
+
+<p>"His father's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's! I wish his
+grandfather were alive this day." And again he said "Dombey and Son" in
+exactly the same tone as before, and then went downstairs to learn what
+that fashionable physician, Dr. Parker Peps, had to say, for Mrs. Dombey
+lay very weak and still.</p>
+
+<p>"Dombey and Son"--those three words conveyed the idea of Mr. Dombey's
+life. The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and
+moon were made to give them light.</p>
+
+<p>He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and
+death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the sole
+representative of the firm. Of those years he had been married
+ten--married, as some said, to a lady with no heart to give him. But such
+idle talk never reached the ears of Mr. Dombey. Dombey and Son often dealt
+in hides, never in hearts. Mr. Dombey would have reasoned that a
+matrimonial alliance with himself <i>must</i>, in the nature of things, be
+gratifying and honourable to any woman of commonsense.</p>
+
+<p>One drawback only could be admitted. Until the present day there had
+been no issue--to speak of. There had been a girl some six years before, a
+child who now crouched by her mother's bed, unobserved. But what was that
+girl to Dombey and Son?</p>
+
+<p>"Nature must be called upon to make a vigorous effort in this instance!"
+said Doctor Parker Peps, referring to Mrs. Dombey.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chick, Mr. Dombey's married sister, emphasised this opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Now my dear Paul," said Mrs. Chick, "you may rest assured that there is
+nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part."</p>
+
+<p>They returned to the sick-room and its stillness. In vain Mrs. Chick
+exhorted her sister-in-law to make an effort; no sound came in answer but
+the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Pep's watch, which
+seemed in the silence to be running a race.</p>
+
+<p>"Fanny!" said Mrs. Chick, "Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show
+me that you hear and understand me."</p>
+
+<p>Still no answer. Mrs. Dombey lay motionless, clasping her little
+daughter to her breast.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma!" cried the child, sobbing aloud. "Oh, dear mamma!"</p>
+
+<p>Thus clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother
+drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round all the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dombey, in the days to come, could not forget that closing
+scene--that he had had no part in it; that he had stood a mere spectator
+while those two figures lay clasped in each other's arms. His previous
+feelings of indifference towards his little daughter Florence changed into
+an uneasiness of an extraordinary kind. He had never conceived an aversion
+to her; it had not been worth his while or in his humour. But now he was
+ill at ease about her. He read nothing in her glance, when he saw her later
+in the solemn house, of the passionate desire to run clinging to him, and
+the dread of a repulse; the pitiable need in which she stood of some
+assurance and encouragement. He saw nothing of this.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Mrs. Pipchin's</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In spite of his early promise, all the vigilance and care bestowed upon
+him could not make little Paul a thriving boy. There was something wan and
+wistful in his look, and he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way of
+sitting brooding in his miniature armchair.</p>
+
+<p>The medical practitioner recommended sea-air, and Mrs. Pipchin, who
+conducted an infantile boarding house of a very select description at
+Brighton, and whose scale of charges was high, was entrusted with the care
+of Paul's health when he was little more than five years old.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady,
+with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye. It
+was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was a woman of system with children,
+and no doubt she was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame enough, after
+sojourning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof.</p>
+
+<p>At this exemplary old lady Paul would sit staring in his little armchair
+by the fire for any length of time. He was not fond of her, he was not
+afraid of her.</p>
+
+<p>Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking
+about.</p>
+
+<p>"You," said Paul, without the least reserve. "I'm thinking how old you
+must be."</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the
+dame.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" asked Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Because it's not polite!" said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not polite?" said Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"No! And remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by
+a mad bull for asking questions!"</p>
+
+<p>"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did <i>he</i> know that the boy
+had asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I
+don't believe that story."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe it, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?"
+said Mrs. Pipchin.</p>
+
+<p>As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself
+to be put down for the present.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dombey came down to Brighton every Sunday, and Florence was her
+brother's constant companion.</p>
+
+<p>At first, Paul got no stronger, and a little carriage was procured for
+him, in which he could lie at his ease and be wheeled down to the sea-side;
+there he would sit or lie for hours together; never so distressed as by the
+company of children--Florence alone excepted, always.</p>
+
+<p>"Go away, if you please," he would say to any child who came up to him.
+"Thank you, but I don't want you. I think you had better go and play, if
+you please."</p>
+
+<p>His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers;
+and, with Florence sitting by his side, and the wind blowing on his face,
+and the water near the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to know what it says," he said once, looking steadily in her
+face. "The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying?"</p>
+
+<p>She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something.
+Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking
+eagerly at the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he
+didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away!</p>
+
+<p>Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off,
+to try to understand what it was that the waves were always saying, and
+would rise up on his couch to look at that invisible region far away.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of twelve months at Mrs. Pipchin's, Paul had grown strong
+enough to dispense with his little carriage, though he still looked thin
+and delicate.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dombey therefore decided to remove him, not from Brighton, but to
+Doctor Blimber's educational establishment. "I fear," said Mr. Dombey,
+addressing Mrs. Pipchin, "that my son in his studies is behind many
+children of his age. Now instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to
+be before them--far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to
+mount upon. The education of my son must not be delayed. It must not be
+left imperfect."</p>
+
+<p>Doctor Blimber only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, and his
+establishment was a great hot-house, in which there was a forcing apparatus
+incessantly at work.</p>
+
+<p>Florence would remain at Mrs. Pipchin's, and for the first six months
+Paul would return there for the Sunday.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey exultingly, when they stood on the doctor's
+doorsteps, "This is the way, indeed, to be Dombey and Son, and have money.
+You are almost a man already."</p>
+
+<p>"Almost," returned the child.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Doctor Blimber's Academy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings at
+his knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly polished, a
+deep voice, and a chin so very double that it was a wonder how he ever
+managed to shave into the creases.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Blimber was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that
+did quite as well.</p>
+
+<p>As to Miss Blimber, there was no light nonsense about her. She was dry
+and sandy with working in the graves of dead languages.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Feeder, B.A., Dr. Blimber's assistant, was a kind of human
+barrel-organ, with a list of tunes at which he was continually working,
+over and over again, without any variation.</p>
+
+<p>Under the forcing system at Dr. Blimber's a young gentleman usually took
+leave of his spirits in three weeks; he had all the cares of the world on
+his head in three months, and he conceived bitter sentiments against his
+parents or guardians in four.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor was sitting in his study when Mr. Dombey and Paul arrived.
+"And how do you do, sir?" he said to Mr. Dombey. "And how is my little
+friend?" It seemed to Paul as if the great clock in the hall took this up,
+and went on saying, "how, is, my, lit-tle friend? how, is, my, lit-tle
+friend?" over and over again.</p>
+
+<p>Paul was handed over to Miss Blimber at once to be "brought on."</p>
+
+<p>"Cornelia," said the doctor. "Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring
+him on, Cornelia, bring him on."</p>
+
+<p>It was hard work, for no sooner had Paul mastered subject A than he was
+immediately provided with subject B, from which we passed to C, and even D.
+Often he felt giddy and confused, and drowsy and dull.</p>
+
+<p>But there were always the Saturdays when Florence came at noon to fetch
+him, and never would she, in any weather, stay away. Florence brought the
+school-books he was studying, and every Saturday night would patiently
+assist him through so much as they could anticipate together of his next
+week's work. And this saved him, possibly, from sinking underneath the
+burden which the fair Cornelia Blimber piled upon his back.</p>
+
+<p>It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Dr.
+Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general. But
+when Dr. Blimber said that Paul made great progress, and was naturally
+clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and
+crammed.</p>
+
+<p>Such spirits as he had at the outset Paul soon lost, of course. But he
+retained all that was strange, and odd, and thoughtful in his character;
+and Mrs. Blimber thought him "odd," and whispered that he was "old
+fashioned," and that was all.</p>
+
+<p>Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of
+Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed. Toots had "gone
+through" so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to pursue his
+own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters to himself
+from persons of distinction, addressed "P. Toots, Esquire, Brighton," to
+preserve them in his desk with great care.</p>
+
+<p>"How are you?" Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite well, sir, thank you," Paul would answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Shake hands," would be Toot's next advance. Which Paul, of course,
+would immediately do.</p>
+
+<p>"I say!" cried Toots one evening, finding Paul looking out of the
+window. "I say, what do you think about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I think about a great many things," replied Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you, though?" said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself
+surprising.</p>
+
+<p>"If you had to die," said Paul, "don't you think you would rather die on
+a moonlight night, when the sky is quite clear, and the wind blowing, as it
+did last night?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Toots, looking doubtfully at Paul, said he didn't know about
+that.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a beautiful night," said Paul. "There was a boat over there, in
+the full light of the moon, a boat with a sail."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Toots, feeling called upon to say something, suggested "Smugglers,"
+and then added, "or Preventive."</p>
+
+<p>"A boat with a sail," repeated Paul. "It went away into the distance,
+and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pitch!" said Mr. Toots.</p>
+
+<p>"It seemed to beckon," said the child; "to beckon me to come."</p>
+
+<p>Certainly people found him an "old-fashioned" child. At the end of the
+term Dr. and Mrs. Blimber gave an early party to their pupils and their
+parents and guardians, and it was a day or two before this event when Paul
+was taken ill. This illness released him from his books, and made him think
+the more of Florence.</p>
+
+<p>They all loved "Dombey's sister" at that party, and Paul, sitting in a
+cushioned corner, heard her praises constantly. There was a
+half-intelligible sentiment, too, diffused around, referring to Florence
+and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched him.
+He did not know why, but it seemed to have something to do with his
+"old-fashioned" reputation.</p>
+
+<p>The time arrived for taking leave.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, my little friend," returned the doctor. "Dombey, Dombey, you
+have always been my favourite pupil."</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you!" said Cornelia, taking both Paul's hands in hers. And it
+showed, Paul thought, how easily one might do injustice to a person; for
+Miss Blimber meant it--though she <i>was</i> a Forcer--and felt it.</p>
+
+<p>There was a general move after Paul and Florence down the staircase, in
+which the whole Blimber family were included. Such a circumstance, Mr.
+Feeder said aloud, as has never happened in the case of any former young
+gentleman within his experience. The servants, with the butler--a stern
+man--at their head, had all an interest in seeing little Dombey go; while
+the young gentlemen pressed to shake hands with him, crying individually
+"Dombey, don't forget me!"</p>
+
+<p>Once for a last look, Paul turned and gazed upon the faces addressed to
+him, and from that time whenever he thought of Dr. Blimber's it came back
+as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be a real
+place, but always a dream, full of faces.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Paul Goes Out with the Stream</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>From the night they brought him home from Dr. Blimber's Paul had never
+risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the
+street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but watching
+it, and watching everywhere about him with observing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and
+quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was
+coming on.</p>
+
+<p>By little and little he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of
+the carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would fall
+asleep or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense of a rushing river.
+"Why will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It is bearing
+me away, I think!"</p>
+
+<p>But Floy could always soothe him.</p>
+
+<p>He was visited by as many as three grave doctors, and the room was so
+quiet, and Paul was so observant of them, that he even knew the difference
+in the sound of their watches. But his interest centred in Sir Parker Peps;
+for Paul had heard them say long ago that that gentleman had been with his
+mamma when she clasped Florence in her arms and died. And he could not
+forget it now. He liked him for it. He was not afraid.</p>
+
+<p>The people in the room were always changing, and in the night-time Paul
+began to wonder languidly who the figure was, with its head upon its hand,
+that returned so often and remained so long.</p>
+
+<p>"Floy," he said, "what is that--there at the bottom of the bed?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing there except papa."</p>
+
+<p>The figure lifted up its head and rose, and said, "My own boy! Don't you
+know me?"</p>
+
+<p>Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was that his father? The next
+time he observed the figure at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy."</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a
+great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.</p>
+
+<p>How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights
+the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea, Paul never counted, never
+sought to know.</p>
+
+<p>One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
+drawing-room downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Floy, did I ever see mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, darling."</p>
+
+<p>The river was running very fast now, and confusing his mind. Paul fell
+asleep, and when he awoke the sun was high.</p>
+
+<p>"Floy, come close to me, and let me see you."</p>
+
+<p>Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
+light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together.</p>
+
+<p>"How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy!
+But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so."</p>
+
+<p>Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
+lulling him to rest, now the boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly on.
+And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?</p>
+
+<p>He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He
+did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so behind her
+neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! The light about her
+head is shining on me as I go."</p>
+
+<p>The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred
+in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first
+parents, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the
+wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion--Death!</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--The End of Dombey and Son</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The stonemason to whom Mr. Dombey gave his order for a tablet in the
+church, in memory of little Paul, called his attention to the inscription
+"Beloved and only child," and said, "It should be 'son,' I think, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are right, of course. Make the correction."</p>
+
+<p>And there came a time when it was to Florence, and Florence only, that
+Mr. Dombey turned. For the great house of Dombey and Son fell, and in the
+crash its proud head became a ruined man, ruined beyond recovery.</p>
+
+<p>Bankrupt in purse, his personal pride was yet further humbled. For Mr.
+Dombey had married again, a loveless match, and his wife deserted him. In
+the hour when he discovered that desertion he had driven his daughter
+Florence from the house.</p>
+
+<p>He was fallen now never to be raised up any more. For the night of his
+worldly ruin there was no to-morrow's sun, for the stain of his domestic
+shame there was no purification.</p>
+
+<p>In his pride--for he was proud yet--he let the world go from him freely.
+As it fell away, he shook it off. He knew, now, what it was to be rejected
+and deserted. Dombey and Son was no more--his children no more.</p>
+
+<p>His daughter Florence had married--married a young sailor once a boy in
+the office of Dombey and Son--and thinking of her, Dombey, in the solitude
+of his dismantled home, remembered that she had never changed to him
+through all those years; and the mist through which he had seen her,
+cleared, and showed him her true self.</p>
+
+<p>He wandered through the rooms, and thought of suicide; a guilty hand was
+grasping what was in his breast.</p>
+
+<p>It was arrested by a cry--a wild, loud, loving, rapturous cry, and he
+saw his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa! Dearest papa!"</p>
+
+<p>Unchanged still. Of all the world unchanged.</p>
+
+<p>He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw his arms about her neck. He
+felt her kisses on his face, he felt--oh, how deeply!--all that he had
+done.</p>
+
+<p>She laid his face, now covered with his hands, against the heart that he
+had almost broken, and said, sobbing, "Papa, love, I am a mother. Papa,
+dear, oh, say God bless me and my little child!"</p>
+
+<p>His head, now grey, was encircled by her arm, and he groaned to think
+that never, never had it rested so before.</p>
+
+<p>"My little child was born at sea, papa. I prayed to God to spare me that
+I might come. The moment I could land I came to you. Never let us be parted
+any more, papa!"</p>
+
+<p>He kissed her on the lips, and lifting up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God,
+forgive me, for I need it very much!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens5">Great Expectations</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Great Expectations," first published as a serial in "All the
+Year Round," in 1861, is one of Dickens's finest works. It is rounded off
+so completely and the characters are so admirably drawn that, as a finished
+work of art, it is hard to say where the genius of its author has surpassed
+it. If there is less of the exuberance of "Pickwick," there is also less of
+the characteristic exaggeration of Dickens; and the pathos of the
+ex-convict's return is far deeper than the pathos of children's death-beds,
+so frequently exhibited by the author. "Great Expectations," for all its
+rare qualities, has never achieved the wide popularity of the novels of
+Charles Dickens that preceded it. We are not generally familiar with any
+name in the story, as we are with at least one name in all the other
+novels. Yet, Pip, as a study of child-life, youth, and early manhood, is as
+excellent as anything in the whole range of English fiction. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--In the Marshes</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I
+called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip.</p>
+
+<p>My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained
+on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh
+country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had wandered
+into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
+among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little
+devil, or I'll cut your throat!"</p>
+
+<p>A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
+who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones; who
+limped and shivered, and glared and growled.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell us your name! quick!"</p>
+
+<p>"Pip, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye
+live with?"</p>
+
+<p>I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs.
+Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me
+by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And you know what wittles is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or
+I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow
+morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at that
+old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word
+concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or
+you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your
+heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now what do you
+say?"</p>
+
+<p>I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken
+bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the darkness outside my little window was shot with grey, I
+got up and went downstairs. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese, about
+half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket handkerchief), some
+brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had used
+for Spanish liquorice water up in my room), a meat bone with very little on
+it, and a beautiful round pork pie.</p>
+
+<p>There was a door in the kitchen communicating with the forge; I unlocked
+and unbolted that door, got a file from among Joe's tools, put the
+fastenings as I had found them, and ran for the marshes.</p>
+
+<p>It was a rainy morning, and very damp. I knew my way to the Battery, for
+I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and had just scrambled up the
+mound beyond the ditch when I saw the man sitting before me--with his back
+toward me.</p>
+
+<p>I touched him on the shoulder, and he instantly jumped up, and it was
+not the same man, but another man--dressed in coarse grey, too, with a
+great iron on his leg.</p>
+
+<p>He aimed a blow at me, and then ran into the mist, stumbling as he went,
+and I lost him.</p>
+
+<p>I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man
+waiting for me. He was awfully cold. And his eyes looked awfully
+hungry.</p>
+
+<p>He devoured the food, mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie,
+all at once--more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent
+hurry, than a man who was eating it, only stopping from time to time to
+listen.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir! No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said he, "I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young hound
+indeed if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched varmint,
+hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched varmint is."</p>
+
+<p>While he was eating I mentioned that I had just seen another man dressed
+like him, and with a badly bruised face.</p>
+
+<p>"Not here?" he exclaimed, striking his left cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there!"</p>
+
+<p>He swore he would pull him down like a bloodhound, and then crammed what
+little food was left into the breast of his grey jacket, and began to file
+at his iron like a madman; so I thought the best thing that I could do was
+to slip off home.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--I Meet Estella</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I must have been about ten years old when I went to Miss Havisham's, and
+first met Estella.</p>
+
+<p>My uncle Pumblechook, who kept a cornchandler's shop in the high-street
+of the town, took me to the large old, dismal house, which had all its
+windows barred. For miles round everybody had heard of Miss Havisham as an
+immensely rich and grim lady who led a life of seclusion; and everybody
+soon knew that Mr. Pumblechook had been commissioned to bring her a
+boy.</p>
+
+<p>He left me at the courtyard, and a young lady, who was very pretty and
+seemed very proud, let me in, and I noticed that the passages were all
+dark, and that there was a candle burning. My guide, who called me "boy,"
+but was really about my own age, was as scornful of me as if she had been
+one-and-twenty, and a queen. She led me to Miss Havisham's room, and there,
+in an armchair, with her elbow resting on the table, sat the strangest lady
+I have ever seen, or shall ever see.</p>
+
+<p>She was dressed in rich materials--satins and lace and silks--all of
+white--or rather, which had been white, but, like all else in the room,
+were now faded yellow. Her shoes were white, and she had a long white veil
+dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair; but her hair was
+white. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the
+dress.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Pip, ma'am. Mr. Pumblechook's boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Come nearer; let me look at you; come close. You are not afraid of a
+woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon
+the other, on her left side.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am; your heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Broken!" She was silent for a little while, and then added, "I am
+tired; I want diversion. Play, play, play!"</p>
+
+<p>What was an unfortunate boy to do? I didn't know how to play.</p>
+
+<p>"Call Estella," said the lady. "Call Estella, at the door."</p>
+
+<p>It was a dreadful thing to be bawling "Estella" to a scornful young lady
+in a mysterious passage in an unknown house, but I had to do it. And
+Estella came, and I heard her say, in answer to Miss Havisham, "Play with
+this boy! Why, he is a common labouring boy!"</p>
+
+<p>I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer, "Well? You can break his
+heart."</p>
+
+<p>We played at beggar my neighbour, and before the game was out Estella
+said disdainfully, "He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy! And what coarse
+hands he has! And what thick boots!"</p>
+
+<p>I was very glad to get away. My coarse hands and my common boots had
+never troubled me before; but they troubled me now, and I determined to ask
+Joe why he had taught me to call those picture cards Jacks which ought to
+be called knaves.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time I went once a week to this strange, gloomy house--it was
+called Satis House--and once Estella told me I might kiss her.</p>
+
+<p>And then Miss Havisham decided I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and gave
+him &pound;25 for the purpose; and I left off going to see her, and helped
+Joe in the forge. But I didn't like Joe's trade, and I was afflicted by
+that most miserable thing--to feel ashamed of home.</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't resist paying Miss Havisham a visit; and, not seeing Estella,
+stammered that I hoped she was well.</p>
+
+<p>"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating for a lady; far out of reach;
+prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have
+lost her?"</p>
+
+<p>I was spared the trouble of answering by being dismissed, and went home
+dissatisfied and uncomfortable, thinking myself coarse and common, and
+wanting to be a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship when, one Saturday night,
+Joe and I were up at the Three Jolly Bargemen, according to our custom.</p>
+
+<p>A stranger, who did not recognise me, but whom I recognised as a
+gentleman I had met on the stairs at Miss Havisham's, was in the room; and
+on his asking for a blacksmith named Gargery and his apprentice named Pip,
+and, being answered, said he wanted to have a private conference with us
+two.</p>
+
+<p>Joe took him home, and the stranger told us his name was Jaggers, and
+that he was a lawyer in London.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this
+young fellow, your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his
+indentures at his request and for his good?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"The communication I have got to make to this young fellow is that he
+has great expectations."</p>
+
+<p>Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.</p>
+
+<p>"I am instructed to tell him," said Mr. Jaggers, "that he will come into
+a handsome property. Further, it is the desire of the present possessor of
+that property that he be immediately removed from his present sphere of
+life and be brought up as a gentleman, and that he always bear the name of
+Pip. Now, you are to understand that the name of the person who is your
+liberal benefactor remains a profound secret until the person chooses to
+reveal it, and you are most positively prohibited from making any inquiry
+on this head. If you have a suspicion, keep it in your own breast."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jaggers went on to say that if I accepted the expectations on these
+terms, there was already money in hand for my education and maintenance,
+and that one Mr. Matthew Pocket, in London (whom I knew to be a relation of
+Miss Havisham's), could be my tutor if I was willing to go to him, say in a
+week's time. Of course I accepted this wonderful good fortune, and had no
+doubt in my own mind that Miss Havisham was my benefactress.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Jaggers asked Joe whether he desired any compensation, Joe laid
+his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. "Pip is that hearty
+welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services, to honour and fortun',
+as no words can tell him. But if you think as money can make compensation
+to me for the loss of the little child--what come to the forge--and ever
+the best of friends!" He scooped his eyes with his disengaged hand, but
+said not another word.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--I Know My Benefactor</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I went to London, and studied with Mr. Matthew Pocket, and shared rooms
+with his son Herbert (who, knowing my earlier life, decided to call me
+Handel), first in Barnard's Inn and later in the Temple.</p>
+
+<p>On my twenty-first birthday I received &pound;500, and this (unknown to
+Herbert) I managed to make over to my friend in order to secure him a
+managership in a business house.</p>
+
+<p>My studies were not directed in any professional channel, but were
+pursued with a view to my being equal to any emergency when my
+expectations, which I had been told to look forward to, were fulfilled.</p>
+
+<p>Estella was often in London, and I met her at many houses, and was
+desperately in love with her. But though she treated me with friendship,
+she was proud and capricious as ever, and a few years later married a man
+whom I knew and detested--a Mr. Bentley Drummle, a bully and a
+scoundrel.</p>
+
+<p>When I was three-and-twenty I happened to be alone one night in our
+chambers reading, for I had a taste for books. Herbert was away at
+Marseilles on a business journey.</p>
+
+<p>The clocks had struck eleven, and I closed my books. I was still
+listening to the clocks, when I heard a footstep on the staircase, and
+started. The staircase lights were blown out by the wind, and I took my
+reading-lamp and went out to see who it was.</p>
+
+<p>"There is someone there, is there not?" I called out. "What floor do you
+want?"</p>
+
+<p>"The top--Mr. Pip."</p>
+
+<p>"That is my name. There is nothing the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing the matter," returned the voice. And the man came on.</p>
+
+<p>I made out that the man was roughly but substantially dressed; that he
+had iron-grey hair; that his age was about sixty; that he was a muscular
+man, hardened by exposure to weather. I saw nothing that in the least
+explained him, but I saw that he was holding out both his hands to me.</p>
+
+<p>I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him. No need to take a
+file from his pocket and show it to me. I knew my convict, in spite of the
+intervening years, as distinctly as I knew him in the churchyard when we
+first stood face to face.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his
+forehead with his large brown hands.</p>
+
+<p>"You acted nobly, my boy," said he.</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I hoped he had mended his way of life, and was doing
+well.</p>
+
+<p>"I've done wonderful well," he said. And then he asked me if I was doing
+well. And when I mentioned that I had been chosen to succeed to some
+property, he asked whose property? And, after that, if my lawyer-guardian's
+name began with "J."</p>
+
+<p>All the truth of my position came flashing on me, and quickly I
+understood that Miss Havisham's intentions towards me were all a mere
+dream.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Pip, dear boy, I've made a gentleman on you. It's me wot has done
+it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea should
+go to you. I swore afterwards, sure as ever I spec'lated and got rich, that
+you should get rich. Look 'ee here, Pip. I'm your second father. You're my
+son--more to me nor any son. I've put away money, only for you to spend.
+You ain't looked slowly forward to this as I have. You wasn't prepared for
+this as I wos. It warn't easy, Pip, for me to leave them parts, nor it
+wasn't safe. Look 'ee here, dear boy; caution is necessary."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you mean?" I said. "Caution?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was sent for life. It's death to come back. There's been overmuch
+coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if
+took."</p>
+
+<p>As Herbert was away, I put the man in the spare room, and gave out that
+he was my uncle.</p>
+
+<p>He told me something of his story next day, and when Herbert came back
+and we had found a bed-room for our visitor in Essex Street, he told us all
+of it. His name was Magwitch--Abel Magwitch--he called himself Provis
+now--and he had been left by a travelling tinker to grow up alone. "In jail
+and out of jail, in jail and out of jail--that's my life pretty much, down
+to such times as I got shipped off, arter Pip stood my friend." But there
+was a man who "set up fur a gentleman, named Compeyson," and this
+Compeyson's business was swindling, forging, and stolen banknote passing.
+Magwitch became his servant, and when both men were arrested, Compeyson
+turned round on the man whom he had employed, and got off with seven years
+to Magwitch's fourteen. Compeyson was the second convict of my
+childhood.</p>
+
+<p>On consideration of the case, and after consultation with Mr. Jaggers,
+who corroborated the statement that a colonist named Abel Magwitch, of New
+South Wales, was my benefactor, and admitted that a Mr. Provis had written
+to him on behalf of Magwitch, concerning my address, we decided that the
+best thing to be done was to take a lodging for Mr. Provis on the riverside
+below the Pool, at Mill Pond Bank. It was out of the way, and in case of
+danger it would be easy to get away by a packet steamer.</p>
+
+<p>The only danger was from Compeyson--for he had gone in terror of his
+life, and feared the vengeance of the man he had betrayed.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV--My Fortune</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>We were soon warned that Compeyson was aware of the return of his enemy,
+and that flight was necessary. Both Herbert and I noticed how quickly
+Provis had become softened, and on the night when we were to take him on
+board a Hamburg steamer he was very gentle.</p>
+
+<p>We were out in mid-stream in a small rowing boat, moving quietly with
+the tide, when, just as the Hamburg steamer came in sight, a four-oared
+galley ran aboard of us, and the man who held the lines in it called out,
+"You have a returned transport there. That's the man wrapped in the cloak.
+His name is Abel Magwitch--otherwise Provis. I call upon him to surrender,
+and you to assist."</p>
+
+<p>At once there was great confusion. The steamer was right upon us, and I
+heard the order given to stop the paddles. In the same moment I saw the
+steersman of the galley lay his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, and the
+prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the neck
+of a shrinking man in the galley. Still in the same moment I saw that the
+face disclosed was the face of the other convict of long ago, and white
+terror was on it. Then I heard a cry, and a loud splash in the water, and
+for an instant I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill weirs; the instant
+past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was there, but our boat was
+gone, and the two convicts were gone. Presently we saw a man swimming, but
+not swimming easily, and knew him to be Magwitch. He was taken on board,
+and instantly menacled at the wrists and ankles.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till we had pulled up, and had landed at the riverside, that
+I could get some comforts for Magwitch, who had received injury in the
+chest, and a deep cut in the head. He told me that he believed himself to
+have gone under the keel of the steamer, and to have been struck on the
+head in rising. The injury to his chest he thought he had received against
+the side of the galley. He added that Compeyson, in the moment of his
+laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, had staggered up, and back,
+and they had both gone overboard together, locked in each other's arms. He
+had disengaged himself under water, and swam away.</p>
+
+<p>He was taken to the police-court next day, and committed for trial at
+the, next session, which would come on in a month.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear boy," he said. "Look 'ee, here. It's best as a gentleman should
+not be knowed to belong to me now."</p>
+
+<p>"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be
+near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"</p>
+
+<p>When the sessions came round, the trial was very short and very clear,
+and the capital sentence was pronounced. But the prisoner was very ill. Two
+of his ribs had been broken, and one of his lungs seriously injured, and
+ten days before the date fixed for his execution death set him free.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed on that last day. "I
+thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that. You've never
+deserted me, dear boy."</p>
+
+<p>I pressed his hand in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been more comfortable
+along of me since I was under a dark cloud than when the sun shone. That's
+best of all."</p>
+
+<p>He had spoken his last words, and, holding my hand in his, passed
+away.</p>
+
+<p>And with his death ended my expectations, for the pocket-book containing
+his wealth went to the Crown.</p>
+
+<p>Herbert took me into his business, and I became a clerk, and afterwards
+went abroad to take charge of the eastern branch, and when many a year had
+gone round, became a partner.</p>
+
+<p>It was eleven years later when I was down in the marshes again. I had
+been to see Joe Gargery, who was as friendly as ever, and had strolled on
+to where Satis House once stood. I had been told of Miss Havisham's death,
+and also of the death of Estella's husband.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing was left of the old house but the garden wall, and as I stood
+looking along the desolate garden walk a solitary figure came up. I saw it
+stop, and half turn away, and then let me come up to it. It faltered as if
+much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out, "Estella!"</p>
+
+<p>I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the
+morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the
+evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil
+light they showed to me I saw no shadow of another parting from her.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens6">Hard Times</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Hard Times" is not one of the longest, but it is one of the
+most powerful of Dickens's works. John Ruskin went so far as to call it "in
+several respects the greatest" book Dickens had written. It is, of course,
+a fierce attack on the early Victorian school of political economists. The
+Bounderbys and Gradgrinds are typical of certain characters, and, though
+they change their form of speech, are still recognisable to-day. As a study
+of social and industrial life in England in the manufacturing districts
+fifty years ago, "Hard Times" will always be valuable, though allowance
+must be made here as elsewhere for the novelist's tendency to
+exaggeration--exaggeration of virtue no less than of vice or weakness. In
+Josiah Bounderby and Stephen Blackpool this characteristic is pronounced.
+The first, according to John Ruskin, being a dramatic monster, and the
+second a dramatic perfection. The story first appeared serially in
+"Household Words" between April 1 and August 12, 1854. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Thomas Gradgrind</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of facts and calculations. With a rule and
+a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir,
+ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly
+what it comes to."</p>
+
+<p>In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
+to his private circle of acquaintance or to the public in general. In such
+terms Thomas Gradgrind presented himself to the schoolmaster and children
+before him. It was his school, and he intended it to be a model.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, what I want is facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but
+facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. You can only form the minds of
+reasoning animals upon facts. This is the principle on which I bring up my
+own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children.
+Stick to facts, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind, having waited to hear a model lesson delivered by the
+school master, walked home in a considerable state of satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models every one. They
+had been lectured at from their tenderest years; coursed, like little
+hares, almost as soon as they could run, they had been made to run to the
+lecture-room.</p>
+
+<p>To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
+directed his steps. The house was situated on a moor, within a mile or two
+of a great town, called Coketown.</p>
+
+<p>On the outskirts of this town a travelling circus ("Sleary's
+Horse-riding") had pitched its tent, and, to his amazement, Mr. Gradgrind
+observed his two eldest children trying to obtain a peep, at the back of
+the booth, of the hidden glories within.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind laid his hand upon the shoulder of each erring child, and
+said, "Louisa! Thomas!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to see what it was like," said Louisa shortly. "I brought him,
+I was tired, father. I have been tired a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"Tired? Of what?" asked the astonished father.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know of what--of everything, I think."</p>
+
+<p>They walked on in silence for some half a mile before Mr. Gradgrind
+gravely broke out with, "What would your best friends say, Louisa? What
+would Mr. Bounderby say?"</p>
+
+<p>All the way to Stone Lodge he repeated at intervals, "What would Mr.
+Bounderby say?"</p>
+
+<p>At the first mention of the name his daughter, a child of fifteen or
+sixteen now, but at no distant day to become a woman, all at once, stole a
+look at him, remarkable for its intense and searching character. He saw
+nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again cast down her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby was at Stone Lodge when they arrived. He stood before the
+fire on the hearth rug, delivering some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind on
+the circumstance of its being his birthday. It was a commanding position
+from which to subdue Mrs. Gradgrind.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped in his harangue, which was entirely concerned with the story
+of his early disadvantages, at the entrance of his eminently practical
+friend and the two young culprits.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what's the matter? What is young
+Thomas in the dumps about?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>"We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa haughtily; "and father
+caught us."</p>
+
+<p>"And, Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband, in a lofty manner, "I should as
+soon have expected to find my children reading poetry."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. "How can you, Louisa and Thomas? I
+wonder at you. I declare you're enough to make one regret ever having had a
+family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. <i>Then</i> what
+would you have done, I should like to know? As if, with my head in its
+present throbbing state, you couldn't go and look at the shells and
+minerals and things provided for you, instead of circuses. I'm sure you
+have enough to do if that's what you want. With my head in its present
+state I couldn't remember the mere names of half the facts you have got to
+attend to."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the reason," pouted Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing of the
+sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. "Go and be something logical directly."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Gradgrind, not being a scientific character, usually dismissed her
+children to their studies with the general injunction that they were to
+choose their own pursuit.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Mr. Bounderby of Coketown</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Josiah Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend as a
+man perfectly devoid of sentiment can be to another man perfectly devoid of
+sentiment.</p>
+
+<p>He was a rich man--banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big,
+loud man, with a stare and a metallic laugh. A man who could never
+sufficiently vaunt himself--a self-made man. A man who was always
+proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his
+early ignorance and poverty. A man who was the bully of humility.</p>
+
+<p>He was fond of telling, was Mr. Bounderby, how he was born in a ditch,
+and, abandoned by his mother, how he ran away from his grandmother, who
+starved and ill-used him, and so became a vagabond. "I pulled through it,"
+he would say, "though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond, errand-boy,
+labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small partner--Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown."</p>
+
+<p>This myth of his early life was dissipated later; and it turned out that
+his mother, a respectable old woman, whom Bounderby pensioned off with
+thirty pounds a year on condition she never came near him, had pinched
+herself to help him out in life, and put him as apprentice to a trade. From
+this apprenticeship he had steadily risen to riches.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby held strong views about the people who worked for him, the
+"hands" he called them; and found, whenever they complained of anything,
+that they always expected to be set up in a coach and six, and to be fed on
+turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon.</p>
+
+<p>As time went on, and young Thomas Gradgrind became old enough to go into
+Bounderby's Bank, Bounderby decided that Louisa was old enough to be
+married.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind, now member of parliament for Coketown, mentioned the
+matter to his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage that has
+been made to me."</p>
+
+<p>He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something.
+Strange to relate Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this moment as his
+daughter was.</p>
+
+<p>"I have undertaken to let you know that--in short, that Mr. Bounderby
+has long hoped that the time might arrive when he should offer you his hand
+in marriage. That time has now come, and Mr. Bounderby has made his
+proposal to me, and has entreated me to make it known to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Father," said Louisa, "do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomforted by this unexpected question.
+"Well, my child," he returned, "I--really--cannot take upon myself to
+say."</p>
+
+<p>"Father," pursued Louisa, in exactly the same voice as before, "do you
+ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Louisa, no. No, I ask nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Father, does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Really, my dear, it is difficult to answer your question. Because the
+reply depends so materially, Louisa, on the sense in which we use the
+expression. Mr. Bounderby does not pretend to anything sentimental. Now, I
+should advise you to consider this question simply as one of fact. Now,
+what are the facts of this case? You are, we will say in round numbers,
+twenty years of age. Mr. Bounderby is, we will say in round numbers, fifty.
+There is some disparity in your respective years, but in your means and
+position there is none; on the contrary, there is a great suitability.
+Confining yourself rigidly to fact, the questions of fact are: 'Does Mr.
+Bounderby ask me to marry him?' 'Yes, he does.' And, 'Shall I marry
+him?'"</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I marry him?" repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.</p>
+
+<p>There was silence between the two before Louisa spoke again. She thought
+of the shortness of life, of how her brother Tom had said it would be a
+good thing for him if she made up her mind to do--she knew what.</p>
+
+<p>"While it lasts," she said aloud, "I would like to do the little I can,
+and the little I am fit for. What does it matter? Mr. Bounderby asks me to
+marry him. Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I am
+satisfied to accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you please,
+that this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can, because I
+should wish him to know what I said."</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite right, my dear," retorted her father approvingly, "to be
+exact I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in
+reference to the period of your marriage, my child?"</p>
+
+<p>"None, father. What does it matter?"</p>
+
+<p>They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Gradgrind presented Louisa to
+his wife as Mrs. Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Mrs. Gradgrind. "So you have settled it. I am sure I give you
+joy, my dear, and I hope you may turn all your ological studies to good
+account. And now, you see, I shall be worrying myself morning, noon, and
+night, to know what I am to call him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband solemnly, "what do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever am I to call him when he is married to Louisa? I must call him
+something. It's impossible to be constantly addressing him, and never
+giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is insupportable
+to me. You yourself wouldn't hear of Joe, you very well know. Am I to call
+my own son-in-law 'Mister?' I believe not, unless the time has arrived when
+I am to be trampled upon by my relations. Then, what am I to call him?"</p>
+
+<p>There being no answer to this conundrum, Mrs. Gradgrind retired to
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>The day of the marriage came, and after the wedding-breakfast the
+bridegroom addressed the company--an improving party, there was no nonsense
+about any of them--in the following terms.</p>
+
+<p>"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown. Since you
+have done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and
+happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same. If you want a speech, my
+friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a member of parliament, and you
+know where to get it. Now, you have mentioned that I am this day married to
+Tom Gradgrind's daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has long been my wish
+to be so. I have watched her bringing up, and I believe she is worthy of
+me. At the same time, I believe I am worthy of her. So I thank you for the
+goodwill you have shown towards us."</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to
+Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might see how the hands got on in those
+parts, and whether they, too, required to be fed with gold spoons, the
+happy pair departed for the railroad. As the bride passed downstairs her
+brother Tom whispered to her. "What a game girl you are, to be such a
+first-rate sister, too!"</p>
+
+<p>She clung to him as she would have clung to some far better nature that
+day, and was shaken in her composure for the first time.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Mr. James Harthouse</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Gradgrind party wanting assistance in the House of Commons, Mr.
+James Harthouse, who was of good family and appearance, and had tried most
+things and found them a bore, was sent down to Coketown to study the
+neighbourhood with a view to entering Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby at once pounced upon him, and James Harthouse was
+introduced to Mrs. Bounderby and her brother. Tom Gradgrind, junior,
+brought up under a continuous system of restraint, was a hypocrite, a
+thief, and, to Mr. James Harthouse, a whelp.</p>
+
+<p>Yet the visitor saw at once that the whelp was the only creature Mrs.
+Bounderby cared for, and it occurred to him, as time went on, that to win
+Mrs. Bounderby's affection (for he made no secret of his contempt for
+politics), he must devote himself to the whelp.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby was proud to have Mr. James Harthouse under his roof,
+proud to show off his greatness and self-importance to this gentleman from
+London.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be one. You're a man of
+family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of rag, tag, and
+bobtail," said Mr. Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>At the same time Mr. Bounderby blustered at his wife and bullied his
+hands, so that Mr. Harthouse might understand his independence.</p>
+
+<p>One of these hands, Stephen Blackpool, an old, steady, faithful workman,
+who had been boycotted by his fellows for refusing to join a trade union,
+was summoned to Mr. Bounderby's presence in order that Harthouse might see
+a specimen of the people that had to be dealt with.</p>
+
+<p>Blackpool said he had nought to say about the trade union business; he
+had given a promise not to join, that was all.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to me, you know!" said Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no sir; not to you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a gentleman from London present," Mr. Bounderby said, pointing
+at Harthouse. "A Parliament gentleman. Now, what do you complain of?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ha' not come here, sir, to complain. I were sent for. Indeed, we are
+in a muddle, sir. Look round town--so rich as 'tis. Look how we live, and
+where we live, an' in what numbers; and look how the mills is always
+a-goin', and how they never works us no nigher to any distant object,
+'cepting always, death. Sir, I cannot, wi' my little learning, tell the
+gentleman what will better this; though some working men o' this town
+could. But the strong hand will never do't; nor yet lettin' alone will
+never do't. Ratin' us as so much power and reg'latin' us as if we was
+figures in a sum, will never do't."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, it's clear to me," said Mr. Bounderby, "that you are one of those
+chaps who have always got a grievance. And you are such a raspish,
+ill-conditioned chap that even your own union--the men who know you
+best--will have nothing to do with you. And I tell you what, I go so far
+along with them for a novelty, that I'll have nothing to do with you
+either. You can finish off what you're at, and then go elsewhere."</p>
+
+<p>Thus James Harthouse learnt how Mr. Bounderby dealt with hands.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Harthouse, however, only felt bored, and took the earliest
+opportunity to explain to Mrs. Bounderby that he really had no opinions,
+and that he was going in for her father's opinions, because he might as
+well back them as anything else.</p>
+
+<p>"The side that can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds,
+and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun and to
+give a man the best chance. I am quite ready to go in for it to the same
+extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do if I did
+believe it?".</p>
+
+<p>"You are a singular politician," said Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the
+state, I assure you, if we all fell out of our adopted ranks and were
+reviewed together."</p>
+
+<p>The more Mr. Harthouse's interest waned in politics the greater became
+his interest in Mrs. Bounderby. And he cultivated the whelp, cultivated him
+earnestly, and by so doing learnt from the graceless youth that "Loo never
+cared anything for old Bounderby," and had married him to please her
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually, bit by bit, James Harthouse established a confidence with the
+whelp's sister from which her husband was excluded. He established a
+confidence with her that absolutely turned upon her indifference towards
+her husband, and the absence at all times of any congeniality between them.
+He had artfully, but plainly, assured her that he knew her heart in its
+last most delicate recesses, and the barrier behind which she lived had
+melted away.</p>
+
+<p>And yet he had not, even now, any earnest wickedness of purpose in him.
+So drifting icebergs, setting with a current, wreck the ships.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Mr. Gradgrind and His Daughter</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Gradgrind died while her husband was up in London, and Louisa was
+with her mother when death came.</p>
+
+<p>"You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and so did your brother," said Mrs.
+Gradgrind, when she was dying. "Ologies of all kinds from morning to night.
+But there is something--not an ology at all--that your father has missed,
+or forgotten. I don't know what it is; I shall never get its name now. But
+your father may. It makes me restless. I want to write to him to find out,
+for God's sake, what it is."</p>
+
+<p>It was shortly after Mrs. Gradgrind's death that Mr. Bounderby was
+called away from home on business for a few days; and Mr. James Harthouse,
+still not sure at times of his purpose, found himself alone with Mrs.
+Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>They were in the garden, and Harthouse implored her to accept him as her
+lover. She urged him to go away, she commanded him to go away; but she
+neither turned her face to him nor raised it, but sat as still as though
+she were a statue.</p>
+
+<p>Harthouse declared that she was the stake for which he ardently desired
+to play away all that he had in life; that the objects he had lately
+pursued turned worthless beside her; the success that was almost within his
+grasp he flung away from him, like the dirt it was, compared with her.</p>
+
+<p>All this, and more, he said, and pleaded for a further meeting.</p>
+
+<p>"Not here," Louisa said calmly.</p>
+
+<p>They parted at the beginning of a heavy shower of rain, and the fall
+James Harthouse had ridden for was averted.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bounderby left her husband's house, left it for good; not to share
+Mr. Harthouse's life, but to return to her father.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind, released from parliament for a time, was alone in his
+study, when his eldest daughter entered.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, Louisa?"</p>
+
+<p>"Father, I want to speak to you. You have trained me from my
+cradle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Louisa."</p>
+
+<p>"I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny. How could you
+give me life, and take from me all the things that raise it from the state
+of conscious death? Now, hear what I have come to say. With a hunger and a
+thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a moment appeased, in a
+condition where it seemed nothing could be worth the pain and trouble of a
+contest, you proposed my husband to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I never knew you were unhappy, my child!"</p>
+
+<p>"I took him. I never made a pretence to him or you that I loved him. I
+knew, and, father you knew, and he knew, that I never did. I was not wholly
+indifferent, for I had a hope of being pleasant and useful to Tom. But Tom
+had been the subject of all the little tenderness of my life, perhaps he
+became so because I knew so well how to pity him. It matters little now,
+except as it may dispose you to think more leniently of his errors."</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do, child? Ask me what you will."</p>
+
+<p>"I am coming to it. Father, chance has thrown into my way a new
+acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of--light, polished,
+easy. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for nothing
+else, to care so much for me. It matters little how he gained my
+confidence. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my
+marriage he soon knew just as well."</p>
+
+<p>Her father's face was ashy white.</p>
+
+<p>"I have done no worse; I have not disgraced you. This night, my husband
+being away, he has been with me. This minute he expects me, for I could
+release myself of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I am
+sorry or ashamed. All that I know is, your philosophy and your teaching
+will not save me. Father, you have brought me to this. Save me by some
+other means?"</p>
+
+<p>She fell insensible, and he saw the pride of his heart and the triumph
+of his system lying at his feet. And it came to Thomas Gradgrind that night
+and on the morrow when he sat beside his daughter's bed, that there was a
+wisdom of the heart no less than a wisdom of the head; and that in
+supposing the latter to be all sufficient, he had erred.</p>
+
+<p>But no such change of mind took place in Mr. Bounderby. Finding his wife
+absent, he went at once to Stone Lodge, and blustered in his usual way.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind tried to make him understand that the best thing to do was
+to leave things as they were for a time, and that Louisa, who had been so
+tried, should stay on a visit to her father, and be treated with tenderness
+and consideration. It was all wasted on Blunderby.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I don't want to quarrel with you, Tom Gradgrind!" he retorted. "If
+your daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by
+leaving Loo Gradgrind, don't come home at noon to-morrow, I shall
+understand that she prefers to stay away, and you'll take charge of her in
+future. What I shall say to people in general of the incompatibility that
+led to my so laying down the law will be this: I am Josiah Bounderby, she's
+the daughter of Tom Gradgrind; and the two horses wouldn't pull together. I
+am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon man, and most people will
+understand that it must be a woman rather out of the common who would come
+up to my mark. I have got no more to say. Good-night!"</p>
+
+<p>At five minutes past twelve next day, Mr. Bounderby directed his wife's
+property to be carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind's, and then
+resumed a bachelor's life.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. James Harthouse, learning from Louisa's maid--a young woman greatly
+attached to her mistress--that his attentions were altogether undesirable,
+and that he would never see Mrs. Bounderby again, decided to throw up
+politics and leave Coketown at once. Which he did.</p>
+
+<p>Into how much of futurity did Mr. Bounderby see as he sat alone? Had he
+any prescience of the day, five years to come, when Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown, was to die in a fit in the Coketown street? Could he foresee Mr.
+Gradgrind, a white-haired man, making his facts and figures subservient to
+Faith, Hope, and Charity, and no longer trying to grind that Heavenly trio
+in his dusty little mills? These things were to be.</p>
+
+<p>Could Louisa, sitting alone in her father's house and gazing into the
+fire, foresee the childless years before her? Could she picture a lonely
+brother, flying from England after robbery, and dying in a strange land,
+conscious of his want of love and penitent? These things were to be.
+Herself again a wife--a mother--lovingly watchful of her children, ever
+careful that they should have a childhood of the mind no less than a
+childhood of the body, as knowing it to be an even more beautiful thing,
+and a possession any hoarded scrap of which is a blessing and happiness to
+the wisest? Such a thing was never to be.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens7">Little Dorrit</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Little Dorrit" was written at a time when the author was
+busying himself not only with other literary work, but also with
+semi-private theatricals. John Forster, Charles Dickens's biographer and
+friend, even had some sort of fear at that time that Dickens was in danger
+of adopting the stage as a profession. Domestic troubles, culminating a
+year later in the separation from his wife, also explain the restlessness
+and general dissatisfaction which affected the great novelist in the years
+1855-57, when this story appeared. Hence there is no surprise that "Little
+Dorrit" added but little to its author's reputation. It is a very long
+book, but it will never take a front-rank place. The story, however, on its
+appearance in monthly parts, the first of which was published in January
+1856, and the completed work in 1857, was enormously successful, beating,
+in Dickens's own words, "'Bleak House' out of the field." Popular with the
+public, it has never won the critics. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Father of the Marshalsea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Thirty years ago there stood, a few doors short of the church of Saint
+George, in the Borough of Southwark, on the left-hand side of the way going
+southward, the Marshalsea Prison. It had stood there many years before, and
+it remained there some years afterwards; but it is gone now, and the world
+is none the worse without it.</p>
+
+<p>A debtor had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison, a very amiable and
+very helpless middle-aged gentleman who was perfectly clear--"like all the
+rest of them," the turnkey on the lock said--that he was going out again
+directly.</p>
+
+<p>The affairs of this debtor, a shy, retiring man, with a mild voice and
+irresolute hands, were perplexed by a partnership, of which he knew no more
+than that he had invested money in it.</p>
+
+<p>"Out?" said the turnkey. "He'll never get out unless his creditors take
+him by the shoulders and shove him out!"</p>
+
+<p>The next day the debtor's wife came to the Marshalsea, bringing with her
+a little boy of three, and a little girl of two.</p>
+
+<p>"Two children," the turnkey observed to himself. "And you another, which
+makes three; and your wife another, which makes four."</p>
+
+<p>Six months later a little girl was born to the debtor, and when this
+child was eight years old, her mother, who had long been languishing,
+died.</p>
+
+<p>The debtor had long grown accustomed to the place. Crushed at first by
+his imprisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. His elder children
+played regularly about the yard. If he had been a man with strength of
+purpose, he might have broken the net that held him, or broken his heart;
+but being what he was, he slipped easily into this smooth descent, and
+never more took one step upward.</p>
+
+<p>The shabby old debtor with the soft manners and the white hair became
+the Father of the Marshalsea. And he grew to be proud of the title. All
+newcomers were presented to him. He was punctilious in the exaction of this
+ceremony. They were welcome to the Marshalsea, he would tell them.</p>
+
+<p>It became a not unusual circumstance for letters to be put under his
+door at night enclosing half-a-crown, two half-crowns, now and then, at
+long intervals, even half a sovereign, for the Father of the Marshalsea,
+"With the compliments of a collegian taking leave." He received the gifts
+as tributes to a public character.</p>
+
+<p>Later he established the custom of attending collegians of a certain
+standing to the gate, and taking leave of them there. The collegian under
+treatment would often wrap up something in a paper and give it to him, "For
+the Father of the Marshalsea."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Child of the Marshalsea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The youngest child of the Father of the Marshalsea, born within the
+jail, was a very, very little creature indeed when she gained the knowledge
+that while her own light steps were free to pass beyond the prison gate,
+her father's feet must never cross that line.</p>
+
+<p>At thirteen she could read and keep accounts--that is, could put down in
+words and figures how much the bare necessaries they needed would cost, and
+how much less they had to buy them with. From the first she was inspired to
+be something which was not what the rest were, and to be that something for
+the sake of the rest. Recognised as useful, even indispensable, she took
+the place of eldest of the three in all but precedence; was the head of the
+fallen family, and bore, in her own heart, its anxieties and shames. She
+had been, by snatches of a few weeks at a time, to an evening school
+outside, and got her sister and brother sent to day schools by desultory
+starts, during three or four years. There was no instruction for any of
+them at home; but she knew well--no one better--that a man so broken as to
+be the Father of the Marshalsea could be no father to his own children.</p>
+
+<p>To these scanty means of improvement she added others. Her sister Fanny,
+having a great desire to learn dancing, the Child of the Marshalsea
+persuaded a dancing-master, detained for a short time, to teach her. And
+Fanny became a dancer.</p>
+
+<p>There was a ruined uncle in the family group, ruined by his brother, the
+Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than his ruiner did, on
+whom Fanny's protection devolved. Naturally a retired and simple man, he
+had shown no particular sense of being ruined, further than that he left
+off washing when the shock was announced, and never took to that luxury any
+more. Having been a very indifferent musical amateur in his better days,
+when he fell with his brother he resorted for support to playing a
+clarionet in a small theatre orchestra. It was the theatre in which his
+niece became a dancer, and he accepted the task of serving as her escort
+and guardian.</p>
+
+<p>To get her brother--christened Edward, but called Tip--out of the prison
+was a more difficult task. Every post she obtained for him he always gave
+up, returning with the announcement that he was tired of it, and had cut
+it.</p>
+
+<p>One day he came back, and said he was in for good, that he had been
+taken for forty pounds odd. For the first time in all those years, she sank
+under her cares. It was so hard to make Tip understand that the Father of
+the Marshalsea must not know the truth about his son.</p>
+
+<p>For, the Father of the Marshalsea, as he grew more dependent on the
+contributions of his changing family, made the greater stand by his forlorn
+gentility. So the pretence had to be kept up that neither of his daughters
+earned their bread.</p>
+
+<p>The Child of the Marshalsea learned needlework of an insolvent milliner,
+and went out daily to work for a Mrs. Clennam.</p>
+
+<p>This was the life and this the history of the Child of the Marshalsea at
+twenty-two. Worldly wise in hard and poor necessities, she was innocent in
+all things else. This was the life, and this the history of Little Dorrit,
+now going home upon a dull September evening, and observed at a distance by
+Arthur Clennam. Arthur Clennam had returned to his mother's house--a dark
+and gloomy place--from the Far East. He had noticed that Little Dorrit
+appeared at eight, and left at eight. She let herself out to do needlework,
+he was told. What became of her between the two eights was a mystery.</p>
+
+<p>It was not easy for Arthur Clennam to make out Little Dorrit's face; she
+plied her needle in such retired corners. But it seemed to be a pale,
+transparent face, quick in expression, though not beautiful in feature. A
+delicately bent head, a tiny form, a quick little pair of busy hands, and a
+shabby dress--shabby but very neat--were Little Dorrit as she sat at
+work.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam watched Little Dorrit disappear within the outer gate of
+the Marshalsea, and presently stopped an old man to ask what place it
+was.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the Marshalsea, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Can anyone go in here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anyone can go in," replied the old man, plainly implying, "but it is
+not everyone who can go out."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me once more. I am not impertinently curious. But are you
+familiar with the place? Do you know the name of Dorrit here?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name, sir," replied the old man, "is Dorrit."</p>
+
+<p>Clennam explained that he had seen a young woman working at his
+mother's, spoken of as Little Dorrit, and had noticed her come in here, and
+that he was sincerely interested in her, and wanted to know something about
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"I know very little of the world, sir," replied the old man, "it would
+not be worth while to mislead me. The young woman whom you saw go in is my
+brother's child. You say you have seen her at your mother's, and have felt
+an interest in her, and wish to know what she does here. Come and see."</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam followed his guide to the room of the Father of the
+Marshalsea.</p>
+
+<p>"I found this gentleman," said the uncle--"Mr. Clennam, William, son of
+Amy's friend--at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going by, of paying his
+respects. This is my brother William, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Clennam," said William Dorrit, "you are welcome, sir; pray sit
+down. I have welcomed many visitors here."</p>
+
+<p>The Father of the Marshalsea went on to mention that he had been
+gratified by the testimonials of his visitors--the "very acceptable
+testimonials."</p>
+
+<p>When Clennam left he presented his testimonial, and the next morning
+found him there again. He went out with Little Dorrit alone; asked her if
+she had ever heard his mother's name before.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not asking from any reason that can cause you anxiety. You think
+that at no time of your father's life was my name of Clennam ever familiar
+to him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. And, oh, I hope you will not misunderstand my father! Don't
+judge him, sir, as you would judge others outside the gates. He has been
+there so long."</p>
+
+<p>They had walked some way before they returned. She was not working at
+Mrs. Clennam's that day.</p>
+
+<p>The courtyard received them at last, and there he said good-bye to
+Little Dorrit. Little as she had always looked, she looked less than ever
+when he saw her going into the Marshalsea Lodge passage.</p>
+
+<p>Aware that his mother might have once averted the ruin of the Dorrit
+family, Clennam returned more than once to the Marshalsea. No word of love
+crossed his lips; he told Little Dorrit to think of him as an old man, old
+enough to be her father, and he besought her only to let him know if at any
+time he could do her service. "I press for no confidence now. I only ask
+you to repose unhesitating trust in me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I do less than that when you are so good?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness or
+anxiety concealed from me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Almost none."</p>
+
+<p>But if Arthur Clennam kept silent, Little Dorrit was not without a
+lover. Years ago young John Chivery, the sentimental son of the turnkey,
+had eyed her with admiring wonder. There seemed to young John a fitness in
+the attachment. She, the Child of the Marshalsea; he, the lock-keeper.
+Every Sunday young John presented cigars to the Father of the
+Marshalsea--who was glad to get them--and one particular Sunday afternoon
+he mustered up courage to urge his suit.</p>
+
+<p>Little Dorrit was out, walking on the Iron Bridge, when young John found
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Amy," he stammered, "I have had for a long time--ages they seem to
+me--a heart-cherished wish to say something to you. May I say it? May I,
+Miss Amy? I but ask the question humbly--may I say it? I know very well
+your family is far above mine. It were vain to conceal it. I know very well
+that your high-souled brother, and likewise your spirited sister, spurn me
+from a height."</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, John Chivery," Little Dorrit answered, in a quiet way,
+"since you are so considerate as to ask me whether you shall say any
+more--if you please, no."</p>
+
+<p>"Never, Miss Amy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, if you please. Never."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord!" gasped young John.</p>
+
+<p>"When you think of us, John--I mean, my brother and sister and me--don't
+think of us as being any different from the rest; for whatever we once were
+we ceased to be long ago, and never can be any more. And, good-bye, John.
+And I hope you will have a good wife one day, and be a happy man. I am sure
+you will deserve to be happy, and you will be, John."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Miss Amy. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Marshalsea Becomes an Orphan</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It turned out that Mr. Dorrit, being of the Dorrits of Dorsetshire, was
+heir-at-law to a great fortune. Inquiries and investigations confirmed
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam broke the news to Little Dorrit, and together they went
+to the, Marshalsea. William Dorrit was sitting in his old grey gown and his
+old black cap in the sunlight by the window when they entered. "Father, Mr.
+Clennam has brought me such joyful and wonderful intelligence about
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>Her agitation was great, and the old man put his hand suddenly to his
+heart, and looked at Clennam.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Mr. Dorrit, what surprise would be the most unlocked for and
+the most acceptable to you. Do not be afraid to imagine it, or to say what
+it would be."</p>
+
+<p>He looked steadfastly at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to
+change into a very old, haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall
+beyond the window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out
+the hand that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone! And in its place are the means to
+possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr. Dorrit,
+there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will be free and
+highly prosperous."</p>
+
+<p>They had to fetch wine for the old man, and when he had swallowed a
+little he leaned back in his chair and cried. But he quickly recovered, and
+announced that everybody concerned should be nobly rewarded.</p>
+
+<p>"No one, my dear sir, shall say that he has an unsatisfied claim against
+me. Everybody shall be remembered. I will not go away from here in
+anybody's debt. I particularly wish to act munificently, Mr. Clennam."</p>
+
+<p>Clennam's offer of money for present contingencies was at once
+accepted.</p>
+
+<p>"I am obliged to you for the temporary accommodation, sir. Exceedingly
+temporary, but well timed--well timed. Be so kind, sir, as to add the
+amount to former advances."</p>
+
+<p>He grew more composed presently, and then when he seemed to be falling
+asleep unexpectedly sat up and said, "Mr. Clennam, am I to understand, my
+dear sir, that I could pass through the lodge at this moment, and take a
+walk?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain
+forms to be completed. It is but a few hours now."</p>
+
+<p>"A few hours, sir!" he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very
+easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to a
+man who is choking; for want of air?"</p>
+
+<p>It was his last demonstration for that time, but in the interval before
+the day of his departure he was very imperious with the lawyers concerned
+in his release, and a good deal of business was transacted.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Arthur Clennam received a cheque for &pound;24 93. 8d. from the
+solicitors of Edward Dorrit, Esq.--once "Tip"--with a note that the favour
+of the advance now repaid had not been asked of him.</p>
+
+<p>To the applications made by collegians within the so-soon-to-be-orphaned
+Marshalsea for small sums of money, Mr. Dorrit responded with the greatest
+liberality. He also invited the whole College to a comprehensive
+entertainment in the yard, and went about among the company on that
+occasion, and took notice of individuals, like a baron of the olden time,
+in a rare good humour.</p>
+
+<p>And now the final hour arrived when he and his family were to leave the
+prison for ever. The carriage was reported ready in the outer courtyard.
+Mr. Dorrit and his brother proceeded arm in arm, Edward Dorrit, Esq., and
+his sister Fanny followed, also arm in arm.</p>
+
+<p>There was not a collegian within doors, nor a turnkey absent, as they
+crossed the yard. Mr. Dorrit--whose meat and drink had many a time been
+bought with money presented by some of those who stood to watch him
+go--yielding to the vast speculation how the poor creatures were to get on
+without him, was great, and sad, but not absorbed. He patted children on
+the head like Sir Roger de Coverley going to church, spoke to people in the
+background by their Christian names, and condescended to all present.</p>
+
+<p>At last three honest cheers announced that he had passed the gate, and
+that the Marshalsea was an orphan.</p>
+
+<p>Only when the family had got into their carriage, and not before, Miss
+Fanny exclaimed, "Good gracious I Where's Amy?"</p>
+
+<p>Her father had thought she was with her sister. Her sister had thought
+she was somewhere or other. They had all trusted to find her, as they had
+always done, quietly in the right place at the right moment. This going
+away was, perhaps, the very first action of their joint lives that they had
+got through without her.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I do say, Pa," cried Miss Fanny, flushed and indignant, "that this
+is disgraceful! Here is that child, Amy, in her ugly old shabby dress.
+Disgracing us at the last moment by being carried out in that dress after
+all. And by that Mr. Clennam too!"</p>
+
+<p>Clennam appeared at the carriage-door, bearing the little insensible
+figure in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"She has been forgotten," he said. "I ran up to her room, and found the
+door open, and that she had fainted on the floor."</p>
+
+<p>They received her in the carriage, and the attendant, getting between
+Clennam and the carriage-door, with a sharp "By your leave, sir!" bundled
+up the steps, and drove away.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Another Prisoner in the Marshalsea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Dorrit family travelled abroad in handsome style, and in due time
+Miss Fanny married.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden seizure carried off old Mr. Dorrit, and he died thinking
+himself back in the Marshalsea. His brother Frederick, stricken with grief,
+did not long survive him.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam, who had gone into partnership with a friend named Doyce,
+unfortunately invested his money in the financial schemes of Mr. Merdle,
+the greatest swindler of the day, and when the crash came and Merdle
+committed suicide, Clennam with hundreds of other innocent persons was
+involved in the general ruin.</p>
+
+<p>Doyce was working at the time in Germany, and it was some weeks before
+he could be found; in the meantime, Clennam, being insolvent, was taken to
+the Marshalsea.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chivery was on the lock and young John was in the lodge when the
+Marshalsea was reached. The elder Mr. Chivery shook hands with him in a
+shamefaced kind of way, and said, "I don't call to mind, sir, as I was ever
+less glad to see you."</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner followed young John up the old staircase into the old room.
+"I thought you'd like the room, and here it is for you," said young
+John.</p>
+
+<p>Young John waited upon him; and it was young John who explained that he
+did this not on the ground of the prisoner's merits, but because of the
+merits of another, of one who loved the prisoner. Clennam tried to argue to
+himself the improbability of Little Dorrit loving him, but he wasn't
+altogether successful.</p>
+
+<p>He fell ill, and it was Little Dorrit whose living presence first
+cheered him when he returned from the world of feverish dreams and
+shadows.</p>
+
+<p>He did his best to dissuade her from coming. He was a ruined man, and
+the time when Little Dorrit and the prison had anything in common had long
+gone by.</p>
+
+<p>But still she came and often read to him. And one day she told him that
+all her money had gone as his had gone, lost in the Merdle whirlpool, and
+that her sister Fanny's was lost, too, in the same way.</p>
+
+<p>"I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When
+papa came over to England, just before his death, he confided everything he
+had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. Oh, my dearest and best,
+are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me?"</p>
+
+<p>Locked in his arms, held to his heart, she drew the slight hand round
+his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, when Doyce, who was a thoroughly good fellow, and successful
+to boot, found out his partner's plight, he came back and put things right,
+and the business was soon set going again.</p>
+
+<p>And on the very day of his release, Arthur Clennam and Little Dorrit
+went into the neighbouring church of St. George, and were married, Doyce
+giving the bride away.</p>
+
+<p>Little Dorrit and her husband walked out of the church alone when the
+signing of the register was done.</p>
+
+<p>They paused for a moment on the steps of the portico, and then went down
+into the roaring streets, inseparable and blessed.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens8">Martin Chuzzlewit</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> On its monthly publication, in 1843-44, "Martin Chuzzlewit"
+was, pecuniarily, the least successful of Dickens's serials, though popular
+as a book. It was his first novel after his American tour, and the storm of
+resentment that had hailed the appearance of "American Notes," in 1842, was
+intensified by his merciless satire of American characteristics and
+institutions in "Martin Chuzzlewit." Despite all adverse criticism,
+however, "Chuzzlewit" is worthy to rank with anything that ever came from
+the pen of the great Victorian novelist. It is a very long story, and a
+very full one; the canvas is crowded with a gallery of typical Dickensian
+people. Through Mrs. Gamp, Dickens dealt a death-blow to the drunken nurse
+of the period. The name Pecksniff has become synonymous with a certain type
+of hypocrite, and the adjective Pecksniffian is in common use wherever the
+English language is spoken. Charged with exaggeration regarding Mr.
+Pecksniff, Dickens wrote in the preface to "Martin Chuzzlewit," "All the
+Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that no such
+character ever existed. I will not offer any plea on his behalf to so
+powerful and genteel a body." Mrs. Gamp, though one of the humorous types
+that have, perhaps, contributed most largely to the fame of Dickens, does
+not appear in this epitome, the character being a minor one in the
+development of the story. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Pecksniff's New Pupil</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff lived in a little Wiltshire village within an easy journey
+of Salisbury.</p>
+
+<p>The brazen plate upon his door bore the inscription, "Pecksniff,
+Architect," to which Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added, "and
+Land Surveyor." Of his architectural doings nothing was clearly known,
+except that he had never designed or built anything.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not
+entirely, confined to the reception of pupils. His genius lay in ensnaring
+parents and guardians and pocketing premiums.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. Perhaps there never was a more moral man
+than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence. Some
+people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the way to
+a place, and never goes there; but these were his enemies.</p>
+
+<p>Into Mr. Pecksniff's house came young Martin Chuzzlewit, a relation of
+the architect's. Tom Pinch, Mr. Pecksniff's assistant, had driven over to
+Salisbury for the new pupil, and had already discoursed to Martin on Mr.
+Pecksniff and his family (for Mr. Pecksniff had two daughters--Mercy, and
+Charity), in whose good qualities he had a profound and pathetic
+belief.</p>
+
+<p>Festive preparations on a rather extensive scale were already completed
+for Martin's benefit on the night of his arrival. There were two bottles of
+currant wine, white and red; a dish of sandwiches, very long, and very
+slim; another of apples; another of captain's biscuits; a plate of oranges
+cut up small and gritty with powdered sugar; and a highly geological
+home-made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite took away Tom
+Pinch's breath, for though the new pupils were usually let down softly,
+particularly in the wine department, still this was a banquet, a sort of
+lord mayor's feast in private life, a something to think of, and hold on by
+afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>To this entertainment Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do full
+justice.</p>
+
+<p>"Martin," he said, addressing his daughters, "will seat himself between
+you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by me. This is a mingling that
+repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry." Here he
+took a captain's biscuit. "It is a poor heart that never rejoices; and our
+hearts are not poor. No!"</p>
+
+<p>The following morning Mr. Pecksniff announced that he must go to London.
+"On professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional
+business; and I promised my girls long ago that they should accompany me.
+We shall go forth to-night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old, my
+dear Martin--and it will be a week before we again deposit, our
+olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive branches," observed Mr.
+Pecksniff, in explanation, "I mean our unpretending luggage."</p>
+
+<p>"And now let me see," said Mr. Pecksniff presently, "how can you best
+employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to give me
+your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London, or a tomb for a sheriff,
+or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a nobleman's park. A pump is
+a very chaste practice. I have found that a lamp-post is calculated to
+refine the mind and give it a classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike
+has a remarkable effect upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning
+with an ornamental turnpike?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Martin doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay," said that gentleman. "Come! as you're ambitious, and are a very
+neat draughtsman, you shall try your hand on these proposals for a
+grammar-school. When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of
+occupation, Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of surveying the
+back-garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the road between this
+house and the finger-post, or in any other practical and pleasing pursuit.
+There is a cart-load of loose bricks, and a score or two of old flower-pots
+in the back-yard. If you could pile them up, my dear Martin, into any form
+which would remind me on my return, say, of St. Peter's at Rome, or the
+Mosque of St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once improving to
+you and agreeable to my feelings."</p>
+
+<p>The coach having rolled away, with the olive-branches in the boot and
+the family of doves inside, Martin Chuzzlewit and Tom Pinch were left
+together. Now, there was something in the very simplicity of Pinch that
+invited confidences, and young Martin could not refrain from telling his
+story.</p>
+
+<p>"I must talk openly to somebody," he began, "I'll talk openly to you.
+You must know, then, that I have been bred up from childhood with great
+expectations, and have always been taught to believe that one day I should
+be very rich. Certain things, however, have led to my being
+disinherited."</p>
+
+<p>"By your father?" inquired Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. Now, my
+grandfather has a great many good points, but he has two very great faults,
+which are the staple of his bad side. He has the most confirmed obstinacy
+of character, and he is most abominably selfish; I have heard that these
+are failings of our family, and I have to be very thankful that they
+haven't descended to me. Now I come to the cream of my story, and the
+occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch. I am in love with one of
+the most beautiful girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is wholly and
+entirely dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and if he were to
+know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home and everything
+she possesses in the world. My grandfather, although I had conducted myself
+from the first with the utmost circumspection, is full of jealousy and
+mistrust, and suspected me of loving her. He said nothing to her, but
+attacked me in private, and charged me with designing to corrupt the
+fidelity to himself--observe his selfishness--of a young creature who was
+his only disinterested and faithful companion. The upshot of it was that I
+was to renounce her or be renounced by him. Of course, I was not going to
+yield to him, and here I am!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pinch, after staring at the fire, said, "Pecksniff, of course, you
+knew before?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only by name. My grandfather kept not only himself, but me, aloof from
+all his relations. But our separation took place in a town in the
+neighbouring county. I saw Pecksniff's advertisement in the paper when I
+was at Salisbury, and answered it, having always had some natural taste in
+the matters to which it referred. I was doubly bent on coming to him if
+possible, on account of his being--"</p>
+
+<p>"Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rubbing his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, not so much on that account," returned Martin, "as because my
+grandfather has an inveterate dislike to him, and after the old man's
+arbitrary treatment of me, I had a natural desire to run as directly
+counter to all his opinions as I could."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Mr. Pecksniff Discharges His Duty</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters took up their lodging in London at Mrs.
+Todgers's Commercial Boarding House, and it was at that favoured abode that
+old Martin Chuzzlewit, whose grandson had just entered Mr. Pecksniff's
+house, sought him out.</p>
+
+<p>"I very much regret," said old Martin, "that you and I held such a
+conversation as we did when we met awhile since. The intentions that I bear
+towards you now are of another kind. Deserted by all in whom I have ever
+trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who should help and sustain me, I fly
+to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my ally; to attach yourself to me
+by ties of interest and expectations. I regret having been severed from you
+so long."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in
+rapture.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you don't know what an old man's humours are," resumed old
+Martin. "You don't know what it is to be required to court his likings and
+dislikings; to do his bidding, be it what it may. You have a new inmate in
+your house. He must quit it."</p>
+
+<p>"For--for yours?" asked Mr. Pecksniff.</p>
+
+<p>"For any shelter he can find. He has deceived you."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not," said Mr. Pecksniff eagerly, "I trust not. I have been
+extremely well disposed towards that young man. Deceit--deceit, my dear Mr.
+Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of deceit,
+to renounce him instantly."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation, my dear
+sir?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Don't tell me that. For the honour of human
+nature say you're not about to tell me that!"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought he had suppressed it."</p>
+
+<p>The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure was
+only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What, had they
+taken to their hearth and home a secretely contracted serpent?
+Horrible!</p>
+
+<p>Old Martin then went on to inquire when they would be returning home;
+and, after relieving Mr. Pecksniff's unexpressed anxiety by mentioning that
+Mary Graham, the young lady whom the old man had adopted, would receive
+nothing at his death, announced that they might expect to see him before
+long.</p>
+
+<p>With a hasty farewell, the old man left the house, followed to the door
+by Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters. A few days later the Pecksniffs set out
+for home.</p>
+
+<p>Tom Pinch and Martin were both out in the lane to meet the coach, but
+Mr. Pecksniff pointedly ignored Martin's presence, even when the house had
+been reached; and it was not till Martin sharply demanded an explanation
+that he addressed him.</p>
+
+<p>"You have deceived me," said Mr. Pecksniff. "You have imposed upon a
+nature which you knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. This lowly roof,
+sir, must not be contaminated by the presence of one who has, further,
+deceived--and cruelly deceived--an honourable and venerable gentleman, and
+who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my protection. I
+weep for your depravity. I mourn over your corruption, but I cannot have a
+leper and a serpent for an inmate! Go forth," said Mr. Pecksniff,
+stretching out his hand, "go forth, young man! Like all who know you, I
+renounce you!"</p>
+
+<p>Martin made a stride forward at these words, and Mr. Pecksniff stepped
+back so hastily that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell
+in a sitting posture on the ground, where he remained, perhaps considering
+it the safest place.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at him, Pinch," said Martin, "as he lies there--a cloth for dirty
+hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning, servile hound! And, mark me,
+Pinch, the day will come when even you will find him out!"</p>
+
+<p>He pointed at him as he spoke with unutterable contempt, and flinging
+his hat upon his head, walked from the house. He went on so rapidly that he
+was clear of the village before Tom Pinch overtook him.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going?" cried Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he answered sternly, "I am."</p>
+
+<p>"Where?" asked Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Yes, I do--to America."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--New Eden</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Martin did not go to America alone, for Mark Tapley, formerly of the
+Blue Dragon, an inn in the village where Mr. Pecksniff resided, insisted on
+accompanying him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sir, here am I, without a sitiwation," Mr. Tapley put it, "without
+any want of wages for a year to come--for I saved up (I didn't mean to do
+it, but I couldn't help it) at the Dragon; here am I with a liking for
+what's wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out strong
+under circumstances as would keep other men down--and will you take me, or
+will you leave me?"</p>
+
+<p>Once landed in the United States, the question of what to do arose, and
+Martin decided to invest his savings in buying land in the rising township
+of New Eden.</p>
+
+<p>"Mark, you shall be a partner in the business," said Martin (Mark having
+invested &pound;37 to Martin's &pound;8); "an equal partner with myself. We
+are no longer master and servant. I will put in, as my additional capital,
+my professional knowledge, and half the annual profits, as long as it is
+carried on, shall be yours. Our business shall be commenced, as soon as we
+get to New Eden, under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley."</p>
+
+<p>"Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, "don't have my name in it! I must be
+'Co.,' I must."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have your own way, Mark."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank 'ee sir! If any country gentleman thereabouts in the public way
+wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I could take that part of the
+bis'ness, sir."</p>
+
+<p>It was a long steamboat journey, but at last they stopped at Eden. The
+waters of the Deluge might have left it but a week ago, so choked with
+slime and matted growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.</p>
+
+<p>A man advanced towards them when they landed, walking slowly, leaning on
+a stick.</p>
+
+<p>"Strangers!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"The very same," said Mark. "How are you, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. "I haven't stood
+upright these many weeks. My eldest son has a chill upon him. My youngest
+died last week."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart!" said Mark. "The goods
+is safe enough," he added, turning to Martin, and pointing to their boxes.
+"There ain't many people about to make away with 'em. What a comfort that
+is!"</p>
+
+<p>"No," cried the man; "we've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away.
+Them that we have here don't come out at night."</p>
+
+<p>"The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?" said Mark.</p>
+
+<p>"It's deadly poison," was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him as
+ambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explained the
+nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his own
+log-house, he said.</p>
+
+<p>It was a miserable cabin, rudely constructed of the trunks of trees, the
+door of which had either fallen down or been carried away. When they had
+brought up their chest, Martin gave way, and lay down on the ground, and
+wept aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord love you, sir," cried Mr. Tapley. "Don't do that. Anything but
+that! It never helped man, woman, or child over the lowest fence yet, sir,
+and it never will."</p>
+
+<p>Mark stole out gently in the morning while his companion slept, and took
+a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of cabins in
+the whole, and half of these appeared untenanted. Their own land was mere
+forest. He went down to the landing-place, where they had left their goods,
+and there he found some half a dozen men, wan and forlorn, who helped him
+to carry them to the log-house.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was by this time stirring, but he had greatly changed, even in
+one night. He was very pale and languid, and spoke of pains and
+weakness.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. "Why, you must be ill. Wait half
+a minute, till I run up to one of our neighbours and find out what's best
+to be took."</p>
+
+<p>Martin was soon dangerously ill, very near his death. Mark, fatigued in
+mind and body, working all the day and sitting up at night, worn by hard
+living, surrounded by dismal and discouraging circumstances, never
+complained or yielded in the least degree. And then, when Martin was
+better, Mark was taken ill. He fought against it; but the malady fought
+harder, and his efforts were vain.</p>
+
+<p>"Floored for the present, sir," he said one morning, sinking back upon
+his bed, "but jolly."</p>
+
+<p>And now it was Martin's turn to work and sit beside the bed and watch,
+and listen through the long, long nights to every sound in the gloomy
+wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>Martin's reflections in those days slowly showed him his own
+selfishness, and when Mark Tapley recovered, he found a singular alteration
+in his companion.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what to make of him," he thought one night. "He don't
+think of himself half as much as he did. It's a swindle. There'll be no
+credit in being jolly with <i>him</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>The settlement was deserted. The only thing to be done was to return to
+England.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Downfall of Pecksniff</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Old Martin Chuzzlewit had for some time taken up his residence at Mr.
+Pecksniff's, and Martin and Mark Tapley went to the Blue Dragon on their
+return.</p>
+
+<p>Martin at once sought out his grandfather, and marched into the house
+resolved on reconciliation. The old man listened to his appeal in silence;
+but Mr. Pecksniff spoke for him, and bade the young man begone.</p>
+
+<p>But old Martin was awake to Pecksniff's character, and resolved to set
+Mr. Pecksniff right, and Mr. Pecksniff's victims, too.</p>
+
+<p>Mark Tapley was the first person old Martin invited to see him. The old
+man had gone to London, and his grandson, Mary Graham, and Tom Pinch were
+all summoned to wait on him at a certain hour.</p>
+
+<p>From Mark, old Martin learnt that his grandson was an altered man.</p>
+
+<p>"There was always a deal of good in him," said Mr. Tapley, "but a little
+of it got crusted over somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that
+'ere paste, but--well, I think it may have been you, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"So you think," said Martin, "that his old faults are in some degree of
+my creation?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I'm very sorry, but I can't unsay it. I don't believe that
+neither of you ever gave the other a fair chance."</p>
+
+<p>Presently came a knock at the door, and young Martin entered. The old
+man pointed to a distant chair. Then came Tom Pinch and his sister, Ruth;
+and Mary Graham; and Mrs. Lupin, the landlady of the Blue Dragon; and John
+Westlock, an old friend of Tom Pinch's.</p>
+
+<p>"Set the door open, Mark!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit.</p>
+
+<p>The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all knew
+it. It was Mr. Pecksniff's; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry, too, for he
+came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he stumbled once or
+twice.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is my venerable friend?" he cried upon the upper landing. And
+then, darting in and catching sight of old Martin, "My venerable friend is
+well?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff looked round upon the assembled group, and shook his head
+reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, vermin!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Oh bloodsuckers! Horde of unnatural
+plunderers and robbers! Leave him! Leave him, I say! Begone! Abscond! You
+had better be off! Wander over the face of the earth, young sirs, and do
+not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the grey hairs of the
+patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have the honour to act as
+an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff."</p>
+
+<p>He advanced, with outstretched arms, to take the old man's hand; but he
+had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its grasp.
+As he came smiling on, and got within his reach, old Martin, burning with
+indignation, rose up and struck him to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!" said Martin. And Mr. Tapley
+actually did drag him away, and struck him upon the floor with his back
+against the opposite wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Hear me, rascal!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. "I have summoned you here to
+witness your own work. Come hither, my dear Martin! Why did we ever part?
+How could we ever part? How could you fly from me to him? The fault was
+mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so, and I have known it long.
+Mary, my love, come here."</p>
+
+<p>She trembled, and was very pale; but he sat her in his own chair, and
+stood beside it holding her hand, Martin standing by him.</p>
+
+<p>"The curse of our house," said the old man, looking kindly down upon
+her, "has been the love of self--has ever been the love of self." He drew
+one hand through Martin's arm, and standing so, between them, proceeded,
+"What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can hold it."</p>
+
+<p>Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist--well,
+well!</p>
+
+<p>But it was good in him that even then, in high fortune and happiness, he
+had still a hand left to stretch out to Tom Pinch.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens9">Nicholas Nickleby</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Writing in 1848, Charles Dickens declared that when "Nicholas
+Nickleby" was begun in 1838 "there were then a good many-cheap Yorkshire
+schools in existence. There are very few now." In the preface to the
+completed book the author mentioned that more than one Yorkshire
+schoolmaster laid claim to be the original of Squeers, and he had reason to
+believe "one worthy has actually consulted authorities learned in the law
+as to his having good grounds on which to rest an action for libel." But
+Squeers, as Dickens insisted, was the representative of a class, and not an
+individual. The Brothers Cheeryble were "no creations of the author's
+brain" Dickens also wrote; and in consequence of this statement "hundreds
+upon hundreds of letters from all sorts of people" poured in upon him to be
+forwarded "to the originals of the Brothers Cheeryble." They were the
+Brothers Grant, cotton-spinners, near Manchester. "Nicholas Nickleby" was
+completed in October, 1839. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--A Yorkshire Schoolmaster</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Nickleby, a country gentleman of small estate, having endeavoured to
+increase his scanty fortune by speculation, found himself ruined; he took
+to his bed (apparently resolved to keep that, at all events), and, after
+embracing his wife and children, very soon departed this life. So Mrs.
+Nickleby went to London to wait upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph
+Nickleby, and with her two children, Nicholas, then nineteen, and Kate, a
+year or two younger, took lodgings in the Strand.</p>
+
+<p>It was to these apartments that Ralph Nickleby, a hard, unscrupulous,
+cunning money-lender, came on receipt of the widow's note.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you willing to work, sir?" said Ralph, frowning at his nephew.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>"Then see here," said his uncle. "This caught my eyes this morning, and
+you may thank your stars for it."</p>
+
+<p>With that Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his pocket and read
+the following advertisement.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Education</i>.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers' Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at
+the delightful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, youths are boarded,
+clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, instructed in all languages
+living or dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry, trigonometry, the use
+of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if required), writing, arithmetic,
+fortification, and every other branch of classic literature. Terms, twenty
+guineas per annum. No extras, no vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr.
+Squeers is in town, and attends daily from one till four, at the Saracen's
+Head, Snow Hill. N.B.--An able assistant wanted. Annual salary, &pound;5, A
+Master of Arts would be preferred."</p>
+
+<p>"There!" said Ralph, folding the paper again. "Let him get that
+situation and his fortune's made. If he don't like that, let him get one
+for himself."</p>
+
+<p>"I am ready to do anything you wish me," said Nicholas, starting gaily
+up. "Let us try our fortune with Mr. Squeers at once; he can but
+refuse."</p>
+
+<p>"He won't do that," said Ralph. "He will be glad to have you on my
+recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be a
+partner in the establishment in no time."</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas, having taken down the address of Mr. Wackford Squeers, the
+uncle and nephew at once went forth in quest of that accomplished
+gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you recollect me?" said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
+schoolmaster, as the Saracen's Head.</p>
+
+<p>"You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town
+for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a boy
+who, unfortunately----"</p>
+
+<p>"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
+sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
+assistant. Do you really want one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," answered Squeers.</p>
+
+<p>"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
+the man you want."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
+youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
+being a Master of Arts?"</p>
+
+<p>"The absence of the college degree <i>is</i> an objection." replied
+Squeers, considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
+nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
+apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
+Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
+assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.</p>
+
+<p>"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
+coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
+with us."</p>
+
+<p>"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
+to do but keep yourself warm."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--At Dotheboys Hall</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
+arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the pump's
+froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be content with
+giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the well, and can get
+a bucketful out for the boys."</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
+the school-room.</p>
+
+<p>"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
+our shop."</p>
+
+<p>It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
+copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
+desks and forms.</p>
+
+<p>But the pupils!</p>
+
+<p>Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
+and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
+bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
+horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
+been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
+yet, painful as the scene was, it had its grotesque features.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
+nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of brimstone
+and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in succession,
+using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.</p>
+
+<p>"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
+the operation was over.</p>
+
+<p>A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
+desk, and called up the first class.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
+said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
+the first boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."</p>
+
+<p>"So he is, to be sure," replied Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode
+of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean, verb
+active, to make bright. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When the boy
+knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the second boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."</p>
+
+<p>"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
+bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned that
+bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's our
+system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"</p>
+
+<p>"A beast, sir," replied the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
+for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
+perfect in that, go and look after <i>my</i> horse, and rub him down well,
+or I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till
+somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and they
+want the coppers filled."</p>
+
+<p>The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
+lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
+see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and know
+that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.</p>
+
+<p>In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
+Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
+slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.</p>
+
+<p>It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
+displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a proud,
+haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that "she'd bring his
+pride down"), and the petty indignities this lady could inflict upon him.
+He bore with the bad food, dirty lodging, and daily round of squalid misery
+in the school.</p>
+
+<p>But there came a day when Smike, unable to face his tormentors any
+longer, ran away. He was taken within four-and-twenty hours, and brought
+back, bedabbled with mud and rain, haggard and worn--to all appearance more
+dead than alive.</p>
+
+<p>The work this unhappy drudge performed would have cost the establishment
+some ten or twelve shillings a week in the way of wages, and Squeers, who,
+as a matter of policy, made severe examples of all runaways from Dotheboys
+Hall, prepared to take full vengeance on Smike.</p>
+
+<p>At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby
+started up from his desk, and cried "Stop!" in a furious voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Touch that boy at your peril. I will not stand by and see it done."</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
+spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.</p>
+
+<p>All Nicholas's feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were
+concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon
+the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the
+throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her
+partner's coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary. With
+the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining strength
+into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from him with all
+the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated over an adjacent
+form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his descent, lay at full
+length on the ground, stunned and motionless.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the
+room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched boldly
+out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Brighter Days for Nicholas</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned
+all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry
+office in London. And as he stood there looking at the various placards in
+the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted blue
+coat, happened to stop too.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas caught the old gentleman's eye, and began to wonder whether the
+stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.</p>
+
+<p>As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to
+speak, and good-naturedly stood still.</p>
+
+<p>"I was only going to say," said Nicholas, "that I hoped you had some
+object in consulting those advertisements in the window."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay; what object now?" returned the old gentleman. "Did you think I
+wanted a situation now, eh? I thought the same of you, at first, upon my
+word I did."</p>
+
+<p>"If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
+from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. "The kindness of your face and
+manner--both so unlike any I have ever seen--tempt me to speak in a way I
+should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of
+London."</p>
+
+<p>"Wilderness! Yes, it is; it is. It was a wilderness to me once. I came
+here barefoot--I have never forgotten it. What's the matter, how did it all
+come about?" said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas,
+and walking him up the street. "In mourning, too, eh?" laying his finger on
+the sleeve of his black coat.</p>
+
+<p>"My father," replied Nicholas.</p>
+
+<p>"Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother,
+perhaps?"</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Brothers and sisters, too, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"One sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor thing, poor thing! You're a scholar too, I dare say. Education's a
+great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very fine
+thing. Tell me more of your history, all of it. No impertinent
+curiosity--no, no!"</p>
+
+<p>There was something so earnest and guileless in the way this was said
+that Nicholas could not resist it. So he told his story, and, at the end,
+the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they emerged
+in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into some business
+premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers," on the doorpost,
+and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk in the
+counting-house.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he is, sir," said the clerk.</p>
+
+<p>What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor took him into a
+room and presented him to another old gentleman, the very type and model of
+himself--the same face and figure, the same clothes. Nobody could have
+doubted their being twin brothers.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, "here is a young friend of mine
+that we must assist." Then brother Charles related what Nicholas had told
+him. And, after that, and some conversation between the brothers, Tim
+Linkinwater was called in, and brother Ned whispered a few words in his
+ear.</p>
+
+<p>"Tim," said brother Charles, "you understand that we have an intention
+of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house."</p>
+
+<p>Brother Ned remarked that Tim quite approved of it, and Tim, having
+nodded, said, with resolution, "But I'm not coming an hour later in the
+morning, you know. I'm not going to the country either. It's forty-four
+years since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I've opened the
+safe all that time every morning at nine, and I've never slept out of the
+back attic one single night. This ain't the first time you've talked about
+superannuating me, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles; but, if you please, we'll
+make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore."</p>
+
+<p>With which words Tim Linkinwater stalked out, with the air of a man who
+was thoroughly resolved not to be put down.</p>
+
+<p>The brothers coughed.</p>
+
+<p>"He must be done something with, brother Ned. We must, disregard his
+scruples; he must be made a partner."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right, quite right, brother Charles. If he won't listen to
+reason, we must do it against his will. But, in the meantime, we are
+keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be
+anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present." And at
+that the brothers hurried Nicholas out of the office, shaking hands with
+him all the way.</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of brighter days for Nicholas and for Mrs.
+Nickleby and Kate. The brothers Cheeryble not only took Nicholas into their
+office, but a small cottage at Bow, then quite out in the country, was
+found for the widow and her children.</p>
+
+<p>There never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first
+week at that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new
+had been found. One day it was a grape-vine, and another day it was a
+boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlour cupboard at the
+bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items.</p>
+
+<p>As for Nicholas's work in the counting-house, Tim Linkinwater was
+satisfied with the young man the very first day.</p>
+
+<p>Tim turned pale and stood watching with breathless anxiety when Nicholas
+made his first entry in the books of Cheeryble Brothers, while the two
+brothers looked on with smiling faces.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the old clerk nodded his head, signifying "He'll do." But when
+Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, Tim Linkinwater, unable to
+restrain his satisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and caught
+him rapturously by the hand.</p>
+
+<p>"He has done it!" said Tim, looking round triumphantly at his employers.
+"His capital 'B's' and 'D's' are exactly like mine; he dots his small 'i's'
+and crosses every 't.' There ain't such a young man in all London. The City
+can't produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it!"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Brothers Cheeryble</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In course of time the brothers Cheeryble, in their frequent visits to
+the cottage at Bow, often took with them their nephew Frank; and it also
+happened that Miss Madeline Bray, a ward of the brothers, was taken to the
+cottage to recover from a serious illness.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas, from the first time he had seen Madeline in the office of
+Cheeryble Brothers, had fallen in love with her; but he decided that as an
+honourable man no word of love must pass his lips. While Kate Nickleby had
+been equally firm in declining to listen to any proposal from Frank.</p>
+
+<p>It was some time after Madeline had left the cottage, and Nicholas and
+Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own regrets, and to
+live for each other and for their mother, when there came one evening, per
+Mr. Linkinwater, an invitation from the brothers to dinner on the next day
+but one.</p>
+
+<p>"You may depend on it that this means something besides dinner," said
+Mrs. Nickleby solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>When the great day arrived who should be there at the house of the
+brothers but Frank and Madeline.</p>
+
+<p>"Young men," said brother Charles, "shake hands."</p>
+
+<p>"I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I," rejoined Frank, and the two young men clasped hands
+heartily.</p>
+
+<p>The old gentleman took them aside.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to see you friends--close and firm friends. Frank, look here!
+Mrs. Nickleby, will you come on the other side? This is a copy of the will
+of Madeline's grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of &pound;12,000. Now,
+Frank, you were largely instrumental in recovering this document. The
+fortune is but a small one, but we love Madeline. Will you become a suitor
+for her hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument,
+believing that her hand was already pledged elsewhere. In this, it seems, I
+judged hastily."</p>
+
+<p>"As you always do, sir!" cried brother Charles. "How dare you think,
+Frank, that we could have you marry for money? How dare you go and make
+love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without telling us first, and letting us
+speak for you. Mr. Nickleby, sir, Frank judged hastily, but he judged, for
+once, correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied--give me your hand--it is
+occupied by you and worthily. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby, as we, her
+dearest friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would have
+<i>him</i> choose. He should have your sister's little hand, sir, if she
+had refused it a score of times--ay, he should, and he shall! What? You are
+the children of a worthy gentleman. The time was, sir, when my brother Ned
+and I were two poor, simple-hearted boys, wandering almost barefoot to seek
+bur fortunes. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, what a happy day this is for you and me!
+If our poor mother had only lived to see us now, Ned, how proud it would
+have made her dear heart at last!"</p>
+
+<p>So Madeline gave her heart and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day,
+and at the same time, Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. Madeline's money
+was invested in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Nicholas had
+become a partner, and before many years elapsed the business was carried on
+in the names of "Cheeryble and Nickleby."</p>
+
+<p>Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreating and brow-beating, to
+accept a share in the house; but he could never be prevailed upon to suffer
+the publication of his name as partner, and always persisted in the
+punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties.</p>
+
+<p>The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were
+happy?</p>
+
+<p>The first act of Nicholas, when he became a rich and prosperous
+merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and there
+came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was altered and
+enlarged; but no tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any
+association of bygone times was ever removed or changed. Mr. Squeers,
+having come within the meshes of the law over some nefarious scheme of
+Ralph Nickleby's, suffered transportation beyond the seas, and with his
+disappearance Dotheboys Hall was broken up for good.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens10">Oliver Twist</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Adventures of Oliver Twist," published serially in
+"Bentley's Miscellany," 1837-39, and in book form in 1838, was the second
+of Dickens's novels. It lacks the exuberance of "Pickwick," and is more
+limited in its scenes and characters than any other novel he wrote,
+excepting "Hard Times" and "Great Expectations." But the description of the
+workhouse, its inmates and governors, is done in Dickens's best style, and
+was a frontal attack on the Poor Law administration of the time. Bumble,
+indeed, has passed into common use as the typical workhouse official of the
+least satisfactory sort. No less powerful than the picture of Oliver's
+wretched childhood is the description of the thieves' kitchen, presided
+over by Fagin. Bill Sikes and the Artful Dodger are household words for
+criminals, and the character of Fagin is drawn with wonderful skill in this
+terrible view of the underworld of London. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Parish Boy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Oliver was born in the workhouse, and his mother died the same night.
+Not even a promised reward of &pound;10 could produce any information as to
+the boy's father or the mother's name. The woman was young, frail, and
+delicate--a stranger to the parish.</p>
+
+<p>"How comes he to have any name at all, then?" said Mrs. Mann (who was
+responsible for the early bringing up of the workhouse children) to Mr.
+Bumble, the parish beadle.</p>
+
+<p>The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I invented it.
+We name our foundings in alphabetical order. The last was a S; Swubble I
+named him. This was a T; Twist I named <i>him</i>. I have got names ready
+made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we
+come to Z."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver, being now nine years old, was removed from the tender mercies of
+Mrs. Mann, in whose wretched home not one kind word or look had ever
+lighted the gloom of his infant years, and was taken into the
+workhouse.</p>
+
+<p>Now the members of the board, who were long-headed men, had just
+established the rule that all poor people should have the alternative (for
+they would compel nobody, not they) of being starved by a gradual process
+in the house, or by a quick one out of it. All relief was inseparable from
+the workhouse, and the thin gruel issued three times a day to its
+inmates.</p>
+
+<p>The system was in full operation for the first six months after Oliver
+Twist's admission, and boys having generally excellent appetites, Oliver
+Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation. Each boy
+had one porringer of gruel, and no more. At last the boys got so voracious
+and wild with hunger, that one, who was tall for his age and hadn't been
+used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small cook's shop),
+hinted darkly to his companions that unless he had another basin of gruel
+<i>per diem</i> he was afraid he might some night happen to eat the boy who
+slept next him, a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye,
+and they implicitly believed him. A council was held, lots were cast who
+should walk up to the master after supper that evening and ask for more,
+and it fell to Oliver Twist.</p>
+
+<p>The evening arrived, the boys took their places. The master, in his
+cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper to ladle out the gruel; his
+pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him, the gruel was served out,
+and a long grace was said over the short commons.</p>
+
+<p>The gruel disappeared, the boys whispered to each other, and winked at
+Oliver, while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was
+desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table,
+and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat
+alarmed at his own temerity, "Please, sir, I want some more."</p>
+
+<p>The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in
+stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then said,
+"What!"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."</p>
+
+<p>The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in
+his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.</p>
+
+<p>The board were sitting in solemn conclave when Mr. Bumble rushed into
+the room in great excitement, and addressing a gentleman in a high chair,
+said, "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for
+more!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"For <i>more</i>?" said the chairman. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and
+answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had
+eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did, sir," replied Bumble.</p>
+
+<p>"That boy will be hung," said a gentleman in a white waistcoat. "I know
+that boy will be hung."</p>
+
+<p>Nobody disputed the opinion. Oliver was ordered into instant
+confinement, and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
+workhouse gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take
+Oliver Twist off their hands. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist
+were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade,
+business, or calling.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep, was the first to respond to this
+offer.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a nasty trade," said the chairman of the board.</p>
+
+<p>"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now," said another
+member.</p>
+
+<p>"That's because they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley
+to make 'em come down again," said Gamfield. "That's all smoke, and no
+blaze; vereas smoke only sinds him to sleep, and that ain't no use in
+making a boy come down. Boys is wery obstinite and wery lazy, gen'l'men,
+and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down with a run.
+It's humane, too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the chimbley,
+roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate theirselves."</p>
+
+<p>The board consented to hand over Oliver to the chimney-sweep (the
+premium being reduced to &pound;3 10s.), but the magistrates declined to
+sanction the indentures, and it was Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, who
+finally relieved the board of their responsibility.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sowerberry's ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight. He left the
+house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across
+fields, and gained the high road outside the town. A milestone intimated
+that it was seventy miles to London. In London he would be beyond the reach
+of Mr. Bumble; to London he would trudge.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Artful Dodger</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was on the seventh morning after he had left his native place that
+Oliver limped slowly into the town of Barnet. Tired and hungry he sat down
+on a doorstep, and presently was roused by the question "Hallo, my covey,
+what's the row?"</p>
+
+<p>The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer was about his
+own age, but one of the queerest-looking boys that Oliver had ever seen. He
+was short for his age, and dirty, and he had about him all the airs and
+manners of a man. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his heels,
+and he had turned the cuffs back half-way up his arm to get his hands out
+of the sleeves. Altogether he was as roystering and swaggering a young
+gentleman as ever stood four feet six in his bluchers.</p>
+
+<p>"You want grub," said this strange boy, helping Oliver to rise; "and you
+shall have it. I'm at low-watermark myself, only one bob and a magpie; but
+as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump."</p>
+
+<p>"Going to London?" said the strange boy, while they sat and finished a
+meal in a small public-house.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Got any lodgings?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Money?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>The strange boy whistled.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you? Well,
+I've got to be in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman as
+lives there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the
+change--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you."</p>
+
+<p>This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, and on
+the way to London, where they arrived at nightfall, Oliver learnt that his
+friend's name was Jack Dawkins, but that he was known among his intimates
+as "The Artful Dodger."</p>
+
+<p>In Field Lane, in the slums of Saffron Hill, the Dodger pushed open the
+door of a house, and drew Oliver within.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, then," cried a voice, in reply to his whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"Plummy and slam," said the Dodger.</p>
+
+<p>This seemed to be a watchword, for a man at once appeared with a
+candle.</p>
+
+<p>"There's two on you," said the man. "Who's the t'other one, and where
+does he come from?"</p>
+
+<p>"A new pal from Greenland," replied Jack Dawkins. "Is Fagin
+upstairs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he's sortin the wipes. Up with you."</p>
+
+<p>The room that Oliver was taken into was black with age and dirt. Several
+rough beds, made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor.
+Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger,
+smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged
+men. An old shrivelled Jew, of repulsive face, was standing over the fire,
+dividing his attention between a frying-pan and a clothes-horse full of
+silk handkerchiefs.</p>
+
+<p>The Dodger whispered a few words to the Jew, and then said aloud, "This
+is him, Fagin, my friend Oliver Twist."</p>
+
+<p>The Jew grinned. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very."</p>
+
+<p>A good supper Oliver had that night, and a heavy sleep, and a hearty
+breakfast next morning.</p>
+
+<p>When the breakfast was cleared away, Fagin, who was quite a merry old
+gentleman, and the Dodger and another boy named Charley Bates, played at a
+very curious game. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one
+pocket of his trousers, a note-book in the other, and a watch in his
+waistcoat, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, and spectacle-case
+and handkerchief in his coat-pocket, trotted up and down the room in
+imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about the streets;
+while the Dodger and Charley Bates had to get all these things out of his
+pockets without being observed. It was so very funny that Oliver laughed
+till the tears ran down his face.</p>
+
+<p>A few days later, and he understood the full meaning of the game.</p>
+
+<p>The Dodger and Charley Bates had taken Oliver out for a walk, and after
+sauntering along, they suddenly pulled up short on Clerkenwell Green, at
+the sight of an old gentleman reading at a bookstall. So intent was he over
+his book that he might have been sitting in an easy chair in his study.</p>
+
+<p>To Oliver's horror, the Dodger plunged his hand into the gentleman's
+pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and handed it to Bates. Then both boys ran
+away round the corner at full speed. Oliver, frightened at what he had
+seen, ran off, too; the old gentleman, at the same moment missing his
+handkerchief, and seeing Oliver scudding off, concluded he was the thief,
+and gave chase, still holding his book in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The cry of "Stop thief!" was raised. Oliver was knocked down, captured,
+and taken to the police-station by a constable.</p>
+
+<p>The magistrate was still sitting, and Oliver would have been convicted
+there and then but for the arrival of the bookseller.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, stop! Don't take him away! I saw it all! I keep the bookstall,"
+cried the man. "I saw three boys, two others, and the prisoner here. The
+robbery was committed by another boy. I saw that this one was amazed by
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was acquitted. But he had fainted. Mr. Brownlow, for that was the
+name of the old gentleman, shocked and moved at the boy's deathly
+whiteness, straightway carried the boy off in a cab to his own house in a
+quiet, shady street near Pentonville.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Back in Fagin's Den</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>For many days Oliver remained insensible to the goodness of his new
+friends. But all that careful nursing could do was done, and he slowly and
+surely recovered. Mr. Brownlow, a kind-hearted old bachelor, took the
+greatest interest in his <i>prot&eacute;g&eacute;</i>, and Oliver implored
+him not to turn him out of doors to wander in the streets.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear child," said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver's
+appeal, "you need not be afraid of my deserting you. I have been deceived
+before in people I have endeavored to benefit, but I feel strongly disposed
+to trust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested in your behalf than I
+can well account for. Let me hear your story; speak the truth to me, and
+you shall not be friendless while I am alive."</p>
+
+<p>A certain unmistakable likeness in Oliver to a lady's portrait that was
+on the wall of the room struck Mr. Brownlow. What connection could there be
+between the original of the portrait, and this poor child?</p>
+
+<p>But before Mr. Brownlow had heard Oliver's story he had lost the boy.
+For Fagin, horribly uneasy lest Oliver should be the means of betraying his
+late companions, resolved to get him back as quickly as possible. To
+accomplish his evil purpose, Nancy, a young woman who belonged to Fagin's
+gang, and who had seen Oliver, was prevailed upon to undertake the
+commission.</p>
+
+<p>Now, the very evening before Oliver was to tell his story to Mr.
+Brownlow, the boy, anxious to prove his honesty, had set out with some
+books on an errand to the bookseller at Clerkenwell Green.</p>
+
+<p>"You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, "that you have brought these books
+back, and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This is a
+five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten shillings
+change."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied Oliver eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>He was walking briskly along, thinking how happy and contented he ought
+to feel, when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud,
+"Oh, my dear brother!" He had hardly looked up when he was stopped by
+having a pair of arms thrown tight round his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me. Who is it? What are
+you stopping me for?"</p>
+
+<p>The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the
+young woman who had embraced him.</p>
+
+<p>"I've found him! Oh, Oliver, Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy to make me
+suffer such distress on your account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've found
+him! Thank gracious goodness heavens, I've found him!"</p>
+
+<p>The young woman burst out crying, and a couple of women standing by
+asked what was the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, "he ran away from his parents, and
+went and joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke his
+mother's heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Young wretch!" said one woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Go home, do, you little brute," said the other.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't know her. I haven't
+any sister or father or mother. I'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out," cried the young woman. "Make
+him come home, or he'll kill his dear mother and father, and break my
+heart!"</p>
+
+<p>"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a
+white dog at his heels. "Young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother, you
+young dog!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't belong to them. I don't know them! Help, help!" cried Oliver,
+struggling in the man's powerful grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes, I'll help you, you young rascal! What
+books are these? You've been a-stealin' 'em, have you? Give 'em here!"</p>
+
+<p>With these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him
+on the head.</p>
+
+<p>Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of
+the attack, terrified by the brutality of the man--who was none other than
+Bill Sikes, the roughest of all Fagin's pupils--what could one poor child
+do? Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; resistance was
+useless. Sikes and Nancy hurried the boy on between them through courts and
+alleys till, once more, he was within the dreadful house where the Dodger
+had first brought him. Long after the gas-lamps were lighted, Mr. Brownlow
+sat waiting in his parlour. The servant had run up the street twenty times
+to see if there were any traces of Oliver. The housekeeper had waited
+anxiously at the open door. But no Oliver returned.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Oliver Falls among Friends</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Bill Sikes having an important house-breaking engagement with his
+fellow-robber, Mr. Toby Crackit, at Shepperton, decided that Oliver must
+accompany him.</p>
+
+<p>It was a detached house, and the night was dark as pitch when Sikes and
+Crackit, dragging Oliver along, climbed the wall and approached a narrow,
+shuttered window. In vain Oliver implored them to let him go.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, you young limb," whispered Sikes, when a crowbar had overcome
+the shutter, and the lattice had been opened. "I'm going to put you through
+there." Drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, he added, "Take this light;
+go softly up the steps straight afore you, and along the hall to the street
+door; unfasten it, and let us in."</p>
+
+<p>The boy was put through the window, and Sikes, pointing to the door with
+his pistol, told him if he faltered he would shoot him.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had Oliver advanced a few yards before Sikes called out, "Back!
+back!"</p>
+
+<p>Startled, the boy dropped the lantern, uncertain whether to advance or
+fly.</p>
+
+<p>The cry was repeated--a light appeared--a vision of two terrified,
+half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes--a flash--a
+loud noise--and he staggered back.</p>
+
+<p>Sikes got him out of the window before the smoke cleared away, and fired
+his pistol after the men, who were already in retreat.</p>
+
+<p>"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes. "Give me a shawl here. They've hit
+him. Quick! The boy is bleeding."</p>
+
+<p>Then came the loud ringing of a bell, and the shouts of men, and the
+sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then the
+noises grew confused in the distance, and Oliver saw and heard no more.</p>
+
+<p>Sikes, finding the chase too hot, was compelled to leave Oliver in a
+ditch and make his escape with his friend Crackit.</p>
+
+<p>It was morning when Oliver awoke. His left arm was rudely bandaged in a
+shawl, and the bandage was saturated with blood. Weak and dizzy, he yet
+felt that if he remained where he was he would surely die, and so he
+staggered to his feet. The only house in sight was the one he had entered a
+few hours earlier, and he bent his steps towards it. He pushed against the
+garden-gate--it was unlocked. He tottered across the lawn, climbed the
+steps, knocked faintly at the door, and, his whole strength failing him,
+sank down against the little portico.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Giles, the butler and general steward of the house, who had fired
+the shot and led the pursuit, was just explaining the exciting events of
+the night to his fellow-servants of the kitchen when Oliver's knock was
+heard. With considerable reluctance the door was opened, and then the
+group, peeping timorously over each other's shoulders, beheld no more
+formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and
+exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>"Here he is!" bawled Giles. "Here's one of the, thieves, ma'am! Wounded,
+miss! I shot him!"</p>
+
+<p>They lugged the fainting boy into the hall, and then in the midst of all
+the noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet and gentle voice, which
+quelled it in an instant.</p>
+
+<p>"Giles!" whispered the voice from the stairhead. "Hush! You frighten my
+aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles.</p>
+
+<p>After a hasty consultation with her aunt, the same gentle speaker bade
+them carry the wounded person upstairs, and send to Chertsey at all speed
+for a constable and a doctor. The latter arrived when the young lady and
+her aunt, Mrs. Maylie, were at breakfast, and his visit to the sick-room
+changed the state of affairs. On his return he begged Mrs. Maylie and her
+niece to accompany him upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>In lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they had expected to see,
+there lay a mere child, sunk in a deep sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The ladies could not believe this delicate boy was a criminal, and when,
+on waking up, he told them his simple history, they were determined to
+prevent his arrest.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor undertook to save the boy, and to that end entered the
+kitchen where Mr. Giles, Brittles, his assistant, and the constable were
+regaling themselves with ale.</p>
+
+<p>"How is the patient, sir?" asked Giles.</p>
+
+<p>"So-so," returned the doctor. "I'm afraid you've got yourself into a
+scrape there, Mr. Giles. Are you a Protestant? And what are <i>you</i>?"
+turning sharply on Brittles.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, turning very pale, for the
+doctor spoke with strange severity.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir," said Brittles, starting violently.</p>
+
+<p>"Then tell me this, both of you," said the doctor. "Are you going to
+take upon yourselves to swear that that boy upstairs is the boy that was
+put through the little window last night? Come, out with it! Pay attention
+to the reply, constable. Here's a house broken into, and a couple of men
+catch a moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of gunpowder-smoke, and in
+all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here's a boy comes to that very
+same house next morning, and because he happens to have his arm tied up,
+these men lay violent hands upon him, place his life in danger, and swear
+he is the thief. I ask you again," thundered the doctor, "are you, on your
+solemn oaths, able to identify that boy?"</p>
+
+<p>Of course, under these circumstances, as Mr. Giles and Brittles couldn't
+identify the boy, the constable retired, and the attempted robbery was
+followed by no arrests.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Twist grew up in the peaceful and happy home of Mrs. Maylie,
+under the tender affection of two good women. Later on, Mr. Brownlow was
+found, and Oliver's character restored. It was proved, too, that the
+portrait Mr. Brownlow possessed was that of Oliver's mother, whom its owner
+had once esteemed dearly. Betrayed by fate, the unhappy woman had sought
+refuge in the workhouse, only to die in giving birth to her son.</p>
+
+<p>In that same workhouse, where his authority had formerly been so
+considerable, Mr. Bumble came--as a pauper--to die.</p>
+
+<p>Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting
+against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage
+housebreaker murdered her.</p>
+
+<p>But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.</p>
+
+<p>For the Jew was taken and condemned to death, and in the condemned cell
+came the recollection to him of all the men he had known who had died upon
+the scaffold, some of them through his means.</p>
+
+<p>Sikes, when the news of Nancy's murder got abroad, was hunted by a
+furious crowd. He had taken refuge in an old, disreputable uninhabited
+house, known to his accomplices, which stood right over the Thames, in
+Jacob's Island, not far from Dockhead; but the pursuit was hot, and the
+only chance of safety lay in getting to the river.</p>
+
+<p>At the very moment when the crowd was forcing its way into the house,
+Sikes made a running noose to slip beneath his arm-pits, and so lower
+himself to a ditch beneath. He was out on the roof, and then, when the loop
+was over his head, the face of the murdered girl seemed to stare at
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"The eyes again!" he cried, in an unearthly screech, and threw up his
+arms in horror.</p>
+
+<p>Staggering, as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled
+over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight,
+tight as a bowstring. He fell for five-and-thirty feet, and then, after a
+sudden jerk, and a terrible convulsion of the limbs, swung lifeless against
+the wall.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens11">Old Curiosity Shop</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Old Curiosity Shop" was begun by Dickens in his new
+weekly publication called "Master Humphrey's Clock," in 1840, and its early
+chapters were written in the first person. But its author soon got rid of
+the impediments that pertained to "Master Humphrey," and "when the story
+was finished," Dickens wrote, "I caused the few sheets of 'Master
+Humphrey's Clock,' which had been printed in connection with it, to be
+cancelled." "The Old Curiosity Shop" won a host of friends for the author;
+A.C. Swinburne even declared Little Nell equal to any character in fiction.
+The lonely figure of the child with grotesque and wild, but not impossible,
+companions, took the hearts of all readers by storm, and the death of
+Little Nell moved thousands to tears. While the story was appearing, Tom
+Hood, then unknown to Dickens, wrote an essay "tenderly appreciative" of
+Little Nell, "and of all her shadowy kith and kin." The immense and
+deserved popularity of the book is shown by the universal acquaintance with
+Mrs. Jarley, and the common use of the phrase "Codlin's the friend--not
+Short." </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Little Nell and Her Grandfather</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The shop was one of those receptacles for old and curious things which
+seem to crouch in odd corners of London. There were suits of mail standing
+like ghosts in armour, rusty weapons of various kinds, tapestry, and
+strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.</p>
+
+<p>The haggard aspect of a little old man, with long grey hair, who stood
+within, was wonderfully suited to the place. Nothing in the whole
+collection looked older or more worn than he.</p>
+
+<p>Confronting the old man was a young man of dissipated appearance, and
+high words were taking place.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you again I want to see my sister," said the younger man. "You
+can't change the relationship, you know. If you could, you'd have done it
+long ago. But as I may have to wait some time I'll call in a friend of
+mine, with your leave."</p>
+
+<p>At this he brought in a companion of even more dissolute appearance than
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"There, it's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in.</p>
+
+<p>"But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone.
+"What is the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of
+conviviality, and the wing of friendship never moults a feather! But, only
+one little whisper, Fred--<i>is</i> the old min friendly?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Swiveller then leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silence;
+only to break it by observing, "Gentlemen, how does the case stand? Here is
+a jolly old grandfather, and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly old
+grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up and
+educated you, Fred; you have bolted a little out of the course, and you
+shall never have another chance.' The wild young grandson makes answer,
+'You're as rich as can be, why can't you stand a trifle for your grown up
+relation?' Then the plain question is, ain't it a pity this state of things
+should continue, and how much better it would be for the old gentleman to
+hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all right and
+comfortable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you persecute me?" said the old man, turning to his grandson.
+"Why do you bring your profligate companions here? I am poor. You have
+chosen your own path, follow it. Leave Nell and me to toil and work."</p>
+
+<p>"Nell will be a woman soon," returned the other; "She'll forget her
+brother unless he shows himself sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, and the child herself appeared, followed by an elderly
+man so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face were
+large enough for the body of a giant.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Swiveller turned to the dwarf and, stooping down, whispered audibly
+in his ear. "The watchword to the old min is--fork."</p>
+
+<p>"Is what?" demanded Quilp, for that--Daniel Quilp--was the dwarf's
+name.</p>
+
+<p>"Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slapping his pocket. "You
+are awake, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The dwarf nodded; the grandson, having announced his intention of
+repeating his visit, left the house accompanied by his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"So much for dear relations," said Quilp, with a sour look. He put his
+hand into his breast, and pulled out a bag. "Here, I brought it myself, as,
+being in gold, it was too large and heavy for Nell to carry. I would I knew
+in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are a deep
+man, and keep your secret close."</p>
+
+<p>"My secret!" said the old man, with a haggard look. "Yes, you're
+right--I keep it close--very close."</p>
+
+<p>He said no more, but, taking the money, locked it in an iron safe.</p>
+
+<p>That night, as on many a night previous, Nell's grandfather went out,
+leaving the child in the strange house alone, to return in the early
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>Quilp, to whom the old man had again applied for money, learnt of these
+nocturnal expeditions, and sent no answer, but came in person to the old
+curiosity shop.</p>
+
+<p>The old man was feverish and excited as he impatiently addressed the
+dwarf.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you brought me any money?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," returned Quilp.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands, "the child and I are
+lost. No recompense for the time and money lost!"</p>
+
+<p>"Neighbour," said Quilp, "you have no secret from me now. I know that
+all those sums of money you have had from me have found their way to the
+gamingtable."</p>
+
+<p>"I never played for gain of mine, or love of play," cried the old man
+fiercely. "My winnings would have been bestowed to the last farthing on a
+young sinless child, whose life they would have sweetened and made happy.
+But I never won."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" said Quilp. "The last advance was &pound;70, and it went in
+one night. And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you could
+scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the stock and property."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he nodded, deaf to all entreaties for further loans, and took
+his leave.</p>
+
+<p>The house was no longer theirs. Mr. Quilp encamped on the premises, and
+the goods were sold. A day was fixed for their removal.</p>
+
+<p>"Grandfather, let us begone from this place," said little Nell; "let us
+wander barefoot through the world, rather than linger here."</p>
+
+<p>"We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the
+fields and woods, and by the side of rivers and trust ourselves to God.
+Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to
+forget this time, as if it had never been."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Messrs. Codlin and Short</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The sun was setting when little Nell and her grandfather, who had been
+wandering many days, reached the wicket gate of a country churchyard.</p>
+
+<p>Two men were seated in easy attitudes on the grass by the church--two
+men of the class of itinerant showmen, exhibitors of the freaks of
+Punch--and they had come there to make needful repairs in the stage
+arrangements, for one was engaged in binding together a small gallows with
+thread, while the other was fixing a new black wig upon the head of a
+puppet.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to show 'em to-night? Are you?" said the old man.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the intention, governor, and unless I'm much mistaken, my
+partner, Tommy Codlin, is a-calculating at this minute what we've lost
+through your coming upon us. Cheer up, Tommy, it can't be much."</p>
+
+<p>To this Mr. Codlin replied in a surly, grumbling manner, "I don't care
+if we haven't lost a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front of
+the curtain, and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human natur'
+better."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! it's been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your taking to that branch,"
+rejoined his companion. "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama in
+the fairs, you believed in everything--except ghosts. But now you're a
+universal mistruster."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind," said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a discontented
+philosopher; "I know better now; p'r'aps I'm sorry for it. Look here,
+here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again."</p>
+
+<p>The child, seeing they were at a loss for a needle and thread, timidly
+proposed to mend it for them, and even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge
+against a proposal so reasonable.</p>
+
+<p>"If you're wanting a place to stop at," said Short, "I should advise you
+to take up at the same house with us. That's it, the long, low, white house
+there. It's very cheap."</p>
+
+<p>The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady, who made
+no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty, and
+were at once prepossessed in her behalf.</p>
+
+<p>"We're going on to the races," said Short next morning to the
+travellers. "If that's your way, and you'd like to have us for company, let
+us go together. If you prefer going alone, only say the word, and we shan't
+trouble you."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll go with you," said the old man. "Nell--with them, with them."</p>
+
+<p>They stopped that night at an ancient roadside inn called the Jolly
+Sandboys, and supper being in preparation, Nelly and her grandfather had
+not long taken their seats by the kitchen fire before they fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.</p>
+
+<p>"No-good, I suppose," said Mr. Codlin.</p>
+
+<p>"They're no harm," said Short, "depend upon that. It's very plain,
+besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell me that
+handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about as she's done these
+last two or three days. I know better. The old man ain't in his right mind.
+Haven't you noticed how anxious he is always to get on--furder away--furder
+away? Mind what I say, he has given his friends the slip, and persuaded
+this delicate young creatur all along of her fondness for him to be his
+guide--where to, he knows no more than the man in the moon. I'm not a-going
+to stand that!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're not a-going to stand that!" cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the
+clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.</p>
+
+<p>"I," repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, "am not a-going to stand
+it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad hands.
+Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from us, I
+shall take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to their
+friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up on every
+wall in London by this time."</p>
+
+<p>"Short," said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, "it's possible
+there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there should be a
+reward, Short, remember that we're partners in everything!"</p>
+
+<p>Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled
+by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing's the matter, my dear; only I'm your friend. Perhaps you
+haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him. I'm the real,
+open-hearted man. Short's very well, and seems kind, but he overdoes it.
+Now, I don't."</p>
+
+<p>The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you
+can. Recollect the friend. Codlin's the friend, not Short. Short's very
+well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin--not Short."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Jarley's Waxwork</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the
+child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr. Thomas
+Codlin. The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and once more
+the travellers were alone.</p>
+
+<p>It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they
+came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside. It was a smart little house
+upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a Christian
+lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum covered with a
+white napkin.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child
+walking slowly by. "Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes! And
+very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low, practical,
+wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at."</p>
+
+<p>"I was not there by choice," returned the child. "We don't know our way,
+and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do you
+know them, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"Know 'em, child! Know <i>them</i>! But you're young and inexperienced.
+Do I look as if I knowed 'em? Does the caravan look as if <i>it</i> knowed
+'em?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am, no. I beg your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>It was granted immediately. And then the lady of the caravan, finding
+the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter
+and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the
+caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.</p>
+
+<p>As the caravan moved slowly along, its owner began to talk to Nell, and
+presently pulled out a large roll of canvas. "There child," she said, "read
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>Nell read aloud the inscription, "Jarley's Waxwork."</p>
+
+<p>"That's me," said the lady complacently.</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw any waxwork, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than
+Punch?"</p>
+
+<p>"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all.
+It's calm and--what's that word again--critical? No--classical, that's
+it--it's calm and classical."</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the journey Mrs. Jarley was so taken with the child
+that she proposed to engage her, and as Nell would not be separated from
+her grandfather, he was included in the agreement.</p>
+
+<p>"What I want your granddaughter for," said Mrs. Jarley, "is to point 'em
+out to the company, for she has a way with her that people wouldn't think
+unpleasant. It's not a common offer, bear in mind; it's Jarley's Waxwork.
+The duty's very light and genteel, the exhibition takes place in assembly
+rooms or town halls. There is none of your open-air wagrancy at Jarley's,
+remember. And the price of admission is only sixpence."</p>
+
+<p>"We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Nell, speaking for her
+grandfather, "and thankfully accept your offer."</p>
+
+<p>"And you'll never be sorry for it," returned Mrs. Jarley. "So, as that's
+all settled, let us have a bit of supper."</p>
+
+<p>The next morning, the caravan having arrived at the town, and the
+waxworks having been unpacked in the town hall, Mrs. Jarley sat down in an
+armchair in the centre of the room, and began to instruct Nell in her
+duty.</p>
+
+<p>"That," said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, "is an unfortunate maid
+of honour in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger
+in consequence of working on a Sunday. Observe the blood which is trickling
+from her finger, also the gold-eyed needle of the period, with which she is
+at work."</p>
+
+<p>Nell found in the lady of the caravan a kind and considerate person, who
+had not only a peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, but for
+making everybody about her comfortable also.</p>
+
+<p>But the child noticed that her grandfather grew more and more listless
+and vacant, and soon a greater sorrow was to come. The passion for gambling
+revived in the old man one evening, when he and Nell, out walking in the
+country, took passing shelter from a storm in a small public-house. He saw
+men playing cards, and, allowed to join them, lost. The next night he went
+off alone, and Nell, finding him gone, followed. Her grandfather was with
+the card-players near an encampment of gypsies, and, to her horror, he
+promised to bring more money.</p>
+
+<p>Flight was now the only thing possible, before her grandfather should
+steal. How else could he get the money?</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Beyond the Pale</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Flight by water! For two days they travelled on a barge, Nell sitting
+with her grandfather in the boat. Rugged and noisy fellows were the
+bargemen, and quite brutal among themselves, though civil enough to their
+passengers. The barge floated into the wharf to which it belonged, and now
+came flight by land through a strange, unfriendly town. The travellers were
+penniless, and at nightfall took refuge in a deep doorway.</p>
+
+<p>A man, miserably clad and begrimed with smoke, found them here, and,
+learning they were homeless, promised them shelter by the fire of a great
+furnace.</p>
+
+<p>A dark and blackened region was this they were in. On every side tall
+chimneys poured out their plague of smoke, and at night the smoke was
+changed to fire, and chimneys spurted flame. Struggling vegetation sickened
+and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace. The people--men, women,
+and children--wan in their looks and ragged in their attire, tended the
+engines, or scowled, half naked, from the doorless houses.</p>
+
+<p>That night Nell and her grandfather lay down with nothing between them
+and the sky. A penny loaf was all they had had that day, and very weak and
+spent the child felt.</p>
+
+<p>With morning she was weaker still, and a loathing of food prevented her
+sharing the loaf bought with their last penny. Still she dragged her weary
+feet on, and only at the very end of the town fell senseless to the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>Once in their earlier wanderings they had made friends with a village
+schoolmaster, and now, when all hope seemed gone, it was this schoolmaster
+who brought the travellers into a peaceful haven. For it was he who passed
+along when little Nell fell fainting to the ground, and it was he who
+carried her into a small inn hard by. A day's rest brought some recovery to
+the child, and in the evening she was able to sit up.</p>
+
+<p>"I have made my fortune since I saw you last," said the schoolmaster. "I
+have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village a long way from
+here at five-and-thirty pounds a year."</p>
+
+<p>Then the schoolmaster insisted they must come with him, and make the
+journey by waggons, and that when they reached the village some occupation
+should be found by which they could subsist.</p>
+
+<p>They agreed to go, and when the village was reached the efforts of the
+good schoolmaster procured a post for Nell. Someone was wanted to keep the
+keys of the church and show it to strangers, and the old clergyman yielded
+to the schoolmaster's petition.</p>
+
+<p>"But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you,
+my child," said the old clergyman, laying his hand upon her head and
+smiling sadly, "I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights than
+have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches."</p>
+
+<p>It was very peaceful in the old church, and the village children soon
+grew to love little Nell. At last Nell and her grandfather were beyond the
+need of flight.</p>
+
+<p>But the child's strength was failing, and in the winter came her death.
+Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. The traces of her early cares,
+her sufferings, and fatigues were gone. She had died with her arms round
+her grandfather's neck and "God bless you!" on her lips.</p>
+
+<p>The old man never realised that she was dead. "She is asleep," he said.
+"She will come to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>And thenceforth every day, and all day long he waited at her grave. And
+people would hear him whisper, "Lord, let her come to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the
+usual hour, and they went to seek him, and found him lying dead upon the
+stone.</p>
+
+<p>They laid by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and in the
+church where they had often lingered hand in hand the child and the old man
+slept together.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens12">Our Mutual Friend</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Our Mutual Friend" was the last long complete novel Dickens
+wrote, and, like all his books, it first appeared in monthly parts. It was
+so published in 1864-65. After three numbers had appeared, the author
+wrote: "I have grown hard to satisfy, and write very slowly. Although I
+have not been wanting in industry, I have been wanting in imagination." In
+his "Postscript in Lieu of Preface," the author points out--in answer to
+those who had disputed the probability of Harmon's will--"that there are
+hundreds of will cases far more remarkable than that fancied in this book."
+In this same postscript Dickens also renewed his attack on Poor Law
+administration, begun in "Oliver Twist." Though "Our Mutual Friend" is not
+one of the greatest or most famous of Dickens's works, for it is somewhat
+loosely constructed as a story, and shows signs of laboured composition, it
+abounds in scenes of real Dickensian character, and is not without touches
+of the genius which had made its author the foremost novelist of his time,
+and one of the greatest writers of all ages. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Man from Somewhere</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was at a dinner-party that Mortimer Lightwood, solicitor, at the
+request of Lady Tippins, told the story of the Man from Somewhere.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my life," says Mortimer languidly, "I can't fix him with a local
+habitation; but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me,
+where they make the wine.</p>
+
+<p>"The man," Mortimer goes on, "whose name is Harmon, was the only son of
+a tremendous old rascal, who made his money by dust, as a dust contractor.
+This venerable parent, displeased with his son, turns him out of doors. The
+boy takes flight, gets aboard ship, turns up on dry land among the Cape
+wine; small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you like to call it.
+Venerable parent dies. His will is found. It leaves the lowest of a range
+of dust mountains, with a dwelling-house, to an old servant, who is sole
+executor. And that's all, except that the son's inheritance is made
+conditional on his marrying a girl, at the date of the will a child four or
+five years old, who is now a marriageable young woman. Advertisement and
+inquiry discovered the son in the Man from Somewhere, and he is now on his
+way home, after fourteen years' absence, to succeed to a very large
+fortune, and to take a wife."</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer, being asked what would become of the fortune in the event of
+the marriage condition not being fulfilled, replies that by a clause in the
+will it would then go to the old servant above-mentioned, passing over and
+excluding the son; also, that if the son had not been living, the same old
+servant would have been sole residuary legatee.</p>
+
+<p>It is just when the ladies are retiring that Mortimer receives a note
+from the butler.</p>
+
+<p>"This really arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner," says
+Mortimer, after reading the paper presented to him. "This is the conclusion
+of the story of the identical man. Man's drowned!"</p>
+
+<p>The dinner being over, Mortimer Lightwood and his friend Eugene Wrayburn
+interviewed the boy who had brought the note, and then set out in a cab to
+the riverside quarter of Wapping.</p>
+
+<p>The cab dismissed, a little winding through some muddy alleys brings
+then to the bright lamp of a police-station, where they find the
+night-inspector. He takes a bull's-eye, and Mortimer and Eugene follow him
+to a cool grot at the end of the yard. They quickly come out again.</p>
+
+<p>"No clue, gentlemen," says the inspector, "as to how the body came into
+river. Very often no clue. Steward of ship, in which gentleman came home
+passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity. Likewise
+could swear to clothes. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict."</p>
+
+<p>A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn
+attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."</p>
+
+<p>"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't
+have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who was
+it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down your
+name and address?"</p>
+
+<p>The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford,
+Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."</p>
+
+<p>At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the
+proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr.
+Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to
+appear.</p>
+
+<p>Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had
+come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act there
+was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of one
+hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time public
+interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Golden Dustman</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning,
+dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves
+like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg
+sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice
+collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and assuredly
+it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little stalls in
+London.</p>
+
+<p>"Morning, morning!" said the old fellow.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-morning to <i>you</i>, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.</p>
+
+<p>The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question,
+"How did you get your wooden leg?"</p>
+
+<p>"In an accident."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered
+desperately.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."</p>
+
+<p>"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another
+chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick or
+Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I
+could wish anyone to call <i>me</i> by, but there may be persons that would
+not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't know
+why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, "I came by here one morning and heard you
+reading through your ballads to a butcher-boy. I thought to myself, 'Here's
+a literary man <i>with</i> a wooden leg, and all print is open to him! And
+here am I without a wooden leg, and all print is shut to me.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print that I
+wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing," Mr. Wegg admitted
+modestly.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I want some reading, and I must pay a man so much an hour to come
+and do it for me. Say two hours a night at twopence-halfpenny. Half-a-crown
+a week. What do you think of the terms, Wegg?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Boffin, I never did 'aggle, and I never will 'aggle. I meet you at
+once, free and fair, with----Done, for double the money!"</p>
+
+<p>From that night Silas Wegg came to read at Boffin's Bower--or Harmony
+Jail, as the house was formerly called--and he soon learnt that his
+employer was no other than the inheritor of old Harmon's property, and that
+he was known as the Golden Dustman.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long after Silas Wegg's appointment that Mr. Boffin was
+accosted by a strange gentleman, who gave his name as John Rokesmith, and
+proposed his services as private secretary. Mr. Rokesmith mentioned that he
+lodged at one Mr. Wilfer's, in Holloway. Mr. Boffin stared.</p>
+
+<p>"Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?"</p>
+
+<p>"My landlord has a daughter named Bella."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to say," said Mr.
+Boffin; "but call at the Bower, though I don't know that I shall ever be in
+want of a secretary."</p>
+
+<p>So to the Bower came Mr. John Rokesmith, but not before the Boffins had
+called at the Wilfers' and seen the young lady destined by old Harmon for
+his son's bride.</p>
+
+<p>"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin, "I have been thinking early and late of that
+girl, Bella Wilfer, who was so cruelly disappointed both of her husband and
+his riches. Don't you think we might do something for her? Have her to live
+with us? And, Noddy, I tell you what I want--I want society. We have come
+into a great fortune, and we must act up to it. It's never been acted up
+to, and consequently no good has come of it."</p>
+
+<p>It was agreed that they should move into a good house in a good
+neighbourhood, and that a visit should be paid to Mr. Wilfer at once. Mrs.
+Wilfer received them with a tragic air.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Boffin and me, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, "are plain people, and we
+make this call to say we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure of
+your daughter's acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your
+daughter will come to consider our house in the light of her home equally
+with this."</p>
+
+<p>"I am much obliged to you--I am sure," said Miss Bella, coldly shaking
+her curls, "but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Bella," Mrs. Wilfer admonished her solemnly, "you must conquer
+this!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do what your ma says, and conquer it, my dear," urged Mrs. Boffin,
+"because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too
+pretty to keep yourself shut up."</p>
+
+<p>With that Mrs. Boffin gave her a kiss, which Bella frankly returned; and
+it was settled that Bella should be sent for as soon as they were ready to
+receive her.</p>
+
+<p>"By the bye, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, as he was leaving, "you have a
+lodger?"</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman," Mrs. Wilfer answered, "undoubtedly occupies our first
+floor."</p>
+
+<p>"I may call him our mutual friend," said Mr. Boffin. "What sort of
+fellow <i>is</i> our mutual friend, now? Do you like him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet--a very eligible
+inmate."</p>
+
+<p>The Boffins drove away, and Mr. Rokesmith, coming to the Bower,
+extricated Mr. Boffin from a mass of disordered papers, and gave such
+satisfaction that his services were accepted, and he took up the
+secretaryship.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Golden Dustman Deteriorates</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Miss Bella Wilfer was conscious that she was growing mercenary. She
+admitted as much to her father. There were several other secrets she had to
+impart beyond her own lack of improvement.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rokesmith has made an offer to me, pa, and I told him I thought it
+a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me. Mrs. Boffin has
+herself told me, with her own kind lips, that they wish to see me well
+married; and that when I marry, with their consent, they will portion me
+most handsomely. That is another secret. And now there is only one more,
+and it is very hard to tell it. But Mr. Boffin is being spoilt by
+prosperity, and is changing for the worse every day. Not to me--he is
+always the same to me--but to others about him. He grows suspicious, hard,
+and unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is my
+benefactor."</p>
+
+<p>Bella parted from her father, and returned to the Boffins, to find fresh
+proofs of the deterioration of the Golden Dustman.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Rokesmith," Mr. Boffin was saying, "it's time to settle about your
+wages. A man of property like me is bound to consider the market price. If
+I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a
+secretary, I buy <i>him</i> out and out. It's convenient to have you at all
+times ready on the premises."</p>
+
+<p>The secretary bowed and withdrew. Bella's eyes followed him to the door.
+She felt that Mrs. Boffin was uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin thoughtfully, "haven't you been a little
+strict with Mr. Rokesmith to-night? Haven't you been just a little not
+quite like your own old self?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, old woman, I hope so," said Mr. Boffin cheerfully. "Our old selves
+wouldn't do here, old lady. Our old selves would be fit for nothing but to
+be imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new selves
+are. It's a great difference."</p>
+
+<p>Very uncomfortable was Bella that night, and very uneasy was she as the
+days went by, for Mr. Boffin made a point of hunting up old books that gave
+the lives of misers, and the more enjoyment he seemed to get out of this
+literature, the harder he became to the secretary. Somehow, the worse Mr.
+Boffin treated his secretary, the more Bella felt drawn to the man whose
+offer of marriage she had refused. The crisis came one morning when the
+Golden Dustman's bearing towards Rokesmith was even more arrogant and
+offensive than it had been before. Mrs. Boffin was seated on a sofa, and
+Mr. Boffin had Bella on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said gently. "I'm going to see you
+righted."</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned to his secretary.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sir, look at this young lady. How dare you come out of your
+station to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses? This young
+lady, who was far above <i>you</i>. This young lady was looking about for
+money, and you had no money."</p>
+
+<p>Bella hung her head, and Mrs. Boffin broke out crying.</p>
+
+<p>"This Rokesmith is a needy young man," Mr. Boffin went on unmoved. "He
+gets acquainted with my affairs and gets to know that I mean to settle a
+sum of money upon this young lady."</p>
+
+<p>"I indignantly deny it!" said the secretary quietly. "But our connection
+being at an end, it matters little what I say."</p>
+
+<p>"I discharge you," Mr. Boffin retorted. "There's your money."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Boffin," said Rokesmith, "for your unvarying kindness I thank you
+with the warmest gratitude. Miss Wilfer, good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Rokesmith," said Bella in her tears, "hear one word from me
+before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my
+account. Out of the depths of my heart I beg your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>She gave him her hand, and he put it to his lips and said, "God bless
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>"There was a time when I deserved to be 'righted,' as Mr. Boffin has
+done," Bella went on, "but I hope that I shall never deserve it again."</p>
+
+<p>Once more John Rokesmith put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished
+it, and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>Bella threw her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most
+shamefully abused and driven away, and I am the cause of it. I must go
+home; I am very grateful for all you have done for me, but I can't stay
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Bella," said Mr. Boffin, "look before you leap. Go away, and you
+can never come back. And you mustn't expect that I'm a-going to settle
+money on you if you leave me like this, because I'm not. Not one brass
+farthing."</p>
+
+<p>"No power on earth could make me take it now," said Bella haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>Then she broke into sobs over saying good-bye to Mrs. Boffin, said a
+last word to Mr. Boffin, and ran upstairs. A few minutes later she went out
+of the house.</p>
+
+<p>"That was well done," said Bella when she was in the street, "and now
+I'll go and see my dear, darling pa in the city."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Runaway Marriage</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Bella found her way to her father's office in the city. It was after
+hours, and the little man was alone, having tea on a small cottage loaf and
+a pennyworth of milk, for R. Wilfer was but a clerk on a small income. He
+immediately fetched another loaf and another pennyworth of milk, and then,
+before she could tell him she had left the Boffins, who should come along
+but John Rokesmith. And John Rokesmith not only came in, but he caught
+Bella in his arms, and she was content to leave her head on his breast as
+if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting place.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rokesmith. "You
+<i>are</i> mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am yours if you think me worth taking," Bella responded.</p>
+
+<p>Then Bella's father had to hear what had happened, and said his daughter
+had done well.</p>
+
+<p>"To think," said Wilfer, looking round the office, "that anything of a
+tender nature should come off here is what tickles me."</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks later and Bella and her father went out early one morning
+and took the steamer to Greenwich. And at Greenwich there was John
+Rokesmith, and presently in a church John and Bella were joined together in
+wedlock.</p>
+
+<p>They had been married a year, and lived in a little house at Blackheath.
+John Rokesmith went up to the city every day, and explained that he was "in
+a China house." From time to time he would ask her, "Would you like to be
+rich <i>now</i>, my darling?" and got for answer, "Dear John, am I not
+rich?"</p>
+
+<p>But for all that a change came in their affairs. For Mortimer Lightwood,
+who had met Bella at the Boffins', seeing her walking with her husband,
+recognised him as Julius Handford; and as Mr. Inspector had never
+discovered what became of Mr. Julius Handford, he must needs pay Mr.
+Rokesmith a visit. And then it turned out that John Rokesmith was not only
+Julius Handford, but John Harmon himself, much to Mr. Inspector's
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>More surprises were to follow, for when John came home next day he told
+Bella that he had left the China house, and was better off.</p>
+
+<p>"We must have our headquarters in London now, my dear, and there's a
+house ready for us."</p>
+
+<p>And the house which John and Bella visited next day was none other than
+the Boffins', and when they arrived, there were Mr. and Mrs. Boffin beaming
+at them. Mrs. Boffin told Bella that John Rokesmith was John Harmon, and
+how, remembering him as a small boy, she had guessed it quite early. Then
+Mrs. Boffin admitted that John, despairing of winning Bella's heart, and
+determined that there should be no question of money in the marriage, he
+was for going away, and that Noddy said he would prove that she loved him.
+"We was all of us in it, my beauty," Mrs. Boffin concluded, "and when you
+was married there was we hid up in the church organ by this husband of
+yours, for he wouldn't let us out with it then, as was first meant. But it
+was Noddy who said that he would prove you had a true heart of gold. 'If
+she was to stand up for you when you was slighted,' he said to John, 'and
+if she was to do that against her own interest, how would that do?' 'Do?'
+says John, 'it would raise me to the skies.' 'Then,' says my Noddy, 'get
+ready for the ascent, John, for up you go. Look out for being slighted and
+oppressed.' And then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"It looks as if old Harmon's spirit had found rest at last, and as if
+his money had turned bright again after a long rust in the dark," said Mrs.
+Boffin to her husband that night.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, old lady."</p>
+
+<p>The mystery of the Harmon murder is yet to be explained. John Harmon,
+going on shore with a fellow passenger, who greatly resembled him, was
+drugged and robbed of his money in a house near the river by this man. But
+the robber, who had taken Harmon's clothes, was himself robbed and thrown
+into the water, and Harmon recovered consciousness and made his escape just
+at the time when the body of his assailant was recovered. In this state of
+strange excitement he turned up at the police station, and, unwilling to
+reveal his identity at the moment, passed himself off as Julius
+Handford.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens13">Pickwick Papers</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Dickens first became known to the public through the famous
+"Sketches by Boz," which appeared in the "Monthly Magazine" in December,
+1833, the complete series being collected and published in volume form
+three years later. This was followed by the immortal "Posthumous Papers of
+the Pickwick Club" in 1836, which soon placed Dickens in the front rank of
+English novelists. Frankly humorous as "Pickwick" is, Dickens, in a preface
+to a later edition, recorded with satisfaction that "legal reforms had
+pared the claws of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg," that the laws relating to
+imprisonment for debt had been altered, and the Fleet Prison pulled down.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Pickwick Engages Sam Weller</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell Street were of a very neat and
+comfortable description, peculiarly adapted for a man of his genius and
+observation, and importance as General Chairman of the world-famed Pickwick
+Club.</p>
+
+<p>His landlady, Mrs. Bardell, was a comely woman of bustling manners and
+agreeable appearance, with a natural gift for cooking. Cleanliness and
+quiet reigned throughout the house, and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was
+law.</p>
+
+<p>To anyone acquainted with these things and with Mr. Pickwick's admirably
+regulated mind, his conduct on the morning previous to his setting out for
+Eatanswill seemed most mysterious and unaccountable. He paced the room,
+popped his head out of the window, and constantly referred to his watch. It
+was evident to Mrs. Bardell, who was dusting the apartment, that something
+of importance was in contemplation.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick at last, "your little boy is a very
+long time gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's a good long way to the Borough, sir!" remonstrated Mrs.
+Bardell.</p>
+
+<p>"Very true; so it is. Mrs. Bardell do you think it's a much greater
+expense to keep two people than to keep one?"</p>
+
+<p>"La, Mr. Pickwick!" said Mrs. Bardell, colouring, as she fancied she
+observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger. "La,
+Mr. Pickwick, what a question!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but <i>do</i> you?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, "a good deal upon the person, you
+know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it's a saving and careful person, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick; "but the person I have in my eye
+(here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these
+qualities. To tell you the truth, I have made up my mind. You'll think it
+very strange now that I never consulted you about this matter till I sent
+your little boy out this morning, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bardell had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, and now she
+thought he was going to propose. A deliberate plan, too--sent her little
+boy to the Borough to get him out of the way! How thoughtful! How
+considerate!</p>
+
+<p>"It'll save you a good deal of trouble, won't it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
+"And when I am in town you'll always have somebody to sit with you." Mr.
+Pickwick smiled placidly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. Bardell,
+trembling with agitation. "Oh, you kind, good, playful dear!" And, without
+more ado, she flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless my soul!" cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick. "Mrs. Bardell, my
+good woman! Dear me, what a situation! Pray consider if anybody should
+come!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, let them come!" exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically. "I'll never
+leave you, dear, kind soul!" And she clung the tighter.</p>
+
+<p>"Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling; "I hear somebody coming
+upstairs! Don't, there's a good creature, don't!" But Mrs. Bardell had
+fainted in his arms, and before he could gain time to deposit her on a
+chair, Master Bardell entered the room, followed by Mr. Pickwick's friends
+Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" said the three Pickwickians.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know!" replied Mr. Pickwick; while the ever gallant Mr. Tupman
+led Mrs. Bardell, who said she was better, downstairs. "I cannot conceive
+what has been the matter with the woman. I merely told her of my intention
+of keeping a manservant, when she fell into an extraordinary paroxysm. Very
+remarkable thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Very," said his three friends.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a man in the passage now," said Mr. Tupman.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the man I've sent for from the Borough," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have
+the goodness to call him up."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Samuel Weller forthwith presented himself, having previously
+deposited his old white hat on the landing outside.</p>
+
+<p>"Ta'nt a wery good 'un to look at," said Sam, "but it's an astonishin'
+'un to wear. And afore the brim went it was a wery handsome tile."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, with regard to the matter on which I sent for you," said Mr.
+Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the pint, sir; out vith it, as the father said to the child ven
+he swallowed a farden."</p>
+
+<p>"We want to know, in the first place," said Mr. Pickwick, "whether you
+are discontented with your present situation?"</p>
+
+<p>"Afore I answers that 'ere question," replied Mr. Weller, "<i>I</i>
+should like to know whether you're a-goin' to purwide me vith a
+better."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick smiled benevolently as he said: "I have half made up my
+mind to engage you myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you though?" said Sam. "Wages?"</p>
+
+<p>"Twelve pounds a year."</p>
+
+<p>"Clothes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Two suits."</p>
+
+<p>"Work?"</p>
+
+<p>"To attend upon me, and travel about with me and these gentlemen
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Take the bill down," said Sam emphatically. "I'm let to a single
+gentleman, and the terms is agreed upon. If the clothes fit me half as well
+as the place, they'll do."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Bardell vs. Pickwick</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Acting on the advice of Messrs. Dodson &amp; Fogg, solicitors, Mrs.
+Bardell brought an action for breach of promise of marriage against Mr.
+Pickwick, and the damages were laid at &pound;1,500. February 14 was the
+day fixed for the memorable trial.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Pickwick and his friends reached the court, and the judge--Mr.
+Justice Stareleigh--had taken his place, it was found that only ten of the
+special jury were present, and a greengrocer and a chemist were caught from
+the common jury to make up the number.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, "but I hope this court
+will excuse my attendance. I have no assistant, and I can't afford to hire
+one."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you ought to be able to afford it," said the judge, a most
+particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and
+waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, my lord," replied the chemist, "then there'll be murder
+before this trial's over, that's all. I've left nobody, but an errand-boy
+in my shop, and I know that he thinks Epsom salts means oxalic acid, and
+syrup of senna, laudanum; that's all, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest
+horror when Mrs. Bardell, supported by her friend, Mrs. Cluppins, was led
+into court.</p>
+
+<p>Then Sergeant Buzfuz opened the case for the plaintiff, and when he had
+finished Elizabeth Cluppins was called.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you
+recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back room on one particular morning last
+July, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord and jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.</p>
+
+<p>"What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?" inquired the little
+judge.</p>
+
+<p>"My lord and jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, "I will not deceive you."</p>
+
+<p>"You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.</p>
+
+<p>"I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
+been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red kidney
+pertaties, which was tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's
+street-door on the jar."</p>
+
+<p>"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.</p>
+
+<p>"Partly open, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"She <i>said</i> on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning
+look.</p>
+
+<p>"I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin', and went in a
+permiscuous manner upstairs, and into the back room. There was a sound of
+voices in the front room, very loud, and forced themselves upon my
+ear."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cluppins then related the conversation we have already heard
+between Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell.</p>
+
+<p>The next witness was Mr. Winkle, and after him came Mr. Tupman, and Mr.
+Snodgrass, all of whom appeared on subpoena by the plaintiff's lawyers.</p>
+
+<p>Sergeant Buzfuz then rose and said, with considerable importance, "Call
+Samuel Weller."</p>
+
+<p>It was quite unnecessary to call him, for Samuel Weller stepped briskly
+into the box the instant his name was pronounced.</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name, sir?" inquired the judge.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam Weller, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you spell it with a 'V or a 'W?" inquired the judge.</p>
+
+<p>"That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord," replied
+Sam, "but I spells it with a 'V.'"</p>
+
+<p>Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, "Quite right, too, Samuel;
+quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is that that dares to address the court?" said the little judge,
+looking up.</p>
+
+<p>"I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," replied Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you see him here now?" said the judge.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't my lord," replied Sam, staring right up in the roof of the
+court.</p>
+
+<p>"If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him
+instantly," said the judge.</p>
+
+<p>Sam bowed his acknowledgments.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "I believe you are in the
+service of Mr. Pickwick; speak up, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam. "I am in the service o' that
+'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?" said Sergeant Buzfuz.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him
+three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"You must not tell us what the soldier said," interposed the judge,
+"it's not evidence."</p>
+
+<p>"Wery good, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you recollect anything
+particular happening on the morning when you were first engaged by the
+defendant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do, sir. I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin',
+and that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith me in those
+days."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of the
+fainting of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not; I was in the passage till they called me up, and then
+the old lady wasn't there."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's just it," replied Sam. "If they was a pair o' patent double
+million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps I might be able
+to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door, but bein' only eyes, you
+see, my wision's limited."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night last
+November? I suppose you went to have a little talk about this trial, eh,
+Mr. Weller?" said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly at the jury.</p>
+
+<p>"I went up to pay the rent," said Sam; "but the ladies gets into a wery
+great state of admiration at the honourable conduct o' Mr. Dodson and Fogg,
+and said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken up the
+case on spec., and to have charged nothin' at all for costs, unless they
+got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick."</p>
+
+<p>At this very unexpected reply the spectators tittered, and Mr. Sergeant
+Buzfuz said curtly, "Stand down, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant, and
+after that Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of a quarter of an hour the jury brought in a verdict for the
+plaintiff with &pound;750 damages.</p>
+
+<p>In the court-room Mr. Pickwick encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,
+rubbing their hands with satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get out of me, if I
+spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison," said Mr.
+Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall see about that," said Mr. Fogg grinning.</p>
+
+<p>Outside Mr. Pickwick and his friends made their way to a hackney coach,
+and Sam Weller was just preparing to jump upon the box when his father
+stood before him. The old gentleman shook his head gravely and said in
+warning accents, "I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin'
+bisness. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi?"</p>
+
+<p>"But surely, my dear sir," said Perker to his client the following
+morning, "you don't really mean, seriously now, that you won't pay these
+costs and damages?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
+renew the bill," observed Mr. Samuel Weller.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--In the Fleet Prison</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Two months later Mr. Pickwick was arrested for the non-payment of costs
+and damages and taken to the Fleet Prison. And so, for the first time in
+his life, Mr. Pickwick found himself within the walls of a debtor's
+prison.</p>
+
+<p>"Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr. Pickwick of the turnkey,
+and after some discussion it was discovered there was a bed to let.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't a large 'un, but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,
+sir," said the turnkey.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick, accompanied by Sam Weller, followed his guide up a
+staircase and along a gallery; at the end of this was an apartment
+containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable when he was left
+alone, and he went slowly to bed. He was awakened from his slumbers by the
+noise of his bed-fellows, one of whom, wearing grey cotton stockings, was
+performing a hornpipe; while another, evidently very drunk, was warbling as
+much as he could recollect of a comic song; the third, a man with thick,
+bushy whiskers, was applauding both performers.</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Smangle, sir," said the man with the whiskers to Mr.
+Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"Mine is Mivins," said the man in the stockings.</p>
+
+<p>"Well; but come," said Mr. Smangle, after assuring Mr. Pickwick a great
+many times that he entertained a very high respect for the feelings of a
+gentleman, "this is but dry work. Let's rinse our mouths with a drop of
+burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and
+I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and gentleman-like division of labour,
+anyhow."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick, unwilling to hazard a quarrel, gladly assented to the
+proposition.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object upon
+which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small black
+portmanteau.</p>
+
+<p>He soon learnt that money was in the Fleet just what money was out of
+it; and that if he wished it he could have a room to himself, if he was
+willing to pay for it.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a
+Chancery prisoner," said the turnkey. "It'll stand you in a pound a week.
+Lord! Why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come down
+handsome?"</p>
+
+<p>The matter was soon arranged, and in a short time the room was
+furnished.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when his servant had done his best to make the
+apartment comfortable, and was now inspecting the arrangements, "I have
+felt from the first that this is not the place to bring a young man
+to."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor an old 'un neither, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You're quite right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But old men may come here
+through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion. Do you understand me,
+Sam?"</p>
+
+<p>"Vell, sir," rejoined Sam, after a pause, "I think I see your drift, and
+it's my 'pinion that you're a-comin' it a great deal too strong, as the
+mail-coachman said to the snowstorm ven it overtook him."</p>
+
+<p>"For the time that I remain here," said Mr. Pickwick, "you must leave
+me, Sam."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I tell you vot it is," said Mr. Weller, in a grave and solemn
+voice. "This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't let's hear no
+more about it."</p>
+
+<p>"I am serious, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"You air, air you, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller. "Wery good, sir. Then so
+am I."</p>
+
+<p>With that Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great precision and
+left the room. Having found his father, Sam explained to the elder Mr.
+Weller that Mr. Pickwick must not be left alone in the Fleet.</p>
+
+<p>"Vy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy!" exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller.
+"Stop there by himself, poor creetur, without nobody to take his part! It
+can't be done, Samivel, it can't be done!"</p>
+
+<p>"O' course it can't," asserted Sam. "Well, then, I tell you wot it is.
+I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-twenty pound. P'raps you may ask
+for it five minits artervards, p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up
+rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and sendin'
+him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?"</p>
+
+<p>The elder Mr. Weller, having grasped the idea, laughed till he was
+purple.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the day Sam was duly arrested at the suit of his
+father, and Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's custody,
+passed at once into the prison, and went straight to his master's room.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a pris'ner, sir," said Sam. "I was arrested this here wery
+arternoon for debt, and the man as put me in 'ull never let me out till you
+go yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you
+mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall be
+a pris'ner, and I'm very glad on it. He's a malicious, bad-disposed,
+vorldly-minded, windictive creetur wot's put me in, with a hard heart as
+there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman remarked of the old
+gen'l'm'n with a dropsy, ven he said that upon the whole he thought he'd
+rather leave his property to his vife than build a chapel with it."</p>
+
+<p>In vain Mr. Pickwick remonstrated.</p>
+
+<p>"I takes my determination on principle, sir," remarked Sam, "and you
+takes yours on the same ground; vich puts me in mind o' the man as killed
+hisself on principle."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Mr. Pickwick Leaves the Fleet</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Those enterprising lawyers, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having obtained no
+money from Mr. Pickwick, proceeded in July to arrest Mrs. Bardell, who, as
+a matter of form, had given them a <i>cognovit</i> for the amount of their
+costs.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick was taking his evening walk in the grounds of the Fleet
+when Mrs. Bardell was brought in, and Sam Weller, seeing the lady, took off
+his hat in mock reverence. Mr. Pickwick turned indignantly away.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't bother the woman," said the turnkey to Weller; "she's just come
+in."</p>
+
+<p>"A pris'ner!" said Sam. "Who's the plaintives? What for? Speak up, old
+feller!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dodson and Fogg," replied the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, Job, Job!" shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, and calling for
+a man who went errands for the prisoners. "Run to Mr. Perker's, Job; I want
+him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game! Hooray!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Perker was in Mr. Pickwick's room betimes next morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, my dear sir," said Perker, "the first question I have to ask
+is whether this woman is to remain here? It rests solely and wholly and
+entirely with you."</p>
+
+<p>"With me!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, to which
+no man, and still more no woman, should ever be consigned if I had my
+will," resumed Mr. Perker. "I have seen the woman this morning. By paying
+the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages;
+and, further, a voluntary statement, under her hand, that this business was
+from the very first fomented and encouraged by these men, Dodson and Fogg.
+She entreats me to intercede with you, and implores your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, there was a low murmuring of voices
+outside, and a hesitating knock at the door; and Mr. Winkle, Mr. Tupman,
+and Mr. Snodgrass entering most opportunely, at last, by their united
+pleadings, Mr. Pickwick was fairly argued out of his resolutions. At three
+o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little room,
+and made his way as well as he could through the throng of debtors who
+pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached the
+lodge steps. He turned here to look about him, and his eye brightened as he
+did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was
+not the happier for his sympathy and charity.</p>
+
+<p>As for Sam Weller, having dispatched Job Trotter to procure his formal
+discharge, his next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready money
+in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which he himself
+dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake of it. This
+done, he hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he lost his voice,
+and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical
+condition, and followed his master out of the prison.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens14">Tale of Two Cities</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> The French Revolution has been the subject of more books than
+any secular event that ever occurred, and two books by English writers have
+brought the passion, the cruelty, and the horror of it for all time within
+the shuddering comprehension of English-speaking people. One is a history
+that is more than a history; the other a tale that is more than a tale.
+Dickens, no doubt, owed much of his inspiration to Carlyle's tremendous
+prose epic. But the genius that depicted a moving and tragic story upon the
+red background of the Terror was Dickens's own, and the "Tale of Two
+Cities" was final proof that its author could handle a great theme in a
+manner that was worthy of its greatness. The work was one of the novelist's
+later writings--it was published in 1859--and is in many respects distinct
+from all his others. It stands by itself among Dickens's masterpieces, in
+sombre and splendid loneliness--a detached glory to its author, and to his
+country's literature. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Recalled to Life</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken in the street. All the
+people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to run
+to the spot and drink the wine. Some kneeled down, made scoops of their two
+hands joined, and tried to sip before the wine had all run out between
+their fingers. Others dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated
+earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads. A shrill sound
+of laughter resounded in the street while this wine game lasted.</p>
+
+<p>The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street
+in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had
+stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many
+wooden shoes. One tall joker so besmirched scrawled upon a wall, with his
+finger dipped in muddy wine lees, "Blood!"</p>
+
+<p>And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam
+had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--cold,
+dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want were the lords in waiting on the
+saintly presence. The children had ancient faces and grave voices; and upon
+them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow of age, and
+coming up afresh, was the sign--Hunger.</p>
+
+<p>The master of the wine-shop outside of which the cask had been broken
+turned back to his shop when the struggle for the wine was ended. Monsieur
+Defarge was a dark, bull-necked man, good-humoured-looking on the whole,
+but implacable-looking, too. Three men who had been drinking at the counter
+paid for their wine, and left. An elderly gentleman, who had been sitting
+in a corner with a young lady, advanced, introduced himself as Mr. Jarvis
+Lorry, of Tellson's Bank, London, and begged the favour of a word.</p>
+
+<p>The conference was very short, but very decided. It had not lasted a
+minute, when Monsieur Defarge nodded and went out, followed by Mr. Lorry
+and the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>He led them through a stinking little black courtyard, and up a
+staircase to a dim garret, where a white-haired man sat on a low bench,
+stooping and very busy, making shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"You are still hard at work, I see," said Monsieur Defarge.</p>
+
+<p>A pair of haggard eyes looked at the questioner, and a very faint voice
+replied, "Yes, I am working."</p>
+
+<p>"Here is a visitor. Show him that shoe and tell him the maker's
+name."</p>
+
+<p>There was a long pause, and the shoemaker asked, "What did you say?"</p>
+
+<p>Defarge repeated his words.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a lady's shoe," answered the shoemaker.</p>
+
+<p>"And the maker's name?"</p>
+
+<p>"One Hundred and Five, North Tower."</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Manette," said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him, "do you
+remember nothing of me? Do you remember nothing of Defarge--your old
+servant?"</p>
+
+<p>As the Bastille captive of many years gazed at them, marks of
+intelligence forced themselves through the mist that had fallen on him.
+They were fainter; they were gone, but they had been there. The young lady
+moved forward, with tears streaming from her eyes, and kissed him. He took
+up her golden hair, and looked at it; then drew from his breast a folded
+rag, and opened it carefully. It contained a little quantity of hair. He
+took the girl's hair into his hand again.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the same! How can it be? She had a fear of my going that night.
+<i>Was it you?</i>" He turned upon her with frightful suddenness. But his
+vigour swiftly died out, and he gloomily shook his head. "No, no, no! It
+can't be!"</p>
+
+<p>She fell on her knees and clasped his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"If you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that was once sweet
+music to your ears, weep for it--weep for it! Thank God!" she cried. "I
+feel his sacred tears upon my face! Leave us here," she said. And, as the
+darkness closed in, they left father and daughter together.</p>
+
+<p>They came back at night. A coach stood outside the courtyard, and the
+lately released prisoner, in scared, blank wonder, began the journey that
+was to end in England and rest.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Jackal</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the dimly-lighted passages of the Old Bailey, Dr. Manette, his
+daughter, and Mr. Lorry stood by Mr. Charles Darnay--just acquitted on a
+charge of high treason--congratulating him on his escape from death.</p>
+
+<p>It was not difficult to recognise in Dr. Manette, intellectual of face
+and upright in bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. He and his
+daughter had been unwilling witnesses for the prosecution, called to give
+evidence that might be distorted into corroboration of a paid spy's
+falsehoods as to Darnay's dealings with the French king.</p>
+
+<p>Darnay kissed Lucie Manette's hand fervently and gratefully, and warmly
+thanked his counsel, Mr. Stryver. As he watched them go, a person who had
+been leaning against the wall stepped up to him. It was Mr. Carton, a
+barrister, who had sat throughout the trial with his whole attention
+seemingly concentrated upon the ceiling of the court. Everybody had been
+struck with the extraordinary resemblance, cleverly used by the defending
+counsel to confound a witness, between Mr. Carton and Mr. Darnay. Mr.
+Carton was shabbily dressed, and did not appear to be quite sober.</p>
+
+<p>"This must be a strange sight to you," said Carton, with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly seem yet," returned Darnay, "to belong to this world
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why the devil don't you dine?"</p>
+
+<p>He led him to a tavern, where Darnay recruited his strength with a good,
+plain dinner. Carton drank, but ate nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you give
+your toast?"</p>
+
+<p>"What toast?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Manette, then!"</p>
+
+<p>Carton drank the toast, and flung his glass over his shoulder against
+the wall, where it shivered in pieces.</p>
+
+<p>After Darnay had gone, Carton drank and slept till ten o'clock, and then
+walked to the chambers of Mr. Stryver. Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and an
+unscrupulous, and a bold, and was fast shouldering his way to a lucrative
+practice; but it had been noted that he had not the striking and necessary
+faculty of extracting evidence from a heap of statements. A remarkable
+improvement, however, came upon him as to this. Sydney Carton, idlest and
+most unpromising of men, was his great ally. What the two drank together
+would have floated a king's ship.</p>
+
+<p>Stryver never had a case in hand but what Carton was there, with his
+hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. At last it began to get about
+that, although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly
+good jackal, and that he rendered service to Stryver in that humble
+capacity. Folding wet towels on his head in a manner hideous to behold, the
+jackal began the "boiling down" of cases, while Stryver reclined before the
+fire. Each had bottles and glasses ready to his hand. The work was not done
+until the clocks were striking three.</p>
+
+<p>Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, Carton threw himself
+down in his clothes on a neglected bed. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It rose
+upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions,
+incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight
+upon him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Loadstone Rock</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Dear Dr. Manette," said Charles Darnay, "I love your daughter fondly,
+devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her!"</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Manette turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him or
+raise his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you spoken to Lucie?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle
+with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark doubt
+and dread.</p>
+
+<p>"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her
+perfect happiness, I will give her to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be
+returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like yourself,
+a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is not my own. I
+wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!"</p>
+
+<p>The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"</p>
+
+<p>On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her
+work alone, Sydney Carton entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.</p>
+
+<p>"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is too late for that." He covered her eyes with his hand. "Will you
+hear me?" he continued. "Since I have known you, I have been troubled by a
+remorse that I thought would never reproach me again. A dream, all a dream,
+that ends in nothing; but let me carry through the rest of my misdirected
+life the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the
+world."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "I promise to
+respect your secret."</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you! My last application is this, that you will believe that
+for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. Oh, Miss Manette,
+think now and then that there is a man who would give his life to keep a
+life you love beside you!"</p>
+
+<p>He said "farewell!" and left her.</p>
+
+<p>A wonderful corner for echoes was the quiet street-corner near Soho
+Square, where Dr. Manette lived with his daughter and her husband. But
+Lucie heard in the echoes none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her
+husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm and
+equal. The time came when a little Lucie lay on her bosom. But there were
+other echoes that rumbled menacingly in the distance, with a sound as of a
+great storm in France, with a dreadful sea rising.</p>
+
+<p>It was August of the year 1792. Charles Darnay talked in a low voice
+with Mr. Lorry in Tellson's Bank. The bank had a branch in Paris, and the
+London establishment was the headquarters of the aristocratic emigrants who
+had fled from France.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you really go to Paris to-night?" asked Darnay.</p>
+
+<p>"I do. You can have no conception of the peril in which our books and
+papers over yonder are involved, and the getting them out of harm's way is
+in the power of scarcely anyone but myself."</p>
+
+<p>As Mr. Lorry spoke a letter was laid before him. Darnay saw the
+direction--it was to himself. "To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St.
+Evr&eacute;monde." Horrified at the oppression and cruelty of his family
+towards the people, Darnay had left his native country and had never used
+the title that had, some years before, fallen to him by inheritance. He had
+told his secret to Dr. Manette on the wedding morning, and to none
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"I know the man," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you take charge of the letter and deliver it?" asked Mr.
+Lorry.</p>
+
+<p>"I will."</p>
+
+<p>When alone, Darnay opened the letter. It was from the steward of his
+French estate. The man had been charged with acting for an emigrant against
+the people. It was in vain he had urged that by the marquis's instructions
+he had acted for the people--had remitted all rents and imposts. The only
+response was that he had acted for an emigrant. Nothing but the marquis's
+personal testimony could save him from execution.</p>
+
+<p>Could he resist his old servant's appeal? He knew the peril of it, but
+his honour was at stake; he must go. That evening he wrote two letters
+explaining his purpose, one to Lucie, one to the doctor. On the next night
+he went out, pretending he would be back by-and-by. The two letters he left
+with the trusty porter to be delivered before midnight; and, with a heavy
+heart, leaving all that was dear on earth behind him, he journeyed
+on--drawn, like the mariner in the old story, to the Loadstone Rock.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Track of a Storm</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the buildings of Tellson's Bank in Paris, Mr. Lorry sat by a wood
+fire (it was early September, but the blighted year was prematurely cold),
+and on his honest face there was a deeper shade than the pendant lamp could
+throw--a shade of horror. By him sat Dr. Manette; Lucie and her child were
+in an inner room. They had hastened after Darnay to Paris. Dr. Manette knew
+that as a Bastille prisoner he bore a charmed life in revolutionary France,
+and that if Darnay was in danger he could help him. Darnay was indeed in
+danger. He had been arrested as an aristocrat and an enemy of the
+Republic.</p>
+
+<p>From the streets there came the usual night hum of the city, with now
+and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some
+unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.</p>
+
+<p>A loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the courtyard. Mr.
+Lorry put his hand on the doctor's arm, and they looked out.</p>
+
+<p>A throng of men and women crowded round a grindstone. Turning madly at
+its double handle were two men, whose faces were more horrible and cruel
+than the visages of the wildest savages. The eye could not detect one
+creature in the surrounding group free from the smear of blood. Shouldering
+one another to get next at the sharpening-stone were men with the stain all
+over their limbs and bodies; hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all were
+red with it.</p>
+
+<p>"They are murdering the prisoners," whispered Mr. Lorry.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Manette hastened out of the room, and down into the courtyard. There
+was a pause, a murmur, and the sound of his voice. Then Mr. Lorry saw him,
+surrounded by all, hurried out with cries of "Live the Bastille prisoner!
+Help for the Bastille prisoner's kindred in La Force!"</p>
+
+<p>It was long ere he returned. He had presented himself at the prison
+before the self-appointed tribunal that was consigning the prisoners to
+massacre, and had announced himself as a victim of the Bastille. One member
+of the tribunal had identified him; the member was Defarge. He had pleaded
+hard for his son-in-law's life, and had been informed that the prisoner
+must remain in custody; but should, for the doctor's sake, be held in safe
+custody.</p>
+
+<p>For fifteen months Charles Darnay remained in prison. During all that
+time Lucie was never sure but that her husband's head would be struck off
+next day. When at length arraigned as an emigrant whose life was forfeit to
+the Republic, he pleaded that he had come back to save a citizen's life.
+That night he sat by the fire with his family, a free man. Lucie at last
+was at ease.</p>
+
+<p>"What is that?" she cried suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>There was a knock at the door; four armed men in red caps entered the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>"Evr&eacute;monde," said the first, "you are again the prisoner of the
+Republic!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" he asked, with his wife and child clinging to him.</p>
+
+<p>"You will know to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"One word," entreated the doctor, "who has denounced him?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Citizen Defarge, and another."</p>
+
+<p>"What other?"</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen," said the man, with a strange look, "you will be answered
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--Condemned</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The news that Darnay had been again arrested was brought to Mr. Lorry
+later in the evening, and the man who brought it was Sydney Carton. He had
+come to Paris, he said, on business; his business was now completed, he was
+about to return, and he had obtained his leave to pass.</p>
+
+<p>"Darnay," he said, "cannot escape condemnation this time."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear not," answered Mr. Lorry.</p>
+
+<p>"I have found," continued Carton, "that the Old Bailey spy who charged
+Darnay with high treason years ago is now in the service of the Republic
+and is a turnkey at the prison of the Conciergerie where Darnay is
+confined. By threatening to denounce him as a spy of Pitt, I have secured
+that I shall gain access to Darnay in the prison if the trial should go
+against him."</p>
+
+<p>"But access to him," said Mr. Lorry, "will not save him."</p>
+
+<p>"I never said it would."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lorry looked at him mystified, and once more noted his strange
+resemblance to the man whose fate was to be decided on the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>Carton stood next day in an obscure corner among the crowd when Charles
+Evr&eacute;monde, called Darnay, appeared again before the judges.</p>
+
+<p>"Who denounces the accused?" asked the president.</p>
+
+<p>"Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor."</p>
+
+<p>"Good."</p>
+
+<p>"Alexandre Manette, physician."</p>
+
+<p>"President," cried the doctor, pale and trembling, "I indignantly
+protest to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen Manette, be silent! Call Citizen Defarge."</p>
+
+<p>Rapidly Defarge told his story. He had been among the leaders in the
+taking of the Bastille. When the citadel had fallen, he had gone to the
+cell One Hundred and Five, North Tower, and had searched it. In a hole in
+the chimney he had found a paper in the handwriting of Dr. Manette.</p>
+
+<p>"Let it be read," said the president.</p>
+
+<p>In this paper Dr. Manette had written the history of his imprisonment.
+In the year 1757 he had been taken secretly by two nobles to visit two poor
+people who were on the point of death. One was a woman whom one of the
+nobles had forcibly carried off from her husband; the other, her brother,
+whom the seducer had mortally wounded. The doctor had come too late; both
+the woman and her brother died. The doctor refused a fee, and, to relieve
+his mind, wrote privately to the government stating the circumstances of
+the crime. One night he was called out of his home on a false pretext, and
+taken to the Bastille.</p>
+
+<p>The nobles were the Marquis de St. Evr&eacute;monde and his brother; and
+the Marquis was the father of Charles Darnay. A terrible sound arose in the
+court when the reading was done. The voting of the jury was unanimous, and
+at every vote there was a roar. Death in twenty-four hours!</p>
+
+<p>That night Carton again came to Mr. Lorry. Between the two men, as they
+spoke, a figure on a chair rocked itself to and fro, moaning. It was Dr.
+Manette.</p>
+
+<p>"He and Lucie and her child must leave Paris to-morrow," said Carton.
+"They are in danger of being denounced. It is a capital crime to mourn for,
+or sympathise with, a victim of the guillotine. Be ready to start at two
+o'clock to-morrow afternoon. See them into their seats; take your own seat.
+The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.</p>
+
+<p>"It shall be done."</p>
+
+<p>Carton turned to the couch where Lucie lay unconscious, prostrated with
+utter grief.</p>
+
+<p>He bent down, touched her face with his lips, and murmured some words.
+Little Lucie told them afterwards that she heard him say, "A life you
+love."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VI.--The Guillotine</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited
+their fate. Fifty-two persons were to roll that afternoon on the life-tide
+of the city to the boundless, everlasting sea.</p>
+
+<p>The hours went on as Darnay walked to and fro in his cell, and the
+clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. The final hour, he
+knew, was three, and he expected to be summoned at two. The clocks struck
+one. "There is but another now," he thought.</p>
+
+<p>He heard footsteps. The door was opened, and there stood before him,
+quiet, intent, and smiling, Sydney Carton.</p>
+
+<p>"Darnay," he said, "I bring you a request from your wife."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no time--you must comply. Take off your boots and coat, and
+put on mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Carton, there is no escaping from this place. It is madness."</p>
+
+<p>"Do I ask you to escape?" said Carton, forcing the changes upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now sit at the table and write what I dictate."</p>
+
+<p>"To whom do I address it?"</p>
+
+<p>"To no one."</p>
+
+<p>"If you remember," said Carton, dictating, "the words that passed
+between us long ago, you will comprehend this when you see it. I am
+thankful that the time has come when I can prove them." Carton's hand was
+withdrawn from his breast, and slowly and softly moved down the writer's
+face. For a few seconds Darnay struggled faintly, Carton's hand held firmly
+at his nostrils; then he fell senseless to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Carton called quietly to the turnkey, who looked in and went again as
+Carton was putting the paper in Darnay's breast. He came back with two men.
+They raised the unconscious figure and carried it away.</p>
+
+<p>The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of
+listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote
+suspicion or alarm. There was none. Presently his door opened, and a gaoler
+looked in, merely saying: "Follow me," whereupon Carton followed him into a
+dark room. As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, a young woman, with a
+slight, girlish figure, came to speak to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen Evr&eacute;monde," she said, "I am a poor little seamstress,
+who was with you in La Force."</p>
+
+<p>He murmured an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard you were released."</p>
+
+<p>"I was, and was taken again and condemned."</p>
+
+<p>"If I may ride with you, will you let me hold your hand?"</p>
+
+<p>As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "Oh, you will let me hold your
+hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! Yes, my poor sister, to the last."</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon a coach going out of Paris drove up to the Barrier.
+"Papers!" demanded the guard. The papers are handed out and read.</p>
+
+<p>"Alexandre Manette, Lucie Manette, her child. Jarvis Lorry, banker,
+English. Sydney Carton, advocate, English. Which is he?"</p>
+
+<p>He lies here, in a corner, apparently in a swoon. He is in bad
+health.</p>
+
+<p>"Behold your papers, countersigned."</p>
+
+<p>"One can depart, citizen?"</p>
+
+<p>"One can depart."</p>
+
+<p>The ministers of Sainte Guillotin are robed and ready. Crash!--and the
+women who sit with their knitting in front of the guillotine count one.
+Crash!--and the women count two.</p>
+
+<p>The supposed Evr&eacute;monde descends with the seamstress from the
+tumbril, and joins the fast-thinning throng of victims before the crashing
+engine that constantly whirrs up and falls. The spare hand does not tremble
+as he grasps it. She goes next before him--is gone. The knitting women
+count twenty-two.</p>
+
+<p>The murmuring of many voices, the pressing on of many footsteps in the
+outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward like one great heave of
+water, all flashes away. Twenty-three.</p>
+
+<p>They said of him about the city that night that it was the peacefulest
+man's face ever beheld there. Had he given utterance to his thoughts at the
+foot of the scaffold, they would have been these:</p>
+
+<p>"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
+prosperous, and happy in that England which I shall see no more. I see her
+with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see that I hold a
+sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants,
+generations hence.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a
+far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="disraeli">BENJAMIN DISRAELI</a></h2>
+
+
+<h3><a name="disraeli1">Coningsby</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was not only a great
+figure in English politics in the nineteenth century; he was also a
+novelist of brilliant powers. Born in London on December 21, 1804, the son
+of Isaac D'Israeli, the future Prime Minister of England was first articled
+to a solicitor; but he quickly turned from this to politics. Disraeli was
+leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Commons in 1847; he was
+twice Prime Minister. In 1876 he was created Earl of Beaconsfield.
+Disraeli's novels--especially the famous trilogy of "Coningsby," 1844,
+"Sybil," 1845, and "Tancred," 1846--are remarkable chiefly for the view
+they give of contemporary political life, and for the definite political
+philosophy of their author. Neither the earlier novels--"Vivian Grey",
+1826, "Contarini Fleming," "Alroy," 1832, "Henrietta Temple" and "Venetia,"
+1837--nor the later ones--"Lothair," 1870, and "Endymion," 1874--are to be
+ranked with "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Many characters in "Coningsby" are
+well-known men. Lord Monmouth is Lord Hertford, whom Thackeray depicted as
+the Marquess of Steyne, Rigby is John Wilson Croker, Oswald Millbank is Mr.
+Gladstone, Lord H. Sydney is Lord John Manners, Sidonia is Baron Alfred de
+Rothschild, and Coningsby is Lord Lyttelton. Lord Beaconsfield died in
+London on April 19, 1881. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Hero of Eton</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Coningsby was the orphan child of the younger of the two sons of Lord
+Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds. The elder son hated his
+father, and lived at Naples, maintaining no connection either with his
+parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated his
+younger son, who had married against his consent a woman to whom that son
+was devoted. Persecuted by his father, he died abroad, and his widow
+returned to England. Not having a relation, and scarcely an acquaintance,
+in the world, she made an appeal to her husband's father, the wealthiest
+noble in England, and a man who was often prodigal, and occasionally
+generous, who respected law, and despised opinion. Lord Monmouth decided
+that, provided she gave up her child, and permanently resided in one of the
+remotest counties, he would make her a yearly allowance of three hundred
+pounds. Necessity made the victim yield; and three years later, Mrs.
+Coningsby died, the same day that her father-in-law was made a
+marquess.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby was then not more than nine years of age; and when he attained
+his twelfth year an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at Rome,
+that he should go at once to Eton.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby had never seen his grandfather. It was Mr. Rigby who made
+arrangements for his education. This Mr. Rigby was the manager of Lord
+Monmouth's parliamentary influence and the auditor of his vast estates. He
+was a member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs, and, in fact, a great
+personage. Lord Monmouth had bought him, and it was a good purchase.</p>
+
+<p>In the spring of 1832, when the country was in the throes of agitation
+over the Reform Bill, Lord Monmouth returned to England, accompanied by the
+Prince and Princess Colonna and the Princess Lucretia, the prince's
+daughter by his first wife. Coningsby was summoned from Eton to Monmouth
+House, and returned to school in the full favour of the marquess.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby was the hero of Eton; everybody was proud of him, talked of
+him, quoted him, imitated him. But the ties of friendship bound Coningsby
+to Henry Sydney and Oswald Millbank above all companions. Lord Henry Sydney
+was the son of a duke, and Millbank was the son of one of the wealthiest
+manufacturers in Lancashire. Once, on the river, Coningsby saved Millbank's
+life; and this was the beginning of a close and ardent friendship.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby liked very much to talk politics with Millbank. He heard
+things from Millbank which were new to him. Politics had, as yet, appeared
+to him a struggle whether the country was to be governed by Whig nobles or
+Tory nobles; and Coningsby, a high Tory as he supposed himself to be,
+thought it very unfortunate that he should probably have to enter life with
+his friends out of power and his family boroughs destroyed. But, in
+conversing with Millbank, he heard for the first time of influential
+classes in the country who were not noble, and were yet determined to
+acquire power.</p>
+
+<p>Generally, at that time, among the upper boys at Eton there was a
+reigning inclination for political discussion, and a feeling in favour of
+"Conservative principles." A year later, and in 1836, gradually the inquiry
+fell upon attentive ears as to what these Conservative principles were.
+Before Coningsby and his friends left Eton--Coningsby for Cambridge, and
+Millbank for Oxford--they were resolved to contend for political faith
+rather than for mere partisan success or personal ambition.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--A Portrait of a Lady</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On his way to Coningsby Castle, in Lancashire, where the Marquess of
+Monmouth was living in state--feasting the county, patronising the borough,
+and diffusing confidence in the Conservative party in order that the
+electors of Dartford might return his man, Mr. Rigby, once more for
+parliament--our hero halted for the night at Manchester. In the coffee-room
+at the hotel a stranger, loud in praise of the commercial enterprise of the
+neighbourhood, advised Coningsby, if he wanted to see something tip-top in
+the way of cotton works, to visit Millbank of Millbank's; and thus it came
+about that Coningsby first met Edith Millbank. Oswald was abroad; and Mr.
+Millbank, when he heard the name of his visitor, was only distressed that
+the sudden arrival left no time for adequate welcome.</p>
+
+<p>"My visit to Manchester, which led to this, was quite accidental," said
+Coningsby. "I am bound for the other division of the county, to pay a visit
+to my grandfather, Lord Monmouth, but an irresistible desire came over me
+during my journey to view this famous district of industry."</p>
+
+<p>A cloud passed over the countenance of Millbank as the name of Lord
+Monmouth was mentioned; but he said nothing, only turning towards
+Coningsby, with an air of kindness, to beg him, since to stay longer was
+impossible, to dine with him. Coningsby gladly agreed to this and the
+village clock was striking five when Mr. Millbank and his guest entered the
+gardens of his mansion and proceeded to the house.</p>
+
+<p>The hall was capacious and classic; and as they approached the staircase
+the sweetest and the clearest voice exclaimed from above: "Papa, papa!" and
+instantly a young girl came bounding down the stairs; but suddenly, seeing
+a stranger with her father, she stopped upon the landing-place. Mr.
+Millbank beckoned her, and she came down slowly; at the foot of the stairs
+her father said briefly: "A friend you have often heard of, Edith--this is
+Mr. Coningsby."</p>
+
+<p>She started, blushed very much, and then put forth her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"How often have we all wished to see and to thank you!" Miss Edith
+Millbank remarked in tones of sensibility.</p>
+
+<p>Opposite Coningsby at dinner that night was a portrait which greatly
+attracted his attention. It represented a woman extremely young and of a
+rare beauty. The face was looking out of the canvas, and the gaze of this
+picture disturbed the serenity of Coningsby. On rising to leave the table
+he said to Mr. Millbank, "By whom is that portrait, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The countenance of Millbank became disturbed; his expression was
+agitated, almost angry. "Oh! that is by a country artist," he said, "of
+whom you never heard."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Course of True Love</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Princess Colonna resolved that an alliance should take place between
+Coningsby and her step-daughter. But the plans of the princess, imparted to
+Mr. Rigby that she might gain his assistance in achieving them, were doomed
+to frustration. Coningsby fell deeply in love with Miss Millbank; and Lord
+Monmouth himself decided to marry Lucretia.</p>
+
+<p>It was in Paris that Coningsby, on a visit to his grandfather, woke to
+the knowledge of his love for Edith Millbank. They met at a brilliant
+party, Miss Millbank in the care of her aunt, Lady Wallinger.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Millbank says that you have quite forgotten her," said a mutual
+friend.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby started, advanced, coloured a little, could not conceal his
+surprise. The lady, too, though more prepared, was not without confusion.
+Coningsby recalled at that moment the beautiful, bashful countenance that
+had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had effected a wonderful
+change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed girl into a woman of
+surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith Millbank was the last
+thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated slumber. In the morning
+his first thought was of her of whom he had dreamed. The light had dawned
+on his soul. Coningsby loved.</p>
+
+<p>The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
+few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to Sidonia,
+a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord Monmouth.
+Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of Sidonia;
+against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering courage to
+speak, left hastily for England.</p>
+
+<p>But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
+once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
+Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.</p>
+
+<p>Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
+the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
+accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
+Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
+between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old, implacable
+hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and Coningsby left the
+castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again, and still more the
+beautiful sister of his old friend.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
+Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
+Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom met
+in a scene more fresh and fair.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
+head, and met his glance.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
+Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
+Edith! I love you!"</p>
+
+<p>She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
+impending twilight.</p>
+
+<p>The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
+home.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
+he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
+inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but without harshness. "You are
+the grandson of Lord Monmouth; at present enjoying his favour, but
+dependent on his bounty. You may be the heir of his wealth to-morrow and
+to-morrow you may be the object of his hatred and persecution. Your
+grandfather and myself are foes--to the death. It is idle to mince phrases.
+I do not vindicate our mutual feelings; I may regret that they have ever
+arisen, especially at this exigency. Lord Monmouth would crush me, had he
+the power, like a worm; and I have curbed his proud fortunes often. These
+feelings of hatred may be deplored, but they do not exist; and now you are
+to go to this man, and ask his sanction to marry my daughter!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would appease these hatreds," retorted Coningsby, "the origin of
+which I know not. I would appeal to my grandfather. I would show him
+Edith."</p>
+
+<p>"He has looked upon as fair even as Edith," said Mr. Millbank. "And did
+that melt his heart? My daughter and yourself can meet no more."</p>
+
+<p>In vain Coningsby pleaded his suit. It was not till Mr. Millbank told
+that he, too, had suffered--that he had loved Coningsby's own mother, and
+that she gave her heart to another, to die afterwards solitary and
+forsaken, tortured by Lord Monmouth--that Coningsby was silent. It was his
+mother's portrait he had looked upon that night at Millbank; and he
+understood the cause of the hatred.</p>
+
+<p>He wrung Mr. Millbank's hand, and left Hellingsley in despair. But
+Oswald overtook him in the park; and, leaning on his friend's arm,
+Coningsby poured forth a hurried, impassioned, and incoherent strain--all
+that had occurred, all that he had dreamed, his baffled bliss, his actual
+despair, his hopeless outlook.</p>
+
+<p>A thunderstorm overtook them; and Oswald took refuge from the elements
+at the castle. There, as they sat together, pledging their faithful
+friendship, the door opened, and Mr. Rigby appeared.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Coningsby's Political Faith</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Lord Monmouth banished the Princess Colonna from his presence, and
+married Lucretia. Coningsby returned to Cambridge, and continued to enjoy
+his grandfather's hospitality whenever Lord Monmouth was in London.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Millbank had, in the meantime, become a member of parliament, having
+defeated Mr. Rigby in the contest for the representation of Dartford.</p>
+
+<p>In the year 1840 a general election was imminent, and Lord Monmouth
+returned to London. He was weary of Paris; every day he found it more
+difficult to be amused. Lucretia had lost her charm: they had been married
+nearly three years. The marquess, from whom nothing could be concealed,
+perceived that often, while she elaborately attempted to divert him, her
+mind was wandering elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>He fell into the easy habit of dining in his private rooms, sometimes
+<i>t&ecirc;te-à-t&ecirc;te</i> with Villebecque, his private secretary, a
+cosmopolitan theatrical manager, whose tales and adventures about a kind of
+society which Lord Monmouth had always preferred to the polished and
+somewhat insipid circles in which he was born, had rendered him the prime
+favourite of his great patron. Villebecque's step-daughter Flora, a modest
+and retiring maiden, waited on Lucretia.</p>
+
+<p>Back in London, Lord Monmouth, on the day of his arrival, welcomed
+Coningsby to his room, and at a sign from his master Villebecque left the
+apartment.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, Harry," said Lord Monmouth, "that I am much occupied to-day,
+yet the business on which I wish to communicate with you is so pressing
+that it could not be postponed. These are not times when young men should
+be out of sight. Your public career will commence immediately. The
+government have resolved on a dissolution. My information is from the
+highest quarter. The Whigs are going to dissolve their own House of
+Commons. Notwithstanding this, we can beat them, but the race requires the
+finest jockeying. We can't give a point. Now, if we had a good candidate,
+we could win Dartford. But Rigby won't do. He is too much of the old clique
+used up a hack; besides, a beaten horse. We are assured the name of
+Coningsby would be a host; there is a considerable section who support the
+present fellow who will not vote against a Coningsby. They have thought of
+you as a fit person; and I have approved of the suggestion. You will,
+therefore, be the candidate for Dartford with my entire sanction and
+support; and I have no doubt you will be successful."</p>
+
+<p>To Coningsby the idea was appalling. To be the rival of Mr. Millbank on
+the hustings of Dartford! Vanquished or victorious, equally a catastrophe.
+He saw Edith canvassing for her father and against him. Besides, to enter
+the House of Commons a slave and a tool of party! Strongly anti-Whig,
+Coningsby distrusted the Conservative party, and looked for a new party of
+men who shared his youthful convictions and high political principles.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Monmouth, however, brushed aside his grandson's objections.</p>
+
+<p>"You are certainly still young; but I was younger by nearly two years
+when I first went in, and I found no difficulty. As for your opinions, you
+have no business to have any other than those I uphold. I want to see you
+in parliament. I tell you what it is, Harry," Lord Monmouth concluded, very
+emphatically, "members of this family may think as they like, but they must
+act as I please. You must go down on Friday to Dartford and declare
+yourself a candidate for the town, or I shall reconsider our mutual
+positions."</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby left Monmouth House in dejection, but to his solemn resolution
+of political faith he remained firm. He would not stand for Dartford
+against Mr. Millbank as the nominee of a party he could not follow. In
+terms of tenderness and humility he wrote to his grandfather that he
+positively declined to enter parliament except as the master of his own
+conduct.</p>
+
+<p>In the same hour of his distress Coningsby overheard in his club two men
+discussing the engagement of Miss Millbank to the Marquess of Beaumanoir,
+the elder brother of his school friend, Henry Sydney.</p>
+
+<p>Edith Millbank, too, had heard news at a London assembly of wealth and
+fashion that Coningsby was engaged to be married to Lady Theresa
+Sydney.</p>
+
+<p>So easily does rumour spin her stories and smite her victims with
+sadness.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--Lady Monmouth's Departure</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was Flora, to whom Coningsby had been always kind and courteous, who
+told Lucretia that Lord Monmouth was displeased with his grandson.</p>
+
+<p>"My lord is very angry with Mr. Coningsby," she said, shaking her head
+mournfully. "My lord told M. Villebecque that perhaps Mr. Coningsby would
+never enter the house again."</p>
+
+<p>Lucretia immediately dispatched a note to Mr. Rigby, and, on the arrival
+of that gentleman, told him all she had learnt of the contention between
+Harry Coningsby and her husband.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you to beware of him long ago," said Lady Monmouth. "He has ever
+been in the way of both of us."</p>
+
+<p>"He is in my power," said Rigby. "We can crush him. He is in love with
+the daughter of Millbank, the man who bought Hellingsley. I found the
+younger Millbank quite domiciliated at the castle, a fact which of itself,
+if known to Lord Monmouth, would ensure the lad's annihilation."</p>
+
+<p>"The time is now most mature for this. Let us not conceal it from
+ourselves that since this grandson's first visit to Coningsby Castle we
+have neither of us really been in the same position with my lord which we
+then occupied, or believed we should occupy. Go now; the game is before
+you! Rid me of this Coningsby, and I will secure all that you want."</p>
+
+<p>"It shall be done," said Rigby, "it must be done."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Monmouth bade Mr. Rigby hasten at once to the marquess and bring
+her news of the interview. She awaited with some excitement his return. Her
+original prejudice against Coningsby and jealousy of his influence had been
+aggravated by the knowledge that, although after her marriage Lord Monmouth
+had made a will which secured to her a very large portion of his great
+wealth, the energies and resources of the marquess had of late been
+directed to establish Coningsby in a barony.</p>
+
+<p>Two hours elapsed before Mr. Rigby returned. There was a churlish and
+unusual look about him.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord Monmouth suggests that, as you were tired of Paris, your ladyship
+might find the German baths at Kissingen agreeable. A paragraph in the
+'Morning Post' would announce that his lordship was about to join you; and
+even if his lordship did not ultimately reach you, an amicable separation
+would be effected."</p>
+
+<p>In vain Lucretia stormed. Mr. Rigby mentioned that Lord Monmouth had
+already left the house and would not return, and finally announced that
+Lucretia's letters to a certain Prince Trautsmandorff were in his
+lordship's possession.</p>
+
+<p>A few days later, and Coningsby read in the papers of Lady Monmouth's
+departure to Kissingen. He called at Monmouth House, to find the place
+empty, and to learn from the porter that Lord Monmouth was about to occupy
+a villa at Richmond.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the
+exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced nothing
+but kindness from Lord Monmouth. He determined to pay him a visit at
+Richmond.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Monmouth, who was entertaining two French ladies at his villa,
+recoiled from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds; but Coningsby
+so pleasantly impressed his fair visitors that Lord Monmouth decided to ask
+him to dinner. Thus, in spite of the combinations of Lucretia and Mr.
+Rigby, and his grandfather's resentment, within a month of the memorable
+interview at Monmouth House, Coningsby found himself once more a welcome
+guest at Lord Monmouth's table.</p>
+
+<p>In that same month other important circumstances also occurred.</p>
+
+<p>At a f&ecirc;te in some beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames,
+Coningsby and Edith Millbank were both present. The announcement was made
+of the forthcoming marriage of Lady Theresa Sydney to Mr. Eustace Lyle, a
+friend of Mr. Coningsby; and later, from the lips of Lady Wallinger
+herself, Miss Millbank's aunt, Coningsby learnt how really groundless was
+the report of Lord Beaumanoir's engagement.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord Beaumanoir admires her--has always admired her," Lady Wallinger
+explained to Coningsby; "but Edith has given him no encouragement
+whatever."</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the terrace Edith and Coningsby met. He seized the
+occasion to walk some distance by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"How could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby, after some time.</p>
+
+<p>"I was unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>"And now we are to each other as before."</p>
+
+<p>"And will be, come what may," said Edith.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VI.--Lord Monmouth's Money</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the midst of Christmas-revels at the country house of Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, surrounded by the duke and duchess and their children--the
+Sydneys--Coningsby was called away by a messenger, who brought news of the
+sudden death of Lord Monmouth. The marquess had died at supper at his
+Richmond villa, with no persons near him but those who were very
+amusing.</p>
+
+<p>The body had been removed to Monmouth House; and after the funeral, in
+the principal saloon of Monmouth House, the will was eventually read.</p>
+
+<p>The date of the will was 1829; and by this document the sum of
+&pound;10,000 was left to Coningsby, who at that time was unknown to his
+grandfather.</p>
+
+<p>But there were many codicils. In 1832, the &pound;10,000 was increased
+to &pound;50,000. In 1836, after Coningsby's visit to the castle,
+&pound;50,000 was left to the Princess Lucretia, and Coningsby was left
+sole residuary legatee.</p>
+
+<p>After the marriage, an estate of &pound;9,000 a year was left to
+Coningsby, &pound;20,000 to Mr. Rigby, and the whole of the residue went to
+issue by Lady Monmouth.</p>
+
+<p>In the event of there being no issue, the whole of the estate was to be
+divided equally between Lady Monmouth and Coningsby. In 1839, Mr. Rigby was
+reduced to &pound;10,000, Lady Monmouth was to receive &pound;3,000 per
+annum, and the rest, without reserve, went absolutely to Coningsby.</p>
+
+<p>The last codicil was dated immediately after the separation with Lady
+Monmouth.</p>
+
+<p>All dispositions in favour of Coningsby were revoked, and he was left
+with the interest of the original &pound;10,000, the executors to invest
+the money as they thought best for his advancement, provided it were not
+placed in any manufactory.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Rigby received &pound;5,000, M. Villebecque &pound;30,000, and all
+the rest, residue and remainder, to Flora, commonly called Flora
+Villebecque, step-child of Armand Villebecque, "but who is my natural
+daughter by an actress at the Th&eacute;âtre Fran&ccedil;ais in the years
+1811-15, by the name of Stella."</p>
+
+<p>Sidonia lightened the blow for Coningsby as far as philosophy could be
+of use.</p>
+
+<p>"I ask you," he said, "which would you have rather lost--your
+grandfather's inheritance or your right leg?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most certainly my inheritance."</p>
+
+<p>"Or your left arm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Still the inheritance."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you have given up a year of your life for that fortune
+trebled?"</p>
+
+<p>"Even at twenty-three I would have refused the terms."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, then, Coningsby, the calamity cannot be very great. You have
+health, youth, good looks, great abilities, considerable knowledge, a fine
+courage, and no contemptible experience. You can live on &pound;300 a year.
+Read for the Bar."</p>
+
+<p>"I have resolved," said Coningsby. "I will try for the Great Seal!"</p>
+
+<p>Next morning came a note from Flora, begging Mr. Coningsby to call upon
+her. It was an interview he would rather have avoided. But Flora had not
+injured him, and she was, after all, his kin. She was alone when Coningsby
+entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>"I have robbed you of your inheritance."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not mine by any right, legal or moral. The fortune is yours,
+dear Flora, by every right; and there is no one who wishes more fervently
+that it may contribute to your happiness than I do."</p>
+
+<p>"It is killing me," said Flora mournfully. "I must tell you what I feel.
+This fortune is yours. I never thought to be so happy as I shall be if you
+will generously accept it."</p>
+
+<p>"You are, as I have ever thought you, the kindest and most
+tender-hearted of beings," said Coningsby, much moved; "but the custom of
+the world does not permit such acts to either of us as you contemplate.
+Have confidence in yourself. You will be happy."</p>
+
+<p>"When I die, these riches will be yours; that, at all events, you cannot
+prevent," were Flora's last generous words.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VII.--On Life's Threshold</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Coningsby established himself in the Temple to read law; and Lord Henry
+Sydney, Oswald Millbank, and other old Eton friends rallied round their
+early leader.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel quite convinced that Coningsby will become Lord Chancellor,"
+Henry Sydney said gravely, after leaving the Temple.</p>
+
+<p>The General Election of 1841, which Lord Monmouth had expected a year
+before, found Coningsby a solitary student in his lonely chambers in the
+Temple. All his friends and early companions were candidates, and with
+sanguine prospects. They sent their addresses to Coningsby, who, deeply
+interested, traced in them the influence of his own mind.</p>
+
+<p>Then, in the midst of the election, one evening in July, Coningsby,
+catching up a third edition of the "Sun," was startled by the word
+"Dartford" in large type. Below it were the headlines:</p>
+
+<p>"Extraordinary Affair! Withdrawal of the Liberal Candidate! Two Tory
+Candidates in the Field!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Millbank, at the last moment, had retired, and had persuaded his
+supporters to nominate Harry Coningsby in his place. The fight was between
+Coningsby and Rigby.</p>
+
+<p>Oswald Millbank, who had just been returned to parliament, came up to
+London; and from him, as they travelled to Dartford, Coningsby grasped the
+change of events. Sidonia had explained to Lady Wallinger the cause of
+Coningsby's disinheritance. Lady Wallinger had told Oswald and Edith; and
+Oswald had urged on his father the recognition of his friend's affection
+for his sister.</p>
+
+<p>On his own impulse Mr. Millbank decided that Coningsby should contest
+Dartford.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Rigby was beaten; and Coningsby arrived at Dartford in time to
+receive the cheers of thousands. From the hustings he gave his first
+address to a public assembly; and by general agreement no such speech had
+ever been heard in the borough before.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the autumn Harry and Edith were married at Millbank, and they
+passed their first moon at Hellingsley.</p>
+
+<p>The death of Flora, who had bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the
+husband of Edith, took place before the end of the year, hastened by the
+fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days,
+haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the instrument
+of injuring the only being whom she loved.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby passed his next Christmas in his own hall, with his beautiful
+and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart and
+his youth.</p>
+
+<p>The young couple stand now on the threshold of public life. What will be
+their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the
+great truths, which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? Or will
+vanity confound their fortunes, and jealousy wither their sympathies?</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="disraeli2">Sybil, or the Two Nations</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Sybil, or the Two Nations" was published in 1845, a year
+after "Coningsby," and in it the novelist "considered the condition of the
+people." The author himself, writing in 1870 of this novel, said: "At that
+time the Chartist agitation was still fresh in the public memory, and its
+repetition was far from improbable. I had visited and observed with care
+all the localities introduced, and as an accurate and never exaggerated
+picture of a remarkable period in our domestic history, and of a popular
+organisation which in its extent and completeness has perhaps never been
+equalled, the pages of "Sybil" may, I venture to believe, be consulted with
+confidence." "Sybil," indeed, is not only an extremely interesting novel;
+but as a study of social life in England it is of very definite historical
+value. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Hard Times for the Poor</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was Derby Day, 1837. Charles Egremont was in the ring at Epsom with a
+band of young patricians. Groups surrounded the betting post, and the odds
+were shouted lustily by a host of horsemen. Egremont had backed Caravan to
+win, and Caravan lost by half a length. Charles Egremont was the younger
+brother of the Earl of Marney; he had received &pound;15,000 on the death
+of his father, and had spent it. Disappointed in love at the age of
+twenty-four, Egremont left England, to return after eighteen months'
+absence a much wiser man. He was now conscious that he wanted an object,
+and, musing over action, was ignorant how to act.</p>
+
+<p>The morning after the Derby, Egremont, breakfasting with his mother,
+learnt that King William IV. was dying, and that a dissolution of
+parliament was at hand. Lady Marney was a great stateswoman, a leader in
+fashionable politics.</p>
+
+<p>"Charles," said Lady Marney, "you must stand for the old borough, for
+Marbury. No doubt the contest will be very expensive, but it will be a
+happy day for me to see you in parliament, and Marney will, of course,
+supply the funds. I shall write to him, and perhaps you will do so
+yourself."</p>
+
+<p>The election took place, and Egremont was returned. Then he paid a visit
+to his brother at Marney Abbey, and an old estrangement between the two was
+ended.</p>
+
+<p>Marney Abbey was as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of
+accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. It had been a
+religious house. The founder of the Marney family, a confidential domestic
+of one of the favourites of Henry VIII., had contrived by unscrupulous zeal
+to obtain the grant of the abbey lands, and in the reign of Elizabeth came
+a peerage.</p>
+
+<p>The present Lord Marney upheld the workhouse, hated allotments and
+infant schools, and declared the labourers on his estate to be happy and
+contented with a wage of seven shillings a week.</p>
+
+<p>The burning of hayricks on the Abbey Farm at the time of Egremont's
+visit showed that the torch of the incendiary had been introduced and that
+a beacon had been kindled in the agitated neighbourhood. For misery lurked
+in the wretched tenements of the town of Marney, and fever was rife. The
+miserable hovels of the people had neither windows nor doors, and were
+unpaved, and looked as if they could scarcely hold together. There were few
+districts in the kingdom where the rate of wages was more depressed.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of this fire?" said Egremont to a labourer at the
+Abbey Farm.</p>
+
+<p>"I think 'tis hard times for the poor, sir," was the reply, given with a
+shake of the head.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Old Tradition</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Why was England not the same land as in the days of his light-hearted
+youth?" Charles Egremont mused, as he wandered among the ruins of the
+ancient abbey. "Why were these hard times for the poor?" Brooding over
+these questions, he observed two men hard by in the old cloister garden,
+one of lofty stature, nearer forty than fifty years of age, the other
+younger and shorter, with a pale face redeemed from ugliness by its
+intellectual brow. Egremont joined the strangers, and talked.</p>
+
+<p>"Our queen reigns over two nations, between whom there is no intercourse
+and no sympathy--the rich and the poor," said the younger stranger.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, from the lady chapel rose the evening hymn to the Virgin in
+tones of almost supernatural tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>The melody ceased; and Egremont beheld a female form, a countenance
+youthful, and of a beauty as rare as it was choice.</p>
+
+<p>The two men joined the beautiful maiden; and the three quitted the abbey
+grounds together without another word, and pursued their way to the railway
+station.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen the tomb of the last abbot of Marney, and I marked your
+name on the stone, my father," said the maiden. "You must regain our lands
+for us, Stephen," she added to the younger man.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand why you lost sight of those papers, Walter," said
+Stephen Morley.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, friend, they were never in my possession; they were not mine
+when I saw them. They were my father's. He was a small yeoman, well-to-do
+in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition that the lands
+were ours. This Hatton got hold of him; he did his work well, I have heard.
+It is twenty-five years since my father brought his writ of right, and
+though baffled, he was not beaten. Then he died; his affairs were in great
+confusion; he had mortgaged his land for his writ. There were debts that
+could not be paid. I had no capital. I would not sink to be a labourer. I
+had heard much of the high wages of this new industry; I left the
+land."</p>
+
+<p>"And the papers?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought of them, or thought of them with disgust, as the cause
+of my ruin. Of Hatton, I have not heard since my father's death. He had
+quitted Mowbray, and none could give me tidings of him. When you came and
+showed me in a book that the last abbot of Marney was a Walter Gerard, the
+old feeling stirred again, and though I am but the overlooker at Mr.
+Trafford's mill, I could not help telling you that my fathers fought at
+Agincourt."</p>
+
+<p>They approached the station, entered the train, and two hours later
+arrived at Mowbray. Gerard and Morley left their companion at a convent
+gate in the suburbs of the manufacturing town.</p>
+
+<p>The two men made their way through the streets and entered a prominent
+public house. Here they sought an interview with the landlord, and from him
+got information of Hatton's brother.</p>
+
+<p>"You have heard of a place called Hell-house Yard?" said the publican.
+"Well, he lives there, and his name is Simon, and that's all I know about
+him."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Gulf Impassable</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>When it came to the point, Lord Marney very much objected to paying
+Egremont's election expenses, and proposed instead that he should accompany
+him to Mowbray Castle, and marry Earl Mowbray's daughter, Lady Joan
+Fitz-Warene.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Mowbray was the grandson of a waiter, who had gone out to India a
+gentleman's valet, and returned a nabob. Lord Mowbray's two daughters--he
+had no sons--were great heiresses. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud
+inquisitive. Egremont fell in love with neither, and the visit was a
+failure. Lord Marney declined to pay the election expenses.</p>
+
+<p>The brothers parted in anger; and Egremont took up his abode in a
+cottage in Mowedale, a few miles outside the town of Mowbray. He was drawn
+to this by the knowledge that Walter Gerard and his daughter Sybil, and
+their friend Stephen Morley, lived close by. Of Egremont's rank these three
+were ignorant. Sybil had met him with Mr. St. Lys, the good vicar of
+Mowbray, relieving the misery of a poor weaver's family in the town, and at
+Mowedale he passed as Mr. Franklin, a journalist.</p>
+
+<p>For some weeks Egremont enjoyed the peace of rural life, and the
+intercourse with the Gerards ripened into friendship. When the time came
+for parting, for Egremont had to take his seat in parliament, it was a
+tender farewell on both sides.</p>
+
+<p>Egremont, embarrassed by his deception, could not only speak vaguely of
+their meeting again soon. The thought of parting from Sybil nearly
+overwhelmed him.</p>
+
+<p>When he met Gerard and Morley again it was in London, and disguise was
+no longer possible. Gerard and Morley came as delegates to the Chartist
+National Convention in 1839, and, deputed by their fellows to interview
+Charles Egremont, M.P., came face to face with "Mr. Franklin."</p>
+
+<p>The general misery in the country at that time was appalling. Weavers
+and miners were starving, agricultural labourers were driven into the new
+workhouses, and riots were of common occurrence. The Chartists believed
+their proposals would improve matters, other working-class leaders believed
+that a general stoppage of work would be more effective.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, in London with her father, ardently supported the popular
+movement. Meeting Egremont near Westminster Abbey on the very day after
+Gerard and Morley had waited upon him, she allowed him to escort her home.
+Then, for the first time, she learnt that her friend "Mr. Franklin" was the
+brother of Lord Marney.</p>
+
+<p>It was in vain Egremont urged that they might still be friends, that the
+gulf between rich and poor was not impassable.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir," said Sybil haughtily, "I am one of those who believe the gulf
+is impassable--yes, utterly impassable!"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Plotting Against Lord De Mowbray</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Stephen Morley was the editor of the "Mowbray Phoenix," a teetotaler, a
+vegetarian, a believer in moral force. The friend of Gerard, and in love
+with Sybil, Stephen looked with no favour on Egremont. Although a delegate
+to the Chartist Convention, Stephen had not forgotten the claims of Gerard
+to landed estate, and had pursued his inquiries as to the whereabouts of
+Hatton with some success.</p>
+
+<p>First Stephen had journeyed to Woodgate, commonly known as Hell-house
+Yard, a wild and savage place, the abode of a lawless race of men who
+fashioned locks and instruments of iron. Here he had found Simon Hatton,
+who knew nothing of his brother's residence.</p>
+
+<p>By accident Stephen discovered that the man he sought lived in the
+Temple. Baptist Hatton at that time was the most famous of heraldic
+antiquaries. Not a pedigree in dispute, not a peerage in abeyance, but it
+was submitted to his consideration. A solitary man was Baptist Hatton,
+wealthy and absorbed in his pursuits. The meeting with Morley excited him,
+and he turned over the matter anxiously in his mind as he sat alone.</p>
+
+<p>"The son of Walter Gerard, a Chartist delegate! The best blood in
+England! Those infernal papers! They made my fortune; and yet the deed has
+cost me many a pang. It seemed innoxious; the old man dead, insolvent;
+myself starving; his son ignorant of all--to whom could they be of use, for
+it required thousands to work them? And yet with all my wealth and power
+what memory shall I leave? Not a relative in the world, except a barbarian.
+Ah! had I a child like the beautiful daughter of Gerard. I have seen her.
+He must be a fiend who could injure her. I am that fiend. Let me see what
+can be done. What if I married her?"</p>
+
+<p>But Hatton did not offer marriage to Sybil. He did much to make her stay
+in London pleasant; but there was something about the maiden that awed
+while it fascinated him. A Catholic himself, Hatton was not surprised to
+hear from Gerard of Sybil's wish to enter a convent. "And to my mind she is
+right. My daughter cannot look to marriage; no man that she could marry
+would be worthy of her."</p>
+
+<p>This did not deter Hatton from considering how the papers relating to
+Gerard's lost estates could be recovered.</p>
+
+<p>The first move was an action entered against Lord de Mowbray, and this
+brought that distinguished peer to Mr. Hatton's chambers in the Temple, for
+Hatton was at that time advising Lord de Mowbray in the matter of reviving
+an ancient barony. Hatton easily quieted his client.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Walter Gerard can do nothing without the deed of '77. Your
+documents you say are all secure?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are at this moment in the muniment room of the tower of Mowbray
+Castle."</p>
+
+<p>"Keep them; this action is a feint."</p>
+
+<p>As for Mr. Baptist Hatton, the next time we see him a few months had
+elapsed. He is at the principal hotel in Mowbray in consultation with
+Stephen Morley.</p>
+
+<p>A great labour demonstration had taken place the previous night on the
+moors outside the town, and Gerard had been acclaimed as a popular
+hero.</p>
+
+<p>"Documents are in existence," said Hatton, "which prove the title of
+Walter Gerard to the proprietorship of this great district. Two hundred
+thousand human beings yesterday acknowledged the supremacy of Gerard.
+Suppose they had known that within the walls of Mowbray Castle were
+contained the proofs that Walter Gerard was the lawful possessor of the
+lands on which they live? Moral force is a fine thing, friend Morley, but
+the public spirit is inflamed here. You are a leader of the people. Let us
+have another meeting on the Moor! you can put your fingers in a trice on
+the man who will do our work. Mowbray Castle in their possession, a certain
+iron chest, painted blue, and blazoned with the shield of Valence, would be
+delivered to you. You shall have &pound;10,000 down and I will take you
+back to London besides."</p>
+
+<p>"The effort would fail," said Stephen Morley. "Wages must drop still
+more, and the discontent here be deeper. But I will keep the secret; I will
+treasure it up."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--Liberty--At a Price</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>While Mr. Baptist Hatton and Stephen Morley discussed the possible
+recovery of the papers, much happened in London. Gerard became a marked man
+in the Chartist Convention, a member of a small but resolute committee.
+Egremont, now deeply in love with Sybil, declared his suit.</p>
+
+<p>"From the first moment I beheld you in the starlit arch of Marney, your
+image has never been absent from my consciousness. Do not reject my love;
+it is deep as your nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those prejudices
+that have embittered your existence. If I be a noble, I have none of the
+accidents of nobility. I cannot offer you wealth, splendour, and power; but
+I can offer you the devotion of an entranced being, aspirations that you
+shall guide, an ambition that you shall govern."</p>
+
+<p>"These words are mystical and wild," said Sybil in amazement. "You are
+Lord Marney's brother; I learnt it but yesterday. Retain your hand, and
+share your life and fortunes! You forget what I am. No, no, kind
+friend--for such I'll call you--your opinion of me touches me deeply. I am
+not used to such passages in life. A union between the child and brother of
+nobles and a daughter of the people is impossible. It would mean
+estrangement from your family, their hopes destroyed, their pride outraged.
+Believe me, the gulf is impassable."</p>
+
+<p>The Chartist petition was rejected by the House of Commons
+contemptuously. Riots took place in Birmingham. Sybil grew anxious for her
+father's safety.</p>
+
+<p>Egremont's speech in parliament on the presentation of the national
+petition created some perplexity among his aristocratic relatives and
+acquaintances. It was free from the slang of faction--the voice of a noble
+who had upheld the popular cause, who had pronounced that the rights of
+labour were as sacred as those of property, that the social happiness of
+the millions should be the statesman's first object.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, enjoying the calm of St. James's Park on a summer morning, read
+the speech with emotion, and while she still held the paper the orator
+himself stood before her. She smiled without distress, and presently
+confided to Egremont that she was unhappy, about her father.</p>
+
+<p>"I honour your father," said Egremont "Counsel him to return to Mowbray.
+Exert every energy to get him to leave London at once--to-night if
+possible. After this business at Birmingham the government will strike at
+the convention. If your father returns to Mowbray and is quiet, he has a
+chance of not being disturbed."</p>
+
+<p>Sybil returned and warned her father. "You are in danger," she cried,
+"great and immediate. Let us quit this city to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow, my child," Walter Gerard assured her, "we will return to
+Mowbray. To-night our council meets, and we have work of utmost importance.
+We must discountenance scenes of violence. The moment our council is over I
+will come back to you."</p>
+
+<p>But Walter Gerard did not return. While Sybil sat and waited, Stephen
+Morley entered the room. His manner was strange and unusual.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father is in danger; time is precious. I can endure no longer the
+anguish of my life. I love you, and if you will not be mine, I care for no
+one's fate. I can save your father. If I see him before eight o'clock, I
+can convince him that the government knows of his intentions, and will
+arrest him to-night. I am ready to do this service--to save the father from
+death and the daughter from despair, if she would but only say to me: 'I
+have but one reward, and it is yours.'"</p>
+
+<p>"It is bitter, this," said Sybil, "bitter for me and mine; but for you
+pollution, this bargaining of blood. In the name of the Holy Virgin I
+answer you--no!"</p>
+
+<p>Morley rushed frantically from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, in despair, made her way to a coffee-house near Charing Cross,
+which she knew had been much frequented by members of the Chartist
+Convention. Here, after some delay, she was given the fatal address in Hunt
+Street, Seven Dials.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil arrived at the meeting a few minutes before the police raided the
+premises. She was found with her father, and taken with him and six other
+men to Bow Street Police Station. A note to Egremont procured her release
+in the early hours of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Walter Gerard in due time was sent to trial, convicted and sentenced to
+eighteen month's confinement in York Castle.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VI.--Within the Castle Walls</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In 1842 came the great stoppage of work. The mills ceased; the miners
+went "to play," despairing of a fair day's wage for a fair day's work; and
+the inhabitants of Woodgate--the Hell-cats, as they were called--stirred up
+by a Chartist delegate, sallied forth with Simon Hatton, named the
+"liberator," at their head to deal ruthlessly with all "oppressors of the
+people."</p>
+
+<p>They sacked houses, plundered cellars, ravaged provision shops,
+destroyed gas-works and stormed workhouses. In time they came to Mowbray.
+There the liberator came face to face with Baptist Hatton without
+recognising his brother.</p>
+
+<p>Stephen Morley and Baptist Hatton were in close conference.</p>
+
+<p>"The times are critical," said Hatton.</p>
+
+<p>"Mowbray may be burnt to the ground before the troops arrive," Morley
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>"And the castle, too," said Hatton quietly. "I was thinking only
+yesterday of a certain box of papers. To business, friend Morley. This
+savage relative of mine cannot be quiet. If he does not destroy Trafford's
+Mill it will be the castle. Why not the castle instead of the mill?"</p>
+
+<p>Trafford's Mill was saved by the direct intervention of Walter Gerard.
+All the people of Mowbray knew the good reputation of the Traffords, and
+Gerard's eloquence turned the mob from the attack.</p>
+
+<p>While the liberator and the Hell-cats hesitated, a man named Dandy Mick,
+prompted by Morley, urged that a walk should be taken in Lord de Mowbray's
+park.</p>
+
+<p>The proposition was received with shouts of approbation. Gerard
+succeeded in detaching a number of Mowbray men, but the Hell-cats, armed
+with bludgeons, poured into the park and on to the castle.</p>
+
+<p>Lady de Mowbray and her friends made their escape, taking Sybil, who had
+sought refuge from the mob, with them.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. St. Lys gathered a body of men in defence of the castle, but came
+too late to prevent the entrance of the Hell-cats. Singularly enough,
+Morley and one or two of his followers entered with the liberator.</p>
+
+<p>The first great rush was to the cellars, and the invaders were quickly
+at work knocking off the heads of bottles, and brandishing torches. Morley
+and his lads traced their way down a corridor to the winding steps of the
+Round Tower, and forced their way into the muniment room of the castle. It
+was not till his search had nearly been abandoned in despair that he found
+the small blue box blazoned with the arms of Valence. He passed it hastily
+to a trusted companion, Dandy Mick, and bade him deliver it to Sybil Gerard
+at the convent.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment the noise of musketry was heard; the yeomanry were on the
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>Morley, cut off from flight by the military, was shot, pistol in hand,
+with the name of Sybil on his lips. "The world will misjudge me," he
+thought--"they will call me hypocrite, but the world is wrong."</p>
+
+<p>The man with the box escaped through the window, and in spite of the
+fire, troopers, and mob, reached the convent in safety.</p>
+
+<p>The castle was burnt to the ground by the torches of the Hell-cats.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, separated from her friends, found herself surrounded by a band of
+drunken ruffians. She was rescued by a yeomanry officer, who pressed her to
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Never to part again," said Egremont.</p>
+
+<p>Under Egremont's protection, Sybil returned to the convent, and there in
+the courtyard they found Dandy Mick, who had refused to deliver his charge,
+and was lying down with the blue box for his pillow. He had fulfilled his
+mission. Sybil, too agitated to perceive all its import, delivered the box
+into the custody of Egremont, who, bidding farewell to Sybil, bade Mick
+follow him to his hotel.</p>
+
+<p>While these events were happening, Lord Marney, hearing an alarmed and
+exaggerated report of the insurrection, and believing that Egremont's
+forces were by no means equal to the occasion, had set out for Mowbray with
+his own troop of yeomanry.</p>
+
+<p>Crossing the moor, he encountered Walter Gerard with a great multitude,
+whom Gerard headed for purposes of peace.</p>
+
+<p>His mind inflamed, and hating at all times any popular demonstration,
+Lord Marney hastily read the Riot Act, and the people were fired on and
+sabred. The indignant spirit of Gerard resisted, and the father of Sybil
+was shot dead. Instantly arose a groan, and a feeling of frenzy came over
+the people. Armed only with stones and bludgeons they defied the troopers,
+and rushed at the horsemen; a shower of stones rattled without ceasing on
+the helmet of Lord Marney, nor did the people rest till Lord Marney fell
+lifeless on Mowbray Moor, stoned to death.</p>
+
+<p>The writ of right against Lord de Mowbray proved successful in the
+courts, and his lordship died of the blow.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time after the death of her father Sybil remained in helpless
+woe. The widowed Lady Marney, however, came over one day, and carried her
+back to Marney Abbey, never again to quit it until the bridal day, when the
+Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italy.</p>
+
+<p>Though the result was not what Mr. Hatton had once anticipated, the idea
+that he had deprived Sybil of her inheritance had, ever since he had become
+acquainted with her, been the plague-spot of Hatton's life, and there was
+nothing he desired more than to see her restored to those rights, and to be
+instrumental in that restoration.</p>
+
+<p>Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had encountered in the
+service of Sybil, and was set up in business by Lord Marney. A year after
+the burning of Mowbray Castle, on the return of the Earl and Countess of
+Marney to England, the romantic marriage and the enormous wealth of Lord
+and Lady Marney were still the talk in fashionable circles.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="disraeli3">Tancred, or the New Crusade</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Tancred," published in 1847, completes the trilogy, which
+began with "Coningsby" in 1844, and had its second volume in "Sybil" in
+1845. In these three novels Disraeli gave to the world his political,
+social, and religious philosophy. "Coningsby" was mainly political, "Sybil"
+mainly social, and in "Tancred," as the author tells us, Disraeli dealt
+with the origin of the Christian Church of England and its relation to the
+Hebrew race whence Christianity sprang. "Public opinion recognized the
+truth and sincerity of these views," although their general spirit ran
+counter to current Liberal utilitarianism. Although "Tancred" lacks the
+vigour of "Sibyl" and the wit of "Coningsby," it is full of the colour of
+the East, and the satire and irony in the part relating to Tancred's life
+in England are vastly entertaining. As in others of Disraeli's novels, many
+of the characters here are portraits of real personages. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Tancred Goes Forth on His Quest</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Tancred, the Marquis of Montacute, was certainly strangely distracted on
+his twenty-first birthday. He stood beside his father, the Duke of
+Bellamont, in the famous Crusaders' gallery in the Castle of Montacute,
+listening to the congratulations which the mayor and corporation of
+Montacute town were addressing to him; but all the time he kept his eyes
+fixed on the magnificent tapestries from which the name of the gallery was
+derived. His namesake, Tancred of Montacute, had distinguished himself in
+the Third Crusade by saving the life of King Richard at the siege of
+Ascalon, and his exploits were depicted on the fine Gobelins work hanging
+on the walls of the great hall. Oblivious of the gorgeous ceremony in which
+he was playing the principal part, the young Marquis of Montacute stared at
+the pictures of the Crusader, and a wild, fantastical idea took hold of
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He was the only child of the Duke of Bellamont, and all the high
+nobility of England were assembled to celebrate his coming of age.
+Everything that fortune could bestow seemed to have been given to him. He
+was the heir of the greatest and richest of English dukes, and his life was
+made smooth and easy. His father had got a seat in parliament waiting for
+him, and his mother had already selected a noble and beautiful young lady
+for his wife. Neither of them had yet consulted their son, but Tancred was
+so sweet and gentle a boy that they did not dream he would oppose their
+wishes. They had planned out his life for him ever since he was born, with
+the view to educating him for the position which he was to occupy in the
+English aristocracy, and he had always taken the path which they had chosen
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening, the duke summoned his son into his library.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Tancred," he said, "I have a piece of good news for you on your
+birthday. Hungerford feels that he cannot represent our constituency now
+that you have come of age, and, with great kindness, he is resigning his
+seat in your favour. He says that the Marquis of Montacute ought to stand
+for the town of Montacute, so you will be able to enter parliament at
+once."</p>
+
+<p>"But I do not wish to enter parliament," said Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>The duke leant back from his desk with a look of painful surprise on his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"Not enter parliament?" he exclaimed. "Every Lord Montacute has gone
+into the House of Commons before taking his seat in the House of Lords. It
+is an excellent training."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not anxious to enter the House of Lords either," said Tancred.
+"And I hope, my dear father," he added, with a smile that lit up his young,
+grave, beautiful face, "that it will be very, very long before I succeed to
+your place there."</p>
+
+<p>"What, then, do you intend to do, my boy?" said Bellamont, in intense
+perplexity. "You are the heir to one of the greatest positions in the
+state, and you have duties to perform. How are you going to fit yourself
+for them?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I have been thinking of for years," said Tancred. "Oh, my
+dear father, if you knew how long and earnestly I have prayed for guidance!
+Yes, I have duties to perform! But in this wild, confused, and aimless age
+of ours, what man can see what his duties are? For my part, I cannot find
+that it is my duty to maintain the present order of things. In nothing in
+our religion, our government, our manners, do I find faith. And if there is
+no faith, how can there be any duty? We have ceased to be a nation. We are
+a mere crowd, kept from utter anarchy by the remains of an old system which
+we are daily destroying."</p>
+
+<p>"But what would you do, my dear boy?" said the duke, pale with anxiety.
+"Have you found any remedy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Tancred mournfully. "There is no remedy to be found in
+England. Oh, let me save myself, father! Let me save our people from the
+corruption and ruin that threaten us!"</p>
+
+<p>"But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?" said the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to go to God!" cried the young nobleman, his blue eyes flaming
+with a strange light "How is it that the Almighty Power does not send down
+His angels to enlighten us in our perplexities? Where is the Paraclete, the
+Comforter Who was promised us? I must go and seek him."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a visionary, my boy," said the duke, gazing at him in blank
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Was the Montacute that fought by the side of King Richard in the Holy
+Land a visionary?" said Tancred. "All I ask is to be allowed to follow in
+his footsteps. For three days and three nights he knelt in prayer at the
+tomb of his Redeemer. Six centuries and more have gone by since then. It is
+high time that we renewed our intercourse with the Most High in the country
+of His chosen people. I, too, would kneel at that tomb. I, too, surrounded
+by the holy hills and groves of Jerusalem, would lift my voice to Heaven,
+and ask for inspiration."</p>
+
+<p>"But surely God will hear your prayers in England as well as in
+Palestine?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said his son. "He has never raised up a prophet or a great saint
+in this country. If we want Him to speak to us as He spoke to the men of
+old, we must go, like the Crusaders, to the Holy Land."</p>
+
+<p>Finding that he could not turn his son from the strange course on which
+he was bent, the duke got a great prelate to try and persuade him that all
+was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.</p>
+
+<p>"We live in an age of progress," reasoned the philosophic bishop.
+"Religion is spreading with the spread of civilisation. How all our towns
+are growing! We shall soon see a bishop in Manchester."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to see an angel in Manchester," replied Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>It was no use arguing with a man who talked in this way, and the duke
+gave Tancred permission to set out on his new crusade.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Vigil by the Tomb</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The moon sank behind the Mount of Olives, leaving the towers, minarets,
+and domes of Jerusalem in deep shadow; the lamps in the city went out, and
+every outline was lost in gloom; but the Church of the Holy Sepulchre still
+shone in the darkness like a beacon light. There, while every soul in
+Jerusalem slumbered, Tancred knelt in prayer by the tomb of Christ, under
+the lighted dome, waiting for the fire from heaven to strike into his
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>His strange vigil was the talk of Syria. It is remarkable how quickly
+news travels in the East.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know," said Besso, Rothschild's agent, to his foster-son
+Fakredeen, an emir of Lebanon, as they sat talking in a house near the gate
+of Sion, "the young Englishman has brought me such a letter that if he were
+to tell me to rebuild Solomon's temple, I must do it!"</p>
+
+<p>"He must be fabulously rich!" said Fakredeen, with a sigh. "What has he
+come here for? The English do not come on pilgrimages. They are all
+infidels."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he has come on a pilgrimage," said Besso, "and he is the greatest
+of English princes. He kneels all night and day in the church over
+there."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, after a week of solitude, fasting, and prayer, Tancred was keeping
+vigil before the empty Sepulchre, where Tancred of Montacute had knelt six
+hundred years before. Day after day, night after night, he prayed for
+inspiration, but no divine voice broke in upon his impassioned reveries. It
+was for him that Alonzo Lara, the prior of Terra Santa, kept the light
+burning all night long at the Holy Sepulchre, for the Spaniard had been
+moved by the deep faith of the young English nobleman. And one day he said
+to him:</p>
+
+<p>"Sinai led to Calvary. I think it would be wise for you to trace the
+path backward from Calvary to Sinai."</p>
+
+<p>It was extremely perilous at that time to adventure into the great
+desert, for the wild Bedouin tribes were encamped there. But, in spite of
+this, Tancred made arrangements with an Arabian chief, Sheikh Hassan, and
+set out for Sinai at the head of a well-armed band of Arabs.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said the sheikh, as they entered the mountainous country, after a
+three days' march across the wilderness. "Look at these tracks of horses
+and camels in the defile. The marks are fresh. See that your guns are
+primed!" he cried to his men.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke a troop of wild horsemen galloped down the ravine.</p>
+
+<p>"Hassan," one of them shouted, "is that the brother of the Queen of the
+English with you? Let him ride with us, and you may return in peace."</p>
+
+<p>"He is my brother, too," said Hassan. "Stand aside, you sons of Eblis,
+or you shall bite the earth."</p>
+
+<p>A wild shout from every height of the defile was the answer. Tancred
+looked up. The crest on either side was lined with Bedouins, each with his
+musket levelled.</p>
+
+<p>"There is only one thing for us to do," said Tancred to Hassan. "Let us
+charge through the defile, and die like men!"</p>
+
+<p>Seizing his pistols, he shot the first horseman through the head, and
+disabled another. Then he charged down the ravine, and Hassan and his men
+followed, and scattered the horsemen before them. The Bedouins fired down
+on them from the crests, and, in a few moments, the place was filled with
+smoke, and Tancred could not see a yard around him. Still he galloped on,
+and the smoke suddenly drifted, and he found himself at the mouth of the
+defile, with a few followers behind him. A crowd of Bedouins were waiting
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Die fighting! Die fighting!" he shouted. Then his horse stumbled,
+stabbed from beneath by a Bedouin dagger, and fell in the sand. Before he
+could get his feet out of the stirrups, he was overpowered and bound.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't hurt him," said the Bedouin chief. "Every drop of his blood is
+worth ten thousand piastres."</p>
+
+<p>Late that night, as Amalek, the great Rechabite Bedouin sheikh, was
+sitting before his tent, a horseman rode up to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Salaam," he cried. "Sheikh of sheikhs, it is done! The brother of the
+Queen of England is your slave!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Amalek. "May your mother eat the hump of a young camel! Is
+the brother of the queen with Sheikh Salem?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the horseman, "Sheikh Salem is in paradise, and many of our
+men are with him. The brother of the Queen of the English is a mighty
+warrior. He fought like a lion, but we brought his horse down at last and
+took him alive."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Amalek. "Camels shall be given to all the widows of the men
+he has killed, and I will find them new husbands. Go and tell Fakredeen the
+good news!"</p>
+
+<p>Amalek and Fakredeen would not have cared had they lost a hundred men in
+the affair. The Bedouin chief and the emir of Lebanon could bring into the
+field more than twenty thousand lances, and the capture of Tancred was part
+of a political scheme which they were engineering for the conquest of
+Syria. They knew from Besso that the young English prince was fabulously
+rich, and, as they wanted arms, they meant to hold him to the extraordinary
+ransom of two million piastres.</p>
+
+<p>"My foster father will pay it," said Fakredeen. "He told me that he
+would have to rebuild Solomon's temple if the English prince asked him to.
+We will get him to help us rebuild Solomon's empire."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Vision on the Mount</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On the wild granite scarp of Mount Sinai, about seven thousand feet
+above the blue seas that lave its base, is a small plain hemmed in by
+pinnacles of rock. In the centre of the plain are a cypress tree and a
+fountain. This is the traditional scene of the greatest event in the
+history of mankind. It was here that Moses received the divine laws on
+which the civilisation of the world is based.</p>
+
+<p>Tancred of Montacute knelt down on the sacred soil, and bowed his head
+in prayer. Far below him, in one of the green-valleys sloping down to the
+sea, Fakredeen and a band of Bedouins pitched their tents for the night,
+and talked in awed tones of their strange companion. Wonderful is the power
+of soul with which a great idea endues a man. The young emir of Lebanon and
+his men were no longer the captors of Tancred, but his followers. He had
+preached to them with the eyes of flame and the words of fire of a prophet;
+and they now asked of him, not a ransom, but a revelation. They wanted him
+to bring down from Sinai the new word of power, which would bind their
+scattered tribes into a mighty nation, with a divine mission for all the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>What was this word to be? Tancred did not know any more than his
+followers, and he knelt all day long under the Arabian sun, waiting for the
+divine revelation. The sunlight faded, and the shadows fell around him, and
+he still remained bowed in a strange, quiet ecstasy of expectation. But at
+last, lifting up his eyes to the clear, starry sky of Arabia, he
+prayed:</p>
+
+<p>"O Lord God of Israel, I come to Thine ancient dwelling-place to pour
+forth the heart of tortured Europe. Why does no impulse from Thy renovating
+will strike again into the soul of man? Faith fades and duty dies, and a
+profound melancholy falls upon the world. Our kings cannot rule, our
+priests doubt, and our multitudes toil and moan, and call in their madness
+upon unknown gods. If this transfigured mount may not again behold Thee, if
+Thou wilt not again descend to teach and console us, send, oh send, one of
+the starry messengers that guard Thy throne, to save Thy creatures from
+their terrible despair!"</p>
+
+<p>As he prayed all the stars of Arabia grew strangely dim. The wild peaks
+of Sinai, standing sharp and black in the lucid, purple air, melted into
+shadowy, changing masses. The huge branches of the cypress-tree moved
+mysteriously above his head, and he fell upon the earth senseless and in a
+trance.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Tancred that a mighty form was bending over him with a
+countenance like an oriental night, dark yet lustrous, mystical yet clear.
+The solemn eyes of the shadowy apparition were full of the brightness and
+energy of youth and the calm wisdom of the ages.</p>
+
+<p>"I am the Angel of Arabia," said the spectral figure, waving a sceptre
+fashioned like a palm-tree, "the guardian spirit of the land which governs
+the world; for its power lies neither in the sword nor in the shield, for
+these pass away, but in ideas which are divine. All the thoughts of every
+nation come from a higher power than man, but the thoughts of Arabia come
+directly from the Most High. You want a new revelation to Christendom?
+Listen to the ancient message of Arabia!</p>
+
+<p>"Your people now hanker after other gods than the God of Sinai and
+Calvary. But the eternal principles of that Arabian faith, which moulded
+them from savages into civilised men when they descended from their
+northern forests fifteen hundred years ago, and spread all over the world,
+can alone breathe new vigour into them, now that they are decaying in the
+dust and fever of their great cities. Tell them that they must cease from
+seeking in their vain philosophies for the solution of their social
+problems. Their, longing for the brotherhood of mankind can only be
+satisfied when they acknowledge the sway of a common father. Tell them that
+they are the children of God. Announce the sublime and solacing doctrine of
+theocratic equality. Fear not, falter not. Obey the impulse of thine own
+spirit, and find a ready instrument in every human being."</p>
+
+<p>A sound as of thunder roused Tancred from his trance. Above him the
+mountains rose sharp and black in the clear purple air, and the Arabian
+stars shone with undimmed brightness; but the voice of the angel still
+lingered in his ear. He went down the mountain; at its base he found his
+followers sleeping amid their camels. He aroused Fakredeen, and told him
+that he had received the word which would bind together the warring nations
+of Arabia and Palestine, and reshape the earth.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Mystic Queen</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"It has been a great day," said Tancred to Fakredeen, as they were
+sitting some months afterwards in the castle of the young emir of Lebanon,
+where all the princes of Syria had assembled to discuss the foundation of
+the new empire. "If your friends will only work together as they promise,
+Syria is ours."</p>
+
+<p>"Even Lebanon," said Fakredeen, "can send forth more than fifty thousand
+well-armed footmen, and Amalek is gathering all the horsemen of the desert,
+from Petraea to Yemen, under our banner. If we can only win over the
+Ansarey," he continued, "we shall have all Syria and Arabia as a base for
+our operations."</p>
+
+<p>"The Ansarey?" exclaimed Tancred. "They hold the mountains around
+Antioch, which are the key of Palestine, don't they? What is their
+religion? Do you think that the doctrine of theocratic equality would
+appeal to them as it did to the Arabians?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said the emir. "They never allow strangers to enter
+their country. They are a very ancient people, and they fight so well in
+their mountains that even the Turks have not been able to conquer
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"But can't we make overtures?" said Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I have done," said Fakredeen. "The Queen of the Ansarey
+has heard about you, and I have arranged that we should go and see her as
+soon as the Syrian assembly was over. Everything is ready for our journey,
+so, if you like, we will start at once."</p>
+
+<p>It was a difficult expedition, as the Queen of the Ansarey was then
+waging war on the Turkish pasha of Aleppo. Happily, the travellers came
+upon a band of Ansareys who were raiding the Turkish province, and were led
+by them through their black ravines to the fortress palace of the
+queen.</p>
+
+<p>She received them, sitting on her divan, clothed in a purple robe, and
+shrouded in a long veil. This she took off when Tancred came towards her,
+and he marvelled at the strangeness of her beauty. There was nothing
+oriental about her. She was a Greek girl of the ancient type, with violet
+eyes, fair cheeks, and dark hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Prince," she said, "we are a people who wish neither to see nor to be
+seen. We do not care what goes on in the world around. Our mountains are
+wild and barren, but while Apollo dwells among us, we do not care for gold,
+or silk, or jewels."</p>
+
+<p>"Apollo!" cried Tancred. "Are the gods of Olympus still worshipped on
+earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Apollo still lives among us, and another greater than Apollo,"
+said the young queen, looking at Tancred long and earnestly. "Follow me,
+and you shall now behold the secret of the Ansarey."</p>
+
+<p>Her maidens adorned her with a garland of roses, and put a garland on
+the head of Tancred, and she led him through a portal of bronze, down an
+underground passage, into an Ionic temple, filled with the white and lovely
+forms of the gods of ancient Greece.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know this?" said the queen to Tancred, looking at a statue in
+golden ivory, and then at the young Englishman, whose clear-cut features
+and hyacinthine locks curiously resembled those of the carven image.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Phoebus Apollo," said Tancred, and, moved by admiration at the
+beauty of the figure, he murmured some lines of Homer.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you know all!" cried the queen. "You know our secret language. Yes,
+this is Phoebus Apollo. He used to stand in Antioch in the ancient days
+before the Christians drove us into the mountains. And look," she said,
+pointing to the statue beside Apollo, "here is the Syrian goddess before
+whom the pilgrims of the world once knelt. She is named Astarte, and I am
+called after her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, angels watch over me!" said Tancred to himself as Queen Astarte
+fixed her violet eyes upon him with a glance of love that could not be
+mistaken, and led him back into the hall of audience.</p>
+
+<p>There he saw Fakredeen bending over a maiden with a flower-like face,
+and large, dark, lustrous eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She is my foster-sister, Eva," said Fakredeen. "The Ansareys captured
+her on the plain of Aleppo."</p>
+
+<p>Tancred had met Eva at the house of Besso in Jerusalem, but she did not
+then exercise over him the strange charm which now drew him to her side. It
+seemed to him that the beautiful Jewish girl had been sent to help him in
+his struggle against the heathen spells of Astarte. As he was meditating
+how he could rescue her, a messenger came in, and announced that the pasha
+of Aleppo had invaded the mountains at the head of 5,000 troops.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" cried Astarte. "Few of them will ever see Aleppo again. I have
+25,000 men under arms, and you, my prince," she said, turning to Tancred,
+"shall command them."</p>
+
+<p>Tancred had learnt something of the arts of mountain warfare from Sheikh
+Amalek. He allowed the Turkish troops to penetrate into the heart of the
+wild hills, and then, as they were marching down a long defile, he attacked
+them from the crests above, shooting them down like sheep and burying them
+in avalanches of rolling rock. Instead of returning to the fortress palace,
+he sent his men on ahead, and rode out alone into the desert, and went
+through the Syrian wilderness back to Jerusalem.</p>
+
+<p>Riding up to the door of Besso's house by Sion gate, he asked if there
+were any news of Eva. A negro led him into a garden, and there, sitting by
+the side of a fountain, was the lovely Jewish maiden.</p>
+
+<p>"So Fakredeen brought you safely away, Eva," he said tenderly. "I was
+afraid that Astarte meant to harm you."</p>
+
+<p>"She would have killed me," said Eva, "if she could. I am afraid that
+your faith in your idea of theocratic equality has been destroyed by the
+Ansareys. How can you build up an empire in a land divided by so many
+jarring creeds? Do you still believe in Arabia?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe in Arabia," cried Tancred, kneeling down at her feet,
+"because I believe in you. You are the angel of Arabia, and the angel of my
+life. You cannot guess what influence you have had on my fate. You came
+into my life like another messenger from God. Thanks to you, my faith has
+never faltered. Will you not share it, dearest?"</p>
+
+<p>He clasped her hand, and gazed with passionate adoration into her face.
+As her head fell upon his shoulder, the negro came running to the
+fountain.</p>
+
+<p>"The Duke of Bellamont!" he said to Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>Tancred looked up, and saw the Duke of Bellamont coming through the
+pomegranate trees of the garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Father," he said, advancing towards the duke, "I have found my mission
+in life, and I am going to marry this lady."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="dumas">ALEXANDRE DUMAS</a></h2>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas1">Marguerite de Valois</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Alexandre Dumas, <i>p&egrave;re</i> (to distinguish him from
+his son of the same name), early became known as a talented writer, and
+especially as a poet and dramatist. His first published work appeared in
+1823; then came volumes of poems in 1825, 1826, and the drama of "Henry
+III." in 1828. In "Marguerite de Valois," published in 1845, the first of
+the "Valois" series of historical romances, Dumas takes us back from the
+days of Richelieu and the "Three Musketeers" to the preceding century and
+the early struggles of Catholic and Huguenot. It was a stirring time in
+France, full of horrors and bloodshed, plots and intrigues, when Marguerite
+de Valois married Henry of Navarre, and Alexandre Dumas gives us, in his
+wonderfully, vivid and attractive style, a great picture of the French
+court in the time of Charles IX. Little affection existed between Henry and
+his bride, but strong ties of interest and ambition bound them together,
+and for a long time they both adhered loyally to the treaty of political
+alliance they had drawn up for their mutual advantage. Dumas died on
+December 5, 1870, after experiencing many changes of fortune. His son also
+won considerable reputation as a dramatist and novelist. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Henry of Navarre and Marguerite</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On Monday, August 18, 1572, a great festival was held in the palace of
+the Louvre. It was to celebrate the marriage of Henry of Navarre and
+Marguerite de Valois, a marriage that perplexed a good many people, and
+alarmed others.</p>
+
+<p>For Henry de Bourbon, King of Navarre, was the leader of the Huguenot
+party, and Marguerite was the daughter of Catherine de Medici, and the
+sister of the king, Charles IX., and this alliance between a Protestant and
+a Catholic, it seemed, was to end the strife that rent the nation. The
+king, too, had set his heart on this marriage, and the Huguenots were
+somewhat reassured by the king's declaration that Catholic and Huguenot
+alike were now his subjects, and were equally beloved by him. Still, there
+were many on both sides who feared and distrusted the alliance.</p>
+
+<p>At midnight, six days later, on August 24, the tocsin sounded, and the
+massacre of St. Bartholomew began.</p>
+
+<p>The marriage, indeed, was in no sense a love match; but Henry succeeded
+at once in making Marguerite his friend, for he was alive to the dangers
+that surrounded him.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, presenting himself at Marguerite's rooms on the night
+of the wedding festival, "whatever many persons may have said, I think our
+marriage is a good marriage. I stand well with you--you stand well with me.
+Therefore, we ought to act towards each other like good allies, since
+to-day we have been allied in the sight of God! Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Without question, sir!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know, madame, that the ground at court is full of dangerous abysses;
+and I know that, though I am young and have never injured any person, I
+have many enemies. The king hates me, his brothers, the Duke of Anjou and
+the Duke D'Alen&ccedil;on, hate me. Catherine de Medici hated my mother too
+much not to hate me. Well, against these menaces, which must soon become
+attacks, I can only defend myself by your aid, for you are beloved by all
+those who hate me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I?" said Marguerite.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you!" replied Henry. "And if you will--I do not say love me--but
+if you will be my ally I can brave anything; while, if you become my enemy,
+I am lost."</p>
+
+<p>"Your enemy! Never, sir!" exclaimed Marguerite.</p>
+
+<p>"And my ally."</p>
+
+<p>"Most decidedly!"</p>
+
+<p>And Marguerite turned round and presented her hand to the king. "It is
+agreed," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Political alliance, frank and loyal?" asked Henry.</p>
+
+<p>"Frank and loyal," was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>At the door Henry turned and said softly, "Thanks, Marguerite; thanks!
+You are a true daughter of France. Lacking your love, your friendship will
+not fail me. I rely on you, as you, for your part, may rely on me. Adieu,
+madame."</p>
+
+<p>He kissed his wife's hand; and then, with a quick step, the king went
+down the corridor to his own apartment. "I have more need of fidelity in
+politics than in love," he said to himself.</p>
+
+<p>If on both sides there was little attempt at fidelity in love, there was
+an honourable alliance, which was maintained unbroken and saved the life of
+Henry of Navarre from his enemies on more than one occasion.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of the St. Bartholomew massacre, while the Huguenots were
+being murdered throughout Paris, Charles IX., instigated by his mother,
+summoned Henry of Navarre to the royal armoury, and called upon him to turn
+Catholic or die.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kill me, sire--me, your brother-in-law?" exclaimed Henry.</p>
+
+<p>Charles IX. turned away to the open window. "I must kill someone," he
+cried, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.</p>
+
+<p>Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loaded and fired his
+arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim was
+successful.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all over with me!" said Henry to himself. "When he sees no one
+else to kill, he will kill me!"</p>
+
+<p>Catherine de Medici entered as the king fired his last shot. "Is it
+done?" she said, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. "No; the
+obstinate blockhead will not consent!"</p>
+
+<p>Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and
+which said, "Why, then, is he alive?"</p>
+
+<p>"He lives," said the king, "because he is my relative."</p>
+
+<p>Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, addressing her, "I can see quite clearly that all
+this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles. It was you who
+planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us
+all. It was you who made your daughter the bait. It has been you who have
+separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed before her
+eyes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but that shall not be!" cried another voice; and Marguerite,
+breathless and impassioned, burst into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir," said Marguerite to Henry, "your last words were an accusation,
+and were both right and wrong. They have made me the means for attempting
+to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you were going to
+destruction. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very night they all
+but killed me in seeking you. Directly I knew of your danger I sought you.
+If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if they imprison you they
+shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will also die!"</p>
+
+<p>She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother," cried Marguerite to Charles IX., "remember, you made him my
+husband!"</p>
+
+<p>"Faith, Margot is right, and Henry is my brother-in-law," said the
+king.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Boar Hunt</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>As time went on, if Catherine's hatred of Henry of Navarre did not
+diminish, Charles IX. certainly became more friendly.</p>
+
+<p>Catherine was for ever intriguing and plotting for the fortune of her
+sons and the downfall of her son-in-law, but Henry always managed to evade
+the webs she wove. At a certain boar-hunt Charles was indebted to Henry for
+his life.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the time when the king's brother D'Anjou had accepted the
+crown of Poland, and the second brother, D'Alen&ccedil;on, a weak-minded,
+ambitious man, was secretly hoping for a crown somewhere, that Henry paid
+his debt for the king's mercy to him on the night of St. Bartholomew.</p>
+
+<p>Charles was an intrepid hunter, but the boar had swerved as the king's
+spear was aimed at him, and, maddened with rage, the animal had rushed at
+him. Charles tried to draw his hunting-knife but the sheath was so tight it
+was impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"The boar! the boar!" shouted the king. "Help, D'Alen&ccedil;on,
+help!"</p>
+
+<p>D'Alen&ccedil;on was ghastly white as he placed his arquebuse to his
+shoulder and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, felled the
+king's horse.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," D'Alen&ccedil;on murmured to himself, "that D'Anjou is King
+of France, and I King of Poland."</p>
+
+<p>The boar's tusk had indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an
+iron glove dashed itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife was
+plunged into its shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Charles rose with difficulty, and seemed for a moment as if about to
+fall by the dead boar. Then he looked at Henry of Navarre, and for the
+first time in four-and-twenty years his heart was touched.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, Harry!" he said. "D'Alen&ccedil;on, for a first-rate marksman
+you made a most curious shot."</p>
+
+<p>On Marguerite coming up to congratulate the king and thank her husband,
+Charles added, "Margot, you may well thank him. But for him Henry III.
+would be King of France."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas, madame," returned Henry, "M. D'Anjou, who is always my enemy,
+will now hate me more than ever; but everyone has to do what he can."</p>
+
+<p>Had Charles IX. been killed, the Duke d'Anjou would have been King of
+France, and D'Alen&ccedil;on most probably King of Poland. Henry of Navarre
+would have gained nothing by this change of affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have had the Duke
+d'Anjou on the throne, who, being absolutely at one with his mother,
+Catherine, had sworn his death, and would have kept his oath.</p>
+
+<p>These ideas were in his brain when the wild boar rushed on Charles, and
+like lightning he saw that his own existence was bound up with the life of
+Charles IX. But the king knew nothing of the spring and motive of the
+devotion which had saved his life, and on the following day he showed his
+gratitude to Henry by carrying him off from his apartments, and out of the
+Louvre. Catherine, in her fear lest Henry of Navarre should be some day
+King of France, had arranged the assassination of her son-in-law; and
+Charles, getting wind of this, warned him that the air of the Louvre was
+not good for him that night, and kept him in his company. Instead of Henry,
+it was one of his followers who was killed.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Poisoned Book</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Once more Catherine resolved to destroy Henry. The Huguenots had plotted
+with D'Alen&ccedil;on that he should be King of Navarre, since Henry not
+only abjured Protestantism but remained in Paris, being kept there indeed
+by the will of Charles IX.</p>
+
+<p>Catherine, aware of D'Alen&ccedil;on's scheme, assured her son that
+Henry was suffering from an incurable disease, and must be taken away from
+Paris when D'Alen&ccedil;on started for Navarre.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure that Henry will die?" asked D'Alen&ccedil;on.</p>
+
+<p>"The physician who gave me a certain book assured me of it."</p>
+
+<p>"And where is this book? What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>Catherine brought the book from her cabinet.</p>
+
+<p>"Here it is. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons
+by an Italian. Give it to Henry, who is going hawking with the king to-day,
+and will not fail to read it."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare not!" said D'Alen&ccedil;on, shuddering.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" replied Catherine. "It is a book like any other, only the
+leaves have a way of sticking together. Don't attempt to read it yourself,
+for you will have to wet the finger in turning over each leaf, which takes
+up so much time."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said D'Alen&ccedil;on, "Henry is with the court! Give me the book,
+and while he is away I will put it in his room."</p>
+
+<p>D'Alen&ccedil;on's hand was trembling as he took the book from the
+queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear he entered Henry's
+apartment and placed the volume, open at the title-page.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who found
+the book and carried it off to his own room. D'Alen&ccedil;on found the
+king reading.</p>
+
+<p>"By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cried Charles. "Only it seems
+as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the wonders
+it contains."</p>
+
+<p>D'Alen&ccedil;on's first thought was to snatch the book from his
+brother, but he hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>The king again moistened his finger and turned over a page. "Let me
+finish this chapter," he said, "and then tell me what you please. I have
+already read fifty pages."</p>
+
+<p>"He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thought
+D'Alen&ccedil;on. "He is a dead man!"</p>
+
+<p>The poison did its deadly work. Charles was taken ill while out hunting,
+and returned to find his dog dead, and in its mouth pieces of paper from
+the precious book on falconry. The king turned pale. The book was poisoned!
+Many things flashed across his memory, and he knew his life was doomed.</p>
+
+<p>Charles summoned Ren&egrave;, a Florentine, the court perfumer to
+Catherine de Medici, to his presence, and bade him examine the dog.</p>
+
+<p>"Sire," said Ren&egrave;, after a close investigation, "the dog has been
+poisoned by arsenic."</p>
+
+<p>"He has eaten a leaf of this book," said Charles; "and if you do not
+tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by
+red-hot pincers."</p>
+
+<p>"Sire," stammered the Florentine, "this book belongs to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"And how did it leave your hands?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did she do that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked
+for a book on hawking."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room.
+It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to
+Ren&egrave;, "this poison does not always kill at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there no remedy?"</p>
+
+<p>"None, sire, unless it be instantly administered."</p>
+
+<p>Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This
+book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de
+Medici.--Ren&egrave;," and then dismissed him.</p>
+
+<p>Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in
+the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the
+physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his
+disease.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An
+enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible
+conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it, perhaps,
+but I know it for a certainty."</p>
+
+<p>"I never doubt what you tell me," replied the king sarcastically. "I am
+curious to know how they have sought to kill me."</p>
+
+<p>"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of
+yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden stars,
+and over this a royal mantle.</p>
+
+<p>"See, it has on its head a crown," said Catherine, "and there is a
+needle in its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in your royal robes, with the crown on your head."</p>
+
+<p>"And who made this figure?" asked-the king, weary of the wretched farce.
+"The King of Navarre, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sire; he did not actually make it, but it was found in the rooms of
+M. de la Mole, who serves the King of Navarre."</p>
+
+<p>"So, then, the person who seeks to kill me is M. de la Mole?" said
+Charles.</p>
+
+<p>"He is only the instrument, and behind the instrument is the hand that
+directs it," replied Catherine.</p>
+
+<p>"This, then, is the cause of my illness. And now what must I do--for I
+know nothing of sorcery?"</p>
+
+<p>"The death of the conspirator destroys the charm. Its power ends with
+his life. You are convinced now, are you not, of the cause of your
+illness?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly," Charles answered ironically. "And I am to punish M. de
+la Mole, as you say he is the guilty party?"</p>
+
+<p>"I say he is the instrument, and," muttered Catherine, "we have
+infallible means for making him confess the name of his principal."</p>
+
+<p>Catherine left hurriedly without understanding the sardonic laughter of
+the king, and as she went out Marguerite appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sire--sire," cried Marguerite, "you know what <i>she</i> says is
+false. It is terrible to accuse anyone's own mother, but she only lives to
+persecute the man who is devoted to you, Henry--your Henry--and I swear to
+you that what she says is false!"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so, too, Margot. But Henry is safe. Safer in disgrace in
+Vincennes than in favour at the Louvre."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thanks, thanks! But there is another person in whose welfare I am
+interested, whom I hardly dare mention to my brother, much less to my
+king."</p>
+
+<p>"M. de la Mole, is it not? But do you know that a figure dressed in
+royal robes and pierced to the heart was found in his rooms?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it; but it was the figure of a woman, not of a man."</p>
+
+<p>"And the needle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Was a charm not to kill a man, but to make a woman love him."</p>
+
+<p>"What was the name of this woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"Marguerite!" cried the queen, throwing herself down and bathing the
+king's hand in her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Margot, what if I know the real author of the crime? For a crime has
+been committed, and I have not three months to live. I am poisoned, but it
+must be thought I die by magic."</p>
+
+<p>"You know who is guilty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but it must be kept from the world, and so it must be believed I
+die of magic, and by the agency of him they accuse."</p>
+
+<p>"But it is monstrous!" exclaimed Marguerite. "You know he is innocent.
+Pardon him--pardon him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, but the world must believe him guilty. Let your friend die.
+His death alone can save the honour of our family. I am dying that the
+secret may be preserved."</p>
+
+<p>M. de la Mole, after enduring excruciating tortures at the hand of
+Catherine, without making any admissions, died on the scaffold.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV--"The Bourbon Shall Not Reign</i>!"</h4>
+
+
+<p>Before he died Charles showed Catherine the poisoned book, which he had
+kept under lock and key.</p>
+
+<p>"And now burn it, madame. I read this book too much, so fond was I of
+the chase. And the world must not know the weaknesses of kings. When it is
+burnt, please summon my brother Henry. I wish to speak to him about the
+regency."</p>
+
+<p>Catherine brought Henry of Navarre to the king, and warned him that if
+he accepted the regency he was a dead man.</p>
+
+<p>Charles, however, though on his death-bed, declared Henry should be
+regent.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, addressing his mother, "if I had a son he would be
+king, and you would be regent. In your stead, did you decline, the King of
+Poland would be regent; and in his stead, D'Alen&ccedil;on. But I have no
+son, and therefore the throne belongs to D'Anjou, who is absent. To make
+D'Alen&ccedil;on regent is to invite civil war. I have therefore chosen the
+fittest person for regent Salute him, madame; salute him, D'Alen&ccedil;on.
+It is the King of Navarre!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never," cried Catherine, "shall my race yield to a foreign one! Never
+shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives!"</p>
+
+<p>She left the room, followed by D'Alen&ccedil;on.</p>
+
+<p>"Henry," said Charles, "after my death you will be great and powerful.
+D'Anjou will not leave Poland--they will not let him. D'Alen&ccedil;on is a
+traitor. You alone are capable of governing. It is not the regency only,
+but the throne I give you."</p>
+
+<p>A stream of blood choked his speech.</p>
+
+<p>"The fatal moment is come," said Henry. "Am I to reign, or to live?"</p>
+
+<p>"Live, sire!" a voice answered, and Ren&egrave; appeared. "The queen has
+sent me to ruin you, but I have faith in your star. It is foretold that you
+shall be king. Do you know that the King of Poland will be here very soon?
+He has been summoned by the queen. A messenger has come from Warsaw. You
+shall be king, but not yet."</p>
+
+<p>"What shall I do, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fly instantly to where your friends wait for you."</p>
+
+<p>Henry stooped and kissed his brother's forehead, then disappeared down a
+secret passage, passed through the postern, and, springing on his horse,
+galloped off.</p>
+
+<p>"He flies! The King of Navarre flies!" cried the sentinels.</p>
+
+<p>"Fire on him! Fire!" said the queen.</p>
+
+<p>The sentinels levelled their pieces, but the king was out of reach.</p>
+
+<p>"He flies!" muttered D'Alen&ccedil;on. "I am king, then!"</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, and Henry d'Anjou
+galloped into the court, followed by four knights, crying, "France!
+France!"</p>
+
+<p>"My son!" cried Catherine joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I too late?" said D'Anjou.</p>
+
+<p>"No. You are just in time. Listen!"</p>
+
+<p>The captain of the king's guards appeared at the balcony of the king's
+apartment. He broke the wand he held in two places, and holding a piece in
+either hand, called out three times, "King Charles the Ninth is dead!"</p>
+
+<p>King Charles the Ninth is dead! King Charles the Ninth is dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"Charles the Ninth is dead!" said Catherine, crossing herself. "God save
+Henry the Third!"</p>
+
+<p>All repeated the cry.</p>
+
+<p>"I have conquered," said Catherine, "and the odious Bourbon shall not
+reign!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas2">The Black Tulip</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> "The Black Tulip," published in 1850, was the last of
+Alexandre Dumas' more famous stories, and ranks deservedly high among the
+short novels of its prolific author. Dumas visited Holland in May, 1849, in
+order to be present at the coronation of William III. at Amsterdam, and
+according to Flotow, the composer, it was the king himself who told Dumas
+the story of "The Black Tulip," and mentioned that none of the author's
+romances were concerned with the Dutch. Dumas, however, never gave any
+credit to this anecdote, and others have alleged that Paul Lacroix, the
+bibliophile, who was assisting Dumas with his novels at that time, is
+responsible for the plot. The question can never be answered, for who can
+disentangle the work of Dumas from that of his army of helpers? A feature
+of "The Black Tulip" is that in it is the bulb, and not a human being, that
+is the real centre of interest. The fate of the bulb is made of first
+importance, and the fortunes of Cornelius van Baerle, the tulip fancier, of
+Boxtel, and of Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, exciting though they are, take
+second place. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mob Vengeance</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of The Hague was crowded in every
+street with a mob of people, all armed with knives, muskets, or sticks, and
+all hurrying towards the Buytenhof.</p>
+
+<p>Within that terrible prison was Cornelius de Witt, brother of John de
+Witt, the ex-Grand Pensionary of Holland.</p>
+
+<p>These brothers De Witt had long served the United Provinces of the Dutch
+Republic, and the people had grown tired of the Republic, and wanted
+William, Prince of Orange, for Stadtholder. John de Witt had signed the Act
+re-establishing the Stadtholderate, but Cornelius had only signed it under
+the compulsion of an Orange mob that attacked his house at Dordrecht.</p>
+
+<p>This was the first count against the De Witts--their objection to a
+Stadtholder. The second count was that the De Witts had always done their
+best to keep at peace with France. They knew that war with France meant
+ruin to Holland, but the more violent Orangists still believed that such a
+war would bring honour to the Dutch.</p>
+
+<p>Hence the popular hatred against the De Witts. A miscreant named
+Tyckelaer fanned the flame against Cornelius by declaring that he had
+bribed him to assassinate William, the newly-elected Stadtholder.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius was arrested, brought to trial, and tortured on the rack, but
+no confession of guilt could be wrung from the innocent, high-souled man.
+Then the judges acquitted Tyckelaer, deprived Cornelius of all his offices,
+and passed sentence of banishment. John de Witt had already resigned the
+office of Grand Pensionary.</p>
+
+<p>On the 20th of August, Cornelius was to leave his prison for exile, and
+a fierce Orangist populace, incited to violence by the harangues of
+Tyckelaer, was rushing to the Buytenhof prepared to do murder, and fearful
+lest the prisoner should escape alive. "To the gaol! To the gaol!" yelled
+the mob. But outside the prison was a line of cavalry drawn up under the
+command of Captain Tilly with orders to guard the Buytenhof, and while the
+populace stood in hesitation, not daring to attack the soldiers, John de
+Witt had quietly driven up to the prison, and had been admitted by the
+gaoler.</p>
+
+<p>The shouts and clamour of the people could be heard within the prison as
+John de Witt, accompanied by Gryphus the gaoler, made his way to his
+brother's cell.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius learnt there was no time to be lost, but there was a question
+of certain correspondence between John de Witt and M. de Louvois of France
+to be discussed. These letters, entirely creditable though they were to the
+statesmanship of the Grand Pensionary, would have been accepted as evidence
+of treason by the maddened Orangists, and Cornelius, instead of burning
+them, had left them in the keeping of his godson, Van Baerle, a quiet,
+scholarly young man of Dordrecht, who was utterly unaware of the nature of
+the packet.</p>
+
+<p>"They will kill us if these papers are found," said John de Witt, and
+opening the window, they heard the mob shouting, "Death to traitors!"</p>
+
+<p>In spite of fingers and wrists broken by the rack, Cornelius managed to
+write a note.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>DEAR GODSON: Burn the packet I gave you, burn without opening
+or looking at it, so that you may not know the contents. The secrets it
+contains bring death. Burn it, and you will have saved both John and
+Cornelius.</p>
+
+<p>Farewell, from your affectionate</p>
+
+<p>CORNELIUS DE WITT.</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Then a letter was given to Craeke, John de Witt's faithful servant, who
+at once set off for Dordrecht, and within a few minutes the two brothers
+were driving away to the city gate. Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, unknown to
+her father, had opened the postern, and had herself bidden De Witt's
+coachman drive round to the rear of the prison, and by this means the fury
+of the mob was, for the moment, evaded.</p>
+
+<p>And now the clamour of the Orangists was at the prison door, for Tilly's
+horse had withdrawn on an order signed by the deputies in the town hall,
+and the people were raging to get within the Buytenhof.</p>
+
+<p>The mob burst open the great gate, and yelling, "Death to the traitors!
+To the gallows with Cornelius de Witt!" poured in, only to find the
+prisoner had escaped. But the escape was but from the prison, for the city
+gate was locked when the carriage of the De Witts drove up, locked by order
+of the deputies of the Town Hall, and a certain young man--who was none
+other than William, Prince of Orange--held the key.</p>
+
+<p>Before another gate could be reached the mob, streaming from the
+Buytenhof, had overtaken the carriage, and the De Witts were at its
+mercy.</p>
+
+<p>The two men, whose lives had been spent in the welfare of their country,
+were massacred with unspeakable savagery, and their bodies, stripped, and
+hacked almost beyond recognition, were then strung up on a hastily erected
+gibbet in the market-place.</p>
+
+<p>When the worst had been done, the young man, who had secretly watched
+the proceedings from the window of a neighbouring house, returned the key
+to the gatekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>Then the prince mounted a horse which an equerry held in waiting for
+him, and galloped off to camp to await the message of the States. He
+galloped proudly, for the burghers of The Hague had made of the corpses of
+the De Witts a stepping stone to power for William of Orange.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Betrayed for his Bulbs</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Doctor Cornelius van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius de Witt, was in his
+twenty-eighth year, an orphan, but nevertheless, a really happy man. His
+father had amassed a fortune of 400,000 guilders in trade with the Indies,
+and an estate brought him in 10,000 guilders a year. He was blessed with
+the love of a peaceful life with good nerves, ample wealth, and a
+philosophic mind.</p>
+
+<p>Left alone in the big house at Dordrecht, he steadily resisted all
+temptations to public life. He took up the study of botany, and then, not
+knowing what to do with his time and money, decided to go in for one of the
+most extravagant hobbies of the time--the cultivation of his favourite
+flower, the tulip. The fame of Mynheer van Baerle's tulips soon spread in
+the district, and while Cornelius de Witt had roused deadly hatred by
+sowing the seeds of political passion, Van Baerle with his tulips won
+general goodwill. Yet, all unknowingly, Van Baerle had made an enemy, an
+implacable, relentless enemy. This was his neighbour, Isaac Boxtel, who
+lived next door to him in Dordrecht.</p>
+
+<p>Boxtel, from childhood, had been a passionate tulip-grower. He had even
+produced a tulip of his own, and the Boxtel had won wide admiration. One
+day, to his horror, Boxtel discovered that his next-door neighbour, the
+wealthy Mynheer van Baerle, was also a tulip-grower. In bitter anguish
+Boxtel foresaw that he had a rival who, with all the resources at his
+command, might equal and possibly surpass the famous Boxtel creations. He
+almost choked with envy, and from the moment of his discovery lived under
+continual fear. The healthy pastime of tulip growing became, under these
+conditions, a morbid and evil occupation for Boxtel, while Van Baerle, on
+the other hand, totally unaware of the enmity brewing, threw himself into
+the business with the keenest zest, taking for his motto the old aphorism,
+"To despise flowers is to insult God."</p>
+
+<p>So fierce was the envy that seized Boxtel that though he would have
+shrunk from the infamy of destroying a tulip, he would have killed the man
+who grew them. His own plants were neglected; it was useless and hopeless
+to contend against so wealthy a rival. Then Boxtel, fascinated by his evil
+passion, bought a telescope, and, perched on a ladder, studied Van Baerle's
+tulip beds and the drying-room, the tulip-grower's sacred place.</p>
+
+<p>One night he lost all moral control, and tying the hind legs of two cats
+together with a piece of string, he flung the animals into Van Baerle's
+garden. To Boxtel's bitter mortification the cats, though they made havoc
+of many precious plants before they broke the string, left the four finest
+tulips untouched.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly afterwards the Haarlem Tulip Society offered a prize of 100,000
+guilders to whomsoever should produce a large black tulip, without spot or
+blemish. Van Baerle at once thought out the idea of the black tulip. He had
+already achieved a dark brown one, while Boxtel, who had only managed to
+produce a light brown one, gave up the quest as impossible, and could do
+nothing but spy on his neighbour's activities.</p>
+
+<p>One evening in January 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to see his grandson,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and went with him alone into the sacred drying-room,
+the laboratory of the tulip-grower. Boxtel, with his telescope, recognised
+the well-known features of the statesman, and presently he saw him hand his
+godson a packet, which the latter put carefully away in a cabinet. This
+packet contained the correspondence of John de Witt and M. de Louvois.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius drove away, and Boxtel wondered what the packet contained. It
+could hardly be bulbs; it must be secret papers.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till August, as we know, that Craeke was despatched to Van
+Baerle with the note bidding him destroy the packet.</p>
+
+<p>Craeke arrived just when Van Baerle was nursing his precious bulbs--the
+bulbs of the black tulip--and his sudden entrance rudely disturbed the
+tulip-grower. He had not time to read the note; indeed, he was too much
+concerned with the welfare of his three particular bulbs to trouble about
+it, before a magistrate and some soldiers entered to arrest him. Van Baerle
+wrapped up the bulbs in the note from his godfather, and was sent off under
+close custody to The Hague. The magistrate carried off the packet from the
+cabinet.</p>
+
+<p>All this was Boxtel's work. It was he who had reported to the magistrate
+the visit of De Witt and the placing of the packet in a cabinet. And now,
+with Van Baerle out of the house as a prisoner, Boxtel in the dead of night
+broke into his neighbour's house, to secure the priceless bulbs of the
+black tulip. He had made out where they were growing, and he plunged his
+hands into the soft soil--only to find nothing. Then the wretched man
+guessed that the bulbs had gone with the prisoner to The Hague, and decided
+to go in pursuit. Van Baerle could only keep them while he was alive, and
+then--they should be his, Isaac Boxtel's.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Theft of the Tulip</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Van Baerle was placed in the cell occupied by Cornelius de Witt in the
+Buytenhof. Outside, in the market-place, the bodies of the De Witts were
+hanging, and Van Baerle read with horror the inscription, "Here hang that
+great rascal John de Witt and the little rascal Cornelius de Witt, enemies
+of their country."</p>
+
+<p>Gryphus laughed when the prisoner asked him what it meant, and replied,
+"That's what happens to those that write secret letters to the enemies of
+the Prince of Orange."</p>
+
+<p>A terrible despair fell on Van Baerle, but he refused to escape when
+Rosa, the gaoler's beautiful daughter, suggested it to him. He was brought
+to trial, and though he denied all knowledge of the correspondence, his
+goods were confiscated, and he was condemned to death. He bequeathed his
+three tulip bulbs to Rosa, explained how she must get a certain soil from
+Dordrecht, and went out calmly to die. On the scaffold Van Baerle was
+reprieved and sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, for the Prince of Orange
+shrank from further bloodshed.</p>
+
+<p>One spectator in the crowd was bitterly disappointed. This was Boxtel,
+who had bribed the headsman to let him have Van Baerle's clothes, believing
+that he would thus obtain the priceless bulbs.</p>
+
+<p>Van Baerle was sent to the prison of Loewenstein, and in February 1673,
+when he was thinking his tulips lost for ever, he heard Rosa's voice.
+Gryphus had applied for the gaolership of Loewenstein, and had been
+appointed.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing could persuade him that if Van Baerle was not a traitor he was
+certainly in league with the devil, like all learned men, and he did all he
+could to mortify and annoy his prisoner. But Rosa would come every night
+when her father, stupefied by gin, was asleep, and talk to Cornelius
+through the barred grating of his cell door.</p>
+
+<p>He taught her to read, and together they planned how the tulip bulbs
+should be brought to flower. One bulb Rosa was to plant, the second Van
+Baerle would cultivate in his cell with soil placed in an old water jug,
+and the third was to be kept in reserve.</p>
+
+<p>Once more hope revived in Baerle's mind, but Rosa often suffered
+vexation because Cornelius thought more of his black tulip than of her.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime Boxtel, under the assumed name of Jacob Gisels, had made
+his way to Loewenstein in pursuit of the bulbs, and had ingratiated himself
+with Gryphus, offering to marry his daughter. Rosa's tulip had to be
+guarded from Gisels, who was always spying on her movements. She kept it in
+her room for safety, but Boxtel had a key made, and the day the tulip
+flowered, and arose a spotless black, he resolved to take it at once, and
+rush to Haarlem and claim the prize.</p>
+
+<p>The day came. Rosa described to Cornelius the wonderful black tulip, and
+they drew up a letter to the president of the Horticultural Society at
+Haarlem, begging him to come and fetch the wonderful flower.</p>
+
+<p>That very night while Cornelius and Rosa rejoiced as lovers--for now
+even Rosa was convinced of the prisoner's love for her--over the happiness
+of the flowering tulip, Boxtel crept into her room, and carried off the
+black tulip to Haarlem.</p>
+
+<p>As for Van Baerle, he was beside himself with the rage of desperation
+when Rosa told him that the black tulip had been stolen. Rosa, bent on
+recovering the tulip, and certain in her own mind as to the thief, hastened
+away from Loewenstein the next day without a word, Gryphus was mad when he
+learnt his daughter was nowhere to be found, and put down the mysterious
+disappearance of Jacob Gisels and Rosa to the work of the devil, and was
+convinced that Van Baerle was the devil's agent.</p>
+
+<p>The third day after the theft Gryphus, armed with a stick and a knife,
+attacked Cornelius, calling out, "Give me back my daughter." Cornelius got
+hold of the stick, forced Gryphus to drop the knife, and then proceeded to
+give the gaoler a thrashing. The noise brought in turnkeys and guards, who
+speedily carried off the wounded gaoler and arrested Van Baerle. To comfort
+the prisoner they assured him he would certainly be shot within twelve
+hours.</p>
+
+<p>Then an officer, an aide-de-camp of the Prince of Orange, entered,
+escorted Van Baerle to the prison gate, and bade him enter a carriage.
+Believing himself about to die, he thought sadly of Rosa and of the tulip
+he was never to see again. The carriage rolled off, and they travelled all
+that day and night until the journey ended at Haarlem.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Triumph of the Tulip</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Rosa reached Haarlem just four hours after Boxtel's arrival, and she
+went at once to seek an interview with Mynheer van Systens, the President
+of the Horticultural Society. Immediate admittance was granted on her
+mentioning the magic words "black tulip."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, the black tulip has been stolen from me," said Rosa.</p>
+
+<p>"But I only saw it two hours ago!" replied the president.</p>
+
+<p>"You saw it--where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, at your master's! Are you not in the service of Mynheer Isaac
+Boxtel?"</p>
+
+<p>"I, sir? Certainly not! But this Isaac Boxtel, is he a thin,
+bald-headed, bow-legged, crook-backed, haggard-looking man?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have described him exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"He is the thief; he stole the black tulip from me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, go and find Mynheer Boxtel--he is at the White Swan Inn, and
+settle it with him." And with that the president took up his pen and went
+on writing, for he was busy over his report.</p>
+
+<p>But Rosa still implored him, and while she was speaking the Prince of
+Orange entered the building. Rosa told everything, how she had received the
+bulb from the prisoner at Loewenstein, and how she had first seen the
+prisoner at The Hague. Then Boxtel was sent for. He was ready with his
+tale. The girl had plotted with her lover, the state prisoner, Cornelius
+van Baerle, and had stolen his--Boxtel's--black tulip, which he had
+unwisely mentioned. However, he had recovered it.</p>
+
+<p>A thought struck Rosa.</p>
+
+<p>"There were three bulbs. What has become of the others?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"One failed, the second produced the black tulip, and the third is at
+home at Dordrecht," said Boxtel uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>"You lie; it is here!" cried Rosa. And she drew from her bosom the third
+bulb, still wrapped in the same paper Van Baerle had so hastily put round
+the bulbs on his flight. "Take it, my lord," she said, handing it to the
+prince. And then, glancing at the paper for the first time, she added, "Oh,
+my lord, read this!"</p>
+
+<p>William passed the third bulb to the president, and read the paper
+carefully. It was Cornelius de Witt's letter to his godson, exhorting him
+to burn the packet without opening it. It was the proof of Van Baerle's
+innocence and of his ownership of the bulbs.</p>
+
+<p>"Go, Mynheer Boxtel; you shall have justice. And you, Mynheer van
+Systens, take care of this maiden and of the tulip," said the prince.</p>
+
+<p>That same evening the prince summoned Rosa to the town hall, and talked
+to her. Rosa did not deny her love for Cornelius.</p>
+
+<p>"But what is the good of loving a man condemned to live and die in
+prison?" the prince asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I can help him to live and die," came the answer.</p>
+
+<p>The prince sealed a letter, and sent it off to Loewenstein by Colonel
+van Deken. Then he turned to Rosa, and said, "The day after to-morrow is
+Sunday, and it will be the festival of the tulip. Take these 500 guilders,
+and dress yourself in the costume of a Friesland bride, for I want it to be
+a grand festival for you."</p>
+
+<p>Sunday came, May 15, 1673, and all Haarlem gathered to do honour to the
+black tulip. Boxtel was in the crowd, feasting his eyes on the sacred
+flower, which was born aloft in a litter. The procession stopped, and the
+flower was placed on a pedestal, while the people cheered with wild
+enthusiasm. At the solemn moment when the Prince of Orange was to acclaim
+the triumphant owner of the black tulip and present the prize of 100,000
+guilders, the coach with the unhappy prisoner Cornelius van Baerle drew up
+in the market-place.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius, hearing that the celebration of the black tulip was actually
+proceeding, besought his guard to let him have one glimpse of the flower;
+and the petition was granted by the Prince of Orange.</p>
+
+<p>From a distance of six paces Van Baerle gazed at the black tulip, and
+then he, with the multitude, turned his eyes towards the prince. In dead
+silence the prince declared the occasion of the festival, the discovery of
+the wonderful black tulip, and concluded, "Let the owner of the black tulip
+approach."</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius made an involuntary movement. Boxtel and Rosa rushed forward
+from the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>The prince turned to Rosa. "This tulip is yours, is it not?" he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord," she answered softly. And general applause came from the
+crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"This tulip will henceforth bear the name of its producer, and will be
+called <i>Tulipa nigra Rosa Baerttensis</i>, because Van Baerle is to be
+the married name of this damsel," the prince announced; and at the same
+time he took Rosa's hand and placed it within the hand of the prisoner, who
+had rushed forward at the words he had heard.</p>
+
+<p>Boxtel fell down in a fit, and when they raised him up he was dead.</p>
+
+<p>The procession returned to the town hall, the prince declared Rosa the
+prizewinner, and informed Cornelius that, having been wrongfully condemned,
+his property was restored to him. Then he entered his coach, and was driven
+away.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius and Rosa departed for Dordrecht, and Van Baerle remained ever
+faithful to his wife and his tulips.</p>
+
+<p>As for old Gryphus, after being the roughest gaoler of men, he lived to
+be the fiercest guardian of tulips at Dordrecht.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas3">The Corsican Brothers</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Corsican Brothers" is one of the most famous of Dumas'
+shorter stories. It was published in 1845, when the author was at the
+height of his powers, and is remarkable not only for its strong dramatic
+interest, but for its famous account of old Corsican manners and customs,
+being inspired by a visit to Corsica in 1834. The scenery of the island,
+and the life of the inhabitants, the survival of the vendetta, and the
+fierce family feuds, all made strong appeal to his imaginative mind.
+Several versions of the story have been dramatised for the English stage,
+and as a play "The Corsican Brothers" has enjoyed a long popularity; but
+Dumas himself, who was fond of adapting his works to the stage, never
+dramatised this story. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Twins</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was travelling in Corsica early in March 1841. Corsica is a French
+department, but it is by no means French, and Italian is the language
+commonly spoken. It is free from robbers, but it is still the land of the
+vendetta, and the province of Sartene, wherein I was travelling, is the
+home of family feuds, which last for years and are always accompanied by
+loss of life.</p>
+
+<p>I was travelling alone across the island, but I had been obliged to take
+a guide; and when at five o'clock we halted on a hill overlooking the
+village of Sullacro, my guide asked me where I would like to stay for the
+night. There were, perhaps, one hundred and twenty houses in Sullacro for
+me to choose from, so after looking out carefully for the one that promised
+the most comfort, I decided in favour of a strong, fortified,
+squarely-built house.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," said my guide. "That is the house of Madame Savilia de
+Franchi. Your honour has chosen wisely."</p>
+
+<p>I was a little uncertain whether it was quite the right thing for me to
+seek hospitality at a house belonging to a lady, for, being only
+thirty-six, I considered myself a young man. But I found it quite
+impossible to make my guide understand my feelings. The notion that my
+staying a night could give occasion for gossip concerning my hostess, or
+that it made any difference whether I was old or young, was unintelligible
+to a Corsican.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Savilia, I learnt from the guide, was about forty, and had two
+sons--twins--twenty-one years old. One lived with his mother, and was a
+Corsican; the other was in Paris, preparing to be a lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>We soon arrived at the house we sought. My guide knocked vigorously at
+the door, which was promptly opened by a man in velvet waistcoat and
+breeches and leather gaiters. I explained that I sought hospitality, and
+was answered in return that the house was honoured by my request. My
+luggage was carried off, and I entered.</p>
+
+<p>In the corridor a beautiful woman, tall, and dressed in black, met me.
+She bade me welcome, and promised me that of her son, telling me that the
+house was at my service.</p>
+
+<p>A maid-servant was called to conduct me to the room of M. Louis, and as
+supper would be served in an hour, I went upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>My room was evidently that of the absent son, and the most comfortable
+in the house. Its furniture was all modern, and there was a well-filled
+bookcase. I hastily looked at the volumes; they denoted a student of
+liberal mind.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later, and my host, M. Lucien de Franchi, entered. I
+observed that he was young, of sunburnt complexion, well made, and fearless
+and resolute in his bearing.</p>
+
+<p>"I am anxious to see that you have all you need," he said, "for we
+Corsicans are still savages, and this old hospitality, which is almost the
+only tradition of our forefathers left, has its shortcomings for the
+French."</p>
+
+<p>I assured him that the apartment was far from suggesting savagery.</p>
+
+<p>"My brother Louis likes to live after the French fashion," Lucien
+answered. He went on to speak of his brother, for whom he had a profound
+affection. They had already been parted for ten months, and it was three or
+four years before Louis was expected home.</p>
+
+<p>As for Lucien, nothing, he said, would make him leave Corsica. He
+belonged to the island, and could not live without its torrents, its rocks,
+and its forests. The physical resemblance between himself and his brother,
+he told me, was very great; but there was considerable difference of
+temperament.</p>
+
+<p>Having completed my own change of dress, I went into Lucien's room, at
+his suggestion. It was a regular armoury, and all the furniture was at
+least 300 years old.</p>
+
+<p>While my host put on the dress of a mountaineer, for he mentioned to me
+that he had to attend a meeting after supper, he told me the history of
+some of the carbines and daggers that hung round the room. Of a truth, he
+came of an utterly fearless stock, to whom death was of small account by
+the side of courage and honour.</p>
+
+<p>At supper, Madame de Franchi could not help expressing her anxiety for
+her absent son. No letter had been received, but Lucien for days had been
+feeling wretched and depressed.</p>
+
+<p>"We are twins," he said simply, "and however greatly we are separated,
+we have one and the same body, as we had at our birth. When anything
+happens to one of us, be it physical or mental, it at once affects the
+other. I know that Louis is not dead, for I should have seen him again in
+that case."</p>
+
+<p>"You would have told me if he had come?" said Madame de Franchi
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"At the very moment, mother."</p>
+
+<p>I was amazed. Neither of them seemed to express the slightest doubt or
+surprise at this extraordinary statement.</p>
+
+<p>Lucien went on to regret the passing of the old customs of Corsica. His
+very brother had succumbed to the French spirit, and on his return would
+settle down as an advocate at Ajaccio, and probably prosecute men who
+killed their enemies in a vendetta. "And I, too, am engaged in affairs
+unworthy of a De Franchi," he concluded. "You have come to Corsica with
+curiosity about its inhabitants. If you care to set out with me after
+supper, I will show you a real bandit."</p>
+
+<p>I accepted the invitation with pleasure.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--M. Luden de Franchi</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Lucien explained to me the object of our expedition. For ten years the
+village of Sullacro had been divided over the quarrel of two families, the
+Orlandi and the Colona--a quarrel that had originated in the seizure of a
+paltry hen belonging to the Orlandi, which had flown into the poultry-yard
+of the Colonas. Nine people had already been killed in this feud, and now
+Lucien, as arbitrator, was to bring it to an end. The local prefect had
+written to Paris that one word from De Franchi would end the dispute, and
+Louis had appealed to him.</p>
+
+<p>To-night Lucien was to arrange matters with Orlandi, as he had already
+done with Colona, and the meeting-place was at the ruins of the Castle of
+Vicentello d'Istria. It was a steep ascent, but we arrived in good time,
+and while we sat and waited, Lucien told me terrible stories of feuds and
+vengeance. Orlandi made his appearance exactly at nine o'clock, and after
+some discussion agreed to Lucien's terms. I found that I was expected to
+act as surety for Orlandi, and accepted the responsibility.</p>
+
+<p>"You will now be able to tell my brother, on your return to Paris, that
+it's all been settled as he wished," said Lucien.</p>
+
+<p>On our way home Lucien showed wonderful marksmanship with his gun, and
+admitted he was equally skillful with the pistol. His brother Louis, on the
+other hand, had never touched either gun or pistol.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning came the grand reconciliation of Orlandi and Colona, in the
+market square in the presence of the mayor and the notary. The mayor
+compelled the belligerents to shake hands, a document was signed declaring
+the vendetta at an end, and everybody went to mass.</p>
+
+<p>Later in the day I was compelled to bid good-bye to Madame de Franchi
+and her son, and set out for Paris; but before I left Lucien told me how in
+his family his father had appeared to him on his death-bed, and that, not
+only at death, but at any great crisis in life, an apparition appeared. He
+was certain by his own depression that his brother Louis was suffering.</p>
+
+<p>Lucien told me his brother's address, 7, Rue du Helder, and gave me a
+letter which I undertook to deliver personally.</p>
+
+<p>We parted with great cordiality, and a week later I was back in
+Paris.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Fate of Louis</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was startled by the extraordinary resemblance of M. Louis de Franchi,
+whom I had at once called upon, to his brother.</p>
+
+<p>I was relieved to find that he was not suffering from illness, and I
+told him of the anxiety of his family concerning his health. M. de Franchi
+replied that he had not been ill, but that he had been suffering from a
+very bitter disappointment, aggravated by the knowledge that his own
+suffering caused his brother to suffer, too. He hoped, however, that time
+would heal the wound in his heart.</p>
+
+<p>We agreed to meet the following night at the opera ball at midnight, on
+the young lawyer's suggestion. I rallied him on his recovery from his
+sorrow, but Louis only said mournfully that he was driven by fate, dragged
+against his will.</p>
+
+<p>"I am quite sure," he said, "that it would be better for me not to go,
+but nevertheless I am going."</p>
+
+<p>Louis was too pre-occupied to talk when we met at the masked ball, and
+he suddenly left me for a lady carrying violets. Later he rejoined me, and
+together we set off to supper at three o'clock in the morning. It was my
+friend D----'s supper party, and he had included Louis in the
+invitation.</p>
+
+<p>We found our friends waiting supper, and D---- announced that the only
+person who had not arrived was Château-Renard. It seemed there was a wager
+on that M. de Château-Renard would not arrive with a certain lady whom he
+had undertaken to bring to supper.</p>
+
+<p>Louis, who was as pale as death, implored D---- not to mention the
+lady's name, and our host acceded to the request.</p>
+
+<p>"Only as her husband is at Smyrna, or in India or Mexico or somewhere,
+and in such a case it's the same as if the lady wasn't married," D----
+observed.</p>
+
+<p>"I assure you her husband is coming back soon, and he is such a good
+fellow he would be horribly mortified to hear his wife had done anything
+silly in his absence."</p>
+
+<p>Château-Renard had till four o'clock to save his bet. At five minutes to
+four he had not arrived, and Louis smiled at me over his wine. At that very
+moment the bell rang. D---- went to the door, and we could hear some
+argument going on in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>Then a lady entered with obvious reluctance, escorted by D---- and
+Château-Renard.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not yet four," said Château-Renard to D----.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right, my boy," the other answered. "You've won your bet."</p>
+
+<p>"No, hardly yet, sir," said the unknown lady. "Now I know why you were
+so persistent. You have wagered to bring me here to supper, and I supposed
+you were taking me to sup with one of my own friends."</p>
+
+<p>Both Château-Renard and D---- besought the lady to stay, but the fair
+unknown, after expressing her thanks to D---- for his welcome, turned to M.
+Louis de Franchi, and asked him to escort her home. Louis at once sprang
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>Château-Renard, furious, insisted that he would know whom to hold
+accountable.</p>
+
+<p>"If I am the person meant," said Louis, with great dignity, "you will
+find me at home at 7, Rue du Helder all day to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Louis departed with his fair companion, and though Château-Renard was
+ostentatiously cheerful, the end of the supper-party was not at all a
+festive business.</p>
+
+<p>At ten o'clock the same morning I arrived at the rooms of M. Louis de
+Franchi. The seconds of Château-Renard had already called, and I passed
+them on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Louis had written me a note; with another friend, Baron Giordano
+Martelli, the affair was to be arranged with Baron de Châteaugrand, and M.
+de Boissy, the gentleman I had met on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the cards of these two men, and asked Louis if the matter
+was of any great seriousness.</p>
+
+<p>Louis replied by telling the story of the quarrel. A friend of his, a
+sea captain, had married a beautiful woman, so beautiful and so young that
+Louis could not help falling in love with her. As an honourable man he had
+kept away from the house, and then on being reproached by his friend, had
+frankly told him the reason.</p>
+
+<p>In return, his friend, who was just setting off for Mexico, commended
+his wife, Emilie, whom he adored and trusted absolutely, to his care, and
+asked his wife to consider Louis de Franchi as her brother. For six months
+the captain had been away, and Emilie had been living at her mother's. To
+this house, among other visitors, had come M. de Château-Renard, and from
+the first, this typical man of the world had been an object of dislike to
+Louis. Emilie's flirtations with Château-Renard at last provoked a
+remonstrance from Louis, and in return the lady told him that he was in
+love with her himself, and that he was absurd in his notions. After that
+Louis had left off calling on Emilie, but gossip was soon busy with the
+lady's name.</p>
+
+<p>An anonymous letter had made an appointment for Louis with the lady of
+the violets at the masked ball, and from this person he was informed again
+not only of Emilie's infidelity, but further, that M. de Château-Renard had
+wagered he would bring her to supper at D----'s.</p>
+
+<p>The rest I knew, and I could only assent mournfully that things must go
+on, and that the proposals of Château-Renard's seconds could not be
+declined.</p>
+
+<p>But M. Louis de Franchi had never touched sword or pistol in his life!
+However, there was nothing for it but to return M. de Châteaugrand's
+call.</p>
+
+<p>Martelli and I found that Château-Renard's two supporters were both
+polite men of the world. They were as indifferent as Louis was to the
+choice of weapons, and by a spin of a coin it was decided that pistols were
+to be used.</p>
+
+<p>The place agreed upon for the duel was the Bois de Vincennes, and the
+time nine o'clock the following morning.</p>
+
+<p>I called in the evening on Louis to ask him if he had any instructions
+for me; but his only reply was "Counsel comes with the night," so I waited
+on him next morning.</p>
+
+<p>He was just finishing a letter when I entered, and he bade his servant
+Joseph leave us undisturbed for ten minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"I am anxious," said Louis, "that my friend Giordano Martelli, who is a
+Corsican, should not know of this letter. But you must promise to carry out
+my wishes, and then my family may be saved a second misfortune. Now, please
+read the letter."</p>
+
+<p>I read the letter Louis had written. It was to his mother, and it said
+that he was dying of brain fever. Her son, writing in a lucid interval, was
+beyond hope of recovery. It would be posted to her a quarter of an hour
+after his death. There was an affectionate postscript to Lucien.</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean? I don't understand it," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"It means that at ten minutes past nine I shall be dead. I have been
+forewarned, that is all. My father appeared to me last night and announced
+my death."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke so simply of this visit, that if it was an illusion it was as
+terribly convincing as the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thing more," said Louis. "If my brother was to hear that I
+had been killed in a duel, he would at once leave Sullacro to come and
+fight the man who had killed me. And then if he were killed in his turn my
+mother would be thrice widowed. To prevent that I have written this letter.
+If it is believed that I have died of brain fever no one can be blamed." He
+paused. "Unless, unless--but no, that must not be."</p>
+
+<p>I knew that my own strange fear was his.</p>
+
+<p>On the way to Vincennes Baron Giordano stopped to get a case of pistols,
+powder, and balls, and we arrived at our destination just as M. de
+Château-Renard's carriage drove up. At M. de Châteaugrand's suggestion we
+all made our way to a certain glade away from the public pathway.</p>
+
+<p>Martelli and Châteaugrand measured, the distance together, while Louis
+bade me farewell, asking me to accept his watch, and begging me to keep the
+duel out of the papers, and to prevail upon Giordano not to let any word of
+the matter reach Sullacro.</p>
+
+<p>M. Château-Renard was at his post. Baron Giordano gave Louis his
+pistol.</p>
+
+<p>Châteaugrand called out, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then he clapped his
+hands "One, two, three."</p>
+
+<p>Two shots went off at the same moment, and Louis de Franchi fell. His
+opponent was unhurt. I rushed to Louis and raised him up. Blood came to his
+lips. It was useless to send for a surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>Château-Renard had withdrawn, but his seconds hastened to express their
+horror at the fatal ending of the combat.</p>
+
+<p>Châteaugrand added that he hoped M. de Franchi bore no malice against
+his opponent.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, I forgive him!" said Louis. "But tell him to leave Paris. He
+must go."</p>
+
+<p>The dying man spoke with difficulty. He reminded me of my promise, and
+asked me, as he fell back, to look at my watch.</p>
+
+<p>It was exactly ten minutes past nine, and Louis was dead.</p>
+
+<p>We carried the body back to the house, and Giordano made the required
+statement to the District Commissioner of Police. Then the house was sealed
+by the police, and Louis de Franchi was laid to rest in
+P&egrave;re-La-chaise. But M. de Château-Renard could not be persuaded to
+leave Paris, though MM. de Boissy and de Châteaugrand both did their best
+to induce him to go.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Lucien Takes Vengeance</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>One night, five days after the funeral, I was working late at my
+writing-table, when my servant entered, and told me in a frightened tone
+that M. de Franchi wanted to speak to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Who?" I said, in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"M. de Franchi, sir, your friend--the gentleman who has been here once
+or twice to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"You must be out of your senses, Victor! Don't you know that he died
+five days ago?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; and that's why I am so upset. I heard a ring at the bell, and
+when I opened the door, he walked in, asked if you were at home, and told
+me to tell you that M. de Franchi desired to speak with you."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you out of your mind, my good man? I suppose the hall is badly lit,
+and you were half-asleep and heard the name wrong. Go back and ask the name
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I will swear that I'm not mistaken. I'm sure I heard and saw
+perfectly."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then, show him in."</p>
+
+<p>Victor went back to the door, trembling all the time, and said, "Please
+step in, sir."</p>
+
+<p>My hasty sensation of terror was quickly dispelled. It was Lucien who
+was apologising to me for disturbing me at such an hour.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is," he said, "I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will
+understand how impossible it was not to come and see you at once."</p>
+
+<p>I at once thought of the letter I had sent. In five days it could not
+have reached Sullacro.</p>
+
+<p>"Good heaven!" I cried. "Nothing is known to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everything is known," he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Lucien mentioned that on going to his brother's house, the people were
+so panic-stricken that they refused the door to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," I said, when we were alone. "You must have been on your way
+here when you heard the fatal news?"</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary, I was at Sullacro. Have you for-forgotten what I told
+you about the apparitions in my family?"</p>
+
+<p>"Has your brother appeared to you?" I cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He told me he had been killed in a duel by M. de Château-Renard. I
+saw my brother in his room the day he was killed," Lucien went on, "and
+that night in a dream I saw the place where the duel was fought, and heard
+the name of M. de Château-Renard. And I have come to Paris to kill the man
+who killed my brother. My brother had never touched a pistol in his life,
+and it was as easy to kill him as to kill a tame stag. My mother knows why
+I have come. She is a true Corsican, and she kissed me on the forehead and
+said 'Go!'"</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Lucien wrote to Giordano and sent a challenge to
+Château-Renard. Then he went with me to Vincennes, and, though he had never
+been there in his life before, Lucien walked straight to the spot where his
+brother had fallen. He turned round, walked twenty paces, and said, "This
+is where the villain stood, and to-morrow he will lie here."</p>
+
+<p>Lucien predicted with absolute confidence the death of Château-Renard.
+The challenge was accepted, the same seconds acted, and on the morrow we
+assembled in the fatal glade. Château-Renard was obviously uneasy. The
+signal was given, both men fired, and, sure enough, Château-Renard fell,
+shot through the temple as Lucien had foretold.</p>
+
+<p>Then, for the first time since Louis' death, Lucien burst into tears. He
+dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms. "My brother, my dear
+brother!" he cried.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas4">The Count of Monte Cristo</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Count of Monte Cristo" appeared in 1844, when Dumas had
+been writing plays and stories for twenty years, and at a period when he
+was most extraordinarily prolific. In that year, assisted by his staff of
+compilers and transcribers, he is said to have turned out something like
+forty volumes! "Monte Cristo" first gave Dumas' novels a world-wide
+audience. Its unflagging spirit, the endless surprises, and the air of
+reality which was cast over the most extravagant situations made the work
+worthy of the popularity it enjoyed in almost every country in the world.
+The island from which it takes its name is a barren rock rising 2,000 feet
+out of the sea a few miles south of Elba. Dumas attempted to emulate Scott,
+and built a château near St. Germain, which he called Monte Cristo,
+costing over $125,000. It was afterwards sold for a tenth of that sum to
+pay his debts. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Conspiracy of Envy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On February 28, 1815, the three-masted Pharaon arrived at Marseilles
+from Smyrna, commanded by the first mate, young Edmond Dant&egrave;s, the
+captain having died on the voyage. He had left a package for the
+Mar&eacute;chal Bertrand on the Isle of Elba, which Dant&egrave;s had duly
+delivered, conversing with the exiled Emperor Napoleon himself.</p>
+
+<p>The shipowner, M. Morrel, confirmed young Dant&egrave;s in the command,
+and, overjoyed, he hastened to his father, and then to the village of the
+Catalans, near Marseilles, where the dark-eyed Merc&eacute;d&egrave;s, his
+betrothed, impatiently awaited him.</p>
+
+<p>But his good fortune excited envy. Danglars, the supercargo of the
+Pharaon, wanted the command for himself, and Fernand, the Catalan cousin of
+Merc&eacute;d&egrave;s, hated Dant&egrave;s because he had won her heart.
+Fernand's jealousy so took possession of him that he fell in willingly with
+a scheme which the envious Danglars proposed. Making use of Dant&egrave;s'
+compromising visit to Elba, they addressed an anonymous denunciation to the
+<i>procureur du roi</i>, which, in this period of Bonapartist plots, was
+indeed a formidable matter. Caderousse, a boon companion, was at first
+taken into their confidence, but as he came to think it a dangerous trick
+to play the young captain, he refused to take part in it.</p>
+
+<p>On the morrow the wedding-feast took place, and at two o'clock
+Dant&egrave;s, radiant with joy and happiness, prepared to accompany his
+bride to the hotel de ville for the civil ceremony. But at that moment the
+measured tread of soldiery was heard on the stairs, and a magistrate
+presented himself, bearing an order for the arrest of Edmond Dant&egrave;s.
+Resistance or remonstrance was useless, and Dant&egrave;s suffered himself
+to be taken to Marseilles, where he was examined by the deputy <i>procureur
+du roi,</i> M. de Villefort. To him, on demand, he recounted the story of
+his visit to Elba.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Villefort, "if you have been culpable it was imprudence. Give
+up this letter you have brought from Elba, and go and rejoin your
+friends."</p>
+
+<p>"You have it already," cried Dant&egrave;s.</p>
+
+<p>Villefort glanced at it, and sank into his seat, stupefied. It was
+addressed to M. Noirtier, a staunch Bonapartist.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if he knew the contents of this," murmured he, "and that Noirtier
+is father of Villefort, I am lost!" He approached the fire, and cast the
+fatal letter in.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir," said he, "I shall detail you till this evening in the Palais de
+Justice. Should anyone else interrogate you do not breathe a word of this
+letter."</p>
+
+<p>"I promise."</p>
+
+<p>It was Villefort who seemed to entreat, and the prisoner to reassure
+him.</p>
+
+<p>But the doom of Edmond Dant&egrave;s was cast. Sacrificed to Villefort's
+ambition, he was lodged the same night in a dungeon of the gloomy
+fortress-prison of the Château d'If, while Villefort posted to Paris to
+warn the king that the usurper Bonaparte was meditating a landing in
+France.</p>
+
+<p>Napoleon returned. There followed the Hundred Days, and Louis XVIII.
+again mounted the throne. M. Morrel's intercessions during Napoleon's brief
+triumph for the release of Dant&egrave;s but served, on the restoration of
+Louis, to compromise further the unhappy prisoner, who languished in a foul
+prison in the depths of the Château d'If.</p>
+
+<p>In the cell next to Dant&egrave;s was another political prisoner, the
+Abb&eacute; Faria. He had been in the château four years when Dant&egrave;s
+was immured, and, with marvellously contrived tools and incredible toil,
+had burrowed a tunnel through the rock fifty feet long, only to find that,
+instead of leading to the outer wall of the château, whence he could have
+flung himself into the sea, it led to the cell of another
+prisoner--Dant&egrave;s. He penetrated it after Dant&egrave;s had been
+solitary six years.</p>
+
+<p>The prisoners met every day between the visits of their gaolers. Faria
+showed Dant&egrave;s the products of his industry and ingenuity--his books,
+written on the linen of shirts, his fish-bone pens and needles, knives, and
+matches, all accomplished secretly; and beguiled much of the weariness of
+confinement by educating Dant&egrave;s in the sciences, history, and
+languages. Dant&egrave;s possessed a prodigious memory, combined with
+readiness of conception, and his studies progressed rapidly. Soon
+Dant&egrave;s told the abb&eacute; his story, and the abb&eacute; had
+little difficulty in opening the eyes of the astonished Dant&egrave;s to
+the villainy of his supposed friends and the deputy <i>procurer</i>. Thus
+was instilled into his heart a new passion--vengeance.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Cemetery of the Château d'If</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>More than seven years passed thus when coming into the abb&eacute;'s
+dungeon one night, Dant&egrave;s found him stricken with paralysis. His
+right arm and leg remained paralysed after the seizure. When Dant&egrave;s
+next visited him the abb&eacute; showed him a paper, half-burnt, and rolled
+in a cylinder.</p>
+
+<p>"This paper," said Faria, "is my treasure; and if I have not been
+allowed to possess it, you will. Who knows if another attack may not come,
+and all be finished?"</p>
+
+<p>The abb&eacute; had been secretary to the last of the Counts of Spada,
+one of the most powerful families of mediaeval Italy, and he, dying in
+poverty, had left Faria an old breviary, which had been in the family since
+the days of the Borgias. In this, by chance, Faria found a piece of
+yellowed paper, on which, when put in the fire, writing began to appear.
+From the remains of the paper he made out during the early days of his
+imprisonment, that a Cardinal Spada, at the end of the fifteenth century,
+fearing poisoning at the hands of Pope Alexander VI., had buried in the
+Island of Monte Cristo, a rock between Corsica and Elba, all his ingots,
+gold, money, and jewels, amounting then to nearly two million Roman
+crowns.</p>
+
+<p>"The last Count of Spada made me his heir," said the abb&eacute;. "The
+treasure now amounts to nearly thirteen millions of money!"</p>
+
+<p>The abb&eacute; remained paralysed, and had given up all hope of
+enjoying the treasure himself; and presently another seizure took him, and
+one night Dant&egrave;s was alone with the corpse.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning the preparations for burying the dead man were made, the
+body being placed in a sack and left in the cell till the evening.
+Dant&egrave;s came into the cell again.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he muttered. "Since the dead leave this dungeon, let me assume the
+place of the dead!"</p>
+
+<p>Opening the sack, he took out the dead body of his friend, and dragged
+it through the tunnel to his own cell. Placing it on his own bed, he
+covered it with the rags he wore himself. Then he sewed himself in the sack
+with one of the abb&eacute;'s needles. In his hand he held the dead man's
+knife, and with palpitating heart awaited events.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the hours dragged on, until at length he heard the heavy
+footsteps of the gaolers descending to the cell. They lifted the sack, and
+carried him on a bier through the castle passages, until they came to a
+door, which was opened. On passing through this, the noise of the waves was
+heard as they dashed on the rocks below.</p>
+
+<p>Then Dant&egrave;s felt that they took him by the head and by the heels,
+and flung him into the sea, into whose depths he was dragged by a
+thirty-six-pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the cemetery of Château
+d'If!</p>
+
+<p>Although giddy, and almost suffocated, he had yet sufficient presence of
+mind to hold his breath; and as his right hand held his knife, he rapidly
+ripped up the sack, extricated his arm, and then, by a desperate effort,
+severed the cord that bound his legs at the moment he was suffocating. With
+a vigorous spring he rose to the surface, paused to breathe, and then dived
+again, in order to avoid being seen. When he rose again, he struck boldly
+out to sea, and, fortunately, was picked up by a sailing-vessel.</p>
+
+<p>Now at liberty, fourteen years after his arrest, he renewed an oath of
+implacable vengeance against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort. Nor was it
+long before he had discovered the secret cave in the island of Monte
+Cristo, with all its dazzling wealth, as the Abbe Faria had truly foretold.
+He now stood possessed of such means of vengeance as never in his wildest
+dreams had any innocent prisoner hoped to be able to command.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Vengeance Begins</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Some two years later Caspar Caderousse, the keeper of an inn near
+Beaucaire, was lounging listlessly at his door, when a traveller on
+horseback dismounted at his door and entered. The visitor--Monte
+Cristo--gave the name of Abbe Busoni, and astonished Caderousse by showing
+a minute knowledge of his earlier history. The abb&eacute; explained that
+he had been present at the death of Edmond Dant&egrave;s in prison, and
+said that even in his dying moments the prisoner had protested he was
+utterly ignorant of the cause of his imprisonment.</p>
+
+<p>"And so he was!" exclaimed Caderousse. "How should he have been
+otherwise?"</p>
+
+<p>The abb&egrave; had heard of the death of Edmond's aged father, and now
+he was told the old man had died of starvation.</p>
+
+<p>"Thus Heaven recompenses virtue," said Caderousse. "I am in destitution
+and shall die of hunger, as old Dant&egrave;s did, whilst Fernand and
+Danglars roll in wealth. All their malpractices have turned to luck.
+Danglars speculated and made a fortune. He is a millionaire, and now Count
+Danglars. Fernand played traitor at the battle of Ligny, and that served
+for his recommendation to the Bourbons. Afterwards he became Count de
+Morcerf, and got a considerable sum by the betrayal of Ali Pasha in the
+Greek war of independence."</p>
+
+<p>The abb&eacute;, making an effort, said, "And
+Merc&eacute;d&egrave;s--she disappeared?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, as the sun, to rise next day with more splendour. She is rich, the
+Countess de Morcerf--she waited two hopeless years for Dant&egrave;s--and
+yet I am sure she is not happy."</p>
+
+<p>"And M. de Villefort?" asked the abb&eacute;.</p>
+
+<p>"Some time after having arrested Dant&egrave;s, he married and left
+Marseilles; no doubt but he has been as lucky as the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"God may seem sometimes to forget for a time," said the abb&eacute;,
+"while His justice reposes, but there always comes a moment when He
+remembers."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Early in 1838 a certain Count of Monte Cristo became a great figure in
+the life of Paris. His name awakened thoughts of romance and dazzling
+wealth in the minds of all. It was Albert, the son of the Count de Morcerf,
+who first introduced the Count of Monte Cristo to the high society of
+Paris. They had become acquainted at Rome, where Monte Cristo had been able
+to render a great service to the Viscount Albert de Morcerf and his friend,
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay.</p>
+
+<p>All sorts of stories were afloat in Paris as to the history of this
+Count of Monte Cristo. When he went to the opera he was accompanied by a
+beautiful Greek girl, named Haid&eacute;e, whose guardian he was.</p>
+
+<p>But nothing ruffled Monte Cristo. Calmness and deliberation marked all
+his movements; in some respects he was more like a machine than a human
+being. Everything he said he would do was done precisely. And now the
+schemes he had long studied in secret he had begun to carry through as
+certainly and relentlessly as Fate.</p>
+
+<p>M. de Villefort, now <i>procureur du roi,</i> had a daughter by his
+first wife, for he had married a second time. Her name was Valentine, and
+at the command of her father, but not by her own wish, she was engaged to
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay. She loved a young military officer named
+Maximilian Morrel, a son of the Marseilles shipowner. But neither of them
+had dared to avow their affection for each other to Valentine's father.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the tide of fortune seemed to have turned with Baron
+Danglars. His business had suffered many losses, but his greatest loss of
+all was due to some false news about the price of shares which had been
+telegraphed to Paris by means which Monte Cristo could have explained.</p>
+
+<p>The baron's daughter was engaged to Albert de Morcerf, but the Count of
+Morcerf had now come under a cloud, for his betrayal of Ali Pasha had been
+made public; and perhaps the Count of Monte Cristo could have told how the
+truth came out at last. So the baron did not hesitate to break the
+engagement, and to accept as the suitor for his daughter a dashing young
+man known as Count Cavalcanti, who had been introduced to Paris by Monte
+Cristo, but concerning whose antecedents nothing seemed to be known.</p>
+
+<p>The Count de Morcerf was tried for his betrayal of Ali, and seemed
+likely to be acquitted, when a veiled woman was brought to the place of
+trial, and testified before the committee that she was the daughter of Ali
+Pasha, and that Morcerf had not only betrayed her father to the Turks, but
+had sold her and her mother into slavery. The veiled woman was
+Haid&eacute;e, the ward of Monte Cristo. The count was now a ruined man,
+and when his son Albert discovered the part that Monte Cristo had played,
+he publicly insulted the count at the opera.</p>
+
+<p>A duel was averted, for Albert publicly apologised to the count when he
+learned the reasons for his actions. Furious that he had not been avenged
+by his son, Morcerf rushed to the house of Monte Cristo.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to tell you," said Morcerf, "that as the young people of the
+present day will not fight, it remains for us to do it."</p>
+
+<p>"So much the better," said Monte Cristo. "Are you prepared?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; and witnesses are unnecessary, as we know each other so
+little."</p>
+
+<p>"Truly they are unnecessary," said Monte Cristo, "but for the reason
+that we know each other well. Are you not the soldier Fernand who deserted
+on the eve of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who served as
+guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the Captain Fernand
+who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," cried the general, "wretch, to reproach me with my shame! Tell me
+your real name that I may pronounce it when I plunge my sword through your
+heart."</p>
+
+<p>At this Monte Cristo, bounding to a dressing room near, quickly pulled
+off his coat, and waistcoat, and, donning a sailor's jacket and hat, was
+back in an instant.</p>
+
+<p>Gazing for a moment in terror at this man who seemed to have risen from
+the dead to avenge his wrongs, Morcerf turned, seeking the wall to support
+him, and went out by the door uttering the cry--"Edmond Dant&egrave;s!"</p>
+
+<p>Events marched rapidly now, and Paris had scarcely ceased talking of the
+suicide of the Count de Morcerf, when Cavalcanti, identified as a former
+galley-slave named Benedetto, was arrested for the murder of a
+fellow-convict.</p>
+
+<p>Danglars fled from France, his great business in ruin. With him he took
+a large sum of money belonging to Paris hospitals, which, however, was
+taken from him near Rome by brigands controlled by Monte Cristo.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Vengeance is Complete</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the household of Villefort, Monte Cristo had done nothing to bring
+vengeance on that evil man. He had seen from the first that Villefort's
+second wife was studying the art of poisoning, and he felt that revenge was
+already at work here. There had already been three mysterious deaths in the
+house, and now the beautiful Valentine seemed to be suffering from the
+early effects of some slow poison. Maximilian Morrel, in despair of
+Valentine's life, rushed to Monte Cristo for his advice and assistance.</p>
+
+<p>"Must I let one of the accursed race escape?" Monte Cristo asked
+himself, but decided, for Maxmilian's sake, that he would save Valentine.
+He had bought the house adjoining that of Villefort, and, clearing out the
+tenants, had engaged workmen to remove so much of the old wall between the
+two houses that it was a simple matter for him to take out the remaining
+stones and pass into a large cupboard in Valentine's room. Here the count
+watched while Valentine was asleep, and saw Madame de Villefort creep into
+the room and substitute for the medicine in Valentine's glass a dose of
+poison.</p>
+
+<p>He then entered the room and threw half the draught into the fireplace,
+leaving the rest in the glass. When Valentine awoke he gave her a pellet of
+hashish, which made her sink into a deathlike sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning the doctor declared that Valentine was dead. In the glass
+he discovered poison, and as the same poison was found in madame's
+laboratory, there was no doubt of her guilt. She admitted all, and
+confessed that her object had been to make her own son sole heir to
+Villefort's fortune.</p>
+
+<p>Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He addressed her with
+passionate words of reproach as he turned to leave her.</p>
+
+<p>"Think of it, madame," he said; "if on my return justice has not been
+satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my
+own hands! I am going to the court to pronounce sentence of death on a
+murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in
+gaol."</p>
+
+<p>Madame sighed, her nerves gave way, and she sank on the carpet.</p>
+
+<p>But Villefort little knew at the moment he spoke these burning words to
+the woman who was his wife that he himself was not going out to condemn a
+fellow-sinner, but to be himself condemned. For the man to whom he referred
+as a murderer was the so-called Count Cavalcanti, really Benedetto, who now
+turned out to be an illegitimate son of Villefort's whom he had endeavoured
+to bury alive as an infant in the garden of a house at Auteuil. The night
+before the criminal had had a long interview with Monte Cristo's steward,
+who had disclosed to the prisoner the secret of his birth, and in court he
+declared his father was Villefort, the public prosecutor! This statement
+made a great commotion in the court, and all eyes were on Villefort, while
+Benedetto continued to answer the questions of the president, and proved
+that he was the child whom Villefort would have buried alive years before.
+The public prosecutor himself confirmed the prisoner's story by admitting
+his guilt, and staggering from the court.</p>
+
+<p>When Villefort arrived at his own house he found everything in
+confusion. Making his way to his wife's apartments, he had the horror of
+meeting her while she still lived, just at the very instant when the poison
+she had taken did its work, and of finding a moment or two after that she
+had poisoned his little son Edward.</p>
+
+<p>This was more than the brain of man could endure, and Villefort turned
+from the tragic scene a raving madman, rushing wildly to the garden, and
+beginning to dig with a spade.</p>
+
+<p>The vengeance of Edmond Dant&egrave;s, so long delayed, so carefully and
+laboriously planned, was now complete, and it only remained for him to
+perform the last of his marvels, at the same time giving proof of his
+boundless generosity. Valentine de Villefort had been buried, and
+Maximilian was in despair; but Monte Cristo urged the young man to have
+patience and hope.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed a strange thing to ask a lover whose sweetheart had been
+placed within the tomb to have hope and to come to Monte Cristo in one
+month. But this was the bargain they made.</p>
+
+<p>When the month had passed, Maximilian came to the isle of Monte
+Cristo.</p>
+
+<p>"I have your word," he said to the count, "that you would help me die or
+give me Valentine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! A miracle alone can save you--the resurrection of Valentine! Thus
+do I fulfil my promise!"</p>
+
+<p>Monte Cristo turned to a jewelled cabinet, and took from it a tube of
+greenish paste. Maximilian swallowed some of the mysterious substance,
+which was but hashish. He sat down and waited.</p>
+
+<p>"Monte Cristo," he said, "I feel that I am dying--good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Monte Cristo had opened a door from which a great light
+streamed. Maximilian opened his eyes, looked towards the light; and
+then--he saw Valentine!</p>
+
+<p>Then Monte Cristo spoke. "He calls you, Valentine, even as he thinks he
+dies by his own will. But even as I saved you from the tomb, so have I
+saved him. I feared for his reason if he saw you, except in a trance--from
+his trance he will wake to happiness!"</p>
+
+<p>Next morning Valentine and Maximilian were walking on the beach, when
+Jacopo, the captain of Monte Cristo's yacht, gave them a letter. As they
+looked on the superscription they cried, simultaneously, "Gone!"</p>
+
+<p>In his letter, Monte Cristo, said: "All that is in this grotto, my
+friend, my house in the Champs Elys&eacute;es, and my château at
+Tr&eacute;port, are the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dant&egrave;s
+upon the son of his old master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will
+share them with you; for I entreat her to give to the poor the immense
+fortune reverting to her from her father, now a madman, and her brother,
+who died last September with his mother."</p>
+
+<p>"But where is the count?" asked Morrel eagerly. Jacopo pointed towards
+the horizon, where a white sail was visible.</p>
+
+<p>"And where is Haid&eacute;e?" asked Valentine. Jacopo still pointed
+towards the sail.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas5">The Three Musketeers</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> It was not till the publication of "The Three Musketeers," in
+1844, that the amazing gifts of Dumas were fully recognised. From 1844 till
+1850, the literary output of novels, plays, and historical memoirs was
+enormous, and so great was the demand for Dumas' work that he made no
+attempt to supply his customers single-handed, but engaged a host of
+assistants, and was content to revise and amend--or in some cases only to
+sign--their productions. "The Three Musketeers" was followed by its sequel,
+"Twenty Years After," in 1845, and the story was continued still further in
+the "Vicomte de Bragelonne." The "Valois" series of novels, "Monte Cristo,"
+and the "Memoirs of a Physician," were all published before 1850, in
+addition to many dramatised versions of stories. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Musketeer's Apprenticeship</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>D'Artagnan was without acquaintances in Paris, and now on the very day
+of his arrival he was committed to fight with three of the most
+distinguished of the king's musketeers.</p>
+
+<p>Coming from Gascony, a youth with all the pride and ambition of his
+race, D'Artagnan had brought no money; with him, but only a letter of
+introduction from his father to M. de Treville, captain of the musketeers.
+But he had been taught that by courage alone could a man now make his way
+to fortune, and that he was to bear nothing, save from the cardinal--the
+great Cardinal Richelieu, or from the king--Louis XIII.</p>
+
+<p>It was immediately after his interview with M. de Treville that
+D'Artagnan, well trained at home as a swordsman, quarrelled with the three
+musketeers.</p>
+
+<p>First, on the palace stairs, he ran violently into Athos, who was
+suffering from a wounded shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"You are in a hurry?" said the musketeer, pale as a sheet. "Under that
+pretence, you run against me; you say 'Excuse me!' and you think that
+sufficient. You are not polite; it is easy to see that you are from the
+country."</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan had already passed on, but this remark made him stop
+short.</p>
+
+<p>"However far I may come it is not you, monsieur, who can give me a
+lesson in manners, I warn you."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said Athos, "you are in a hurry now, but you can find me
+without running after me. Do you understand me."</p>
+
+<p>"Where, and when?" said D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Near the Carmes-Deschaux at noon," replied Athos. "And please do not
+keep me waiting, for at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your ears if
+you run."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "I will be there at ten minutes to
+twelve."</p>
+
+<p>At the street gate Porthos was talking with the soldiers on guard.
+Between the two there was just room for a man to pass, and D'Artagnan
+hurried on, only to find himself enveloped in the long velvet cloak of
+Porthos, which the wind had blown out.</p>
+
+<p>"The fellow must be mad," said Porthos, "to run against people in this
+manner! Do you always forget your eyes when you happen to be in a
+hurry?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied D'Artagnan, who, in extricating himself from the cloak,
+had observed that the handsome cloth of gold coat worn by Porthos was only
+gold in front and plain buff at the back, "no, and thanks to my eyes, I can
+see what others cannot see."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur," said Porthos angrily, "you stand a chance of getting
+chastised if you run against musketeers in this fashion. I shall look for
+you, at one o'clock behind the Luxembourg."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, at one o'clock then," replied D'Artagnan, turning into the
+street.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later D'Artagnan annoyed Aramis, the third musketeer, who
+was chatting with some gentleman of the king's musketeers. As D'Artagnan
+came up Aramis accidentally dropped an embroidered pocket-handkerchief and
+covered it at once with his foot to prevent observation. D'Artagnan,
+conscious of a certain want of politeness in his treatment of Athos and
+Porthos, and determined to be more obliging in future, stooped and picked
+up the handkerchief--much to the vexation of Aramis, who denied all claim
+to the delicate piece of cambric.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan not taking the rebukes of Aramis in good part, they fixed two
+o'clock as the hour of meeting.</p>
+
+<p>The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis going up the street which
+led to the Luxembourg, whilst D'Artagnan, finding that it was near noon,
+took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, "Decidedly I can't
+draw back; but at least if I am killed, I shall be killed by a
+musketeer."</p>
+
+<p>Knowing nobody in Paris, D'Artagnan went to his appointment without a
+second.</p>
+
+<p>It was just striking twelve when he arrived on the ground, and Athos,
+still suffering from his old wound on the shoulder, was already waiting for
+his adversary.</p>
+
+<p>Athos explained with all politeness that his seconds had not yet
+arrived.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are in great haste, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "and if it be
+your will to despatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself. I am
+ready. But if you would wait three days till your shoulder is healed, I
+have a miraculous balsam given me by my mother, and I am sure this balsam
+will cure your wound. At the end of three days it would still do me a great
+honour to be your man."</p>
+
+<p>"That is well said," said Athos, "and it pleases me. Thus spoke the
+gallant knights of Charlemagne. Monsieur, I love men of your stamp, and I
+can tell that if we don't kill each other, I shall enjoy your society. But
+here comes my seconds."</p>
+
+<p>"What!" cried D'Artagnan as Porthos and Aramis appeared. "Are these
+gentlemen your seconds?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Athos. "Are you not aware that we are never seen one
+without the others, and that we are called the three inseparables?"</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean?" said Porthos, who had now come up and stood
+astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the gentleman I am to fight with," said Athos, pointing to
+D'Artagnan and saluting him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why I am also going to fight with him," said Porthos.</p>
+
+<p>"But not before one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, and I also am going to fight with that gentleman," said
+Aramis.</p>
+
+<p>"But not till two o'clock," said D'Artagnan calmly.</p>
+
+<p>"And now you are all assembled, gentleman, permit me to offer you my
+excuses."</p>
+
+<p>At this word "excuses" a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty
+smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of
+Aramis.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not understand me, gentleman," said D'Artagnan, throwing up his
+head. "I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my
+debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first. And now,
+gentleman, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and--guard!"</p>
+
+<p>At these words D'Artagnan drew his sword, and at that moment so elated
+was he that he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the
+kingdom.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had the two rapiers sounded on meeting, when a company of the
+cardinal's guards appeared on the scene. At that time there was not only a
+standing feud between the king's musketeers and the guards of Cardinal
+Richelieu, there was also a prohibition against duelling.</p>
+
+<p>"The cardinal's guards! The cardinal's guards!" cried Aramis and Porthos
+at the same time. "Sheathe swords, gentlemen! Sheathe swords!" But it was
+too late.</p>
+
+<p>Jussac, commander of the guards, had seen the combatants in a position
+which could not be mistaken.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, musketeers," he called out; "fighting, are you, in spite of the
+edicts? Well, duty before everything. Sheathe your swords, please, and
+follow us."</p>
+
+<p>"That is quite impossible," said Aramis politely. "The best thing you
+can do is to pass on your way."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall charge upon you, then," said Jussac. "if you disobey."</p>
+
+<p>"There are five of them," said Athos, "and we are but three. We shall be
+beaten, and must die on the spot, for on my part I will never face my
+captain as a conquered man."</p>
+
+<p>Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly closed in, and Jussac drew up his
+soldiers.</p>
+
+<p>In that short interval D'Artagnan determined on the part he was to take;
+it was a decision of life-long importance. He had to choose between the
+king and the cardinal, and the choice made, it must be persisted in. He
+turned towards Athos and his friends. "Gentlemen," said he, "allow me to
+correct your words. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we
+are four. I do not wear the uniform, but my heart is that of a
+musketeer."</p>
+
+<p>"Withdraw, young man, and save your skin!" cried Jussac.</p>
+
+<p>The three musketeers thought of D'Artagnan's youth, and dreaded his
+inexperience.</p>
+
+<p>"Try me, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "and I swear to you that I will
+never go hence if we are conquered."</p>
+
+<p>Athos pressed the young man's hand, and exclaimed, "Well, then! Athos,
+Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forward!"</p>
+
+<p>The nine combatants rushed upon each other with fury, and the battle
+ended in the utter discomfiture of the cardinal's guards, one of whom was
+slain and three badly wounded. The musketeers returned walking arm in arm.
+D'Artagnan marched between Athos and Porthos, his heart full of
+delight.</p>
+
+<p>"If I am not yet a musketeer," said he to his new friends, "at least, I
+have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven't I?"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Queen's Diamonds</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The king, always jealous of Richelieu's guards, was extremely pleased
+when he heard from M. de Treville of the fight that had taken place. He
+gave D'Artagnan a handful of gold, and promised him a place in the ranks of
+the musketeers at the first vacancy; in the meantime he was to join a
+company of royal guards. From this time the life of the four young men
+became common, for D'Artagnan fell quite easily into the habits of his
+three friends.</p>
+
+<p>Athos, who was scarcely thirty years old, was of great personal beauty
+and intelligence of mind. He never spoke of women, he never laughed, rarely
+smiled, and his reserved and silent habits seemed to make him a much older
+man.</p>
+
+<p>Porthos was exactly the opposite of Athos. He not only talked much, but
+he talked loudly, not caring whether anyone listened to him. He would talk
+about anything except the sciences, alleging that from childhood dated his
+inveterate hatred of learning. The physical strength of Porthos was
+enormous, and with all the vanity of a child he was a thoroughly loyal and
+brave man.</p>
+
+<p>As for Aramis, he always gave out that he intended to take orders in the
+Church, and was merely a musketeer for the time being. Aramis revelled in
+intrigues and mysteries.</p>
+
+<p>What the real names of his comrades were D'Artagnan had no idea. That
+the names they bore had been assumed was all he knew.</p>
+
+<p>The motto of the four was "all for one, one for all." D'Artagnan had
+already earned the dislike of Cardinal Richelieu by his part in the fight
+with the cardinal's guards; it was not long before his daring gave greater
+cause for offence.</p>
+
+<p>The king suspected his wife, Anne of Austria, of being in love with the
+Duke of Buckingham, and the cardinal suspected the queen of intriguing with
+Buckingham against France. Now, a secret interview had taken place at the
+palace between Buckingham and the queen, and the cardinal, who employed
+spies everywhere, found out this as he found out everything, and determined
+to destroy the queen's reputation, for there was deadly enmity between Anne
+of Austria and Richelieu.</p>
+
+<p>Buckingham had received from the queen a set of diamond studs--a present
+from the king--as a keepsake; so the cardinal despatched a certain lady, a
+woman of rare beauty, known as "Milady," to England, to get hold of two of
+these studs.</p>
+
+<p>Then the cardinal, by fostering the royal suspicion, persuaded the king
+to give a grand ball whereat the queen should wear the diamond studs. By
+this means Louis would be convinced of Buckingham's visit, for the set of
+studs would be incomplete.</p>
+
+<p>The queen was in dispair. It was D'Artagnan and the three musketeers
+who saved her honour. D'Artagnan loved Madame Bonacieux, a confidential
+dressmaker of the queen's; and this woman, devoted to her royal mistress,
+gave D'Artagnan a secret note from the queen to Buckingham.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan went at once to M. de Treville, obtained leave of absence for
+himself and his friends, and set out for England. It was not a minute too
+soon, for the cardinal had already made plans to prevent any such
+counter-move, giving orders that no one was to sail from France without a
+permit.</p>
+
+<p>Between Paris and Calais, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were all left
+behind, wounded by Richelieu's guards, and D'Artagnan only effected a
+passage to Dover by fighting and nearly killing a young noble who held a
+permit from the cardinal to leave France.</p>
+
+<p>Once in England, D'Artagnan hastened to find Buckingham. The latter
+discovered, to his horror, that Milady had already become possessed
+cunningly of two of the precious studs, and D'Artagnan had to wait while
+the skill of the first English jeweller made good the loss beyond
+detection.</p>
+
+<p>He returned to Paris with the twelve studs in time for the royal ball.
+Milady had already given the two she had stolen to the cardinal, who had
+passed them on to the king.</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean, Monsieur le Cardinal?" said the king severely,
+when in the middle of the ball he found, to his joy, that the queen was
+already wearing twelve diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>"It means, sire," the cardinal replied, with vexation, "that I was
+anxious to present her majesty with two studs, but did not dare to offer
+them myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very grateful," said Anne of Austria, fully alive to the
+cardinal's defeat, "only I am afraid these two studs must have cost your
+eminence as much as all the others cost his majesty."</p>
+
+<p>The man, D'Artagnan, to whom the queen owed this extraordinary triumph
+over her enemy, stood unknown in the crowd that gathered round the doors.
+It was only when the queen retired that someone touched him on the shoulder
+and bade him follow. He readily obeyed; D'Artagnan waited in an ante-room
+of the queen's apartments; he could hear voices within, and presently a
+hand and an arm, marvellously white and beautiful, came through the
+tapestry.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan felt that this was his reward. He dropped on his knees,
+seized the hand, and touched it modestly with his lips. Then the hand was
+withdrawn, and in his own a ring was left. The tapestry closed, and his
+guide, no other than Bonacieux, reappeared and escorted him hastily to the
+corridor.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Musketeers at La Rochelle</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The siege of La Rochelle was an important affair, one of the chief
+political events of the reign of Louis XIII.</p>
+
+<p>For a time D'Artagnan was separated from his friends, for the musketeers
+were escorting the king to the seat of war, and our intrepid Gascon was
+with the main army. It was now that D'Artagnan began to realise that he had
+attracted, not only the displeasure of the cardinal, but also the deadly
+hatred of Milady, the cardinal's secret agent, whose overtures at
+friendship, made in the cardinal's interest, he had insulted before leaving
+Paris, and whose secret shame he had discovered.</p>
+
+<p>Twice his life was nearly taken by hired assassins, and the third time a
+present of wine turned out to be poisoned.</p>
+
+<p>To add to his natural discomfort, Madame Bonacieux had disappeared from
+Paris, and probably was in prison.</p>
+
+<p>The arrival of the musketeers restored his spirits, and the four were
+again inseparable. One drawback to their intercourse was the fact that the
+cardinal and his spies were all over the camp, and that, consequently, it
+was difficult to talk confidentially without being overheard.</p>
+
+<p>In order to secure privacy for a conference, they decided to go and
+breakfast in a bastion near the enemy's lines, and wagered with some
+officers they would stay there an hour. It was a position of terrible
+danger, but the feat was accomplished, and the wild undertaking of the
+musketeers was acclaimed with tremendous enthusiasm in the French camp.</p>
+
+<p>The noise reached the cardinal's ears, and he inquired its meaning.</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur," said the officer, "three musketeers and a guard laid a
+wager that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and they
+breakfasted and held it for two hours against the enemy, killing I don't
+know how many Rochellais."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you inquire the names of those three musketeers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monseigneur. MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis."</p>
+
+<p>"Still the three braves!" muttered the cardinal. "And the guard?"</p>
+
+<p>"M. D'Artagnan!"</p>
+
+<p>"Still my reckless young friend! I must have these four men as my
+own."</p>
+
+<p>That same night the cardinal spoke to M. de Treville of the episode of
+the bastion, and gave permission for D'Artagnan to become a musketeer, "for
+such men should be in the same company," he said.</p>
+
+<p>One night during the siege, the three musketeers, seeking D'Artagnan,
+were met in a country lane by the cardinal, travelling, as he often did,
+with a single attendant. Athos recognised him, and the cardinal bade the
+three men escort him to a lonely inn. At the door they all alighted. The
+landlord of the inn received the cardinal, for he had been expecting an
+officer to visit a lady who was within. The three musketeers were
+accommodated in a large room on the ground floor, and the cardinal passed
+up the staircase as a man who knew his road. Porthos and Aramis sat down at
+the table to dice, while Athos walked up and down the room in a thoughtful
+mood. To his astonishment, Athos found that, the stovepipe being broken, he
+could hear all that was passing in the room above.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Milady," the cardinal was saying, "this affair is of utmost
+importance. A small vessel is waiting for you at the mouth of the river.
+You will go on board to-night and set sail to-morrow morning for England.
+Half an hour after I have gone, you will leave here. When you reach
+England, you will seek the Duke of Buckingham, explain to him that I have
+proofs of his secret interviews with the queen, and tell him that if
+England moves in support of the besieged in La Rochelle, I will at once
+ruin the queen."</p>
+
+<p>"But what if he persists in spite of this in making war?" said
+Milady.</p>
+
+<p>"If he persists? Why, then he must be got rid of. Some woman doubtless
+exists, handsome, young, and clever, who has a grievance against the duke;
+and some fanatic can be found to be her instrument."</p>
+
+<p>"The woman exists, and the fanatic will be found," returned Milady. "And
+now, will monseigneur permit me to speak of my enemies, as we have spoken
+of yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your enemies? Who are they?" asked Richelieu.</p>
+
+<p>"First, there is a meddlesome little woman called Bonacieux. She was in
+prison at Nantes, but has been conveyed to a convent by an order which the
+queen obtained from the king. Will your eminence find out where that
+convent is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't object to that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I have a much more dangerous enemy than the little Bonacieux, and
+that is her lover, the wretch D'Artagnan. I will get you a thousand proofs
+that he has conspired with Buckingham."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well; get me proof, and I will send him to the Bastille."</p>
+
+<p>For a few seconds there was silence while the cardinal was writing a
+note.</p>
+
+<p>Athos at once got up and told his companions he would go out to see if
+the road was safe, and left the house.</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal gave his final instructions to Milady, and departed with
+Porthos and Aramis. No sooner had they turned an angle of the road than
+Athos re-entered the inn, marched boldly upstairs, and before he had been
+seen, had bolted the door.</p>
+
+<p>Milady turned round, and became exceedingly white.</p>
+
+<p>"The Count de la F&egrave;re!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Milady, the Count de la F&egrave;re in person. You believed him
+dead, did you not, as I believed you to be?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want? Why do you come here?" said Milady in a hollow
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I have followed your actions," said Athos sternly. "It was you who had
+Madame Bonacieux carried off; it was you who sent assassins after
+D'Artagnan, and poisoned his wine. Only to-night you have agreed to
+assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, and expect D'Artagnan to be slain in
+return. Now, I care nothing about the Duke of Buckingham; he is an
+Englishman, but D'Artagnan is my friend."</p>
+
+<p>"M. D'Artagnan insulted me," said Milady.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it possible to insult you?" said Athos. He drew out a pistol and
+cocked it. "Madame, you will instantly deliver to me the paper you have
+received from the cardinal; or, upon my soul, I will blow out your
+brains."</p>
+
+<p>Athos slowly raised his pistol until the weapon almost touched the
+woman's forehead. Milady knew too well that with this terrible man death
+would certainly come unless she yielded. She drew the paper out of her
+bosom and handed it to Athos. "Take it," she said, "and be accursed."</p>
+
+<p>Athos returned the pistol to his belt, unfolded the paper, and read:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>It is by my order, and for the good of the state, that the
+bearer of this has done what he has done.</p>
+
+<p>Dec. 3rd, 1627.</p>
+
+<p>RICHELIEU.</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Athos, without looking at the woman, left the inn, mounted his horse,
+and galloping across country, managed to get in front, on the road, before
+the cardinal had passed.</p>
+
+<p>For a second, Milady thought of pursuing the cardinal in order to
+denounce Athos; but unpleasant revelations might be made, and it seemed
+best to carry out her mission in England, and then, when she had satisfied
+the cardinal, to claim her revenge.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Doom of Milady</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Milady accomplished the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham at
+Portsmouth, and Richelieu was relieved of the fear of English intervention
+at La Rochelle.</p>
+
+<p>But the doom of Milady was at hand.</p>
+
+<p>The king, weary of the siege, had gone to spend a few days quietly at
+St. Germains, taking for an escort only twenty of the musketeers, and at
+Paris the four friends had obtained from M. de Treville a few days' leave
+of absence.</p>
+
+<p>Aramis had discovered the convent where Madame Bonacieux was confined;
+it was at Bethune, and thither the musketeers hastened. Unfortunately,
+Milady reached Bethune first. She had come there to await the cardinal's
+orders, and having ingratiated herself with the abbess, learnt that
+D'Artagnan was on his way with an order from the queen to take Madame
+Bonacieux to Paris. Milady immediately dispatched a messenger to the
+cardinal, and at the very moment when the musketeers were at the front
+entrance, she poured a powder into a glass of wine and bade Madame
+Bonacieux drink.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the way I meant to avenge myself," said Milady, as she
+hastily left the convent by the back gate, "but, <i>ma foi</i>, we do what
+we must!"</p>
+
+<p>The deadly poison did its work. Constance Bonacieux expired in
+D'Artagnan's arms.</p>
+
+<p>Then the four musketeers, joined by Lord de Winter, who had arrived from
+England in hot pursuit of Milady, his sister-in-law, set out to overtake
+the woman who had wrought so much evil.</p>
+
+<p>They came up with Milady at a solitary house near the village of
+Erquinheim.</p>
+
+<p>The four servants of the musketeers guarded the house; Athos,
+D'Artagnan, Aramis, Porthos, and De Winter entered.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want?" screamed Milady.</p>
+
+<p>"We want Charlotte Backson, first called Countess de la F&egrave;re, and
+afterwards Lady de Winter," said Athos. "M. D'Artagnan, it is for you to
+accuse her first."</p>
+
+<p>"I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, and of
+having attempted to poison me, and I accuse her of having engaged assassins
+to shoot me," said D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"I accuse this woman of having procured the assassination of the Duke of
+Buckingham," said Lord de Winter. "Moreover, my brother, who made her his
+heiress, died suddenly of a strange disease."</p>
+
+<p>"I married this woman and gave her my name and wealth, and found
+afterwards she was branded as a felon," said Athos.</p>
+
+<p>The musketeers and Lord de Winter passed sentence of death upon the
+miserable woman.</p>
+
+<p>She was taken out to the river bank, and beheaded, and her body dropped
+into the middle of the stream.</p>
+
+<p>"Let the justice of Heaven be done!" they cried in a loud voice.</p>
+
+<p>Within three days the musketeers were back in Paris, ready to return
+with the king to La Rochelle. Then the cardinal summoned D'Artagnan to his
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>"You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of France,
+with having surprised state secrets, and with having attempted to thwart
+the plans of your general," said the cardinal.</p>
+
+<p>"The woman who charges me--a branded felon--Milady de Winter, is dead,"
+replied D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead!" exclaimed the cardinal. "Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"We have tried her and condemned her," said D'Artagnan. Then he told the
+cardinal of the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux, and of the subsequent trial
+and execution.</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal shuddered before he answered quietly, "You will be tried
+and condemned."</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur," said D'Artagnan, "though I have the pardon in my pocket I
+am willing to die."</p>
+
+<p>"What pardon?" said the cardinal, in astonishment. "From the king?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, a pardon signed by your eminence." D'Artagnan produced the precious
+paper which Athos had forced Milady to give him before her journey to
+England.</p>
+
+<p>For a time the cardinal sat looking at the paper before him. Then he
+slowly tore it up.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I am lost." thought D'Artagnan. "But he shall see how a gentleman
+can die."</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal went to a table, and wrote a few lines on a parchment.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, monsieur," he said; "I have taken away from you one paper; I give
+you another. Only the name is wanting in this commission, and you must fill
+that up."</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan took the document with hesitation. He looked at it, saw it
+was a lieutenant's commission in the musketeers, and fell at the cardinal's
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur, my life is yours. Dispose of it as you will. But I do not
+deserve this. I have three friends, all more worthy----"</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a brave young man, D'Artagnan. Fill up this commission as you
+will."</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan sought out his friends, and offered the commission to them in
+turn.</p>
+
+<p>But each declined, and Athos filled in the name of D'Artagnan on the
+commission.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall soon have no more friends. Nothing but bitter recollections!"
+said D'Artagnan, thinking of Madame Bonacieux.</p>
+
+<p>"You are young yet," Athos answered. "In time these bitter recollections
+will give way to sweet remembrances."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas6">Twenty Years After</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> In this first-rate romance, which is a sequel to "The Three
+Musketeers," and was published in 1845, we have D'Artagnan and the three
+musketeers in the prime of middle life. Their efforts on behalf of Charles
+I. are amazing, worthy of anything done when they were twenty years
+younger. All the characters introduced are for the most part historical,
+and they are all drawn with spirit, so that our interest in them never
+flags. A remarkable point in regard to these historical romances of Dumas
+is that, in spite of their enormous length, no superfluous dialogue or long
+descriptions prolong them. Dumas took considerable liberties with the facts
+of history in several places, as, for instance, in the introduction of
+D'Artagnan and his friends to Charles I., and in making his trial and
+execution follow as quickly on his surrender as we are made to believe in
+"Twenty Years After." The story is further continued in "The Vicomte de
+Bragelonne." </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Parsimony of Mazarin</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The great Richelieu was dead, and his successor, Cardinal Mazarin, a
+cunning and parsimonious Italian, was chief minister of France. Paris, torn
+and distracted by civil dissension, and impoverished by heavy taxation, was
+seething with revolt, and Mazarin was the object of popular hatred, Anne of
+Austria, the queen-mother (for Louis XIV. was but a child), sharing his
+disfavour with the people.</p>
+
+<p>It was under these circumstances that the queen recalled how faithfully
+D'Artagnan had once served her, and reminded Mazarin of that gallant
+officer, and of his three friends. Mazarin sent for D'Artagnan, who for
+twenty years had remained a lieutenant of musketeers, and asked him what
+had become of his friends.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you and your three friends to be of use to me," said the
+cardinal. "Where are your friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know, my lord. We parted company long ago; all three have left
+the service."</p>
+
+<p>"Where can you find them, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can find them wherever they are. It would be my business."</p>
+
+<p>"And what are the conditions for finding them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Money, my lord; as much money as the undertaking may require.
+Travelling is dear, and I am only a poor lieutenant in the musketeers."</p>
+
+<p>"You will be at my service when they are found?" asked Mazarin.</p>
+
+<p>"What are we to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't trouble about that. When the time for action arrives you shall
+learn all that I require of you. Wait till that comes, and find out where
+your friends are."</p>
+
+<p>Mazarin gave D'Artagnan a bag of money, and the latter withdrew, to
+discover in the courtyard that the bag contained silver and not gold.</p>
+
+<p>"Crown pieces only, silver!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "I guessed as much.
+Ah, Mazarin, Mazarin, you have no real confidence in me. So much the worse
+for you!"</p>
+
+<p>But the cardinal was rubbing his hands, and congratulating himself that
+he had discovered a secret for a tenth of the coin Richelieu would have
+spent on the matter.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan first sought for Aramis, who was now an abb&eacute;, and
+lived in a convent and wrote sermons. But the heart of Aramis was not in
+religion, and when D'Artagnan found him, and the two had sat talking for
+some time, D'Artagnan said, "My friend, it seems to me that when you were a
+musketeer you were always thinking of the Church, and now that you are an
+abb&eacute; you are always longing to be a musketeer."</p>
+
+<p>"It's true," said Aramis. "Man is a strange bundle of inconsistencies.
+Since I became an abb&eacute; I dream of nothing but battles, and I
+practise shooting all day long here with an excellent master."</p>
+
+<p>Aramis indeed had both retained his swordsmanship and his interest in
+public affairs. But when D'Artagnan mentioned Mazarin, and the serious
+crisis in the state, Aramis declared that Mazarin was an upstart with only
+the queen on his side; and that the young king, the nobles, and princes,
+were all against him. Aramis was already on the side of Mazarin's enemies.
+He could not pledge himself to anyone, and the two separated.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan went on to find Porthos, whose address he had learnt from
+Aramis. Porthos, who now called himself De Valon after the name of his
+estate, lived at ease as a country gentleman should; he was a widower and
+wealthy, but he was mortified because his neighbours were of ancient family
+and ignored him. He received D'Artagnan with open arms, and when at
+breakfast he confessed his weariness, D'Artagnan at once invited him to
+join him again and promised that he would get a barony for his
+services.</p>
+
+<p>"Go into harness again!" cried D'Artagnan. "Gird on your sword, and win
+a coronet. You want a title; I want money; the cardinal wants our
+help."</p>
+
+<p>"For my part," said the gigantic Porthos, "I certainly want to be made a
+baron."</p>
+
+<p>They talked of Athos, who lived on his estate at Bragelonne, and was now
+the Count de la F&egrave;re. And Porthos mentioned that Athos had an
+adopted son.</p>
+
+<p>"If we can get Athos, all will be well," said D'Artagnan. "If we cannot,
+we must do without him. We two are worth a dozen."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of their old exploits;
+"but we four would be equal to thirty-six."</p>
+
+<p>"I have your word, then?" said D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I will fight heart and soul for the cardinal; but--but he must
+make me a baron."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's settled already!" said D'Artagnan. "I'll answer for your
+barony."</p>
+
+<p>With that he had his horse saddled, and rode on to the castle of
+Bragelonne. Athos was visibly moved at the sight of D'Artagnan, and rushed
+towards him and clasped him in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally moved, held
+him closely, while tears stood in his eyes. Athos seemed scarcely aged at
+all, in spite of his eight-and-forty years; but there was a greater dignity
+about his face. Formerly, too, he had been a heavy drinker, but now no
+signs of excess disturbed the calm serenity of his countenance. The
+presence of his son, whom he called Raoul--a boy of fifteen--seemed to
+explain to D'Artagnan the regenerated existence of Athos.</p>
+
+<p>Deeply as the heart of Athos was stirred at meeting his old
+comrade-in-arms, and sincere as his attachment was to D'Artagnan, the Count
+de la F&egrave;re would have nothing to do with any plan for helping
+Mazarin.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan returned alone to await Porthos in Paris. The same night
+Athos and his son also left for Paris.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Four Set Out for England</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Queen Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV. of France and wife of
+King Charles I., was lodged in the Louvre, while her husband lost his crown
+in the civil war. The queen had appealed to Mazarin either to send
+assistance to Charles I., or to receive him in France, and the cardinal had
+declined both propositions. Then it was that an Englishman, Lord de Winter,
+who had come to Paris to get help, appealed to Athos, whom he had known
+twenty years earlier, to come to England and fight for the king.</p>
+
+<p>Athos and Aramis at once responded, and waited on the queen, who
+received them in the large empty rooms--left unfurnished by the avarice of
+the cardinal--allotted to her in the Louvre.</p>
+
+<p>"Gentlemen," said the queen, "a few years ago I had around me knights,
+treasure, and armies. To-day look around, and know that in order to
+accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have only Lord de
+Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I see for the
+first time, and whom I know but as my countrymen."</p>
+
+<p>"It is enough," said Athos, bowing low, "if the life of three men can
+purchase yours, madame."</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me. My husband, King of England, is
+leading so wretched a life that death would be a welcome exchange for him.
+He has asked for the hospitality of France, and it has been refused
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"What is to be done?" said Athos. "I have the honour to inquire from
+your majesty what you desire Monsieur D'Herblay (as Aramis was named) and
+myself to do in your service. We are ready."</p>
+
+<p>"I, madame," said Aramis, "follow M. de la F&egrave;re wherever he
+leads, even to death, without demanding any reason; but when it concerns
+your majesty's service, no one precedes me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, gentlemen," said the queen, "since it is thus, and since
+you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess whom
+everybody has forsaken, this is what must be done for me. The king is alone
+with a few gentlemen whom he may lose any day, and he is surrounded by the
+Scotch, whom he distrusts. I ask much, too much, perhaps, for I have no
+title to ask it. Go to England, join the king, be his friends, his
+bodyguard; be with him on the field of battle and in his house. Gentlemen,
+in exchange I can only promise you my love; next to my husband and my
+children, and before everyone else, you will have my prayers and a sister's
+love."</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," said Athos, "when must we set out? we are ready!"</p>
+
+<p>The queen, moved to tears, held out her hand, which they kissed, and
+then, after receiving letters for the king, they withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Aramis, when they were alone, "what do you think of this
+business, my dear count?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bad!" replied Athos. "Very bad!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you entered on it with enthusiasm."</p>
+
+<p>"As I shall ever do when a great principle is to be defended. Kings are
+only strong by the aid of the aristocracy; but aristocracy cannot exist
+without kings. Let us then support monarchy in order to support
+ourselves."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall be murdered there," said Aramis. "I hate the English--they are
+so coarse, like all people who drink beer."</p>
+
+<p>"Would it be better to remain here?" said Athos. "And take a turn in the
+Bastille, by the cardinal's order? Believe me, Aramis, there is little left
+to regret. We avoid imprisonment, and we take the part of heroes--the
+choice is easy!"</p>
+
+<p>While Athos and Aramis were preparing to go to England on behalf of the
+king, Mazarin had decided to employ D'Artagnan and Porthos as his envoys to
+Oliver Cromwell.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur D'Artagnan," said the cardinal, "do you wish to become a
+captain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Your friend wishes to be made a baron?"</p>
+
+<p>"At this very moment, my lord, he's dreaming that he is one."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Mazarin, "take this dispatch, carry it to England, and when
+you get to London, tear off the outer envelope."</p>
+
+<p>"And on our return, may we, my friend and I, rely on getting our
+promotion--he his barony, I my captaincy?"</p>
+
+<p>"On the honour of Mazarin, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather have another sort of oath than that," said D'Artagnan to
+himself as he went out.</p>
+
+<p>Just as they were leaving Paris, a letter came from Athos, who had
+already gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Porthos,--My friends, perhaps this is the last
+time you will hear from me. I entrust certain papers which are at
+Bragelonne to your keeping; if in three months you do not hear of me, take
+possession of them. May God and the remembrance of our friendship support
+you always.--Your devoted friend, Athos."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--In England</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Athos and Aramis were with Charles I. at Newcastle. The king had been
+sold by the Scotch to the English Parliament, and on the approach of
+Cromwell's army the king's troops refused to fight. Only fifteen men stood
+round the king when Cromwell's cavalry came charging down. Lord de Winter
+was shot dead by his own nephew, who was in Cromwell's army.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Aramis, now for the honour of France," said Athos, and the two
+Englishmen who were nearest to them fell mortally wounded.</p>
+
+<p>At the same instant a tremendous shout filled the air, and thirty swords
+flashed before them. Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell
+upon Athos, wound his muscular arms round him, and tearing his sword from
+him, said in his ear, "Silence! Yield--you yield to me, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>A giant from the English ranks at the same moment seized Aramis by the
+wrists, who struggled in vain to get free.</p>
+
+<p>"I yield myself prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to
+Porthos.</p>
+
+<p>"D'Art----" exclaimed Athos; but the musketeer covered his mouth with
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The ranks opened. D'Artagnan held the bridle of Athos' horse, and
+Porthos that of Aramis, and they led their prisoners off the field.</p>
+
+<p>"We are all four lost if you give the least sign you know us," said
+D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"The king--where is the king?" Athos exclaimed anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! We have got him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Aramis; "through a base act of treachery!"</p>
+
+<p>Porthos pressed his friend's hand, and answered, "Yes; all is fair in
+war--stratagem as well as force. Look yonder!"</p>
+
+<p>The squadron, which ought to have protected the king, was advancing to
+meet the English regiments.</p>
+
+<p>The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked alone on foot. He caught
+sight of Athos and Aramis, and greeted them.</p>
+
+<p>"Farewell, messieurs. The day has been unfortunate, but it is not your
+fault, thank God! But where is my old friend Winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look for him with Strafford," said a voice.</p>
+
+<p>Charles shuddered. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was Winter's.</p>
+
+<p>That hour messengers were sent off in every direction over England and
+Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was now the prisoner of Oliver
+Cromwell. D'Artagnan not only accomplished the release of the prisoners, he
+also joined with his friends in a bold attempt to rescue Charles from his
+captors.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan at first naturally assumed they would all four return to
+France as quickly as possible; but Athos declared that he could not abandon
+the king, and still meant to save him if it were possible.</p>
+
+<p>"But what can you do in a foreign land; in an enemy's country?" said
+D'Artagnan. "Did you promise the queen to storm the Tower of London? Come,
+Porthos, what do you think of this business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing good," said Porthos.</p>
+
+<p>"Friend," said Athos, "our minds are made up! Ah, if we had you with us!
+With you, D'Artagnan, and you, Porthos--all four, and reunited for the
+first time for twenty years--we would dare, not only England but the three
+kingdoms together!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," cried D'Artagnan furiously, "very well, since you wish it,
+let us leave our bones in this horrible land, where it is always cold,
+where the fine weather comes after a fog, and the fog after rain; in truth,
+whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must die sooner
+or later."</p>
+
+<p>"But your future career, D'Artagnan? Your ambition, Porthos?" said
+Athos.</p>
+
+<p>"Our future, our ambition!" replied D'Artagnan bitterly. "What do we
+need to think of that for, if we are to save the king? The king saved, we
+shall assemble our friends together, reconquer England, and place him
+securely on the throne."</p>
+
+<p>"And he shall make us dukes and peers," said Porthos joyfully at this
+cheerful prospect.</p>
+
+<p>"Or he will forget us," added D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Athos, offering his hand to D'Artagnan, "I swear to you, my
+friend, by the God who hears us, I believe there is a power watching over
+us, and I look forward to our all meeting in France again."</p>
+
+<p>"So be it!" said D'Artagnan; "but I confess I have quite a contrary
+conviction. However, 'tis settled; but I stay in England only on one
+condition, that I don't have to learn the language."</p>
+
+<p>The attempt to rescue Charles from his guards on the way to London was
+only frustrated by the sudden arrival of General Harrison, with a large
+body of soldiers, and D'Artagnan and his friends made their escape by a
+hasty flight, and followed to London.</p>
+
+<p>"We must see this tragedy played out to the end," said Athos. "Do not
+let us leave England while any hope remains."</p>
+
+<p>And the others agreed.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--At Whitehall</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The intrepid four were present at the trial of Charles I., and it was
+the voice of Athos that called out, "You lie!" when the prosecutor declared
+that the accusation against the king was put forward by the English
+people.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, D'Artagnan managed to get Athos out of the court quickly,
+and then, followed by Porthos and Aramis, they mingled in the crowd outside
+undetected.</p>
+
+<p>Sentence having been pronounced against the king, the only thing to be
+done by the four was to get rid of the London executioner; this meant at
+least a few days delay while another executioner was being procured.
+D'Artagnan undertook this difficult task, while Aramis was to personate
+Bishop Juxon, the royal chaplain, and explain to Charles the attempt being
+made to save him. Athos engaged to get everything ready for leaving
+England.</p>
+
+<p>On the very night before the execution Aramis brought the king a message
+from D'Artagnan, "Tell the king that to-morrow, at ten o'clock at night, we
+shall carry him off." Aramis added, "He has said it, and he will do
+it."</p>
+
+<p>The scaffold was already being constructed in Whitehall as he spoke, but
+D'Artagnan had the London executioner fast bound under lock and key in a
+cellar, and Athos had a light skiff waiting at Greenwich. Not only this,
+but at midnight these four wonderful men, thanks to Athos, who spoke
+excellent English, were also at work at the scaffold--having bribed the
+carpenter in charge to let them assist--and at the same time boring a hole
+in the wall. The scaffold, which had two lower stories, and was covered
+with black serge, was at the height of twenty feet, on a level with the
+window in the king's room; and the hole communicated with a narrow loft,
+between the floor of the king's room, and the ceiling of the one below
+it.</p>
+
+<p>The plan was to pass through the hole into the loft, and cut out from
+below a piece of the flooring of the king's room, so as to form a kind of
+trap-door. The king was to escape through this on the following night, and,
+hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was then to change his dress
+for that of a workman, and so pass the sentinels on duty, and reach the
+skiff that was waiting for him at Greenwich.</p>
+
+<p>At nine o'clock in the morning Aramis, this time in attendance on Bishop
+Juxon, was once more in the king's room.</p>
+
+<p>"Sire," he said, "you are saved! The London executioner has vanished,
+and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol. The Count de la
+F&egrave;re is two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace, and
+strike three times on the floor. He will answer you. He has the path ready
+for your majesty to escape by."</p>
+
+<p>The king did as Aramis suggested, and in reply came three dull knocks
+from below.</p>
+
+<p>"The Count de la F&egrave;re," said Aramis.</p>
+
+<p>All was ready; nothing as far as D'Artagnan and Athos could see, had
+been overlooked; twenty-four hours hence would see the king beyond the
+reach of his adversaries.</p>
+
+<p>And then just as Charles had satisfied himself that his life was saved,
+a Parliamentary officer and a file of soldiers entered the king's room to
+announce his immediate execution.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.</p>
+
+<p>"Were not you warned that it was to take place this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the London
+executioner?"</p>
+
+<p>"The London executioner has disappeared, but a man has offered his
+services instead. The execution will, therefore, take place at the
+appointed hour."</p>
+
+<p>A fanatical Puritan, nephew of Lord de Winter--whom he slew at
+Newcastle--and a trusted lieutenant of Cromwell's did the work of the
+headsman, and upon Athos, waiting in concealment beneath the scaffold, fell
+drops of the king's blood.</p>
+
+<p>When all was over the four hastened away in deep dejection to the skiff
+at Greenwich, and so to France. But when they had landed at Dunkirk it was
+plain to D'Artagnan that their troubles were not yet at an end.</p>
+
+<p>"Porthos and I were sent by Cardinal Mazarin to fight for Cromwell;
+instead of fighting for Cromwell, we have served Charles I.; that's not the
+same thing at all."</p>
+
+<p>However, D'Artagnan and Porthos, on their return to Paris, rendered such
+signal service to Mazarin and to the queen, by guarding them from the
+violence of the mob, and by quelling a riot, that D'Artagnan received his
+commission as captain of musketeers, and Porthos his barony.</p>
+
+<p>The four old friends met once more in Paris before they separated.
+Aramis was returning to his convent, Athos and Porthos to their estates. As
+war had just broken out in Flanders, D'Artagnan made ready to go
+thither.</p>
+
+<p>Then all four embraced, with tears in their eyes. And after that they
+departed on their various ways, not knowing whether they were ever to see
+each other again.</p>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10748 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #10748 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10748)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+by Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+
+Author: Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+Release Date: January 19, 2004 [EBook #10748]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREATEST BOOKS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+THE
+WORLD'S
+GREATEST BOOKS
+
+JOINT EDITORS
+
+ARTHUR MEE
+Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
+
+J. A. HAMMERTON
+Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
+
+VOL. III
+FICTION
+
+MCMX
+
+
+
+
+
+_Table of Contents_
+
+DAUDET, ALPHONSE
+  Tartarin of Tarascon
+
+DAY, THOMAS
+  Sandford and Merton
+
+DEFOE, DANIEL
+  Robinson Crusoe
+  Captain Singleton
+
+DICKENS, CHARLES
+  Barnaby Rudge
+  Bleak House
+  David Copperfield
+  Dombey and Son
+  Great Expectations
+  Hard Times
+  Little Dorrit
+  Martin Chuzzlewit
+  Nicholas Nickleby
+  Oliver Twist
+  Old Curiosity Shop
+  Our Mutual Friend
+  Pickwick Papers
+  Tale of Two Cities
+
+DISRAELI, BENJAMIN (Earl of Beaconsfield)
+  Coningsby
+  Sybil, or The Two Nations
+  Tancred, or The New Crusade
+
+DUMAS, ALEXANDRE
+  Marguerite de Valois
+  Black Tulip
+  Corsican Brothers
+  Count of Monte Cristo
+  The Three Musketeers
+  Twenty Years After
+
+
+A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
+of Volume XX.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ALPHONSE DAUDET
+
+Tartarin of Tarascon
+
+      Alphonse Daudet, the celebrated French novelist, was born at
+     Nimes on May 13, 1840, and as a youth of seventeen went to
+     Paris, where he began as a poet at eighteen, and at twenty-two
+     made his first efforts in the drama. He soon found his feet as
+     a contributor to the leading journals of the day and a
+     successful writer for the stage. He was thirty-two when he
+     wrote "Tartarin of Tarascon," than which no better comic tale
+     has been produced in modern times. Tarascon is a real town,
+     not far from the birthplace of Daudet, and the people of the
+     district have always had a reputation for "drawing the long
+     bow." It was to satirise this amiable weakness of his southern
+     compatriots that the novelist created the character of
+     Tartarin, but while he makes us laugh at the absurd
+     misadventures of the lion-hunter, it will be noticed how
+     ingeniously he prevents our growing out of temper with him,
+     how he contrives to keep a warm corner in our hearts for the
+     bragging, simple-minded, good-natured fellow. That is to say,
+     it is a work of essential humour, and the lively style in
+     which the story is told attracts us to it time and again with
+     undiminished pleasure. In two subsequent books, "Tartarin in
+     the Alps," and "Port Tarascon," Daudet recounted further
+     adventures of his delightful hero. His "Sapho" and "Kings in
+     Exile" have also been widely read. Daudet died on December 17,
+     1897.
+
+
+_I.--The Mighty Hunter at Home_
+
+
+I remember my first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon as clearly as if it
+had been yesterday, though it is now more than a dozen years ago. When
+you had passed into his back garden, you would never have fancied
+yourself in France. Every tree and plant had been brought from foreign
+climes; he was such a fellow for collecting the curiosities of Nature,
+this wonderful Tartarin. His garden boasted, for instance, an example of
+the baobab, that giant of the vegetable world, but Tartarin's specimen
+was only big enough to occupy a mignonette pot. He was mightily proud of
+it, all the same.
+
+The great sight of his place, however, was the hero's private den at the
+bottom of the garden. Picture to yourself a large hall gleaming from top
+to bottom with firearms and weapons of all sorts: carbines, rifles,
+blunderbusses, bowie-knives, revolvers, daggers, flint-arrows--in a
+word, examples of the deadly weapons of all races used by man in all
+parts of the world. Everything was neatly arranged, and labelled as if
+it were in a public museum. "Poisoned Arrows. Please do not touch!" was
+the warning on one of the cards. "Weapons loaded. Have a care!" greeted
+you from another. My word, it required some pluck to move about in the
+den of the great Tartarin.
+
+There were books of travel and adventure, books about mighty hunting on
+the table in the centre of the room; and seated at the table was a short
+and rather fat, red-haired fellow of about forty-five, with a closely-
+trimmed beard and a pair of bright eyes. He was in his shirtsleeves,
+reading a book held in one hand while he gesticulated wildly with a
+large pipe in the other--Tartarin! He was evidently imagining himself
+the daring hero of the story.
+
+Now you must know that the people of Tarascon were tremendously keen on
+hunting, and Tartarin was the chief of the hunters. You may think this
+funny when you know there was not a living thing to shoot at within
+miles of Tarascon; scarcely a sparrow to attract local sportsmen. Ah,
+but you don't know how ingenious they are down there.
+
+Every Sunday morning off the huntsmen sallied with their guns and
+ammunition, the hounds yelping at their heels. Each man as he left in
+the morning took with him a brand new cap, and when they got well into
+the country and were ready for sport, they took their caps off, threw
+then high in the air, and shot at them as they fell. In the evening you
+would see them returning with their riddled caps stuck on the points of
+their guns, and of all these brave men Tartarin was the most admired, as
+he always swung into town with the most hopeless rag of a cap at the end
+of a day's sport. There's no mistake, he was a wonder!
+
+But for all his adventurous spirit, he had a certain amount of caution.
+There were really two men inside the skin of Tartarin. The one Tartarin
+said to him, "Cover yourself with glory." The other said to him, "Cover
+yourself with flannel." The one, imagining himself fighting Red Indians,
+would call for "An axe! An axe! Somebody give me an axe!" The other,
+knowing that he was cosy by his fireside, would ring the bell and say,
+"Jane, my coffee."
+
+One evening at Costecalde's, the gunsmith's, when Tartarin was
+explaining some mechanism of a rifle, the door was opened and an excited
+voice announced, "A lion! A lion!" The news seemed incredible, but you
+can imagine the terror that seized the little group at the gunsmith's as
+they asked for more news. It appeared that the lion was to be seen in a
+travelling menagerie newly arrived from Beaucaire.
+
+A lion at last, and here in Tarascon! Suddenly, when the full truth had
+dawned upon Tartarin, he shouldered his gun, and, turning to Major
+Bravida, "Let us go to see him!" he thundered. Following him went the
+cap-hunters. Arrived at the menagerie, where many Tarasconians were
+already wandering from cage to cage, Tartarin entered with his gun over
+his shoulder to make inquiries about the king of beasts. His entrance
+was rather a wet blanket on the other visitors, who, seeing their hero
+thus armed, thought there might be danger, and were about to flee. But
+the proud bearing of the great man reassured them, and Tartarin
+continued his round of the booth until he faced the lion from the Atlas
+Mountains.
+
+Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled
+in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a
+terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.
+
+Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the
+cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery,
+again drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, "Ah, yes,
+there's a hunt for you!"
+
+Not another word did Tartarin utter that day. Yet next day nothing was
+spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt
+the lions of the Atlas Mountains. When asked if this were true his pride
+would not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true. So
+the notion grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid
+tremendous cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very
+soon to set forth in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.
+
+Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins. While the one was
+strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to
+leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon. But he
+had let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through.
+So he began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these
+how some of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by
+enduring hunger, thirst, and other privations before they set out.
+Tartarin began cutting down his food, taking very watery soup. Early in
+the morning, too, he walked round the town seven or eight times, and at
+nights he would stay in the garden from ten till eleven o'clock, alone
+with his gun, to inure himself to night chills; while, so long as the
+menagerie remained in Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in
+the dark, prowling around the tent, listening to the growling of the
+lion. This was Tartarin, accustoming himself to be calm when the king of
+beasts was raging.
+
+The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking. He
+showed no haste to be off. At length, one night Major Bravida went to
+Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, "Tartarin, you must go!"
+
+It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of
+the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he
+replied at length in a choking voice, "Bravida, I shall go!" Having made
+this irrevocable decision, he now pushed ahead his final preparations
+with some show of haste. From Bompard's he had two large trunks, one
+inscribed with "Tartarin of Tarascon. Case of Arms," and he sent to
+Marseilles all manner of provisions of travel, including a patent
+camp-tent of the latest style.
+
+
+_II.--Tartarin Sets off to Lion-Land_
+
+
+Then the great day of his departure arrived. All the town was agog. The
+neighbourhood of Baobab Villa was crammed with spectators. About ten
+o'clock the bold hero issued forth.
+
+"He's a Turk! He's wearing spectacles!" This was the astonished cry of
+the beholders, and, sure enough, Tartarin had thought it his duty to don
+Algerian costume because he was going to Algeria. He also carried two
+heavy rifles, one on each shoulder, a huge hunting-knife at his waist
+and a revolver in a leather case. A pair of large blue spectacles were
+worn by him, for the sun in Algeria is terribly strong, you know.
+
+At the station the doors of the waiting-room had to be closed to keep
+the crowd out, while the great man took leave of his friends, making
+promises to each, and jotting down notes on his tablets of the various
+people to whom he would send lion-skins.
+
+Oh, that I had the brush of an artist, that I might paint you some
+pictures of Tartarin during his three days aboard the Zouave on the
+voyage from Marseilles! But I have no facility with the brush, and mere
+words cannot convey how he passed from the proudly heroic to the
+hopelessly miserable in the course of the journey. Worst of all, while
+he was groaning in his stuffy bunk, he knew that a very merry party of
+passengers were enjoying themselves in the saloon. He was still in his
+bunk when the ship came to her moorings at Algiers, and he got up with a
+sudden jerk, under the impression that the Zouave was sinking. Seizing
+his many weapons, he rushed on deck, to find it was not foundering, but
+only arriving.
+
+Soon after Tartarin had set foot on shore, following a great negro
+porter, he was almost stupefied by the babel of tongues; but,
+fortunately, a policeman took him in hand and had him directed, together
+with his enormous collection of luggage, to the European hotel.
+
+On arriving at his hotel, he was so fatigued that his marvellous
+collection of weapons had to be taken from him, and he had to be carried
+to bed, where he snored very soundly until it was striking three
+o'clock. He had slept all the evening, through the night and morning,
+and well into the next afternoon!
+
+He awakened refreshed, and the first thought in his mind was, "I'm in
+lion-land at last!" But the thought sent a cold shiver through him, and
+he dived under the bedclothes. A moment later he determined to be up.
+Exclaiming, "Now for the lions!" he jumped on the floor and began his
+preparations.
+
+His plan was to get out at once into the country, take ambush for the
+night, shoot the first lion that came along, and then back to the hotel
+for breakfast. So off he went, carrying not only his usual arsenal, but
+the marvellous patent tent strapped to his back. He attracted no little
+attention as he trudged along, and catching sight of a very fine camel,
+his heart beat fast, for he thought the lions could not be far off now.
+
+It was quite dark by the time he had got only a little way beyond the
+outskirts of the town, scrambling over ditches and bramble-hedges. After
+much hard work of this kind, the mighty hunter suddenly stopped,
+whispering to himself, "I seem to smell a lion hereabouts." He sniffed
+keenly in all directions. To his excited imagination, it seemed a likely
+place for a lion; so, dropping on one knee, and laying one of his guns
+in front of him, he waited.
+
+He waited very patiently. One hour, two hours; but nothing stirred. Then
+he suddenly remembered that great lion-hunters take a little young goat
+with them to attract the lion by its bleating. Having forgotten to
+supply himself with one, Tartarin conceived the happy idea of bleating
+like a kid. He started softly, calling, "Meh, meh!" He was really afraid
+that a lion might hear him, but as no lion seemed to be paying
+attention, he became bolder in his "mehs," until the noise he made was
+more like the bellowing of a bull.
+
+But hush! What was that? A huge black object had for the moment loomed
+up against the dark blue sky. It stooped, sniffing the ground; then
+seemed to move away again, only to return suddenly. It must be the lion
+at last; so, taking a steady aim, bang went the gun of Tartarin, and a
+terrible howling came in response. Clearly his shot had told; the
+wounded lion had made off. He would now wait for the female to appear,
+as he had read in books.
+
+But two or more hours passed, and she did not come; and the ground was
+damp, and the night air cold, so the hunter thought he would camp for
+the night. After much struggling, he could not get his patent tent to
+open. Finally, he threw it on the ground in a rage, and lay on the top
+of it. Thus he slept until the bugles in the barracks near by wakened
+him in the morning. For behold, instead of finding himself out on the
+Sahara, he was in the kitchen garden of some suburban Algerian!
+
+"These people are mad," he growled to himself, "to plant their
+artichokes where lions are roaming about. Surely I have been dreaming.
+Lions do come here; there's proof positive."
+
+From artichoke to artichoke, from field to field, he followed the thin
+trail of blood, and came at length to a poor little donkey he had
+wounded!
+
+Tartarin's first feeling was one of vexation. There is such a difference
+between a lion and an ass, and the poor little creature looked so
+innocent. The great hunter knelt down and tried to stanch the donkey's
+wounds, and it seemed grateful to him, for it feebly flapped its long
+ears two or three times before it lay still for ever.
+
+Suddenly a voice was heard calling, "Noiraud! Noiraud!" It was "the
+female." She came in the form of an old French woman with a large red
+umbrella, and it would have been better for Tartarin to have faced a
+female lion.
+
+When the unhappy man tried to explain how he had mistaken her little
+donkey for a lion, she thought he was making fun of her, and belaboured
+him with her umbrella. When her husband came on the scene the matter was
+soon adjusted by Tartarin agreeing to pay eight pounds for the damage he
+had done, the price of the donkey being really something like eight
+shillings. The donkey owner was an inn-keeper, and the sight of
+Tartarin's money made him quite friendly. He invited the lion-hunter to
+have some food at the inn with him before he left. And as they walked
+thither he was amazed to be told by the inn-keeper that he had never
+seen a lion there in twenty years!
+
+Clearly, the lions were to be looked for further south. "I'll make
+tracks for the south, too," said Tartarin to himself. But he first of
+all returned to his hotel in an omnibus. Think of it! But before he was
+to go south on the high adventure, he loafed about the city of Algiers
+for some time, going to the theatres and other places of amusement,
+where he met Prince Gregory of Montenegro, with whom he made friends.
+
+One day the captain of the Zouave came across him in the town, and
+showed him a note about himself in a Tarascon newspaper. This spoke of
+the uncertainty that prevailed as to the fate of the great hunter, and
+wound up with these words:
+
+"Some Negro traders state, however, that they met in the open desert a
+European whose description answers to that of Tartarin, and who was
+making tracks for Timbuctoo. May Heaven guard for us our hero!"
+
+Tartarin went red and white by turns as he read this, and realised that
+he was in for it. He very much wished to return to his beloved Tarascon,
+but to go there without having shot some lions--one at least--was
+impossible, and so it was Southward ho!
+
+
+_III.--Tartarin's Adventures in the Desert_
+
+
+The lion-hunter was keenly disappointed, after a very long journey in
+the stage-coach, to be told that there was not a lion left in all
+Algeria, though a few panthers might still be found worth shooting.
+
+He got out at the town of Milianah, and let the coach go on, as he
+thought he might as well take things easily if, after all, there were no
+lions to be shot. To his amazement, however, he came across a real live
+lion at the door of a café.
+
+"What made them say there were no more lions?" he cried, astounded at
+the sight. The lion lifted in its mouth a wooden bowl from the pavement,
+and a passing Arab threw a copper in the bowl, at which the lion wagged
+its tail. Suddenly the truth dawned on Tartarin. He was a poor, blind,
+tame lion, which a couple of negroes were taking through the streets,
+just like a performing dog. His blood was up at the very idea. Shouting,
+"You scoundrels, to humiliate these noble beasts so!" he rushed and took
+the degrading bowl from the royal jaws of the lion. This led to a
+quarrel with the negroes, at the height of which Prince Gregory of
+Montenegro came upon the scene.
+
+The prince told him a most untrue story about a convent in the north of
+Africa where lions were kept, to be sent out with priests to beg for
+money. He also assured him that there were lots of lions in Algeria, and
+that he would join him in his hunt.
+
+Thus it was in the company of Prince Gregory, and with a following of
+half a dozen negro porters, that Tartarin set off early next morning for
+the Shereef Plain; but they very soon had trouble, both with the porters
+and with the provisions Tartarin had brought for his great journey. The
+prince suggested dismissing the negroes and buying a couple of donkeys,
+but Tartarin could not bear the thought of donkeys, for a reason with
+which we are acquainted. He readily agreed, however, to the purchase of
+a camel, and when he was safely helped up on its hump, he sorely wished
+the people of Tarascon could see him. But his pride speedily had a fall,
+for he found the movement of the camel worse than that of the boat in
+crossing the Mediterranean. He was afraid he might disgrace France.
+Indeed, if truth must out, France was disgraced! So, for the remainder
+of their expedition, which lasted nearly a month, Tartarin preferred to
+walk on foot and lead the camel.
+
+One night in the desert, Tartarin was sure he heard sounds just like
+those he had studied at the back of the travelling menagerie at
+Tarascon. He was positive they were in the neighbourhood of a lion at
+last. He prepared to go forward and stalk the beast. The prince offered
+to accompany him, but Tartarin resolutely refused. He would meet the
+king of beasts alone! Entrusting his pocket-book, full of precious
+documents and bank-notes, to the prince, in case he might lose it in a
+tussle with the lion, he moved forward. His teeth were chattering in his
+head when he lay down, trembling, to await the lion.
+
+It must have been two hours before he was sure that the beast was moving
+quite near him in the dry bed of a river. Firing two shots in the
+direction whence the sound came, he got up and bolted back to where he
+had left the camel and the prince--but there was only the camel there
+now! The prince had waited a whole month for such a chance!
+
+In the morning he realised that he had been robbed by a thief who
+pretended to be a prince. And here he was in the heart of savage Africa
+with a little pocket money only, much useless luggage, a camel, and not
+a single lion-skin for all his trouble.
+
+Sitting on one of the desert-tombs erected over pious Mohammedans, the
+great man fell to weeping bitterly. But, even as he wept the bushes were
+pushed aside a little in front of him, and a huge lion presented itself.
+To his honour, be it said, Tartarin never moved a muscle, but, breathing
+a fervent "At last!" he leapt to his feet, and, levelling his rifle,
+planted two explosive bullets in the lion's head. All was over in a
+moment, for he had nearly blown the king of beasts to pieces! But in
+another moment he saw two tall, enraged negroes bearing down upon him.
+He had seen them before at Milianah, and this was their poor blind lion!
+Fortunately for Tartarin, he was not so deeply in the desert as he had
+thought, but merely outside the town of Orleansville, and a policeman
+now came up, attracted by the firing, and took full particulars.
+
+The upshot of it was that he had to suffer much delay in Orleansville,
+and was eventually fined one hundred pounds. How to pay this was a
+problem which he solved by selling all his extensive outfit, bit by bit.
+When his debts were paid, he had nothing but the lion's skin and the
+camel. The former he dispatched to Major Bravida at Tarascon. Nobody
+would buy the camel, and its master had to face all the journey back to
+Algiers in short stages on foot.
+
+
+_IV.--The Home-Coming of the Hero_
+
+
+The camel showed a curious affection for him, and followed him as
+faithfully as a dog. When, at the end of eight days' weary tramping, he
+came at last to Algiers, he did all he could to lose the animal, and
+hoped he had succeeded. He met the captain of the Zouave, who told him
+that all Algiers had been laughing at the story of how he had killed the
+blind lion, and he offered Tartarin a free passage home.
+
+The Zouave was getting up steam next day as the dejected Tartarin had
+just stepped into the captain's long-boat, when, lo! his faithful camel
+came tearing down the quay and gazed affectionately at its friend.
+Tartarin pretended not to notice it; but the animal seemed to implore
+him with his eyes to be taken away. "You are the last Turk," it seemed
+to say, "I am the last camel. Let us never part again, O my Tartarin!"
+
+But the lion-hunter pretended to know nothing of this ship of the
+desert.
+
+As the boat pulled off to the Zouave, the camel jumped into the water
+and swam after it, and was taken aboard. At last Tartarin had the joy of
+hearing the Zouave cast anchor at Marseilles, and, having no luggage to
+trouble him, he rushed off the boat at once and hastened through the
+town to the railway station, hoping to get ahead of the camel.
+
+He booked third class, and quickly hid himself in a carriage. Off went
+the train. But it had not gone far when everybody was looking out of the
+windows and laughing. Behind the train ran the camel--holding his own,
+too!
+
+What a humiliating home-coming! All his weapons of the chase left on
+Moorish soil, not a lion with him, nothing but a silly camel!
+
+"Tarascon! Tarascon!" shout the porters as the train slows up at the
+station, and the hero gets out. He had hoped to slink home unobserved;
+but, to his amazement, he is received with shouts of "Long live
+Tartarin!" "Three cheers for the lion-slayer!" The people are waving
+their caps in the air; it is no joke, they are serious. There is Major
+Bravida, and there the more noteworthy cap-hunters, who cluster round
+their chief and carry him in triumph down the stairs.
+
+Now, all this was the result of sending home the skin of the blind lion.
+But the climax was reached when, following the crowd down the stairs of
+the station, limping from his long run, came the camel. Even this
+Tartarin turned to good account. He reassured his fellow-citizens,
+patting the camel's hump.
+
+"This is my camel; a noble beast! It has seen me kill all my lions."
+
+And so, linking his arm with the worthy major, he calmly wended his way
+to Baobab Villa, amid the ringing cheers of the populace. On the road he
+began a recital of his hunts.
+
+"Picture to yourself," he said, "a certain evening in the open
+Sahara----"
+
+       *       *       *        *        *
+
+
+
+
+THOMAS DAY
+
+Sandford and Merton
+
+
+      Thomas Day was born in London on June 22, 1748, and educated
+     at the Charterhouse and at Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
+     Entering the Middle Temple in 1765, he was called to the Bar
+     ten years later, but never practised. A contemporary and
+     disciple of Rousseau, he convinced himself that human
+     suffering was, in the main, the result of the artificial
+     arrangements of society, and inheriting a fortune at an early
+     age he spent large sums in philanthropy. A poem written by him
+     in 1773, entitled "The Dying Negro," has been described as
+     supplying the keynote of the anti-slavery movement. His
+     "History of Sandford and Merton," published in three volumes
+     between the years 1783 and 1789, provided a channel through
+     which many generations of English people have imbibed a kind
+     of refined Rousseauism. It retains its interest for the
+     philosophic mind, despite the burlesque of _Punch_ and its
+     waning popularity as a book for children. Thomas Day died
+     through a fall from his horse on September 28, 1789.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Barlow and his Pupils_
+
+
+In the western part of England lived a gentleman of a large fortune,
+whose name was Merton. He had a great estate in Jamaica, but had
+determined to stay some years in England for the education of his only
+son. When Tommy Merton came from Jamaica he was six years old. Naturally
+very good-natured, he had been spoiled by indulgence. His mother was so
+fond of him that she gave him everything he cried for, and would not let
+him learn to read because he complained that it made his head ache. The
+consequence was that, though Master Merton had everything he wanted, he
+was fretful and unhappy, made himself disagreeable to everybody, and
+often met with very dangerous accidents. He was also so delicately
+brought up that he was perpetually ill.
+
+Very near to Mr. Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer named
+Sandford, whose only son, Harry, was not much older than Master Merton,
+but who, as he had always been accustomed to run about in the fields, to
+follow the labourers when they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to
+their pasture, was active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. Harry had
+an honest, good-natured countenance, was never out of humour, and took
+the greatest pleasure in obliging others, in helping those less
+fortunate than himself, and in being kind to every living thing. Harry
+was a great favourite, particularly with Mr. Barlow, the clergyman of
+the parish, who taught him to read and write, and had him almost always
+with him.
+
+One summer morning, while Master Merton and a maid were walking in the
+fields, a large snake suddenly started up and curled itself round
+Tommy's leg. The maid ran away, shrieking for help, whilst the child, in
+his terror, dared not move. Harry, who happened to be near, ran up, and
+seizing the snake by the neck, tore it from Tommy's leg, and threw it to
+a great distance. Mrs. Merton wished to adopt the boy who had so bravely
+saved her son, and Harry's intelligence so appealed to Mr. Merton that
+he thought it would be an excellent thing if Tommy could also benefit by
+Mr. Barlow's instruction. With this view he decided to propose to the
+farmer to pay for the board and education of Harry that he might be a
+constant companion to Tommy. Mr. Barlow, on being consulted, agreed to
+take Tommy for some months under his care; but refused any monetary
+recompense.
+
+The day after Tommy went to Mr. Barlow's the clergyman took his two
+pupils into the garden, and, taking a spade in his own hand, and giving
+Harry a hoe, they both began to work. "Everybody that eats," he said,
+"ought to assist in procuring food. This is my bed, and that is Harry's.
+If, Tommy, you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground,
+all the produce of which shall be your own."
+
+"No, indeed," said Tommy; "I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave
+like a ploughboy."
+
+"Just as you please, Mr. Gentleman," said Mr. Barlow. And Tommy, not
+being asked to share the plate of ripe cherries with which Mr. Barlow
+and Harry refreshed themselves after their labour, wandered
+disconsolately about the garden, surprised and vexed to find himself in
+a place where nobody felt any concern whether he was pleased or not.
+Meanwhile, Harry, after a few words of advice from Mr. Barlow, read
+aloud the story of "The Ants and the Flies," in which it is related how
+the flies perished for lack of laying up provisions for the winter,
+whereas the industrious ants, by working during the summer, provided for
+their maintenance when the bad weather came.
+
+Mr. Barlow and Harry then rambled into the fields, where Mr. Barlow
+pointed out the several kinds of plants to be seen, and told his little
+companion the name and nature of each. When they returned to dinner
+Tommy, who had been skulking about all day, came in, and being very
+hungry, was going to sit down to the table, when Mr. Barlow said, "No,
+sir; though you are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not so
+proud, do not choose to work for the idle!"
+
+Upon this Tommy retired into a corner, crying as if his heart would
+break; when Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy,
+looked up, half-crying, into Mr. Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir,
+may I do as I please with my dinner?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure, my boy," was the reply.
+
+"Why, then," said Harry, "I will give it to poor Tommy, who wants it
+more than I do."
+
+Tommy took it and thanked Harry; but without turning his eyes from the
+ground.
+
+"I see," said Mr. Barlow, "that though certain gentlemen are too proud
+to be of any use to themselves, they are not above taking the bread that
+other people have been working hard for."
+
+At this Tommy cried more bitterly than before.
+
+The next day, when they went into the garden, Tommy begged that he might
+have a hoe, too, and, having been shown how to use it, soon worked with
+the greatest pleasure, which was much increased when he was asked to
+share the fruit provided after the work was done. It seemed to him the
+most delicious fruit that he had ever tasted.
+
+Harry read as before, the story this time being about the gentleman and
+the basket-maker. It described how a rich man, jealous of the happiness
+of a poor basket-maker, destroyed the latter's means of livelihood, and
+was sent by a magistrate with his humble victim to an island, where the
+two were made to serve the natives. On this island the rich man, because
+he possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was
+condemned to be the basket-maker's servant. When they were recalled, the
+rich man, having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated
+the basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed
+his riches in relieving the poor.
+
+
+_II.--Gentleman Tommy Learns to Read_
+
+
+From this time forward Mr. Barlow and his two pupils used to work in
+their garden every morning; and when they were fatigued they retired to
+the summer-house, where Harry, who improved every day in reading, used
+to entertain them with some pleasant story. Then Harry went home for a
+week, and the morning after, when Tommy expected that Mr. Barlow would
+read to him as usual, he found to his great disappointment, that
+gentleman was busy and could not. The same thing happening the next day
+and the day after, Tommy said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like
+Harry, I should not need to ask anybody to do it for me." So when Harry
+returned, Tommy took an early opportunity of asking him how he came to
+be able to read.
+
+"Why," said Harry, "Mr. Barlow taught me my letters; and then, by
+putting syllables together, I learnt to read."
+
+"And could you not show me my letters?" asked Tommy.
+
+"Very willingly," was Harry's reply. And the lessons proceeded so well
+that Tommy, who learned the whole alphabet at the very first lesson, at
+the end of two months was able to read aloud to Mr. Barlow "The History
+of the Two Dogs," which shows how vain it is to expect courage in those
+who lead a life of indolence and repose, and that constant exercise and
+proper discipline are frequently able to change contemptible characters
+into good ones.
+
+Later, Harry read the story of Androcles and the Lion, and asked how it
+was that one person should be the servant of another and bear so much
+ill-treatment.
+
+"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
+must command others; and some are born servants, and they must do as
+they are bid." And he recalled how the black men and women in Jamaica
+had to wait upon him, and how he used to beat them when he was angry.
+But when Mr. Barlow asked him how these people came to be slaves, he
+could only say that his father had bought them, and that he was born a
+gentleman.
+
+"Then," said Mr. Barlow, "if you were no longer to have a fine house,
+nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these
+things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and do whatever he liked
+with you."
+
+Seeing that he could not but admit this, Tommy became convinced that no
+one should make a slave, of another, and decided that for the future he
+would never use their black William ill.
+
+Some days after this Tommy became interested in the growing of corn, and
+Harry promising to get some seed from his father, Tommy got up early
+and, having dug very perseveringly in a corner of his garden to prepare
+the ground for the seed, asked Mr. Barlow if this was not very good of
+him.
+
+"That," said Mr. Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of the
+corn when you have raised it. Where," he asked, "will be the great
+goodness in your sowing corn for your own eating? That is no more than
+all the people round here continually do. And if they did not do it,
+they would be obliged to fast."
+
+"But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."
+
+"What," answered Mr. Barlow, "must not gentlemen eat as well as others;
+and therefore, is it not for their interest to know how to procure food
+as well as other people?"
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Tommy; "but they can have other people to raise it
+for them."
+
+"How does that happen?"
+
+"Why they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is
+made."
+
+"Then they pay for it with money?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then they must have money before they can buy corn?"
+
+"Certainly, sir."
+
+"But have all gentlemen money?"
+
+Tommy hesitated some time, and at last said, "I believe not always,
+sir."
+
+"Why, then," said Mr. Barlow, "if they have not money, they will find it
+difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves." And he
+proceeded to recount the History of the Two Brothers, Pizarro and
+Alonzo, the former of whom, setting out on a gold-hunting expedition,
+prevailed upon the latter to accompany him, and became dependent upon
+Alonzo, who, instead of taking gold-seeking implements, provided himself
+with the necessaries for stocking a farm.
+
+
+_III.--Town Life and Country Life_
+
+
+This story was followed by others, describing life in different and
+distant parts of the world; and in addition to the knowledge they
+acquired in this way, Tommy and Harry, in their intercourse with their
+neighbours and in the cultivation of their gardens, learned a great
+deal. Tommy in particular, growing much kinder towards the poor and
+towards dumb animals, as well as growing in physical well-being.
+
+Mr. Barlow's young pupils were gradually taught many interesting and
+useful facts about natural history. They learned to cultivate their
+powers of observation also by studying the heavens. From a study of the
+stars their tutor drew them on to an acquaintance with the compass, the
+telescope, the magic lantern, the magnet, and the wonders of arithmetic.
+
+The stories of foreign lands were interspersed with others illustrating
+the habits of society; one for example, told how a certain rich man was
+cured of the gout, showing how, while most of the diseases of the poor
+originate in the want of food and necessaries, the rich are generally
+the victims of their own sloth and intemperance.
+
+"Dear me," said Tommy on one occasion, "what a number of accidents
+people are subject to in this world."
+
+"It is very true," said Mr. Barlow; "but as that is the case, it is
+necessary to improve ourselves in every manner, that we may be able to
+struggle against them."
+
+TOMMY: Indeed, sir, I begin to believe it is; for when I was younger
+than I am now, I remember I was always fretful and hurting myself,
+though I had two or three people constantly to take care of me. At
+present I seem quite another thing, I do not mind falling down and
+hurting myself, or cold, or scarcely anything that happens.
+
+MR. BARLOW: And which do you prefer--to be as you are now, or as you
+were before?
+
+TOMMY: As I am now, a great deal, sir; for then I always had something
+or another the matter with me. At present I think I am ten times
+stronger and healthier than ever I was in my life.
+
+All the same, Tommy found it difficult at first to understand how people
+who lived in countries where they had to undergo great hardships could
+be so attached to their own land as to prefer it to any other country in
+the world. "I have," he said, "seen a great many ladies and little
+misses at our house, and whenever they were talking of the places where
+they should like to live, I have always heard them say that they hated
+the country of all things, though they were born and bred there."
+
+MR. BARLOW: And yet there are thousands who bear to live in it all their
+lives, and have no desire to change. Should you, Harry, like to go to
+live in some town?
+
+HARRY: Indeed, sir, I should not, for then I must leave everything I
+love in the world.
+
+TOMMY: And have you ever been in any large town?
+
+HARRY: Once I was in Exeter, but I did not much like it. The houses
+seemed to me to stand too thick and close, and then there are little,
+narrow alleys where the poor live, and the houses are so high that
+neither light nor air can ever get to them. And they most of them
+appeared so dirty and unhealthy that it made my heart ache to look at
+them. I went home the next day, and never was better pleased in my life.
+When I came to the top of the great hill, from which you have a prospect
+of our house, I really thought I should have cried with joy. The fields
+looked all so pleasant, and the very cattle, when I went about to see
+them, all seemed glad that I was come home again.
+
+MR. BARLOW: You see by this that it is very possible for people to like
+the country, and to be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies you
+talk of, the truth is that they neither love nor would be contented in
+any place. It is no wonder they dislike the country, where they find
+neither employment nor amusement. They wish to go to London, because
+they there meet with numbers of people as idle and as frivolous as
+themselves; and these people assist each other to talk about trifles and
+to waste their time.
+
+TOMMY: That is true, sir, really; for when we have a great deal of
+company, I have often observed that they never talk about anything but
+eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the
+playhouse or a great room called Ranelagh, where everybody goes to meet
+their friends.
+
+Which discourse led on to a story of the ancient Spartans, and their
+superiority to the luxury-loving Persians.
+
+
+_IV.--The Bull-Baiting_
+
+
+The time had now arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and
+spend some time with his parents. Mr. Barlow had been long afraid of
+this visit, as he knew his pupil would meet a great deal of company
+there who would give him impressions of a nature very different from
+those he had, with so much assiduity, been labouring to excite. However,
+the visit was unavoidable, and Mrs. Merton sent so pressing an
+invitation for Harry to accompany his friend, after having obtained the
+consent of his father, that Mr. Barlow, with much regret, took leave of
+his pupils.
+
+When the boys arrived at Mr. Merton's they were introduced into a
+crowded drawing-room full of the most elegant company which that part of
+the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies
+of different ages who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays
+with Master Merton.
+
+As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his
+praise. As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by
+nobody except Mr. Merton, who received him with great cordiality, and a
+Miss Simmons, who had been brought up by an uncle who endeavoured, by a
+hardy and robust education, to prevent in his niece that sickly delicacy
+which is considered so great an ornament in fashionable life. Harry and
+this young lady became great friends, though to a considerable extent
+they were the butt of the others.
+
+A lady who sat by Mrs. Merton, asked her, in a whisper loud enough to be
+heard all over the room, whether (indicating Harry) that was the little
+ploughboy whom she had heard Mr. Barlow was attempting to bring up like
+a gentleman? Mrs. Merton answered "Yes." "Indeed," said the lady, "I
+should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I
+wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without
+flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw, with
+quite the air of fashion, to keep such company."
+
+Whilst Tommy was being estranged from his friend by a constant
+succession of flattery from his elders and the example of others of his
+own age, Harry, who never said any of those brilliant things that render
+a boy the darling of the ladies, and who had not that vivacity, or
+rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial
+people, paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made
+the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For this
+reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and better informed, received
+great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought him infinitely
+more agreeable and sensible than any of the smart young gentlemen she
+had hitherto seen.
+
+One morning the young gentlemen agreed to take a walk in the country.
+Harry went with them. As they walked across a common they saw a great
+number of people moving forward towards a bull-baiting. Instantly they
+were seized with a desire to see the diversion. One obstacle alone
+presented itself. Their parents, particularly Mrs. Merton, had made them
+promise to avoid every kind of danger. However, all except Harry, agreed
+to go, insisting among themselves that there was no danger.
+
+"Master Harry," said one, "has not said a word. Surely he will not tell
+of us."
+
+Harry said he did not wish to tell; but if, he added, he were asked, he
+would have to tell the truth.
+
+A quarrel followed, in which Tommy struck his friend in the face with
+his fist. This, added to Tommy's recent conduct towards him, caused the
+tears to start to Harry's eyes, whereupon the others assailed him with
+cries of "Coward!" "Blackguard!" and so on. Master Mash went further and
+slapped him in the face. Harry, though Master Mash's inferior in size
+and strength, returned this by a punch, and a fight ensued, from which,
+though severely punished himself, Harry emerged the victor, to be
+assailed with a chorus of congratulation from those who before were
+loading him with taunts and outrages.
+
+The young gentlemen persisting in their intention to see the
+bull-baiting, Harry followed at some distance, deciding not to quit his
+friend till he had once more seen him in a place of safety. As it
+happened, the bull, after disposing of his early tormentors, broke loose
+when three fierce dogs were set upon it at once. In the stampede little
+Tommy fell right in the path of the infuriated animal, and would have
+lost his life had not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above
+his years, suddenly seized a prong which one of the fugitives had
+dropped, and, at the very moment when the bull was stopping to gore his
+defenceless friend, advanced and wounded it in the flank. The bull
+turned, and with redoubled rage made at his new assailant, and it is
+probable that, notwithstanding his intrepidity, Harry would have paid
+with his own life the price of his assistance to his friend had not a
+poor negro, whom he had helped earlier in the day, come opportunely to
+his aid, and by his promptitude and address secured the animal.
+
+The gratitude of Mr. Merton for his son's escape was unbounded, and even
+Mrs. Merton was ashamed of her disparaging remarks about Harry. As for
+Tommy, he went to his friend's home to seek reconciliation, reflecting
+with shame and contempt upon the ridiculous prejudices he had once
+entertained.
+
+He had now learned to consider all men as his brethren, not forgetting
+the poor negro; and that, as he said, it is much better to be useful
+than rich or fine.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+DANIEL DEFOE
+
+Robinson Crusoe
+
+      Daniel Defoe, English novelist, historian and pamphleteer,
+     was born in 1660 or 1661, in London, the son of James Foe, a
+     butcher, and only assumed the name of De Foe, or Defoe, in
+     middle life. He was brought up as a dissenter, and became a
+     dealer in hosiery in the city. He early began to publish his
+     opinions on social and political questions, and was an
+     absolutely fearless writer, audacious and independent, so that
+     he twice suffered imprisonment for his daring. The immortal
+     "Robinson Crusoe" was published on April 25, 1719. Defoe was
+     already fifty-eight years of age. It was the first English
+     work of fiction that represented the men and manners of its
+     own time as they were. It appeared in several parts, and the
+     first part, which is here epitomised, was so successful that
+     no fewer than four editions were printed in as many months.
+     "Robinson Crusoe" was widely pirated, and its authorship gave
+     rise to absurd rumours. Some claimed it had been written by
+     Lord Oxford in the Tower; others that Defoe had appropriated
+     Alexander Selkirk's papers. The latter idea was only justified
+     inasmuch as the story was partly founded on Selkirk's
+     adventures and partly on Dampier's voyages. Defoe died on
+     April 26, 1731.
+
+
+_I.--I Go to Sea_
+
+
+I was born of a good family in the city of York, where my father--a
+foreigner, of Bremen--settled after having retired from business. My
+father had given me a competent share of learning and designed me for
+the law; but I would be satisfied in nothing but going to sea. My mind
+was filled with thoughts of seeing the world, and nothing could persuade
+me to give up my desire.
+
+At length, on September 1, 1651, I left home, and went on board a ship
+bound for London. The ship was no sooner out of the Humber than the wind
+began to blow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner; and as I
+had never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in body and
+terrified in mind. The next day, however, the wind abated, and for
+several days the weather continued calm. My fears being forgotten, and
+the current of my desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows to return
+home that I made in my distress.
+
+The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads and cast
+anchor. Our troubles were not yet over, however, for a few days later
+the wind increased till it blew a terrible storm indeed. I began to see
+terror in the faces even of the seamen themselves; and as the captain
+passed me, I could hear him softly to himself say, several times, "We
+shall be all lost!"
+
+My horror of mind put me into such a condition that I can by no words
+describe it. The storm increased, and the seamen every now and then
+cried out the ship would founder. One of the men cried out that we had
+sprung a leak, and all hands were called to the pumps; but the water
+increasing in the hold, it was apparent that the ship would founder. We
+fired guns for help, and a ship who had rid it out just ahead of us
+ventured a boat out. It was with the utmost hazard the boat came near
+us, but at last we got all into it, and got into shore, though not
+without much difficulty, and walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth.
+
+Having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London, and there got
+acquainted with the master of a ship which traded on the coast of
+Guinea. This captain, taking a fancy to my conversation, told me if I
+would make a voyage with him I might do some trading on my own account.
+I embraced the offer, and went the voyage with him. With the help of
+some of my relations I raised £40, which I laid out in toys, beads, and
+such trifles as my friend the captain said were most in demand on the
+Guinea Coast. It was a prosperous voyage. It made me both a sailor and a
+merchant, for my adventure yielded me on my return to London almost
+£300, and this filled me with those aspiring thoughts which have since
+so completed my ruin.
+
+I was now set up as a Guinea trader, and made up my mind to go the same
+voyage again in the same ship; but this was the unhappiest voyage ever
+man made, for as we were off the African shore we were surprised by a
+Moorish rover of Salee, who gave chase with all sail. About three in the
+afternoon he came up with us, and after a great fight we were forced to
+yield, and were carried all prisoners into the port of Salee, where we
+were sold as slaves.
+
+I was fortunate enough to fall into the hands of a master who treated me
+with no little kindness. He frequently went fishing, and as I was
+dexterous in catching fish, he never went without me. One day he sent me
+out with a Moor to catch fish for him. Then notions of deliverance
+darted into my thoughts, and I prepared not for fishing, but for a
+voyage. When everything was ready, we sailed away to the
+fishing-grounds. Purposely catching nothing, I said we had better go
+farther out. The Moor agreed, and I ran the boat out near a league
+farther; then I brought to as if I would fish. Instead of that, however,
+I stepped forward, and, stooping behind the Moor, took him by surprise
+and tossed him overboard. He rose to the surface, and called on me to
+take him in. For reply I presented a gun at him, and told him if he came
+nearer the boat I would shoot him, and that as the sea was calm, he
+might easily swim ashore. So he turned about, and swam for the shore,
+and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease.
+
+About ten days afterwards, as I was steering out to double a cape, I
+came in sight of a Portuguese ship. On coming nearer, they hailed me,
+but I understood not a word. At last a Scotch sailor called to me, and I
+answered I was an Englishman, and had made my escape from the Moors of
+Salee. They then bade me come on board, and very kindly took me in, with
+all my goods.
+
+We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and when we reached our
+destination the captain recommended me to an honest man who had a sugar
+plantation. Here I settled down for a while, and learned the planting of
+sugar. Then I took a piece of land, and became a planter myself. My
+affairs prospered, and had I continued in the station I was now in, I
+had room for many happy things to have yet befallen me; but I was still
+to be the agent of my own miseries.
+
+
+_II.--Lord of an Island and Alone_
+
+
+Some of my neighbours, hearing that I had a knowledge of Guinea trading,
+proposed to fit out a vessel and send her to the coast of Guinea to
+purchase negroes to work in our plantations. I was well pleased with the
+idea; and when they asked me to go to manage the trading part, I forgot
+all the perils and hardships of the sea, and agreed to go. A ship being
+fitted out, we set sail on September 1, 1659.
+
+We had very good weather for twelve days, but after crossing the line,
+violent hurricanes took us, and drove us out of the way of all human
+commerce. In this distress, one morning, there was a cry of "Land!" and
+almost at the same moment the ship struck against a sandbank. We took to
+a boat, and worked towards the land; but before we could reach it, a
+raging wave came rolling astern of us, and overset the boat. We were all
+thrown into the sea, and out of fifteen who were on board, none escaped
+but myself. I managed, somehow, to scramble to shore, and clambered up
+the cliffs, and sat me down on the grass half-dead. Night coming on me,
+I took up my lodging in a tree.
+
+When I waked, it was broad day, the weather clear, and the storm abated.
+What surprised me most was that in the night the ship had been lifted
+from the bank by the swelling tide, and driven ashore almost as far as
+the place where I had landed. I saw that if we had all kept on board we
+had been all safe, and I had not been so miserable as to be left
+entirely destitute of all company as I now was.
+
+I swam out to the ship, and found that her stern lay lifted up on the
+bank. All the ship's provisions were dry, and, being well disposed to
+eat, I filled my pockets and ate as I went about other things, for I had
+no time to lose. We had several spare yards and planks, and with these I
+made a raft. I emptied three of the seamen's chests, and let them down
+upon the raft, and filled them with provisions. I also let down the
+carpenter's chest, and some arms and ammunition--all of which, after
+much labour, I got safely to land.
+
+My next work was to view the country. Where I was I yet knew not, but
+after I had with great labour got to the top of a hill which rose up
+very steep and high, I saw my fate, to my great affliction--_viz._, that
+I was in an island, uninhabited except by wild beasts.
+
+I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many things out of
+the ship which would be useful to me; so every day at low water I went
+on board, and brought away something or other until I had the biggest
+magazine that was ever laid up, I believe, for one man. I verily
+believe, had the calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole
+ship piece by piece; but on the fourteenth day it blew a storm, and next
+morning, behold, no more ship was to be seen. I must not forget that I
+brought on shore two cats and a dog. He was a trusty servant to me many
+years. I wanted nothing that he could fetch me, nor any company. I only
+wanted him to talk to me, but that he could not do. Later, I managed to
+catch a parrot, which did much to cheer my loneliness. I taught him to
+speak, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the pitying
+tones in which he used to say, "Robin--poor Robin Crusoe!"
+
+I now went in search of a place where to fix my dwelling. I found a
+little plain on the side of a rising hill, which was there as steep as a
+house-side, so that nothing could come down on me from the top. On the
+side of this rock was a hollow space like the entrance of a cave, before
+which I resolved to pitch my tent. Before I set up my tent, I drew a
+half-circle before the hollow place, which extended backwards about
+twenty yards. In this half-circle I planted two rows of strong stakes,
+driving them into the ground like piles, above five feet and a half
+high, and sharpened at the top. Then I took some pieces of cable I had
+found in the ship, and laid them in rows one upon another between the
+stakes; and this fence was so strong that neither man nor beast could
+get into it or over it. The entrance I made to be by a short ladder to
+go over the top, and when I was in I lifted the ladder after me.
+
+Inside the fence, with infinite labour, I carried all my riches,
+provisions, ammunition, and stores. And I made me a large tent, also, to
+preserve me from the rains. When I had done this I began to work my way
+into the rock. All the earth and stones I dug out I laid up within my
+fence, and thus I made me a cave just behind my tent which served me
+like a cellar.
+
+In the middle of my labours it happened that, rummaging in my things, I
+found a little bag with but husks of corn and dust in it. Wishing to
+make use of the bag, I shook it out on one side of my fortification. It
+was a little before the great rains that I threw this stuff away, not
+remembering that I had thrown anything there; about a month after, I saw
+some green stalks shooting up. I was perfectly astonished when, after a
+little longer time, I saw ten or twelve ears of barley. I knew not how
+it came there. At last it occurred to me that I had shaken out the bag
+there. Besides the barley there were also a few stalks of rice. I
+carefully saved the ears of this corn, you may be sure, and resolved to
+sow them all again. When my corn was ripe, I used a cutlass as a scythe,
+and cut off the ears, and rubbed them out with my hands. At the end of
+my harvesting I had nearly two bushels of rice, and two bushels and a
+half of barley. I kept all this for seed, and bore the want of bread
+with patience.
+
+I soon found that I needed many things to make me comfortable. First I
+wanted a chair and a table, for without them I must live like a savage.
+So I set to work. I had never handled a tool in my life, but I had a
+saw, an axe, and several hatchets, and I soon learned to use them all.
+If I wanted a board, I had to chop down a tree. From the trunk of the
+tree I cut a log of the length my board was to be. Then I split the log,
+and, with infinite labour, hewed it flat till it was as thin as a board.
+I made myself a table and a chair out of short pieces of board, and from
+the large boards I made some wide shelves. On these I laid my tools and
+other things.
+
+From time to time I made many useful things. From a piece of ironwood,
+cut in the forest with great labour, I made a spade to dig with. Then I
+wanted a pick-axe, but for long I could not think how I was to get one.
+At length I made use of crowbars from the wreck. These I heated in the
+fire, and, little by little, shaped them till I made a pick-axe, proper
+enough, though heavy.
+
+At first I felt the need of baskets in which to carry things, so I set
+to work as a basket-maker. It came to my mind that the twigs of the tree
+whence I cut my stakes might serve. I found them to my purpose as much
+as I could desire, and, during the next rainy season, I employed myself
+in making a great many baskets. Though I did not finish them handsomely,
+yet I made them sufficiently serviceable.
+
+I had, however, one want greater than all the others--bread. My barley
+was very fine, the grains were large and smooth; but before I could make
+bread I must grind the grains into flour. I spent many a day to find out
+a Stone to cut hollow and make fit for a mortar, and could find none;
+nor were the rocks of the island of hardness sufficient. So I gave it
+over and rounded a great block of hard wood and, with the help of fire
+and great labour, made a hollow in it. I made a great heavy pestle of
+the wood called ironwood.
+
+The baking part was the next thing to be considered; for, first, I had
+no yeast. As to that, there was no supplying the want, so I did not
+concern myself much about it. But for an oven I was indeed in great
+pain. At length I found out an experiment for that also. I made some
+earthen vessels, broad but not deep, about two feet across, and about
+nine inches deep. These I burned in the fire till they were as hard as
+nails and as red as tiles, and when I wanted to bake I made a great fire
+upon a hearth which I paved with some square tiles of my own making.
+
+When the fire had all burned I drew the embers forward upon my hearth,
+and let them be there till the hearth was very hot. My loaves being
+ready, I swept the hearth and set them on the hottest part of it. Over
+each loaf I placed one of the large earthen pots, and drew the embers
+all round to keep in and add to the heat. And thus I baked my barley
+loaves and became, in a little time, a good pastrycook into the bargain.
+
+It need not be wondered at if all these things took up most of the third
+year of my abode in the island. I had now brought my state of life to be
+much easier than it was at first, and I learned to look more upon the
+bright side of my condition and less on the dark.
+
+Had anyone in England met such a man as I was, it must have frightened
+them, or raised great laughter. On my head I wore a great, high,
+shapeless cap of goat's skin. Stockings and shoes I had none, but I had
+made a pair of somethings, I scarce knew what to call them, to slip over
+my legs; a jacket, with the skirts coming down to the middle of my
+thighs, and a pair of open-kneed breeches of the same, completing my
+outfit. I had a broad belt of goat's skin, and in this I hung, on one
+side, a saw, on the other, a hatchet. Under my arm hung two pouches for
+shot and powder; at my back I carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun,
+and over my head a great clumsy goat's skin umbrella.
+
+A stoic would have smiled to have seen me at dinner. There was my
+majesty, prince and lord of the whole island. How like a king I dined,
+too, all alone, attended by my servants! Poll, my parrot, as if he had
+been my favourite, was the only person permitted to talk to me. My old
+dog sat at my right hand, and two cats on each side of the table,
+expecting a bit from my hand as a mark of special favour.
+
+
+_III.--The Footprint_
+
+
+It was my custom to make daily excursions to some part of the island.
+One day, walking along the beach, I was exceedingly surprised with the
+print of a man's naked foot plainly impressed on the sand. I stood like
+one thunderstruck. I listened, I looked around, but I could hear nothing
+nor see anything. I went up to a rising ground to look further; I walked
+backwards and forwards on the shore, but I could see only that one
+impression.
+
+I went to it again. There was exactly a foot--toes, heel, and every part
+of a foot. How it came thither I knew not; but I hurried home, looking
+behind me at every two or three steps, and mistaking every bush and
+tree, fancying every stump to be a man. I had no sleep that night; but
+my terror gradually wore off, and after some days I ventured down to the
+beach to take measure of the footprint by my own.
+
+I found it much larger! This filled me again with all manner of fears,
+and when I went home I began to prepare against an attack. I got out my
+muskets, loaded them, and went to an enormous amount of labour and
+trouble--all because I had seen the print of a naked foot on the sand.
+There seemed to me then no labour too great, no task too toilsome, and I
+made me a second fortification, and planted a vast number of stakes on
+the outside of my outer wall, which grew and became a thick grove of
+trees, entirely concealing the place of my retreat, and adding greatly
+to my security.
+
+I had now been twenty-two years on the island, and had grown so
+accustomed to the place that, had I felt myself secure from the attack
+by savages, I fancied I could have been contented to remain there till I
+died of old age.
+
+For many months the perturbation of my mind was very great; in the day
+great troubles overwhelmed me, and in the night I dreamed often of
+killing savages. About two years after I first knew these fears, I was
+surprised one morning by seeing five canoes on the shore. I could not
+tell what to think of it, so went and lay in my castle perplexed and
+discomforted. At length, becoming very impatient, I clambered up to the
+top of the hill and perceived, by the help of my perspective glass, no
+less than thirty men dancing round a fire with barbarous gestures. While
+I was looking, two miserable wretches were dragged from the boats. One
+was immediately knocked down, while the other, seeing himself a little
+at liberty, started away from them and ran along the sands directly
+towards me. I was dreadfully frightened, that I must acknowledge, when I
+perceived him run my way, especially when, as I thought, I saw him
+pursued by the whole body. But my spirits began to recover when I found
+that but three men followed him, and that he outstripped them
+exceedingly, in running.
+
+Presently he came to a creek and, making nothing of it, plunged in,
+landed, and ran on with exceeding strength. Two of the pursuers swam the
+creek, but the third went no farther, and soon after went back again. I
+immediately took my two guns, ran down the hill and clapped myself in
+the way between the pursuers and the pursued, hallooing aloud to him
+that fled. Then, rushing on the foremost of the pursuers, I knocked him
+down with the stock of my piece. The other stopped, as if frightened,
+but as I came nearer, I perceived he was fitting a bow and arrow to
+shoot at me; so I was then obliged to shoot at him first, which I did
+and killed him.
+
+The poor savage who fled was so frightened with the noise of my piece
+that he seemed inclined still to fly. I gave him all the signs of
+encouragement I could think of, and he came nearer, kneeling down every
+ten or twelve steps. I took him up and made much of him, and comforted
+him. Then, beckoning him to follow me, I took him to my cave on the
+farther part of the island. Here, having refreshed him, I made signs for
+him to lie down to sleep, which the poor creature did. After he had
+slumbered about half an hour, he came out of the cave, running to me,
+laying himself down and setting my foot upon his head to let me know he
+would serve me so long as he lived.
+
+In a little time I began to speak to him and teach him to speak to me;
+and, first, I let him know his name should be Friday, which was the day
+I saved his life. I likewise taught him to say "Master," and then let
+him know that was to be my name. I made a little tent for him, and took
+in my ladders at night, so that he could no way come at me.
+
+But I needed not this precaution, for never man had a more faithful,
+loving servant than Friday was to me. I made it my business to teach him
+everything that was proper to make him useful, especially to make him
+speak, and he was the aptest scholar that ever was. Indeed, this was the
+pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place. I began now to
+have some use for my tongue again, and, besides the pleasure of talking
+to Friday, I had a singular satisfaction in the fellow himself. His
+simple, unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and more every day, and I
+began really to love the creature; and I believe he loved me more than
+it was possible for him ever to love anything before.
+
+
+_IV.--The End of Captivity_
+
+
+I was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my captivity on the
+island. One morning I bade Friday go to the seashore and see if he could
+find a turtle. He had not been gone long when he came running back like
+one that felt not the ground, or the steps he set his feet on, and cries
+out to me, "O master! O sorrow! O bad!"
+
+"What's the matter, Friday?" said I.
+
+"O yonder, there," says he; "one, two, three canoes!"
+
+"Well," says I, "do not be frightened."
+
+However, I saw the poor fellow was most terribly scared, for nothing ran
+in his head but that the savages were come back to look for him, and
+would cut him in pieces and eat him. I comforted him, and told him I was
+in as much danger as he. Then I went up the hill and found quickly by my
+glass that there were one-and-twenty savages, whose business seemed to
+be a triumphant banquet upon three human bodies. I came down again to
+Friday and, going towards the wretches, sent Friday a little ahead to
+see what they were doing. He came back and told me that they were eating
+the flesh of one of their prisoners, and that a bearded man lay bound,
+whom he said they would kill next.
+
+This fired the very soul within me, and, going to a little rising
+ground, I turned to Friday and said, "Now, Friday, do exactly as you see
+me do." So, with a musket, I took aim at the savages; Friday did the
+like, and we fired, killing three of them and wounding five more. They
+were in a dreadful consternation, and after we fired again among the
+amazed wretches, I made directly towards the poor victim who was lying
+upon the beach. Loosing him, I found he was a Spaniard. He took pistol
+and sword from me thankfully, and flew upon his murderers, and, Friday,
+pursuing the flying wretches, in the end but four of the twenty-one
+escaped in a canoe.
+
+I was minded to pursue them lest they should return with a greater force
+and devour us by mere multitude. So, running to a canoe, I bade Friday
+follow me, but was surprised to find another poor creature lying
+therein, bound hand and foot. I immediately cut his fastenings and bade
+Friday tell him of his deliverance. But when Friday came to hear him
+speak and to look in his face, it would have moved anyone to tears to
+have seen how Friday kissed him, embraced him, hugged him, cried,
+danced, sung, and then cried again. It was a good while before I could
+make him tell me what was the matter, but when he came a little to
+himself, he told me it was his father. He sat down by the old man a long
+while, and took his arms and ankles, which were numbed with the binding,
+and chafed and rubbed them with his hands.
+
+My island was now peopled, and I thought myself rich in subjects. The
+Spaniard and the old savage had been with us about seven months, sharing
+in our labours, when, being unable to keep means of deliverance out of
+my thoughts, I gave them leave to go over in one of the canoes to the
+mainland, where some of the Spaniard's shipmates were cast away, giving
+them provisions sufficient for themselves and all the Spaniards, for
+eight days.
+
+It was no less than eight days I had waited for their return when Friday
+came to me and called aloud, "Master, master, they are come!" I jumped
+up and climbed to the top of the hill, and with my glass plainly made
+out an English ship, and its long-boat standing in for the shore. I
+cannot express the joy I was in at seeing a ship, and one that was
+manned by my own countrymen; but yet I had some secret doubts, bidding
+me keep on my guard. Presently the boat was run upon the beach, and in
+all eleven men landed, whereof three were unarmed and bound, whom I
+could perceive using passionate gestures of entreaty and despair.
+Presently the seamen were all gone straggling in the woods, leaving the
+three distressed men under a tree a little distance from me. I resolved
+to discover myself to them, and marched with Friday towards them, and
+called aloud in Spanish, "What are ye, gentlemen?" They started up at
+the noise, and I perceived them about to fly from me, when I spoke to
+them in English.
+
+"Gentlemen," says I, "do not be surprised at me; perhaps you may have a
+friend near, when you did not expect it. Can you not put a stranger in
+the way to help you?"
+
+One of them, looking like one astonished, returned, "Sir, I was captain
+of that ship; my men have mutinied against me, and have set me on shore
+in this desolate place with these two men--my mate and a passenger."
+
+He then told me that if two among the mutineers, who were desperate
+villains, were secured, he believed the rest on shore would return to
+their duty. He anticipated my proposals in venturing their deliverance
+by telling me that both he and the ship, if recovered, should be wholly
+directed by me in everything. Then I gave them muskets, and the
+mutineers returning, the two villains were killed, and the rest begged
+for mercy, and joined us. More of them coming ashore, we fell upon them
+at night, so that at the captain's call they laid down their arms,
+trusting to the mercy of the governor of the island, for such they
+supposed me to be.
+
+It now occurred to me that the time of my deliverance was come, and that
+it would be easy to bring these fellows in to be hearty in getting
+possession of the ship. And so it proved, for, the ship being boarded
+next morning, and the new rebel captain shot, the rest yielded without
+any more lives lost.
+
+When I saw my deliverance then put visibly into my hands, I was ready to
+sink down with the surprise, and it was a good while before I could
+speak a word to the captain, who was in as great an ecstasy as I. After
+some time, I came dressed in a new habit of the captain's, being still
+called governor. Being all met, and the captain with me, I caused the
+prisoners to be brought before me, told them I had got a full account of
+their villainous behaviour to the captain, and asked of them what they
+had to say why I should not execute them as pirates. I told them I had
+resolved to quit the island, but that they, if they went, could only go
+as prisoners in irons; so that I could not tell what was the best for
+them, unless they had a mind to take their fate in the island. They
+seemed thankful for this, and said they would much rather venture to
+stay than be carried to England to be hanged. So I left it on that
+issue. When the captain was gone I sent for the men up to me in my
+apartment and let them into the story of my living there; showed them my
+fortifications, the way I made my bread, planted my corn; and, in a
+word, all that was necessary to make them easy. I told them the story,
+also of the Spaniards that were to be expected, and made them promise to
+treat them in common with themselves.
+
+I left the next day and went on board the ship with Friday. And thus I
+left the island the 19th of December, in the year 1686, after eight and
+twenty years, and, after a long voyage, I arrived in England, the 11th
+of June, 1687, having been thirty-five years absent.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Captain Singleton
+
+      Defoe was fifty-nine when he published this remarkable book,
+     in 1720. "Robinson Crusoe" had appeared in the previous year,
+     and "Moll Flanders" came out in 1722. Shrewdness and wit, the
+     study of character, vividness of imagination, and, beyond
+     these, the pure literary style, make "Captain Singleton" a
+     classic in English literature. William the Quaker, the first
+     Quaker in English fiction, has never been surpassed in any
+     later novel, and remains an immortal creation. The clear
+     common sense of this man, the combination of business ability
+     and a real humaneness, the quiet humour which prevails over
+     the stupid barbarity of his pirate companions--who but Defoe
+     could have drawn such a character as the guide, philosopher,
+     and friend of a crew of pirates? Bob Singleton himself, who
+     tells the story with a frankness of extraordinary charm,
+     confessing his willingness for evil courses as readily as his
+     later repentance, is no less striking a personality. By sheer
+     imagination the genius of Defoe makes Singleton's adventures,
+     including the impossible journey across Central Africa, real
+     and credible. The book is a model of fine narrative.
+
+
+_I.--Sailing With the Devil_
+
+
+If I may believe the woman whom I was taught to call mother, I was a
+little boy about two years old, very well dressed, and had a nurse-maid
+to attend me, who took me out on a fine summer's evening into the fields
+towards Islington, to give the child some air; a little girl being with
+her, of twelve or fourteen years old, that lived in the neighbourhood.
+
+The maid meets with a fellow, her sweetheart; he carries her into a
+public-house, and while they are toying in there the girl plays about
+with me in her hand, sometimes in sight, sometimes out of sight,
+thinking no harm.
+
+Then comes by one of those sort of people who make it their business to
+spirit away little children, a trade chiefly practised where they found
+little children well dressed, and for bigger children, to sell them to
+the plantations.
+
+The woman, pretending to take me up in her arms and play with me, draws
+the girl a good way from the house, and then bids her go back to the
+maid, and tell her that a gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child.
+And so, while the girl went, she carries me quite away.
+
+From that time, it seems, I was disposed of to a beggar woman, and after
+that to a gipsy, till I was about six years old.
+
+And this gipsy, though I was continually dragged about with her from one
+part of the country to the other, never let me want for anything. I
+called her mother, but she told me at last she was not my mother, but
+that she bought me for twelve shillings, and that my name was Bob
+Singleton, not Robert, but plain Bob.
+
+Who my father and mother really were I have never learnt.
+
+When my gipsy mother happened in process of time to be hanged, I was
+sent to a parish school; and then I was moved from one parish to
+another, and at Bussleton, near Southampton, the master of a ship took a
+fancy to me, and though I was not above twelve years old, he carried me
+to sea with him on a voyage to Newfoundland.
+
+I went several voyages with him, when, coming home from Newfoundland
+about the year 1695, we were taken by an Algerine rover, which was in
+its turn taken by two great Portuguese men-of-war.
+
+We were carried into Lisbon, and there my master, the only friend I had
+in the world, dying of his wounds, I was left starving in a foreign
+country where I knew nobody, and could not speak a word of the language.
+
+However, an old pilot found me, and, speaking in broken English, asked
+me if I would go with him.
+
+"Yes," said I, "with all my heart."
+
+For two years I lived with him, and then he got to be master under Don
+Garcia de Carravallas, captain of a Portuguese galleon, which was bound
+to Goa in the East Indies. On this voyage I began to get a smattering of
+the Portuguese tongue and a superficial knowledge of navigation. I also
+learnt to be an arrant thief and a bad sailor.
+
+I was reputed as mighty diligent and faithful to my master, but I was
+very far from honest.
+
+Indeed, I had no sense of virtue or religion in me, never having heard
+much of either, and was growing up apace to be as wicked as anybody
+could be.
+
+Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most abominable
+lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew; adding to it that,
+with the most insufferable boasts of their own courage, they were,
+generally speaking, the most complete cowards that I ever met with. And
+I was exactly fitted for their society.
+
+According to the English proverb, he that is shipped with the devil must
+sail with the devil; I was among them, and I managed myself as well as I
+could.
+
+When we came to anchor on the coast of Madagascar to repair some damage
+to the ship, there happened a most desperate mutiny among the men upon
+account of a deficiency in their allowance, and I, being full of
+mischief in my head, readily joined.
+
+Though I was but a boy, as they called me, yet I prompted the mischief
+all I could, and embarked in it so openly that I escaped very little
+being hanged in the first and most early part of my life.
+
+For the captain, getting wind of the plot, brought two fellows to
+confess the particulars, and presently no less than sixteen men were
+seized and put into irons, whereof I was one.
+
+The captain, who was made desperate by his danger, tried us all, and we
+were all condemned to die. The gunner and purser were hanged
+immediately, and I expected it with the rest. I do not remember any
+great concern I was under about it, only that I cried very much; for I
+knew little then of this world, and nothing at all of the next.
+
+However, the captain contented himself with executing these two, and
+some of the rest, upon their humble submission, were pardoned; but five
+were ordered to be set on shore on the island and left there, of which I
+was one.
+
+At our first coming into the island we were terrified exceedingly with
+the sight of the barbarous people; but when we came to converse with
+them awhile, we found they were not cannibals, as was reported, but they
+came and sat down by us, and wondered much at our clothes and arms. Nor
+did we suffer any harm from them during our whole stay on the island.
+
+Before the ship sailed twenty-three of the crew decided to join us, and
+the captain, not unwilling to lose them, sent us two barrels of powder,
+and shot and lead, as well as a great bag of bread.
+
+Being now a considerable number, and in condition to defend ourselves,
+the first thing we did was to give everyone his hand that we would not
+separate from one another, but that we would live and die together, that
+we would be in all things guided by the majority, that we would appoint
+a captain among us to be our leader, and that we would obey him on pain
+of death.
+
+
+_II.--A Mad Venture_
+
+
+For two years we remained on the island of Madagascar, for at the
+beginning we had no vessel large enough to pass the ocean.
+
+I never proposed to speak in the general consultations, but one day I
+told the company that our best plan was to cruise along the coast in
+canoes, and seize upon the first vessel we could get that was better
+than our own, and so from that to another, till perhaps we might at last
+get a good ship to carry us wherever we pleased to go.
+
+"Excellent advice," says one of them. "Admirable advice," says another.
+"Yes, yes," says the third (which was a gunner), "the English dog has
+given excellent advice, but it is just the way to bring us all to the
+gallows. To go a-thieving, till from a little vessel we come to a great
+ship, and so shall we turn downright pirates, the end of which is to be
+hanged."
+
+"You may call us pirates," says another, "if you will, and if we fall
+into bad hands we may be used like pirates; but I care not for that.
+I'll be a pirate or anything, rather than starve here!"
+
+And so they cried all, "Let us have a canoe!"
+
+The gunner, overruled by the rest, submitted; but as we broke up the
+council, he came to me and very gravely. "My lad," says he, "thou art
+born to do a world of mischief; thou hast commenced pirate very young;
+but have a care of the gallows, young man; have a care, I say, for thou
+wilt be an eminent thief."
+
+I laughed at him, and told him I did not know what I might come to
+hereafter; but as our case was now, I should make no scruple to take the
+first ship I came at to get our liberty. I only wished we could see one,
+and come at her.
+
+When we had made three canoes of some size, we set out on as odd a
+voyage as ever man went. We were a little fleet of three ships, and an
+army of between twenty and thirty as dangerous fellows as ever lived. We
+were bound somewhere and nowhere, for though we knew what we intended to
+do, we really did not know what we were doing.
+
+We cruised up and down the coast, but no ship came in sight, and at
+last, with more courage than discretion, more resolution than judgment,
+we launched for the main coast of Africa.
+
+The voyage was much longer than we expected, and when we were landed
+upon the continent it seemed the most desolate, desert, and inhospitable
+country in the world.
+
+It was here that we took one of the rashest and wildest and most
+desperate resolutions that ever was taken by man; this was to travel
+overland through the heart of the country, from the coast of Mozambique
+to the coast of Angola or Guinea, a continent of land of at least 1,800
+miles, in which journey we had excessive heats to support, impassable
+deserts to go over, no carriages, camels, or beasts of any kind to carry
+our baggage, innumerable wild and ravenous beasts to encounter, such as
+lions, leopards, tigers, lizards, and elephants; we had nations of
+savages to encounter, barbarous and brutish to the last degree; hunger
+and thirst to struggle with, and, in one word, terrors enough to have
+daunted the stoutest hearts that ever were placed in cases of flesh and
+blood.
+
+Yet, fearless of all these, we resolved to adventure, and not only did
+we accomplish our journey, but we came to a river where there were vast
+quantities of gold.
+
+The hardships and difficulties of our march were much mitigated by a
+method which I proposed and was found very convenient. This was to
+quarrel with some of the negro natives, take them as prisoners, and
+binding them, as slaves, cause them to travel with us and make them
+carry our baggage.
+
+Accordingly, we secured about sixty lusty young fellows as prisoners,
+for the natives stood in great awe of us because of our firearms, and
+they not only served us faithfully--the more so as we treated them
+without harshness--but were of great help in showing us the way, and in
+conversing with the savages we afterwards met.
+
+When we reached the country where the gold was, we at once agreed, in
+order that the good harmony and friendship of our company might be
+maintained, that however much gold was gotten, it should be brought into
+one common stock, and equally divided at last, the negroes sharing with
+the rest.
+
+This was done, and at the end of our long journey we found each man's
+share amounted to many pounds of gold. We also got a cargo of elephants'
+teeth.
+
+We parted at the Gold Coast from our black companions on the best of
+terms. Then most of my comrades went off to the Portuguese factories
+near Gambia, and I went to Cape Coast Castle, and got passage for,
+England, where I arrived in September.
+
+
+_III.--Quaker and Pirate_
+
+
+I had neither friend nor relation in England, though it was my native
+country; I had not a person to trust with what I had, or to counsel me
+to secure or save it; but falling into ill company, and trusting the
+keeper of a public-house in Rotherhithe with a great part of my money,
+all that great sum, which I got with so much pains and hazard, was gone
+in little more than two years' time--spent in all kinds of folly and
+wickedness.
+
+Then I began to see it was time to think of further adventures, and I
+next shipped myself, in an evil hour to be sure, on a voyage to Cadiz.
+
+On the coast of Spain I fell in with some masters of mischief, and,
+among them, one, forwarder than the rest, named Harris, who began an
+intimate confidence with me, so that we called one another brothers.
+
+This Harris was afterwards captured by an English man-of-war, and, being
+laid in irons, died of grief and anger.
+
+When we were together, he asked me if I had a mind for an adventure that
+might make amends for all past misfortunes. I told him, yes, with all my
+heart; for I did not care where I went, having nothing to lose, and no
+one to leave behind me.
+
+He told me, then, there was a brave fellow, whose name was Wilmot, in
+another English ship which rode in the harbour, who had resolved to
+mutiny the next morning, and run away with the ship; and that if we
+could get strength enough among our ship's company, we might do the
+same.
+
+I liked the proposal very well, but we could not bring our part to
+perfection. For there were but eleven in our ship who were in the
+conspiracy, nor could we get any more that we could trust. So that when
+Wilmot began his work, and secured the ship, and gave the signal to us,
+we all took a boat and went off to join him.
+
+Being well prepared for all manner of roguery, without the least checks
+of conscience, I thus embarked with this crew, which at last brought me
+to consort with the most famous pirates of the age.
+
+I, that was an original thief, and a pirate even by inclination before,
+was now in my element, and never undertook anything in my life with more
+particular satisfaction.
+
+Captain Wilmot--for so we now called him--at once stood out for sea,
+steering for the Canaries, and thence onward to the West Indies. Our
+ship had twenty-two guns, and we obtained plenty of ammunition from the
+Spaniards in exchange for bales of English cloth.
+
+We cruised near two years in those seas of the West Indies, chiefly upon
+the Spaniards--not that we made any difficulty of taking English ships,
+or Dutch, or French, if they came in our way. But the reason why we
+meddled as little with English vessels as we could was, first, because
+if they were ships of any force, we were sure of more resistance from
+them; and, secondly, because we found the English ships had less booty
+when taken; for the Spaniards generally had money on board, and that was
+what we best knew what to do with.
+
+We increased our stock considerably in these two years, having taken
+60,000 pieces of gold in one vessel, and 100,000 in another; and being
+thus first grown rich, we resolved to be strong, too, for we had taken a
+brigantine, an excellent sea-boat, able to carry twelve guns, and a
+large Spanish frigate-built ship, which afterwards, by the help of good
+carpenters, we fitted up to carry twenty-eight guns.
+
+We had also taken two or three sloops from New England and New York,
+laden with flour, peas, and barrelled beef and pork, going for Jamaica
+and Barbados, and for more beef we went on shore on the island of Cuba,
+where we killed as many black cattle as we pleased, though we had very
+little salt to cure them.
+
+Out of all the prizes we took here we took their powder and bullets,
+their small-arms and cutlasses; and as for their men, we always took the
+surgeon and the carpenter, as persons who were of particular use to us
+upon many occasions; nor were they always unwilling to go with us.
+
+We had one very merry fellow here, a Quaker, whose name was William
+Walters, whom we took out of a sloop bound from Pennsylvania to
+Barbados. He was a surgeon and they called him doctor, and we made him
+go with us, and take all his implements with him. He was a comic fellow
+indeed, a man of very good solid sense, and an excellent surgeon; but,
+what was worth all, very good-humoured and pleasant in his conversation,
+and a bold, stout, brave fellow too, as any we had among us.
+
+I found William not very averse to go along with us, and yet resolved to
+do it so that it might be apparent he was taken away by force. "Friend,"
+he says, "thou sayest I must go with thee, and it is not in my power to
+resist thee if I would; but I desire thou wilt oblige the master of the
+sloop to certify under his hand that I was taken away by force, and
+against my will." So I drew up a certificate myself, wherein I wrote
+that he was taken away by main force, as a prisoner, by a pirate ship;
+and this was signed by the master and all his men.
+
+"Thou hast dealt friendly by me," says he, when we had brought him
+aboard, "and I will be plain with thee, whether I came willingly to thee
+or not. But thou knowest it is not my business to meddle when thou art
+to fight."
+
+"No, no," says the captain, "but you may meddle a little when we share
+the money."
+
+"Those things are useful to furnish a surgeon's chest," says William,
+and smiled, "but I shall be moderate."
+
+In short, William was a most agreeable companion; but he had the better
+of us in this part, that if we were taken we were sure to be hanged, and
+he was sure to escape. But he was a sprightly fellow, and fitter to be
+captain than any of us.
+
+
+_IV.--A Respectable Merchant_
+
+
+We cruised the seas for many years, and after a time William and I had a
+ship to ourselves with 400 men in authority under us. As for Captain
+Wilmot, we left him with a large company at Madagascar, while we went on
+to the East Indies.
+
+At last we had gotten so rich, for we traded in cloves and spices to the
+merchants, that William one day proposed to me that we should give up
+the kind of life we had been leading. We were then off the coast of
+Persia.
+
+"Most people," said William, "leave off trading when they are satisfied
+of getting, and are rich enough; for nobody trades for the sake of
+trading; much less do men rob for the sake of thieving. It is natural
+for men that are abroad to desire to come home again at last, especially
+when they are grown rich, and so rich as they would know not what to do
+with more if they had it."
+
+"Well, William," said I, "but you have not explained what you mean by
+home. Why, man, I am at home; here is my habitation; I never had any
+other in my lifetime; I was a kind of charity school-boy; so that I can
+have no desire of going anywhere for being rich or poor; for I have
+nowhere to go."
+
+"Why," says William, looking a little confused, "hast thou no relatives
+or friends in England? No acquaintance; none that thou hast any kindness
+or any remains of respect for?"
+
+"Not I, William," said I, "no more than I have in the court of the Great
+Mogul. Yet I do not say I like this roving, cruising life so well as
+never to give it over. Say anything to me, I will take it kindly." For I
+could see he was troubled, and I began to be moved by his gravity.
+
+"There is something to be thought of beyond this way of life," says
+William.
+
+"Why, what is that," said I, "except it be death?"
+
+"It is repentance."
+
+"Why," says I, "did you ever know a pirate repent?"
+
+At this he was startled a little, and returned.
+
+"At the gallows I have known one, and I hope thou wilt be the second."
+
+He spoke this very affectionately, with an appearance of concern for me.
+
+"My proposal," William went on, "is for thy good as well as my own. We
+may put an end to this kind of life, and repent."
+
+"Look you, William," says I, "let me have your proposal for putting an
+end to our present way of living first, and you and I will talk of the
+other afterwards."
+
+"Nay," says William, "thou art in the right there; we must never talk of
+repenting while we continue pirates."
+
+"Well," says I, "William, that's what I meant; for if we must not
+reform, as well as be sorry for what is done, I have no notion what
+repentance means: the nature of the thing seems to tell me that the
+first step we have to take is to break off this wretched course. Dost
+thou think it practicable for us to put an end to our unhappy way of
+living, and get off?"
+
+"Yes," says he, "I think it very practicable."
+
+We were then anchored off the city of Bassorah, and one night William
+and I went ashore, and sent a note to the boatswain telling him we were
+betrayed and bidding him make off with the ship.
+
+By this means we frighted the rogues our comrades; and we had nothing to
+do then but to consider how to convert our treasure into things proper
+to make us look like merchants, as we were now to be, and not like
+freebooters, as we really had been.
+
+Then we clothed ourselves like Armenian merchants, and after many days
+reached Venice; and at last we agreed to go to London. For William had a
+sister whom he was anxious to see once more.
+
+So we came to England, and some time later I married William's sister,
+with whom I am much more happy than I deserve.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CHARLES DICKENS
+
+
+Barnaby Rudge
+
+
+      Charles Dickens, son of a clerk in the Navy Pay Office, was
+     born at Landport on February 7, 1812. Soon afterwards the
+     family removed to Chatham and then to London. With all their
+     efforts, they failed to keep out of distress, and at the age
+     of nine Dickens was employed at a blacking factory. With the
+     coming of brighter days, he was sent back to school;
+     afterwards a place was found for him in a solicitor's office.
+     In the meantime, his father had obtained a position as
+     reporter on the "Morning Herald," and Dickens, too, resolved
+     to try his fortune in that direction. Teaching himself
+     shorthand, and studying diligently at the British Museum, at
+     the age of twenty-two he secured permanent employment on the
+     staff of a London paper. "Barnaby Rudge," the fifth of
+     Dickens's novels, appeared serially in "Master Humphrey's
+     Clock" during 1841. It thus followed "The Old Curiosity Shop,"
+     the character of Master Humphrey being revived merely to
+     introduce the new story, and on its conclusion "The Clock" was
+     stopped for ever. In 1849 "Barnaby Rudge" was published in
+     book form. Written primarily to express the author's
+     abhorrence of capital punishment, from the use he made of the
+     Gordon Riots of 1780, "Barnaby Rudge," like "A Tale of Two
+     Cities," may be considered an historical work. It is more of a
+     story than any of its predecessors. Lord George Gordon, the
+     instigator of the riots, died a prisoner in the Tower of
+     London, after making public renunciation of Christianity in
+     favour of the Jewish religion. "The raven in this story," said
+     Dickens, "is a compound of two originals, of whom I have been
+     the proud possessor." Dickens died at Gad's Hill on June 9,
+     1870, having written fourteen novels and a great number of
+     short stories and sketches.
+
+
+_I.--Barnaby and the Robber_
+
+
+In the year 1775 there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, in the
+village of Chigwell, about twelve miles from London, a house of public
+entertainment called the Maypole, kept by John Willet, a large-headed
+man with a fat face, of profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension,
+combined with a very strong reliance upon his own merits.
+
+From this inn, Gabriel Varden, stout-hearted old locksmith of
+Clerkenwell, jogged steadily home on a chaise, half sleeping and half
+waking, on a certain rough evening in March.
+
+A loud cry roused him with a start, just where London begins, and he
+descried a man extended in an apparently lifeless state wounded upon the
+pathway, and, hovering round him, another person, with a torch in his
+hand, which he waved in the air with a wild impatience.
+
+"What's here to do?" said the old locksmith. "How's this? What, Barnaby!
+You know me, Barnaby?"
+
+The bearer of the torch nodded, not once or twice, but a score of times,
+with a fantastic exaggeration.
+
+"How came it here?" demanded Varden, pointing to the body.
+
+"Steel, steel, steel!" Barnaby replied fiercely, imitating the thrust of
+a sword.
+
+"Is he robbed?" said the blacksmith.
+
+Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded "Yes," pointing towards the
+city.
+
+"Oh!" said the old man. "The robber made off that way, did he? Now let's
+see what can be done."
+
+They covered the wounded man with Varden's greatcoat, and carried him to
+Mrs. Rudge's house hard by. On his way home Gabriel congratulated
+himself on having an adventure which would silence Mrs. Varden on the
+subject of the Maypole for that night, or there was no faith in woman.
+
+But Mrs. Varden was a lady of uncertain temper, and she was on this
+occasion so ill-tempered, and put herself to so much anxiety and
+agitation, aided and abetted by her shrewish hand-maiden, Miggs, that
+next morning she was, she said, too much indisposed to rise. The
+disconsolate locksmith had, therefore, to deliver himself of his story
+of the night's experiences to his daughter, buxom, bewitching Dolly, the
+very pink and pattern of good looks, and the despair of the youth of the
+neighbourhood.
+
+Calling next day in the evening, Gabriel Varden learnt the wounded man
+was better, and would shortly be removed.
+
+Varden chatted as an old friend with Barnaby's mother. He knew the
+Maypole story of the widow Rudge--how her husband, employed at Chigwell,
+and his master had been murdered; and how her son, born upon the very
+day the deed was known, bore upon his wrist a smear of blood but half
+washed out.
+
+"Why, what's that?" said the locksmith suddenly. "Is that Barnaby
+tapping at the door?"
+
+"No," returned the widow; "it was in the street, I think. Hark! 'Tis
+someone knocking softly at the shutter."
+
+"Some thief or ruffian," said the locksmith. "Give me a light."
+
+"No, no," she returned hastily. "I would rather go myself, alone."
+
+She left the room, and Varden heard the sound of whispers without. Then
+the words "My God!" came, tittered in a voice dreadful to hear.
+
+Varden rushed out. A look of terror was on the woman's face, and before
+her stood a man, of sinister appearance, whom the locksmith had passed
+on the road from Chigwell the previous night.
+
+The man fled, but the locksmith was after him and would have held him
+but for the widow, who clutched his arms.
+
+"The other way--the other way!" she cried. "Do not touch him, on your
+life! He carries other lives besides his own. Don't ask what it means.
+He is not to be followed or stopped! Come back!"
+
+"The other way!" said the locksmith. "Why, there he goes!"
+
+The old man looked at her in wonder, and let her draw him into the
+house. Still that look of terror was on her face, as she implored him
+not to question her.
+
+Presently she withdrew, and left him in his perplexity alone, and
+Barnaby came in.
+
+"I have been asleep," said the idiot, with widely opened eyes. "There
+have been great faces coming and going--close to my face, and then a
+mile away. That's sleep, eh? I dreamed just now that something--it was
+in the shape of a man--followed me and wouldn't let me be. It came
+creeping on to worry me, nearer and nearer. I ran faster, leaped, sprang
+out of bed and to the window, and there in the street below--"
+
+"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Bow, wow, wow!" cried a hoarse voice. "What's
+the matter here? Halloa!"
+
+The locksmith started, and there was Grip, a large raven, Barnaby's
+close companion, perched on the top of a chair.
+
+"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Keep up your spirits! Never say die!" the bird
+went on, in a hoarse voice. "Bow, wow, wow!" And then he began to
+whistle.
+
+The locksmith said "Good-night," and went his way home, disturbed in
+thought.
+
+"In league with that ill-looking figure that might have fallen from a
+gibbet. He listening and hiding here. Barnaby first upon the spot last
+night. Can she, who has always borne so fair a name, be guilty of such
+crimes in secret?" said the locksmith, musing. "Heaven forgive me if I
+am wrong, and send me just thoughts."
+
+
+_II--Barnaby Is Enrolled_
+
+
+It is seven in the forenoon, on June 2, 1780, and Barnaby and his
+mother, who had travelled to London to escape that unwelcome visitor
+whom Varden had noticed, were resting in one of the recesses of
+Westminster Bridge.
+
+A vast throng of persons were crossing the river to the Surrey shore in
+unusual haste and excitement, and nearly every man in this great
+concourse wore in his hat a blue cockade.
+
+When the bridge was clear, which was not till nearly two hours had
+elapsed, the widow inquired of an old man what was the meaning of the
+great assemblage.
+
+"Why, haven't you heard?" he returned. "This is the day Lord George
+Gordon presents the petition against the Catholics, and his lordship has
+declared he won't present it to the House of Commons at all unless it is
+attended to the door by forty thousand good men and true, at least.
+There's a crowd for you!"
+
+"A crowd, indeed!" said Barnaby. "Do you hear that, mother? That's a
+brave crowd he talks of. Come!"
+
+"Not to join it!" cried his mother. "You don't know what mischief they
+may do, or where they may lead you. Dear Barnaby, for my sake----"
+
+"For your sake!" he answered. "It _is_ for your sake, mother. Here's a
+brave crowd! Come--or wait till I come back! Yes, yes, wait here!"
+
+A stranger gave Barnaby a blue cockade and bade him wear it, and while
+he was still fixing it in his hat Lord Gordon and his secretary,
+Gashford, passed, and then turned back.
+
+"You lag behind, friend, and are late," said Lord George. "It's past ten
+now. Didn't you know the hour of assemblage was ten o'clock?"
+
+Barnaby shook his head, and looked vacantly from one to the other.
+
+"He cannot tell you, sir," the widow interposed. "It's no use to ask
+him. We know nothing of these matters. This is my son--my poor,
+afflicted son, dearer to me than my own life. He is not in his right
+senses--he is not, indeed."
+
+"He has surely no appearance," said Lord George, whispering in his
+secretary's ear, "of being deranged. We must not construe any trifling
+peculiarity into madness. You desire to make one of this body?" he
+added, addressing Barnaby. "And intended to make one, did you?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. "To be sure, I did. I
+told her so myself."
+
+"Then follow me." replied Lord George, "and you shall have your wish."
+
+Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly, and telling her their fortunes were
+made now, did as he was desired.
+
+They hastened on to St. George's Fields, where the vast army of men was
+drawn up in sections. Doubtless there were honest zealots sprinkled here
+and there, but for the most part the throng was composed of the very
+scum and refuse of London.
+
+Barnaby was acclaimed by a man in the ranks, Hugh, the rough hostler of
+the Maypole, whom Barnaby in his frequent wanderings had long known.
+
+"What! you wear the colour, do you? Fall in, Barnaby. You shall march
+between me and Dennis, and you shall carry," said Hugh, taking a flag
+from the hand of a tired man, "the gayest silken streamer in this
+valiant army."
+
+"In the name of God, no!" shrieked the widow, who had followed in
+pursuit and now darted forward. "Barnaby, my lord, he'll come
+back--Barnaby!"
+
+"Women in the field!" cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her
+off with his outstretched hand. "It's against all orders--ladies
+carrying off our gallant soldiers from their duty. Give the word of
+command, captain."
+
+The words, "Form! March!" rang out.
+
+She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was
+whirled away into the heart of a dense mass of men, and the widow saw
+him no more.
+
+Barnaby himself, heedless of the weight of the great banner he carried,
+marched proud, happy, and elated past all telling. Hugh was at his side,
+and next to Hugh came a squat, thick-set personage called Dennis, who,
+unknown to his companions, was no other than the public hangman.
+
+"I wish I could see her somewhere," said Barnaby, looking anxiously
+around. "She would be proud to see me now, eh, Hugh? She'd cry with joy,
+I know she would."
+
+"Why, what palaver's this?" asked Mr. Dennis, with supreme disdain. "We
+ain't got no sentimental members among us, I hope."
+
+"Don't be uneasy, brother," cried Hugh, "he's only talking of his
+mother."
+
+"His mother!" growled Mr. Dennis, with a strong oath, and in tones of
+deep disgust. "And have I combined myself with this here section, and
+turned out on this here memorable day, to hear men talk about their
+mothers?"
+
+"Barnaby's right," cried Hugh, with a grin, "and I say it. Lookee, bold
+lad, if she's not here to see it's because I've provided for her, and
+sent half-a-dozen gentlemen, every one of 'em with a blue flag, to take
+her to a grand house all hung round with gold and silver banners, where
+she'll wait till you come and want for nothing. And we'll get money
+for her. Money, cocked hats, and gold lace will all belong to us if we
+are true to that noble gentleman, if we carry our flags and keep 'em
+safe. That's all we've got to do.
+
+"Don't you see, man," Hugh whispered to Dennis, "that the lad's a
+natural, and can be got to do anything if you take him the right way?
+He's worth a dozen men in earnest, as you'd find if you tried a fall
+with him. You'll soon see whether he's of use or not."
+
+Mr. Dennis received this explanation with many nods and winks, and
+softened his behaviour towards Barnaby from that moment.
+
+Hugh was right. It was Barnaby who stood his ground, and grasped his
+pole more firmly when the Guards came out to clear the mob away from
+Westminster.
+
+One soldier came spurring on, cutting at the hands of those who would
+have forced his charger back, and still Barnaby, without retreating an
+inch, waited for his coming. Some called to him to fly, when the pole
+swept the air above the people's heads, and the man's saddle was empty
+in an instant.
+
+Then he and Hugh turned and fled, the crowd opening and closing so
+quickly that there was no clue to the course they had taken.
+
+
+_III.--The Storming of Newgate_
+
+
+For several days London was in the hands of the rioters. Catholic
+chapels were burned, the private residences of Catholics were sacked.
+From the moment of the first outbreak at Westminster every symptom of
+order vanished. Fifty resolute men might have turned the rioters; a
+single company of soldiers could have scattered them like dust; but no
+man interposed, no authority restrained them.
+
+But Barnaby, bold Barnaby, had been taken. Left behind at the resort of
+the rioters by Hugh, who led a body of men to Chigwell, he had been
+captured by the soldiers, a proclamation of the Privy Council having at
+last encouraged the magistrates to set the military in motion for the
+arrest of certain ringleaders.
+
+He was placed in Newgate and heavily ironed, and presently Grip, with
+drooping head and plumes rough and tumbled, was thrust into his cell.
+
+Another man was also taken and placed in Newgate on that day, and
+presently he and Barnaby stood staring at each other, face to face.
+Suddenly Barnaby laid hands upon him, and cried, "Ah, I know! You are
+the robber!"
+
+The other struggled with him silently, but finding the young man too
+strong for him, raised his eyes and said, "I am your father."
+
+Barnaby released his hold, fell back, and looked at him aghast. Then he
+sprang towards him, put his arms about his neck, and pressed his head
+against his cheek. He never learnt that his father, supposed to have
+been murdered, was himself a murderer. This was the widow's dreadful
+secret.
+
+And now Hugh, with a huge army, was at the gates of Newgate, bent on
+rescue. He had returned, to find Barnaby taken, and at once announced
+that the prison must be stormed. In vain the military commanders tried
+to rouse the magistrates, and in particular the Lord Mayor; no orders
+were given, and the soldiers could do nothing within the precincts of
+the city without the warrant of the civil authorities.
+
+In a dense mass the rioters halted before the prison-gate. All those who
+had already been conspicuous were there, and others who had friends or
+relatives within the jail hastened to the attack.
+
+Hugh had brought, by force, old Gabriel Varden to pick the lock of the
+great door, but this the sturdy locksmith resolutely refused to do.
+
+"You have got some friends of ours in your custody, master," Hugh called
+out to the head jailer, who had appeared on the roof. "Deliver up our
+friends, and you may keep the rest."
+
+"It's my duty to keep them all. I shall do my duty," replied the jailer,
+firmly.
+
+A shower of stones compelled the keeper of the jail to retire.
+
+Gabriel Varden was urged by blows, by offers of reward, and by threats
+of instant death to do the office the rioters required of him, and all
+in vain. He was knocked down, was up again, buffeting with a score of
+them. He had never loved his life so well as then, but nothing could
+move him.
+
+The cry was raised, "You lose time. Remember the prisoners! Remember
+Barnaby!" And the crowd left the locksmith, to gather fuel, for an
+entrance was to be forced by fire. Furniture from the prison lodge was
+piled up in a monstrous heap and set blazing, oil was poured on, and at
+last the great gate yielded to the flames. It settled deeper in the
+red-hot cinders, tottered, and was down.
+
+Hugh leaped upon the blazing heap, and dashed into the jail. The hangman
+followed. And then so many rushed upon their track that the fire got
+trodden down. There was no need of it now, for, inside and out, the
+prison was soon in flames.
+
+Barnaby and his father were quickly released, and passed from hand to
+hand into the street. Soon all the wretched inmates of the jail were
+free, except four condemned to die whom Dennis kept under guard. And
+these Hugh roughly insisted on liberating, to the sullen anger of the
+hangman.
+
+"You won't let these men alone, and leave 'em to me? You've no respect
+for nothing, haven't you?" said Dennis, and with a scowl he disappeared.
+
+Three hundred prisoners in all were released from Newgate, and many of
+these returned to haunt the place of their captivity, and were retaken.
+The day after the storming of Newgate, the mob having now had London at
+its mercy for a week, the authorities at last took serious action, and
+at nightfall the military held the streets.
+
+Hugh and Barnaby and old Rudge had taken refuge in a rough out-house in
+the outskirts of London, where they were wont to rest, when Dennis stood
+before them; he had not been seen since the storming of Newgate.
+
+A few minutes later, and the shed was filled with soldiers, while a body
+of horse galloping into the field drew op before it.
+
+"Here!" said Dennis, "it's them two young ones, gentlemen, that the
+proclamation puts a price on. This other's an escaped felon. I'm sorry
+for it, brother," he added, addressing himself to Hugh; "but you've
+brought it on yourself; you forced me to do it; you wouldn't respect the
+soundest constitutional principles, you know; you went and wiolated the
+wery framework of society."
+
+Barnaby and his father were carried off by one road in the centre of a
+body of foot-soldiers; Hugh, fast bound upon a horse, was taken by
+another.
+
+
+_IV.--The Fate of the Rioters_
+
+
+The riots had been stamped out, and once more the city was quiet.
+
+Barnaby sat in his dungeon. Beside him, with his hand in hers, sat his
+mother; worn and altered, full of grief, and heavy-hearted, but the same
+to him.
+
+"Mother," he said, "how long--how many days and nights--shall I be kept
+here?"
+
+"Not many, dear. I hope not many."
+
+"If they kill me--they may; I heard it said--what will become of Grip?"
+
+The sound of the word suggested to the raven his old phrase, "Never say
+die!" But he stopped short in the middle of it as if he lacked the heart
+to get through the shortest sentence.
+
+"Will they take his life as well as mine?" said Barnaby. "I wish they
+would. If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to
+feel sorry, or to grieve for us. Don't you cry for me. They said that I
+am bold, and so I am, and so I will be."
+
+The turnkey came to close the cells for the night, the widow tore
+herself away, and Barnaby was alone.
+
+He was to die. There was no hope. They had tried to save him. The
+locksmith had carried petitions and memorials to the fountain-head with
+his own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and Barnaby was to
+die. From the first, his mother had never left him, save at night; and,
+with her beside him, he was contented.
+
+"They call me silly, mother. They shall see--to-morrow."
+
+Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. "No reprieve, no reprieve! Nobody
+comes near us. There's only the night left now!" moaned Dennis. "Do you
+think they'll reprieve me in the night, brother? I've known reprieves
+come in the night afore now. Don't you think there's a good chance yet?
+Don't you? Say you do."
+
+"You ought to be the best instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping
+before him. "Ha, ha, ha! See the hangman when it comes home to him."
+
+The clock struck. Barnaby looked in his mother's face, and saw that the
+time had come. After a long embrace he rushed away, and they carried her
+away, insensible.
+
+"See the hangman when it comes home to him!" cried Hugh, as Dennis,
+still moaning, fell down in a fit. "Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we?
+A man can die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily,
+and fall asleep again."
+
+The time wore on. Five o'clock had struck--six--seven--and eight. They
+were to die at noon, and in the crowd without it was said they could
+tell the hangman, when he came out, by his being the shorter one, and
+that the man who was to suffer with him was named Hugh; and that it was
+Barnaby Rudge who would be hanged in Bloomsbury Square.
+
+At the first stroke of twelve the prison bell began to toll, and the
+three were brought forth into the yard together.
+
+Barnaby was the only one who had washed or trimmed himself that morning.
+He still wore the broken peacock's feathers in his hat; and all his
+usual scraps of finery were carefully disposed about his person.
+
+"What cheer, Barnaby?", cried Hugh. "Don't be downcast, lad. Leave that
+to _him_," he added, with a nod in the direction of Dennis, held up
+between two men.
+
+"Bless you!" cried Barnaby, "I'm not frightened, Hugh. I'm quite happy.
+Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see _me_ tremble?"
+
+"I'd say this," said Hugh, wringing Barnaby by the hand, and looking
+round at the officers and functionaries gathered in the yard, "that if I
+had ten lives to lose I'd lay them all down to save this one. This one
+that will be lost through mine!"
+
+"Not through you," said Barnaby mildly. "Don't say that. You were not to
+blame. You have always been very good to me. Hugh, we shall know what
+makes the stars shine _now_!"
+
+Hugh spoke no more, but moved onward in his place with a careless air,
+listening as he went to the service for the dead. As soon as he had
+passed the door, his miserable associate was carried out; and the crowd
+beheld the rest. Barnaby would have mounted the steps at the same time,
+but he was restrained, as he was to undergo the sentence elsewhere.
+
+It was only just when the cart was starting that the courier reached the
+jail with the reprieve. All night Gabriel Varden and his friends had
+been at work; they had gone to the young Prince of Wales, and even to
+the ante-chamber of the king himself. Successful, at last, in awakening
+an interest in his favour, they had an interview with the minister in
+his bed as late as eight o'clock that morning. The result of a searching
+inquiry was that, between eleven and twelve o'clock, a free pardon to
+Barnaby Rudge was made out and signed, and Gabriel Varden had the
+grateful task of bringing him home in triumph with an enthusiastic mob.
+
+"I needn't say," observed the locksmith, when his house in Clerkenwell
+was reached at last, and he and Barnaby were safe within, "that, except
+among ourselves, _I_ didn't want to make a triumph of it. But directly
+we got into the street, we were known, and the hub-bub began. Of the
+two, and after experience of both, I think I'd rather be taken out of my
+house by a crowd of enemies than escorted home by a mob of friends!"
+
+At last the crowd dispersed. And Barnaby stretched himself on the ground
+beside his mother's couch, and fell into a deep sleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Bleak House
+
+      "Bleak House," a story with a purpose, like most of Dickens's
+     works, was published when the author was forty years old. The
+     object of the story was to ventilate the monstrous injustice
+     wrought by delays in the old Court of Chancery, which defeated
+     all the purposes of a court of justice. Many of the
+     characters, who, though famous, are not essential to the
+     development of the story, were drawn from real life.
+     Turveydrop was suggested by George IV., and Inspector Bucket
+     was a friend of the author in the Metropolitan Police Force.
+     Harold Skimpole was identified with Leigh Hunt. Dickens
+     himself admitted the resemblance; but only in so far as none
+     of Skimpole's vices could be attributed to his prototype. The
+     original of Bleak House was a country mansion in
+     Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, though it is usually said to
+     be a summer residence of the novelist at Broadstairs.
+
+
+_I.--In Chancery_
+
+
+London. Implacable November weather. The Lord Chancellor sitting in
+Lincoln's Inn Hall. Fog everywhere, and at the very heart of the fog
+sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery. The case of
+Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on. No man alive knows what it means. It
+has passed into a joke. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in
+the profession.
+
+Mr. Kenge (of Kenge and Carboy, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn) first
+mentioned Jarndyce and Jarndyce to me, and told me that the costs
+already amounted to from sixty to seventy thousand pounds.
+
+My godmother, who brought me up, was just dead, and Mr. Kenge came to
+tell me that Mr. Jarndyce proposed, knowing my desolate position, that I
+should go to a first-rate school, where my education should be completed
+and my comfort secured. What did I say to this? What could I say but
+accept the proposal thankfully?
+
+I passed at this school six happy, quiet years, and then one day came a
+note from Kenge and Carboy, mentioning that their client, Mr. Jarndyce,
+being in the house, desired my services as an eligible companion to this
+young lady.
+
+So I said good-bye to the school and went to London, and was driven to
+Mr. Kenge's office. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how
+altered I was, and appeared quite pleased.
+
+"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in
+the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it
+well that you should be in attendance also."
+
+Mr. Kenge gave me his arm, and we went out of his office and into the
+court, and then into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a
+young gentleman were standing talking.
+
+They looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady a beautiful
+girl, with rich golden hair, and a bright, innocent, trusting face.
+
+"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."
+
+She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but
+seemed to change her mind in a moment, and kissed me.
+
+The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
+Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth, and after she had called him
+up to where we sat, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted
+boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, but nearly two
+years older than she was. They were both orphans, and had never met
+before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in
+such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it.
+
+Presently we heard a bustle, and Mr. Kenge said that the court had
+risen, and soon after we all followed him into the next room. There was
+the Lord Chancellor sitting in an armchair at the table, and his manner
+was both courtly and kind.
+
+"Miss Clare," said his lordship. "Miss Ada Clare?" Mr. Kenge presented
+her.
+
+"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, turning over
+papers, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House--a dreary name."
+
+"But not a dreary place, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
+
+"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.
+
+"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
+
+"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor.
+
+Richard bowed and stepped forward.
+
+"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed, "if I may
+venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for----"
+
+"For Mr. Richard Carstone!" I thought I heard his lordship say in a low
+voice.
+
+"For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady, Miss Esther Summerson."
+
+"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think."
+
+"No, my lord."
+
+"Very well," said his lordship, after taking Miss Ada aside and asking
+her if she thought she would be happy at Bleak House. "I shall make the
+order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge, a
+very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement seems the
+best of which the circumstances admit."
+
+He dismissed us pleasantly and we all went out. As we stood for a
+minute, waiting for Mr. Kenge, a curious little old woman, Miss Flite,
+in a squeezed bonnet, and carrying a reticule, came curtsying and
+smiling up to us, with an air of great ceremony.
+
+"Oh!" said she, "The wards in Jarndyce. Very happy, I am sure, to have
+the honour. It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they
+find themselves in this place, and don't know what's to come of it."
+
+"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.
+
+"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned quickly. "I was a ward
+myself. I was not mad at that time. I had youth and hope; I believe
+beauty. It matters very little now. Neither of the three served, or
+saved me. I have the honour to attend court regularly. I expect a
+judgment. On the Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal
+mentioned in the Revelations is the great seal. Pray accept my
+blessing."
+
+Mr. Kenge coming up, the poor old lady went on. "I shall confer estates
+on both. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you.
+Accept my blessing."
+
+We left her at the bottom of the stairs. She was still saying, with a
+curtsy, and a smile between every little sentence, "Youth. And hope. And
+beauty. And Chancery."
+
+The morning after, walking out early, we met the old lady again, smiling
+and saying in her air of patronage, "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy,
+I am sure! Pray come and see my lodgings. It will be a good omen for me.
+Youth, and hope, and beauty, are very seldom there."
+
+She took my hand and beckoned Richard and Ada to come too, and in a few
+moments she was at home.
+
+She had stopped at a shop over which was written, "Krook, Rag and Bottle
+Warehouse." Inside was an old man in spectacles and a hair cap, and
+entering the shop the little old lady presented him to us.
+
+"My landlord, Krook," she said. "He is called among the neighbours the
+Lord Chancellor. His shop is called the Court of Chancery."
+
+She lived at the top of the house in a room from which she had a glimpse
+of the roof of Lincoln's Inn Hall, and this seemed to be her principal
+inducement for living there.
+
+
+_II.--Bleak House_
+
+
+We drove down to Bleak House, in Hertfordshire, next day, and all three
+of us were anxious and nervous when the night closed in, and the driver,
+pointing to a light sparkling on the top of a hill, cried, "That's Bleak
+House!"
+
+"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. Rick, if I had a hand
+to spare at present I would give it you!"
+
+The gentleman who said these words in a clear, hospitable voice, kissed
+us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy
+little room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.
+
+"Now, Rick!" said he, "I have a hand at liberty. A word in earnest is as
+good as a speech. I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm
+yourself!"
+
+While he spoke I glanced at his face. It was a handsome face, full of
+change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron grey. I took him to
+be nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust.
+
+So this was our coming to Bleak House.
+
+The very next morning I was installed as housekeeper and presented with
+two bunches of keys--a large bunch for the housekeeping and a little
+bunch for the cellars. I could not help trembling when I met Mr.
+Jarndyce, for I knew it was he who had done everything for me since my
+godmother's death.
+
+"Nonsense!" he said. "I hear of a good little orphan girl without a
+protector, and I take it into my head to be that protector. She grows
+up, and more than justifies my good opinion, and I remain her guardian
+and her friend. What is there in all this?"
+
+He soon began to talk to me confidentially as if I had been in the habit
+of conversing with him every morning for I don't know how long.
+
+"Of course, Esther," he said, "you don't understand this Chancery
+business?"
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"I don't know who does," he returned. "The lawyers have twisted it into
+such a state of bedevilment that the original merits of the case have
+long disappeared. Its about a will, and the trusts under a will--or it
+was once. It's about nothing but costs now. It was about a will when it
+was about anything. A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great
+fortune and made a great will. In the question how the trusts under that
+will are to be administered, the fortune left by the will is squandered
+away; the legatees under the will are reduced to such a miserable
+condition that they would be sufficiently punished if they had committed
+an enormous crime in having money left them, and the will itself is made
+a dead letter. All through the deplorable cause everybody must have
+copies, over and over again, of everything that has accumulated about it
+in the way of cartloads of papers, and must go down the middle and up
+again, through such an infernal country-dance of costs and fees and
+nonsense and corruption as was never dreamed of in the wildest visions
+of a witch's sabbath. And we can't get out of the suit on any terms, for
+we are made parties to it, and _must be_ parties to it, whether we like
+it or not. But it won't do to think of it! Thinking of it drove my
+great-uncle, poor Tom Jarndyce, to blow his brains out."
+
+"I hope sir--" said I.
+
+"I think you had better call me Guardian, my dear."
+
+"I hope, Guardian," said I, giving the housekeeping keys the least shake
+in the world, "that you may not be trusting too much to my discretion. I
+am not clever, and that's the truth."
+
+"You are clever enough to be the good little woman of our lives here, my
+dear," he returned playfully; "the little old woman of the rhyme, who
+sweeps the cobwebs of the sky, and you will sweep them out of _our_ sky
+in the course of your housekeeping, Esther."
+
+This was the beginning of my being called Old Woman, and Mother Hubbard,
+and Dame Durden, and so many names of that sort, that my own soon became
+quite lost.
+
+One of the things I noticed from the first about my guardian was that,
+though he was always doing a thousand acts of kindness, he could not
+bear any acknowledgments.
+
+We had somehow got to see more of Miss Flite on our visits to London:
+for the Lord Chancellor always had to be consulted before Richard could
+settle in any profession, and as Richard first wanted to be a doctor and
+then tired of that in favour of the army, there were several
+consultations. I remember one visit because it was the first time we met
+Mr. Woodcourt.
+
+My guardian and Ada and I heard of Miss Flite having been ill, and when
+we called we found a medical gentleman attending her in her garret in
+Lincoln's Inn.
+
+Miss Flite dropped a general curtsy.
+
+"Honoured, indeed," she said, "by another visit from the wards in
+Jarndyce! Very happy to receive Jarndyce of Bleak House beneath my
+humble roof!"
+
+"Has she been very ill?" asked Mr. Jarndyce in a whisper of the doctor.
+
+"Oh, decidedly unwell!" she answered confidentially. "Not pain, you
+know--trouble. Only Mr. Woodcourt knows how much. My physician, Mr.
+Woodcourt"--with great stateliness--"The wards in Jarndyce; Jarndyce of
+Bleak House. The kindest physician in the college," she whispered to me.
+"I expect a judgment. On the Day of Judgment. And shall then confer
+estates."
+
+"She will be as well, in a day or two," said Mr. Woodcourt, with an
+observant smile, "as she ever will be. Have you heard of her good
+fortune?"
+
+"Most extraordinary!" said Miss Flite. "Every Saturday Kenge and Carboy
+place a paper of shillings in my hand. Always the same number. One for
+every day in the week. _I_ think that the Lord Chancellor forwards them.
+Until the judgment I expect is given."
+
+My guardian was contemplating Miss Flite's birds, and I had no need to
+look beyond him.
+
+
+_III.--I Am Made Happy_
+
+
+I sometimes thought that Mr. Woodcourt loved me, and that, if he had
+been richer, he would perhaps have told me that he loved me before he
+went away. I had thought sometimes that if he had done so I should have
+been glad. As it was, he went to the East Indies, and later we read in
+the papers of a great shipwreck, that Allan Woodcourt had worked like a
+hero to save the drowning, and succour the survivors.
+
+I had been ill when my dear guardian asked me one day if I would care to
+read something he had written, and I said "Yes." There was estrangement
+at that time between Richard and Mr. Jarndyce, for the unhappy boy had
+taken it into his head that the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce would yet
+be settled, and would bring him fortune, and this kept him from devoting
+himself seriously to any profession. Of course, he and my darling Ada
+had fallen in love, and my guardian insisting on their waiting till
+Richard was earning some income before any engagement could be
+recognised, increased the estrangement. I knew, to my distress, that
+Richard suspected my guardian of having a conflicting claim in the
+horrible lawsuit and this made him think unjustly of Mr. Jarndyce.
+
+I read the letter. It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the
+unselfish caution it gave me, that my eyes were too often blinded to
+read much at a time. But I read it through three times before I laid it
+down. It asked me would I be the mistress of Bleak House. It was not a
+love-letter, though it expressed so much love, but was written just as
+he would at any time have spoken to me.
+
+I felt that to devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly
+for all he had done for me. Still I cried very much; not only in the
+fulness of my heart after reading the letter, but as if something for
+which there was no name or distinct idea were lost to me. I was very
+happy, very thankful, very hopeful, but I cried very much.
+
+On entering the breakfast-room next morning I found my guardian just as
+usual; quite as frank, as open, as free. I thought he might speak to me
+about the letter, but he never did.
+
+At the end of a week I went to him and said, rather hesitating and
+trembling, "Guardian, when would you like to have the answer to the
+letter?"
+
+"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.
+
+"I think it's ready," said I, "and I have brought it myself."
+
+I put my two arms around his neck and kissed him, and he said was this
+the mistress of Bleak House? And I said "Yes," and it made no difference
+presently, and I said nothing to my pet, Ada, about it.
+
+It was a few days after this, when Mr. Vholes, the attorney whom Richard
+employed to watch his interests, called at Bleak House, and told us that
+his client was very embarrassed financially, and so thought of throwing
+up his commission in the army.
+
+To avert this I went down to Deal and found Richard alone in the
+barracks. He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes,
+tin cases, books, boots, and brushes strewn all about the floor. So worn
+and haggard he looked, even in the fulness of his handsome youth!
+
+My mission was quite fruitless.
+
+"No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid. The first is John Jarndyce. The
+second, you know what. Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it
+now, and can't be sane. But it is no such thing; it is the one object I
+have to pursue."
+
+He went on to tell me that it was impossible to remain a soldier; that,
+apart from debts and duns, he took no interest in his employment and was
+not fit for it. He showed me papers to prove that his retirement was
+arranged. Knowing I had done no good by coming down, I prepared to
+return to London on the morrow.
+
+There was some excitement in the town by reason of the arrival of a big
+Indiaman, and, as it happened, amongst those who came on shore from the
+ship was Mr. Allan Woodcourt. I met him in the hotel where I was
+staying, and he seemed quite pleased to see me. He was glad to meet
+Richard again, too, and promised, on my asking him, to befriend Richard
+in London.
+
+
+_IV.--End of Jarndyce and Jarndyce_
+
+
+Richard always declared that it was Ada he meant to see righted, no less
+than himself, and his anxiety on that point so impressed Mr. Woodcourt
+that he told me about it. It revived a fear I had had before, that my
+dear girl's little property might be absorbed by Mr. Vholes, and that
+Richard's justification to himself would be this.
+
+So I went up to London to see Richard, who now lived in Symond's Inn,
+and my darling Ada went with me. He was poring over a table covered with
+dusty papers, but he received us very affectionately.
+
+I noticed, as he passed his two hands over his head, how sunken and how
+large his eyes appeared, and how dry his lips were. He spoke of the case
+half-hopefully, half-despondently, "Either the suit must be ended,
+Esther, or the suitor. But it shall be the suit--the suit." Then he took
+a few turns up and down, and sank upon the sofa. "I get so tired," he
+said gloomily. "It is such weary, weary work."
+
+"Esther, dear," Ada said, very quietly, "I am not going home again.
+Never any more. I am going to stay with my dear husband. We have been
+married above two months. Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall
+never go home any more."
+
+I often came to Richard and his wife, and I often met Mr. Woodcourt
+there. Richard still suspected my guardian, and refused to see him, and
+when I said this was so unreasonable, my guardian only said, "What shall
+we find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce? Unreason and injustice from
+beginning to end, if it ever has an end. How should poor Rick, always
+hovering near it, pluck reason out of it?"
+
+It was some months after this when Mr. Woodcourt asked me to be his
+wife, and I had to tell him I was not free. But I had to tell him that I
+could never forget how proud and glad I was at having been beloved by
+him.
+
+He took my hand and kissed it, and was like himself again.
+
+All this time my guardian had never referred to his letter or my answer,
+so I said to him next morning I would be the mistress of Bleak House
+whenever he pleased.
+
+"Next month?" my guardian said gaily.
+
+"Next month, dear guardian."
+
+At the end of the month my guardian went away to Yorkshire, and asked me
+to follow him. I was very much surprised, and when the journey was over
+my guardian explained that he had asked me to come down to see a house
+he had bought for Mr. Woodcourt, with whom he was always very pleased.
+
+It was a beautiful summer morning when we went out to look at the house,
+and there over the porch was written. "Bleak House." He led me to a
+seat, and sitting down beside me, said:
+
+"When I wrote you the letter to which you brought the answer"--my
+guardian smiled as he referred to it--"I had my own happiness too much
+in view; but I had yours, too. Hear me, my love, but do not speak. When
+Woodcourt came home, I saw that there was other happiness for you; I saw
+with whom you would be happier. Well, I have long been in Allan
+Woodcourt's confidence, although he was not, until yesterday, in mine.
+One more last word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear, he spoke
+with my knowledge and consent. But I gave him no encouragement; not I,
+for these surprises were my great reward, and I was too miserly to part
+with a scrap of it. He was to come and tell me all that passed, and he
+did. I have no more to say. This is Bleak House. This day I give this
+house its little mistress, and before God it is the brightest day in all
+my life."
+
+He rose, and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My husband--I
+have called him by that name full seven happy years now--stood at my
+side.
+
+"Allan," said my guardian, "take from me the best wife that ever man
+had. What more can I say for you than that I know you deserve her?"
+
+He kissed me once again. And now the tears were in his eyes as he said,
+more softly, "Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind
+of parting in this too. I know that my mistake has caused you some
+distress. Forgive your old guardian in restoring him to his old place in
+your affections. Allan, take my dear."
+
+We all three went home together next day. We had an intimation from Mr.
+Kenge that the case would come on at Westminster in two days, and that a
+certain will had been found which might end the suit in Richard's
+favour.
+
+Allan took me down to Westminster, and when we came to Westminster Hall
+we found that the Court of Chancery was full, and that something unusual
+had occurred. We asked a gentleman by us if he knew what case was on. He
+told us Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and that, as well as he could make out,
+it was over. Over for the day? "No," he said; "over for good."
+
+In a few minutes a crowd came streaming out, and we saw Mr. Kenge. He
+told us that Jarndyce and Jarndyce was a monument of Chancery practice,
+and--in a good many words--that the case was over because the whole
+estate was found to have been absorbed in costs.
+
+We hurried away, first to my guardian, and then to Ada and Richard.
+
+Richard was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed when I went in. When
+he opened them, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn he was. But he
+spoke cheerfully, and said how glad he was to think of our intended
+marriage.
+
+In the evening my guardian came in and laid his hand softly on
+Richard's.
+
+"Oh, sir," said Richard, "you are a good man, a good man!" and burst
+into tears.
+
+My guardian sat down beside him, keeping his hand on Richard's.
+
+"My dear Rick," he said, "the clouds have cleared away, and it is bright
+now. We can see now. And how are you, my dear boy?"
+
+"I am very weak, sir, but I hope I shall be stronger. I have to begin
+the world."
+
+He sought to raise himself a little.
+
+"Ada, my darling!" Allan raised him, so that she could hold him on her
+bosom. "I have done you many wrongs, my own. I have married you to
+poverty and trouble, I have scattered your means to the winds. You will
+forgive me all this, my Ada, before I begin the world?"
+
+A smile lit up his face as she bent to kiss him. He slowly laid his face
+upon her bosom, drew his arms closer round her neck, and with one
+parting sob began the world. Not this--oh, not this! The world that sets
+this right.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+David Copperfield
+
+
+      "David Copperfield"--published in 1849-50--will always be
+     acclaimed by many as the best of all Dickens's books. It was
+     its author's favourite, and its universal and lasting
+     popularity is entirely deserved. "David Copperfield" is
+     especially remarkable for the autobiographical element, not
+     only in the wretched days of childhood at the wine merchant's,
+     but in the shorthand-reporting in the House of Commons.
+     Dickens never forgot his early degradation, as it seemed to
+     him, in the blacking warehouse at Hungerford Stairs, or quite
+     forgave those who sent him to an occupation he so loathed.
+     Much of "David Copperfield" is familiar in our mouths as
+     household words, and Swinburne has maintained that Micawber
+     ranks with Dick Swiveller as one of the greatest characters in
+     all Dickens's novels. "Copperfield" comes midway in the great
+     list of works by Charles Dickens.
+
+
+_I.--My Early Childhood_
+
+
+I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve
+o'clock at night, at Blunderstone, in Suffolk. I was a posthumous child.
+My father's eyes had been closed upon the light of this world six months
+when mine opened upon it. Miss Betsey Trotwood, an aunt of my father's,
+and consequently a great-aunt of mine, arrived on the afternoon of the
+day I was born, and explained to my mother (who was very much afraid of
+her) that she meant to provide for her child, which was to be a girl.
+
+My aunt said never a word when she learnt that it was a boy, and not a
+girl, but took her bonnet by the strings in the manner of a sling, aimed
+a blow at the doctor's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, and
+never came back. She vanished like a discontented fairy.
+
+The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I look
+far back into the blank of my infancy, are my mother, with her pretty
+air and youthful shape, and Peggotty, my old nurse, with no shape at
+all, and with cheeks and arms so red and hard that I wondered the birds
+didn't peck her in preference to apples.
+
+I remember a few years later, a gentleman with beautiful black hair and
+whiskers walking home from church on Sunday with us; and, somehow, I
+didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand
+should touch my mother's in touching me--which it did.
+
+It must have been about this time that, waking up from an uncomfortable
+doze one night, I found Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both
+talking.
+
+"Not such a one as this Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked," said
+Peggotty. "That I say, and that I swear!"
+
+"Good heavens!" cried my mother. "You'll drive me mad! How can you have
+the heart to say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that
+out of this place I haven't a single friend to turn to?" But the
+following Sunday I saw the gentleman with the black whiskers again, and
+he walked home from church with us, and gradually I became used to
+seeing him and knowing him as Mr. Murdstone. I liked him no better than
+at first, and had the same uneasy jealousy of him.
+
+It was on my return from a visit to Yarmouth, where I went with Peggotty
+to spend a fortnight at her brother's, that I found my mother married to
+Mr. Murdstone. They were sitting by the fire in the best parlour when I
+came in.
+
+I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my
+mother. I could not look at her, I could not look at him; I knew quite
+well he was looking at us both. As soon as I could creep away, I crept
+upstairs, and cried myself to sleep.
+
+A word of encouragement, of pity for my childish ignorance, of welcome
+home, of reassurance to me that it _was_ home, might have made me
+dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my hypocritical
+outside, and might have made me respect instead of hating him.
+
+Miss Murdstone arrived next day; she was dark, like her brother, and
+greatly resembled him in face and voice. Firmness was the grand quality
+on which both of them took their stand.
+
+I soon fell into disgrace over my lessons. I never could do them with my
+mother satisfactorily with the Murdstones sitting by; their influence
+upon me was like the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird.
+
+One dreadful morning, when the lessons had turned out even more badly
+than usual, Mr. Murdstone seized hold of me and twisted my head under
+his arm preparatory to beating me with a cane. At the first stroke I
+caught the hand with which he held me, in my mouth, between my teeth,
+and bit it through. He beat me then as if he would have beaten me to
+death. And when he had gone, I was kept a close prisoner in my room, and
+was not allowed to see my mother, and was only permitted to walk in the
+garden for half an hour every day. Miss Murdstone acted as gaoler, and
+after five days of this confinement, she told me I was to be sent away
+to school--to Salem House School, Blackheath.
+
+I saw my mother before I left. They had persuaded her I was a wicked
+fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going.
+
+
+_II.--I Begin Life on My own Account_
+
+
+I was doing my second term at school when I was told that my mother was
+dead, and that I was to go home to the funeral.
+
+I never returned to Salem House. Mr. Murdstone and his sister left me to
+myself, and I could see that Mr. Murdstone liked me less than ever. At
+odd times I speculated on the possibility of not being taught any more
+or cared for any more, and growing up to be a shabby, moody man,
+lounging an idle life away about the village.
+
+Peggotty was under notice to quit, and thought of going to live with her
+brother at Yarmouth; but as it turned out, she didn't do this, but
+married the old carrier Barkis instead.
+
+"Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive, and have this house
+over my head," said Peggotty to me on the day she was married, "you
+shall find it as if I expected you here directly. I shall keep it every
+day, as I used to keep your old little room, my darling."
+
+The solitary condition I now fell into for some weeks was ended one day
+by Mr. Murdstone telling me that I was to be put into the business of
+Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+"You will earn enough to provide for your eating and drinking, and
+pocket money," said Mr. Murdstone. "Your lodging, which I have arranged
+for, will be paid by me. So will your washing, and your clothes will be
+looked after for you, too. You are now going to London, David, to begin
+the world on your own account."
+
+"In short, you are provided for," observed his sister, "and will please
+to do your duty."
+
+So I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hind in the service of
+Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the waterside, down in
+Blackfriars, and an important branch of their trade was the supply of
+wines and spirits to certain packet ships. A great many empty bottles
+were one of the consequences of this traffic, and a certain number of
+men and boys, of whom I was one, were employed to rinse and wash them.
+When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full
+ones, or corks to be fitted to them, or finished bottles to be packed in
+casks.
+
+There were three or four boys, counting me. Mick Walker was the name of
+the oldest; he wore a ragged apron, and a paper cap. The next boy was
+introduced to me under the extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes, which
+had been bestowed upon him on account of his complexion, which was pale,
+or mealy.
+
+No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
+companionship, and compared these associates with those of my happier
+childhood, with the boys at Salem House. Often in the early morning,
+when I was alone, I mingled my tears with the water in which I was
+washing the bottles, and sobbed as if there were a flaw in my breast,
+and it were in danger of bursting.
+
+My salary was six or seven shillings a week--I think it was six at
+first, and seven afterwards--and I had to support myself on that money
+all the week. My breakfast was a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk,
+and I kept another small loaf and a modicum of cheese to make my supper
+on at night.
+
+I was so young and childish, and so little qualified to undertake the
+whole charge of my existence, that often of a morning I could not resist
+the stale pastry put out for sale at half price at the pastry-cooks'
+doors, and spent on that the money I should have kept for my dinner. On
+those days I either went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice
+of pudding.
+
+I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into the
+bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter to moisten
+what I had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me.
+
+I know I do not exaggerate the scantiness of my resources or the
+difficulties of my life. I know that if a shilling were given me at any
+time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know that I worked from morning
+until night, a shabby child, and that I lounged about the streets,
+insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for the mercy
+of God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, a
+little robber or a little vagabond.
+
+Arrangements had been made by Mr. Murdstone for my lodging with Mr.
+Micawber--who took orders on commission for Murdstone and Grinby--and
+Mr. Micawber himself escorted me to his house in Windsor Terrace, City
+Road.
+
+Mr. Micawber was a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout,
+with no more hair upon his head than there is upon an egg, and with a
+very extensive face. His clothes were shabby, but he wore an imposing
+shirt-collar. He carried a jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of
+rusty tassels to it; and an eyeglass hung outside his coat--for
+ornament, I afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and
+couldn't see anything when he did.
+
+Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace--which, I noticed, was shabby,
+like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could--he
+presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all young.
+
+"I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber, as she showed me my room at the
+top of the house at the back, "before I was married that I should ever
+find it necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in
+difficulties, all considerations of private feeling must give way."
+
+I said, "Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,"
+said Mrs. Micawber, "and whether it is possible to bring him through
+them I don't know. If Mr. Micawber's creditors _will not_ give him time,
+they must take the consequences."
+
+In my forlorn state, I soon became quite attached to this family, and
+when Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he was arrested
+and carried to the King's Bench Prison in the Borough, and Mrs. Micawber
+shortly afterwards followed him, I hired a little room in the
+neighbourhood of that institution.
+
+Mr. Micawber was in due time released under the Insolvent Debtors' Act,
+and it was decided that he should go down to Plymouth, where Mrs.
+Micawber held that her family had influence.
+
+My own mind was now made up. I had resolved to run away--to go by some
+means or other down into the country, to the only relation I had in the
+world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. I knew from Peggotty
+that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at
+Hythe, Sandgate, or Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men,
+however, informing me on my asking him about these places that they were
+all close together, I deemed this enough for my object; and after seeing
+the Micawbers off at the coach office, I set off.
+
+
+_III.--My Aunt Provides for Me_
+
+
+It was on the sixth day of my flight that I reached the wide downs near
+Dover and set foot in the town.
+
+I had walked every step of the way, sleeping under haystacks at night.
+Fortunately, it was summer weather, for I was obliged to part with coat
+and waistcoat to buy food. My shoes were in a woeful condition, and my
+hat--which had served me for a nightcap, too--was so crushed and bent
+that no old battered saucepan on the dunghill need have been ashamed to
+vie with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and
+the Kentish soil on which I had slept, might have frightened the birds
+from my aunt's garden as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb
+or brush since I left London. In this plight I waited to introduce
+myself to my formidable aunt.
+
+As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over
+her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great
+knife. I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother
+had often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.
+
+"Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Go along! No boys here!"
+
+I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in
+desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.
+
+"If you please, ma'am--if you please, aunt, I am your nephew."
+
+"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.
+
+"I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came
+when I was born. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. I have
+been taught nothing and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away
+to you, and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since
+I began the journey."
+
+Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of
+crying.
+
+Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me
+into the parlour.
+
+The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles
+down my throat. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I
+am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. Then
+she put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking,
+grey-headed gentleman, whom she called "Mr. Dick," heated a bath for me.
+After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick,
+tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.
+
+That was the beginning of my aunt's adoption of me. She wrote to Mr.
+Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were
+routed by my aunt.
+
+Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally,
+and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut
+against me henceforth.
+
+"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go, David?"
+
+I answered "No," and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed
+my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father's sake.
+
+"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"
+
+Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, "Have him
+measured for a suit of clothes directly!"
+
+"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "give me your hand, for your commonsense is
+invaluable." She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, "You
+can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy!"
+
+When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint
+guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood
+Copperfield.
+
+Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
+me.
+
+My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the
+school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer,
+Mr. Wickfield.
+
+My aunt was as happy as I was in this arrangement. For Mr. Wickfield's
+house was quiet and still; and Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper was
+his only daughter, Agnes, a child of about my own age, whose face, so
+bright and happy, was the child likeness of a woman's portrait that was
+on the staircase. There was a tranquility about the house, and about
+Agnes, a good, calm spirit, that I have never forgotten and never shall.
+
+The school I now went to was better in every way than Salem House. It
+seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among any companions of
+my own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt very
+strange at first. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me that
+when I was examined about what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put in
+the lowest form of the school.
+
+But I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school the
+next day, and a good deal the better the day after, and so shook it off,
+by degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy
+among my new companions.
+
+"Trot," said my aunt, when she left me at Mr. Wickfield's, "be a credit
+to yourself, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you! Never be mean
+in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these vices, Trot,
+and I can always be hopeful of you. And now the pony's at the door, and
+I am off!"
+
+She embraced me hastily, and went out of the house, shutting the door
+after her. When I looked into the street I noticed how dejectedly she
+got into the chaise, and that she drove away without looking up.
+
+
+_IV.--Uriah Heep and Mr. Micawber_
+
+
+I first saw Uriah Heep on the day my aunt introduced me to Mr.
+Wickfield's house. He was then a red-haired youth of fifteen, but
+looking much older, whose hair was cropped as close as the closest
+stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows and no eyelashes, and eyes of a
+red-brown. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black,
+with a white wisp of a neck-cloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a
+long, lank, skeleton hand.
+
+Heep was Mr. Wickfield's clerk, and I often saw him of an evening in the
+little round office reading, and from time to time strayed in to talk to
+him.
+
+He told me, one night, he was not doing office work, but was improving
+his legal knowledge.
+
+"I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him
+for some time.
+
+"Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very 'umble person.
+I am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going, let the other be
+where he may. My mother is likewise a very 'umble person. We live in a
+'umble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My
+father's former calling was 'umble; he was a sexton."
+
+"What is he now?" I asked.
+
+"He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah
+Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be
+thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield!"
+
+I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long.
+
+"I have been with him going on four years, Master Copperfield," said
+Uriah, "since a year after my father's death. How much I have to be
+thankful for in that! How much have I to be thankful for in Mr.
+Wickfield's kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise
+not lay within the 'umble means of mother and self!"
+
+"Perhaps, when you're a regular lawyer, you'll be a partner in Mr.
+Wickfield's business, one of these days," I said to make myself
+agreeable; "and it will be Wickfield and Heep or Heep late Wickfield."
+
+"Oh, no, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking his head, "I am
+much too 'umble for that!"
+
+It must have been five or six years later, when I was in London, that
+Uriah recalled my prophecy to me.
+
+Agnes had noticed as I had noticed, long before this, a gradual
+alteration in Mr. Wickfield. He sat longer and longer over his wine, and
+it was at such times, when his hands trembled, and his speech was not
+plain, that Uriah was most certain to want him on some business.
+
+So it came about that Agnes had to tell me that Uriah had made himself
+indispensable to her father.
+
+"He is subtle and watchful," she said. "He has mastered papa's
+weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until papa is
+afraid of him."
+
+If I was indignant to hear that Uriah had wormed himself into such
+promotion, I restrained my feelings when we met, for Agnes had bidden me
+not to repel him, for her father's sake, and for her own.
+
+"What a prophet you have shown yourself, Master Copperfield!" said
+Uriah, reminding me of my early words. "You may not recollect it; but
+when a person is 'umble, a person treasures such things up. But the
+'umblest persons, Master Copperfield, may be instruments of good. I am
+glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and
+that I may be more so. Oh, what a worthy man he is; but how imprudent he
+has been!"
+
+When the rascal went on to tell me confidentially that he "loved the
+ground his Agnes walked on," and that he thought she might come to be
+kind to him, knowing his usefulness to her father, I had a delirious
+idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire and running him
+through with it. However, I thought of Agnes, and could say nothing. In
+the end all the evil machinations of Uriah Heep were frustrated by my
+old friend Mr. Micawber, who, visiting Canterbury on the chance of
+something suitable turning up, and meeting me in Heep's company, was
+subsequently engaged by Heep as a clerk at twenty-two and sixpence per
+week.
+
+It was only after Micawber had found that Uriah Heep had forged Mr.
+Wickfield's name to various documents, and had fraudulently speculated
+with moneys entrusted by my aunt, amongst others, to his partner, that
+he turned upon him and denounced him, and accomplished what he called
+"the final pulverisation of Keep."
+
+Mr. Micawber being once more "in pecuniary shackles," my aunt, so
+grateful, as we all were, for the services he had rendered, suggested
+emigration to Australia to him; he at once responded to the idea.
+
+"The climate, I believe, is healthy," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then the
+question arises: Now, _are_ the circumstances of the country such that a
+man of Mr. Micawber's abilities would have a fair chance of rising?--I
+will not say, at present, to be governor or anything of that sort; but
+would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to develop
+themselves? If so, it is evident to me that Australia is the legitimate
+sphere of action for Mr. Micawber."
+
+"I entertain the conviction," said Mr. Micawber, "that it is, under
+existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself and family;
+and that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up on that
+shore."
+
+But the defeat of Heep and Micawber's departure belong to the days of my
+manhood. Let me look back at intervening years.
+
+
+_V.--I Achieve Manhood_
+
+
+My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
+unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth!
+
+Time has stolen on unobserved, and _I_ am the head boy now in the
+school, and look down on the line of boys below me with a condescending
+interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself when I
+first came here. That little fellow seems to be no part of me; I
+remember him as something left behind upon the road of life, and almost
+think of him as of someone else.
+
+And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is
+she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture, a
+child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet
+sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend--the
+better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good,
+self-denying influence--is quite a woman.
+
+It is time for me to have a profession, and my aunt proposes that I
+should be a proctor in Doctors' Commons. I learn that the proctors are a
+sort of solicitors, and that the Doctors' Commons is a faded court held
+near St. Paul's Churchyard, where people's marriages and wills are
+disposed of and disputes about ships and boats are settled.
+
+So I am articled, and later, when my aunt has lost her money, through no
+fault of her own, but through the rascality of Uriah Heep, and I seek
+Mr. Spenlow to know if it is possible for my articles to be cancelled,
+it is, I am assured, Mr. Jorkins who is inexorable.
+
+"If it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered, if I had not a
+partner--Mr. Jorkins," says Mr. Spenlow. "But I know my partner,
+Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is _not_ a man to respond to a proposition of
+this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the
+beaten track."
+
+The years pass.
+
+I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the dignity of
+twenty-one. Let me think what I have achieved.
+
+Determined to do something to bring in money, I have mastered the savage
+mystery of shorthand, and make a respectable income by reporting the
+debates in Parliament for a morning newspaper. Night after night I
+record predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never
+fulfilled, explanations that are only meant to mystify.
+
+I have come out in another way. I have taken, with fear and trembling,
+to authorship. I wrote a little something in secret, and sent it to a
+magazine, and it was published. Since then I have taken heart to write a
+good many trifling pieces.
+
+My record is nearly finished.
+
+Peggotty, a widow, is with my aunt, and Mr. Dick is in the room.
+
+"Goodness me!" said my aunt, "who's this you're bringing home?"
+
+"Agnes," said I.
+
+We were to be married within a fortnight. It was not till I had told
+Agnes of my love that I learnt from her, as she laid her gentle hands
+upon my shoulders and looked calmly in my face, that she had loved me
+all my life.
+
+Let me look back once more, for the last time, before I close these
+leaves.
+
+I have advanced in fame and fortune. I have been married ten years, and
+I see my children playing in the room.
+
+Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of fourscore years
+and more, but upright yet, and godmother to a real, living Betsey
+Trotwood. Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse,
+likewise in spectacles. A newspaper from Australia tells me that Mr.
+Micawber is now a magistrate and a rising townsman at Port Middlebay.
+
+One face is above all these and beyond them all. I turn my head and see
+it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me. So may thy face be by me,
+Agnes, when I close my life; and when realities are melting from me, may
+I still find thee near me, pointing upward!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Dombey and Son
+
+
+      The publication of "Dombey and Son" began in October, 1846,
+     and the story was completed in twenty monthly parts at one
+     shilling each, the last number being issued in April, 1848.
+     Its success was striking and immediate, the sale of its first
+     number exceeding that of "Martin Chuzzlewit" by more than
+     12,000 copies--a remarkable thing considering the immense
+     superiority of "Chuzzlewit." "Dombey and Son," indeed, is by
+     no means one of Dickens's best books; though little Paul will
+     always retain the sympathies of the reader, and the story of
+     his short life for ever move us with its pathos. The
+     popularity of "Dombey and Son" provoked an impudent
+     publication called "Dombey and Daughter," which was started in
+     January, 1847, and was issued monthly at a penny. Two stage
+     versions of "Dombey" appeared--in London in 1873, and in New
+     York in 1888, but in neither case was the adaptation
+     particularly successful. "What are the wild waves saying?" was
+     made the subject of a song--a duet--which at one time was
+     widely sung, but is now, happily forgotten.
+
+
+_I.--Dombey and Son_
+
+
+Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair by
+the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket-bedstead.
+
+Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age; Son about eight-and-forty
+minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome,
+well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be prepossessing.
+Son was very bald, and very red, and somewhat crushed and spotted in his
+general effect, as yet.
+
+"The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey," said Mr. Dombey, "be not only
+in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son; Dombey and Son! He will be
+christened Paul, Mrs. Dombey, of course!"
+
+The sick lady feebly echoed, "Of course," and closed her eyes again.
+
+"His father's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's! I wish his
+grandfather were alive this day." And again he said "Dombey and Son" in
+exactly the same tone as before, and then went downstairs to learn what
+that fashionable physician, Dr. Parker Peps, had to say, for Mrs. Dombey
+lay very weak and still.
+
+"Dombey and Son"--those three words conveyed the idea of Mr. Dombey's
+life. The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and
+moon were made to give them light.
+
+He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and
+death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the sole
+representative of the firm. Of those years he had been married
+ten--married, as some said, to a lady with no heart to give him. But
+such idle talk never reached the ears of Mr. Dombey. Dombey and Son
+often dealt in hides, never in hearts. Mr. Dombey would have reasoned
+that a matrimonial alliance with himself _must_, in the nature of
+things, be gratifying and honourable to any woman of commonsense.
+
+One drawback only could be admitted. Until the present day there had
+been no issue--to speak of. There had been a girl some six years before,
+a child who now crouched by her mother's bed, unobserved. But what was
+that girl to Dombey and Son?
+
+"Nature must be called upon to make a vigorous effort in this instance!"
+said Doctor Parker Peps, referring to Mrs. Dombey.
+
+Mrs. Chick, Mr. Dombey's married sister, emphasised this opinion.
+
+"Now my dear Paul," said Mrs. Chick, "you may rest assured that there is
+nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part."
+
+They returned to the sick-room and its stillness. In vain Mrs. Chick
+exhorted her sister-in-law to make an effort; no sound came in answer
+but the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Pep's watch,
+which seemed in the silence to be running a race.
+
+"Fanny!" said Mrs. Chick, "Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show
+me that you hear and understand me."
+
+Still no answer. Mrs. Dombey lay motionless, clasping her little
+daughter to her breast.
+
+"Mamma!" cried the child, sobbing aloud. "Oh, dear mamma!"
+
+Thus clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother
+drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round all the
+world.
+
+Mr. Dombey, in the days to come, could not forget that closing scene--
+that he had had no part in it; that he had stood a mere spectator while
+those two figures lay clasped in each other's arms. His previous
+feelings of indifference towards his little daughter Florence changed
+into an uneasiness of an extraordinary kind. He had never conceived an
+aversion to her; it had not been worth his while or in his humour. But
+now he was ill at ease about her. He read nothing in her glance, when he
+saw her later in the solemn house, of the passionate desire to run
+clinging to him, and the dread of a repulse; the pitiable need in which
+she stood of some assurance and encouragement. He saw nothing of this.
+
+
+_II.--Mrs. Pipchin's_
+
+
+In spite of his early promise, all the vigilance and care bestowed upon
+him could not make little Paul a thriving boy. There was something wan
+and wistful in his look, and he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful
+way of sitting brooding in his miniature armchair.
+
+The medical practitioner recommended sea-air, and Mrs. Pipchin, who
+conducted an infantile boarding house of a very select description at
+Brighton, and whose scale of charges was high, was entrusted with the
+care of Paul's health when he was little more than five years old.
+
+Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady,
+with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye.
+It was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was a woman of system with
+children, and no doubt she was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame
+enough, after sojourning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof.
+
+At this exemplary old lady Paul would sit staring in his little armchair
+by the fire for any length of time. He was not fond of her, he was not
+afraid of her.
+
+Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking about.
+
+"You," said Paul, without the least reserve. "I'm thinking how old you
+must be."
+
+"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the
+dame.
+
+"Why not?" asked Paul.
+
+"Because it's not polite!" said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.
+
+"Not polite?" said Paul.
+
+"No! And remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by
+a mad bull for asking questions!"
+
+"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did _he_ know that the boy had
+asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I
+don't believe that story."
+
+"You don't believe it, sir?"
+
+"No," said Paul.
+
+"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?"
+said Mrs. Pipchin.
+
+As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself
+to be put down for the present.
+
+Mr. Dombey came down to Brighton every Sunday, and Florence was her
+brother's constant companion.
+
+At first, Paul got no stronger, and a little carriage was procured for
+him, in which he could lie at his ease and be wheeled down to the
+sea-side; there he would sit or lie for hours together; never so
+distressed as by the company of children--Florence alone excepted,
+always.
+
+"Go away, if you please," he would say to any child who came up to him.
+"Thank you, but I don't want you. I think you had better go and play, if
+you please."
+
+His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers;
+and, with Florence sitting by his side, and the wind blowing on his
+face, and the water near the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.
+
+"I want to know what it says," he said once, looking steadily in her
+face. "The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying?"
+
+She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something.
+Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking
+eagerly at the horizon.
+
+She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he
+didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away!
+
+Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off,
+to try to understand what it was that the waves were always saying, and
+would rise up on his couch to look at that invisible region far away.
+
+At the end of twelve months at Mrs. Pipchin's, Paul had grown strong
+enough to dispense with his little carriage, though he still looked thin
+and delicate.
+
+Mr. Dombey therefore decided to remove him, not from Brighton, but to
+Doctor Blimber's educational establishment. "I fear," said Mr. Dombey,
+addressing Mrs. Pipchin, "that my son in his studies is behind many
+children of his age. Now instead of being behind his peers, my son ought
+to be before them--far before them. There is an eminence ready for him
+to mount upon. The education of my son must not be delayed. It must not
+be left imperfect."
+
+Doctor Blimber only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, and his
+establishment was a great hot-house, in which there was a forcing
+apparatus incessantly at work.
+
+Florence would remain at Mrs. Pipchin's, and for the first six months
+Paul would return there for the Sunday.
+
+"Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey exultingly, when they stood on the doctor's
+doorsteps, "This is the way, indeed, to be Dombey and Son, and have
+money. You are almost a man already."
+
+"Almost," returned the child.
+
+
+_III.--Doctor Blimber's Academy_
+
+
+The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings at
+his knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly
+polished, a deep voice, and a chin so very double that it was a wonder
+how he ever managed to shave into the creases.
+
+Mrs. Blimber was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that
+did quite as well.
+
+As to Miss Blimber, there was no light nonsense about her. She was dry
+and sandy with working in the graves of dead languages.
+
+Mr. Feeder, B.A., Dr. Blimber's assistant, was a kind of human barrel-
+organ, with a list of tunes at which he was continually working, over
+and over again, without any variation.
+
+Under the forcing system at Dr. Blimber's a young gentleman usually took
+leave of his spirits in three weeks; he had all the cares of the world
+on his head in three months, and he conceived bitter sentiments against
+his parents or guardians in four.
+
+The doctor was sitting in his study when Mr. Dombey and Paul arrived.
+"And how do you do, sir?" he said to Mr. Dombey. "And how is my little
+friend?" It seemed to Paul as if the great clock in the hall took this
+up, and went on saying, "how, is, my, lit-tle friend? how, is, my,
+lit-tle friend?" over and over again.
+
+Paul was handed over to Miss Blimber at once to be "brought on."
+
+"Cornelia," said the doctor. "Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring
+him on, Cornelia, bring him on."
+
+It was hard work, for no sooner had Paul mastered subject A than he was
+immediately provided with subject B, from which we passed to C, and even
+D. Often he felt giddy and confused, and drowsy and dull.
+
+But there were always the Saturdays when Florence came at noon to fetch
+him, and never would she, in any weather, stay away. Florence brought
+the school-books he was studying, and every Saturday night would
+patiently assist him through so much as they could anticipate together
+of his next week's work. And this saved him, possibly, from sinking
+underneath the burden which the fair Cornelia Blimber piled upon his
+back.
+
+It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Dr.
+Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general. But
+when Dr. Blimber said that Paul made great progress, and was naturally
+clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and
+crammed.
+
+Such spirits as he had at the outset Paul soon lost, of course. But he
+retained all that was strange, and odd, and thoughtful in his character;
+and Mrs. Blimber thought him "odd," and whispered that he was "old
+fashioned," and that was all.
+
+Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of
+Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed. Toots had
+"gone through" so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to
+pursue his own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters
+to himself from persons of distinction, addressed "P. Toots, Esquire,
+Brighton," to preserve them in his desk with great care.
+
+"How are you?" Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.
+
+"Quite well, sir, thank you," Paul would answer.
+
+"Shake hands," would be Toot's next advance. Which Paul, of course,
+would immediately do.
+
+"I say!" cried Toots one evening, finding Paul looking out of the
+window. "I say, what do you think about?"
+
+"Oh, I think about a great many things," replied Paul.
+
+"Do you, though?" said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself
+surprising.
+
+"If you had to die," said Paul, "don't you think you would rather die on
+a moonlight night, when the sky is quite clear, and the wind blowing, as
+it did last night?"
+
+Mr. Toots, looking doubtfully at Paul, said he didn't know about that.
+
+"It was a beautiful night," said Paul. "There was a boat over there, in
+the full light of the moon, a boat with a sail."
+
+Mr. Toots, feeling called upon to say something, suggested "Smugglers,"
+and then added, "or Preventive."
+
+"A boat with a sail," repeated Paul. "It went away into the distance,
+and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?"
+
+"Pitch!" said Mr. Toots.
+
+"It seemed to beckon," said the child; "to beckon me to come."
+
+Certainly people found him an "old-fashioned" child. At the end of the
+term Dr. and Mrs. Blimber gave an early party to their pupils and their
+parents and guardians, and it was a day or two before this event when
+Paul was taken ill. This illness released him from his books, and made
+him think the more of Florence.
+
+They all loved "Dombey's sister" at that party, and Paul, sitting in a
+cushioned corner, heard her praises constantly. There was a
+half-intelligible sentiment, too, diffused around, referring to Florence
+and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched
+him. He did not know why, but it seemed to have something to do with his
+"old-fashioned" reputation.
+
+The time arrived for taking leave.
+
+"Good-bye, Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand.
+
+"Good-bye, my little friend," returned the doctor. "Dombey, Dombey, you
+have always been my favourite pupil."
+
+"God bless you!" said Cornelia, taking both Paul's hands in hers. And it
+showed, Paul thought, how easily one might do injustice to a person; for
+Miss Blimber meant it--though she _was_ a Forcer--and felt it.
+
+There was a general move after Paul and Florence down the staircase, in
+which the whole Blimber family were included. Such a circumstance, Mr.
+Feeder said aloud, as has never happened in the case of any former young
+gentleman within his experience. The servants, with the butler--a stern
+man--at their head, had all an interest in seeing little Dombey go;
+while the young gentlemen pressed to shake hands with him, crying
+individually "Dombey, don't forget me!"
+
+Once for a last look, Paul turned and gazed upon the faces addressed to
+him, and from that time whenever he thought of Dr. Blimber's it came
+back as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be a
+real place, but always a dream, full of faces.
+
+
+_IV.--Paul Goes Out with the Stream_
+
+
+From the night they brought him home from Dr. Blimber's Paul had never
+risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the
+street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but
+watching it, and watching everywhere about him with observing eyes.
+
+When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and
+quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening
+was coming on.
+
+By little and little he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of
+the carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would
+fall asleep or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense of a rushing
+river. "Why will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It
+is bearing me away, I think!"
+
+But Floy could always soothe him.
+
+He was visited by as many as three grave doctors, and the room was so
+quiet, and Paul was so observant of them, that he even knew the
+difference in the sound of their watches. But his interest centred in
+Sir Parker Peps; for Paul had heard them say long ago that that
+gentleman had been with his mamma when she clasped Florence in her arms
+and died. And he could not forget it now. He liked him for it. He was
+not afraid.
+
+The people in the room were always changing, and in the night-time Paul
+began to wonder languidly who the figure was, with its head upon its
+hand, that returned so often and remained so long.
+
+"Floy," he said, "what is that--there at the bottom of the bed?"
+
+"There's nothing there except papa."
+
+The figure lifted up its head and rose, and said, "My own boy! Don't you
+know me?"
+
+Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was that his father? The next
+time he observed the figure at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.
+
+"Don't be sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy."
+
+That was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a
+great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.
+
+How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights
+the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea, Paul never counted, never
+sought to know.
+
+One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
+drawing-room downstairs.
+
+"Floy, did I ever see mamma?"
+
+"No, darling."
+
+The river was running very fast now, and confusing his mind. Paul fell
+asleep, and when he awoke the sun was high.
+
+"Floy, come close to me, and let me see you."
+
+Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
+light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together.
+
+"How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy!
+But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so."
+
+Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
+lulling him to rest, now the boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly
+on. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?
+
+He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He
+did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so behind
+her neck.
+
+"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! The light about her
+head is shining on me as I go."
+
+The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred
+in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our
+first parents, and will last unchanged until our race has run its
+course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old
+fashion--Death!
+
+
+_V.--The End of Dombey and Son_
+
+
+The stonemason to whom Mr. Dombey gave his order for a tablet in the
+church, in memory of little Paul, called his attention to the
+inscription "Beloved and only child," and said, "It should be 'son,' I
+think, sir?"
+
+"You are right, of course. Make the correction."
+
+And there came a time when it was to Florence, and Florence only, that
+Mr. Dombey turned. For the great house of Dombey and Son fell, and in
+the crash its proud head became a ruined man, ruined beyond recovery.
+
+Bankrupt in purse, his personal pride was yet further humbled. For Mr.
+Dombey had married again, a loveless match, and his wife deserted him.
+In the hour when he discovered that desertion he had driven his daughter
+Florence from the house.
+
+He was fallen now never to be raised up any more. For the night of his
+worldly ruin there was no to-morrow's sun, for the stain of his domestic
+shame there was no purification.
+
+In his pride--for he was proud yet--he let the world go from him freely.
+As it fell away, he shook it off. He knew, now, what it was to be
+rejected and deserted. Dombey and Son was no more--his children no more.
+
+His daughter Florence had married--married a young sailor once a boy in
+the office of Dombey and Son--and thinking of her, Dombey, in the
+solitude of his dismantled home, remembered that she had never changed
+to him through all those years; and the mist through which he had seen
+her, cleared, and showed him her true self.
+
+He wandered through the rooms, and thought of suicide; a guilty hand was
+grasping what was in his breast.
+
+It was arrested by a cry--a wild, loud, loving, rapturous cry, and he
+saw his daughter.
+
+"Papa! Dearest papa!"
+
+Unchanged still. Of all the world unchanged.
+
+He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw his arms about her neck. He
+felt her kisses on his face, he felt--oh, how deeply!--all that he had
+done.
+
+She laid his face, now covered with his hands, against the heart that he
+had almost broken, and said, sobbing, "Papa, love, I am a mother. Papa,
+dear, oh, say God bless me and my little child!"
+
+His head, now grey, was encircled by her arm, and he groaned to think
+that never, never had it rested so before.
+
+"My little child was born at sea, papa. I prayed to God to spare me that
+I might come. The moment I could land I came to you. Never let us be
+parted any more, papa!"
+
+He kissed her on the lips, and lifting up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God,
+forgive me, for I need it very much!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Great Expectations
+
+
+      "Great Expectations," first published as a serial in "All the
+     Year Round," in 1861, is one of Dickens's finest works. It is
+     rounded off so completely and the characters are so admirably
+     drawn that, as a finished work of art, it is hard to say where
+     the genius of its author has surpassed it. If there is less of
+     the exuberance of "Pickwick," there is also less of the
+     characteristic exaggeration of Dickens; and the pathos of the
+     ex-convict's return is far deeper than the pathos of
+     children's death-beds, so frequently exhibited by the author.
+     "Great Expectations," for all its rare qualities, has never
+     achieved the wide popularity of the novels of Charles Dickens
+     that preceded it. We are not generally familiar with any name
+     in the story, as we are with at least one name in all the
+     other novels. Yet, Pip, as a study of child-life, youth, and
+     early manhood, is as excellent as anything in the whole range
+     of English fiction.
+
+
+_I.--In the Marshes_
+
+
+My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I
+called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip.
+
+My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained
+on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh
+country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had
+wandered into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard.
+
+"Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
+among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you
+little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"
+
+A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
+who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones;
+who limped and shivered, and glared and growled.
+
+"Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
+sir."
+
+"Tell us your name! quick!"
+
+"Pip, sir."
+
+"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye
+live with?"
+
+I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs.
+Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."
+
+"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me
+by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And you know what wittles is?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or
+I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow
+morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at
+that old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a
+word concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You
+fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it
+is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate.
+Now what do you say?"
+
+I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken
+bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in
+the morning.
+
+As soon as the darkness outside my little window was shot with grey, I
+got up and went downstairs. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese,
+about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket
+handkerchief), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a
+glass bottle I had used for Spanish liquorice water up in my room), a
+meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round pork pie.
+
+There was a door in the kitchen communicating with the forge; I unlocked
+and unbolted that door, got a file from among Joe's tools, put the
+fastenings as I had found them, and ran for the marshes.
+
+It was a rainy morning, and very damp. I knew my way to the Battery, for
+I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and had just scrambled up
+the mound beyond the ditch when I saw the man sitting before me--with
+his back toward me.
+
+I touched him on the shoulder, and he instantly jumped up, and it was
+not the same man, but another man--dressed in coarse grey, too, with a
+great iron on his leg.
+
+He aimed a blow at me, and then ran into the mist, stumbling as he went,
+and I lost him.
+
+I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man
+waiting for me. He was awfully cold. And his eyes looked awfully hungry.
+
+He devoured the food, mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie,
+all at once--more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a
+violent hurry, than a man who was eating it, only stopping from time to
+time to listen.
+
+"You're not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?"
+
+"No, sir! No!"
+
+"Well," said he, "I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young hound
+indeed if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched
+varmint, hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched varmint
+is."
+
+While he was eating I mentioned that I had just seen another man dressed
+like him, and with a badly bruised face.
+
+"Not here?" he exclaimed, striking his left cheek.
+
+"Yes, there!"
+
+He swore he would pull him down like a bloodhound, and then crammed what
+little food was left into the breast of his grey jacket, and began to
+file at his iron like a madman; so I thought the best thing that I could
+do was to slip off home.
+
+
+_II.--I Meet Estella_
+
+
+I must have been about ten years old when I went to Miss Havisham's, and
+first met Estella.
+
+My uncle Pumblechook, who kept a cornchandler's shop in the high-street
+of the town, took me to the large old, dismal house, which had all its
+windows barred. For miles round everybody had heard of Miss Havisham as
+an immensely rich and grim lady who led a life of seclusion; and
+everybody soon knew that Mr. Pumblechook had been commissioned to bring
+her a boy.
+
+He left me at the courtyard, and a young lady, who was very pretty and
+seemed very proud, let me in, and I noticed that the passages were all
+dark, and that there was a candle burning. My guide, who called me
+"boy," but was really about my own age, was as scornful of me as if she
+had been one-and-twenty, and a queen. She led me to Miss Havisham's
+room, and there, in an armchair, with her elbow resting on the table,
+sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.
+
+She was dressed in rich materials--satins and lace and silks--all of
+white--or rather, which had been white, but, like all else in the room,
+were now faded yellow. Her shoes were white, and she had a long white
+veil dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair; but her
+hair was white. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had
+withered like the dress.
+
+"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.
+
+"Pip, ma'am. Mr. Pumblechook's boy."
+
+"Come nearer; let me look at you; come close. You are not afraid of a
+woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"
+
+"No, ma'am."
+
+"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon
+the other, on her left side.
+
+"Yes, ma'am; your heart."
+
+"Broken!" She was silent for a little while, and then added, "I am
+tired; I want diversion. Play, play, play!"
+
+What was an unfortunate boy to do? I didn't know how to play.
+
+"Call Estella," said the lady. "Call Estella, at the door."
+
+It was a dreadful thing to be bawling "Estella" to a scornful young lady
+in a mysterious passage in an unknown house, but I had to do it. And
+Estella came, and I heard her say, in answer to Miss Havisham, "Play
+with this boy! Why, he is a common labouring boy!"
+
+I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer, "Well? You can break his
+heart."
+
+We played at beggar my neighbour, and before the game was out Estella
+said disdainfully, "He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy! And what coarse
+hands he has! And what thick boots!"
+
+I was very glad to get away. My coarse hands and my common boots had
+never troubled me before; but they troubled me now, and I determined to
+ask Joe why he had taught me to call those picture cards Jacks which
+ought to be called knaves.
+
+For a long time I went once a week to this strange, gloomy house--it was
+called Satis House--and once Estella told me I might kiss her.
+
+And then Miss Havisham decided I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and gave
+him £25 for the purpose; and I left off going to see her, and helped Joe
+in the forge. But I didn't like Joe's trade, and I was afflicted by that
+most miserable thing--to feel ashamed of home.
+
+I couldn't resist paying Miss Havisham a visit; and, not seeing Estella,
+stammered that I hoped she was well.
+
+"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating for a lady; far out of reach;
+prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you
+have lost her?"
+
+I was spared the trouble of answering by being dismissed, and went home
+dissatisfied and uncomfortable, thinking myself coarse and common, and
+wanting to be a gentleman.
+
+It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship when, one Saturday night,
+Joe and I were up at the Three Jolly Bargemen, according to our custom.
+
+A stranger, who did not recognise me, but whom I recognised as a
+gentleman I had met on the stairs at Miss Havisham's, was in the room;
+and on his asking for a blacksmith named Gargery and his apprentice
+named Pip, and, being answered, said he wanted to have a private
+conference with us two.
+
+Joe took him home, and the stranger told us his name was Jaggers, and
+that he was a lawyer in London.
+
+"Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this
+young fellow, your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his
+indentures at his request and for his good?"
+
+"No," said Joe.
+
+"The communication I have got to make to this young fellow is that he
+has great expectations."
+
+Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.
+
+"I am instructed to tell him," said Mr. Jaggers, "that he will come into
+a handsome property. Further, it is the desire of the present possessor
+of that property that he be immediately removed from his present sphere
+of life and be brought up as a gentleman, and that he always bear the
+name of Pip. Now, you are to understand that the name of the person who
+is your liberal benefactor remains a profound secret until the person
+chooses to reveal it, and you are most positively prohibited from making
+any inquiry on this head. If you have a suspicion, keep it in your own
+breast."
+
+Mr. Jaggers went on to say that if I accepted the expectations on these
+terms, there was already money in hand for my education and maintenance,
+and that one Mr. Matthew Pocket, in London (whom I knew to be a relation
+of Miss Havisham's), could be my tutor if I was willing to go to him,
+say in a week's time. Of course I accepted this wonderful good fortune,
+and had no doubt in my own mind that Miss Havisham was my benefactress.
+
+When Mr. Jaggers asked Joe whether he desired any compensation, Joe laid
+his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. "Pip is that hearty
+welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services, to honour and
+fortun', as no words can tell him. But if you think as money can make
+compensation to me for the loss of the little child--what come to the
+forge--and ever the best of friends!" He scooped his eyes with his
+disengaged hand, but said not another word.
+
+
+_III.--I Know My Benefactor_
+
+
+I went to London, and studied with Mr. Matthew Pocket, and shared rooms
+with his son Herbert (who, knowing my earlier life, decided to call me
+Handel), first in Barnard's Inn and later in the Temple.
+
+On my twenty-first birthday I received £500, and this (unknown to
+Herbert) I managed to make over to my friend in order to secure him a
+managership in a business house.
+
+My studies were not directed in any professional channel, but were
+pursued with a view to my being equal to any emergency when my
+expectations, which I had been told to look forward to, were fulfilled.
+
+Estella was often in London, and I met her at many houses, and was
+desperately in love with her. But though she treated me with friendship,
+she was proud and capricious as ever, and a few years later married a
+man whom I knew and detested--a Mr. Bentley Drummle, a bully and a
+scoundrel.
+
+When I was three-and-twenty I happened to be alone one night in our
+chambers reading, for I had a taste for books. Herbert was away at
+Marseilles on a business journey.
+
+The clocks had struck eleven, and I closed my books. I was still
+listening to the clocks, when I heard a footstep on the staircase, and
+started. The staircase lights were blown out by the wind, and I took my
+reading-lamp and went out to see who it was.
+
+"There is someone there, is there not?" I called out. "What floor do you
+want?"
+
+"The top--Mr. Pip."
+
+"That is my name. There is nothing the matter?"
+
+"Nothing the matter," returned the voice. And the man came on.
+
+I made out that the man was roughly but substantially dressed; that he
+had iron-grey hair; that his age was about sixty; that he was a muscular
+man, hardened by exposure to weather. I saw nothing that in the least
+explained him, but I saw that he was holding out both his hands to me.
+
+I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him. No need to take a
+file from his pocket and show it to me. I knew my convict, in spite of
+the intervening years, as distinctly as I knew him in the churchyard
+when we first stood face to face.
+
+He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his
+forehead with his large brown hands.
+
+"You acted nobly, my boy," said he.
+
+I told him that I hoped he had mended his way of life, and was doing
+well.
+
+"I've done wonderful well," he said. And then he asked me if I was doing
+well. And when I mentioned that I had been chosen to succeed to some
+property, he asked whose property? And, after that, if my
+lawyer-guardian's name began with "J."
+
+All the truth of my position came flashing on me, and quickly I
+understood that Miss Havisham's intentions towards me were all a mere
+dream.
+
+"Yes, Pip, dear boy, I've made a gentleman on you. It's me wot has done
+it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea
+should go to you. I swore afterwards, sure as ever I spec'lated and got
+rich, that you should get rich. Look 'ee here, Pip. I'm your second
+father. You're my son--more to me nor any son. I've put away money, only
+for you to spend. You ain't looked slowly forward to this as I have. You
+wasn't prepared for this as I wos. It warn't easy, Pip, for me to leave
+them parts, nor it wasn't safe. Look 'ee here, dear boy; caution is
+necessary."
+
+"How do you mean?" I said. "Caution?"
+
+"I was sent for life. It's death to come back. There's been overmuch
+coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if
+took."
+
+As Herbert was away, I put the man in the spare room, and gave out that
+he was my uncle.
+
+He told me something of his story next day, and when Herbert came back
+and we had found a bed-room for our visitor in Essex Street, he told us
+all of it. His name was Magwitch--Abel Magwitch--he called himself
+Provis now--and he had been left by a travelling tinker to grow up
+alone. "In jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail--that's my life
+pretty much, down to such times as I got shipped off, arter Pip stood my
+friend." But there was a man who "set up fur a gentleman, named
+Compeyson," and this Compeyson's business was swindling, forging, and
+stolen banknote passing. Magwitch became his servant, and when both men
+were arrested, Compeyson turned round on the man whom he had employed,
+and got off with seven years to Magwitch's fourteen. Compeyson was the
+second convict of my childhood.
+
+On consideration of the case, and after consultation with Mr. Jaggers,
+who corroborated the statement that a colonist named Abel Magwitch, of
+New South Wales, was my benefactor, and admitted that a Mr. Provis had
+written to him on behalf of Magwitch, concerning my address, we decided
+that the best thing to be done was to take a lodging for Mr. Provis on
+the riverside below the Pool, at Mill Pond Bank. It was out of the way,
+and in case of danger it would be easy to get away by a packet steamer.
+
+The only danger was from Compeyson--for he had gone in terror of his
+life, and feared the vengeance of the man he had betrayed.
+
+
+_IV--My Fortune_
+
+
+We were soon warned that Compeyson was aware of the return of his enemy,
+and that flight was necessary. Both Herbert and I noticed how quickly
+Provis had become softened, and on the night when we were to take him on
+board a Hamburg steamer he was very gentle.
+
+We were out in mid-stream in a small rowing boat, moving quietly with
+the tide, when, just as the Hamburg steamer came in sight, a four-oared
+galley ran aboard of us, and the man who held the lines in it called
+out, "You have a returned transport there. That's the man wrapped in the
+cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch--otherwise Provis. I call upon him to
+surrender, and you to assist."
+
+At once there was great confusion. The steamer was right upon us, and I
+heard the order given to stop the paddles. In the same moment I saw the
+steersman of the galley lay his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, and the
+prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the
+neck of a shrinking man in the galley. Still in the same moment I saw
+that the face disclosed was the face of the other convict of long ago,
+and white terror was on it. Then I heard a cry, and a loud splash in the
+water, and for an instant I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill
+weirs; the instant past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was
+there, but our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone. Presently
+we saw a man swimming, but not swimming easily, and knew him to be
+Magwitch. He was taken on board, and instantly menacled at the wrists
+and ankles.
+
+It was not till we had pulled up, and had landed at the riverside, that
+I could get some comforts for Magwitch, who had received injury in the
+chest, and a deep cut in the head. He told me that he believed himself
+to have gone under the keel of the steamer, and to have been struck on
+the head in rising. The injury to his chest he thought he had received
+against the side of the galley. He added that Compeyson, in the moment
+of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, had staggered up,
+and back, and they had both gone overboard together, locked in each
+other's arms. He had disengaged himself under water, and swam away.
+
+He was taken to the police-court next day, and committed for trial at
+the, next session, which would come on in a month.
+
+"Dear boy," he said. "Look 'ee, here. It's best as a gentleman should
+not be knowed to belong to me now."
+
+"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be
+near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"
+
+When the sessions came round, the trial was very short and very clear,
+and the capital sentence was pronounced. But the prisoner was very ill.
+Two of his ribs had been broken, and one of his lungs seriously injured,
+and ten days before the date fixed for his execution death set him free.
+
+"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed on that last day. "I
+thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that. You've never
+deserted me, dear boy."
+
+I pressed his hand in silence.
+
+"And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been more comfortable
+along of me since I was under a dark cloud than when the sun shone.
+That's best of all."
+
+He had spoken his last words, and, holding my hand in his, passed away.
+
+And with his death ended my expectations, for the pocket-book containing
+his wealth went to the Crown.
+
+Herbert took me into his business, and I became a clerk, and afterwards
+went abroad to take charge of the eastern branch, and when many a year
+had gone round, became a partner.
+
+It was eleven years later when I was down in the marshes again. I had
+been to see Joe Gargery, who was as friendly as ever, and had strolled
+on to where Satis House once stood. I had been told of Miss Havisham's
+death, and also of the death of Estella's husband.
+
+Nothing was left of the old house but the garden wall, and as I stood
+looking along the desolate garden walk a solitary figure came up. I saw
+it stop, and half turn away, and then let me come up to it. It faltered
+as if much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out, "Estella!"
+
+I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the
+morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the
+evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil
+light they showed to me I saw no shadow of another parting from her.
+
+       *       *       *       *        *
+
+
+
+
+Hard Times
+
+
+      "Hard Times" is not one of the longest, but it is one of the
+     most powerful of Dickens's works. John Ruskin went so far as
+     to call it "in several respects the greatest" book Dickens had
+     written. It is, of course, a fierce attack on the early
+     Victorian school of political economists. The Bounderbys and
+     Gradgrinds are typical of certain characters, and, though they
+     change their form of speech, are still recognisable to-day. As
+     a study of social and industrial life in England in the
+     manufacturing districts fifty years ago, "Hard Times" will
+     always be valuable, though allowance must be made here as
+     elsewhere for the novelist's tendency to
+     exaggeration--exaggeration of virtue no less than of vice or
+     weakness. In Josiah Bounderby and Stephen Blackpool this
+     characteristic is pronounced. The first, according to John
+     Ruskin, being a dramatic monster, and the second a dramatic
+     perfection. The story first appeared serially in "Household
+     Words" between April 1 and August 12, 1854.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Thomas Gradgrind_
+
+
+"Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of facts and calculations. With a rule and
+a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket,
+sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you
+exactly what it comes to."
+
+In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
+to his private circle of acquaintance or to the public in general. In
+such terms Thomas Gradgrind presented himself to the schoolmaster and
+children before him. It was his school, and he intended it to be a
+model.
+
+"Now, what I want is facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but
+facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. You can only form the minds of
+reasoning animals upon facts. This is the principle on which I bring up
+my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these
+children. Stick to facts, sir."
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, having waited to hear a model lesson delivered by the
+school master, walked home in a considerable state of satisfaction.
+
+There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models every one. They
+had been lectured at from their tenderest years; coursed, like little
+hares, almost as soon as they could run, they had been made to run to
+the lecture-room.
+
+To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
+directed his steps. The house was situated on a moor, within a mile or
+two of a great town, called Coketown.
+
+On the outskirts of this town a travelling circus ("Sleary's
+Horse-riding") had pitched its tent, and, to his amazement, Mr.
+Gradgrind observed his two eldest children trying to obtain a peep, at
+the back of the booth, of the hidden glories within.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind laid his hand upon the shoulder of each erring child, and
+said, "Louisa! Thomas!"
+
+"I wanted to see what it was like," said Louisa shortly. "I brought him,
+I was tired, father. I have been tired a long time."
+
+"Tired? Of what?" asked the astonished father.
+
+"I don't know of what--of everything, I think."
+
+They walked on in silence for some half a mile before Mr. Gradgrind
+gravely broke out with, "What would your best friends say, Louisa? What
+would Mr. Bounderby say?"
+
+All the way to Stone Lodge he repeated at intervals, "What would Mr.
+Bounderby say?"
+
+At the first mention of the name his daughter, a child of fifteen or
+sixteen now, but at no distant day to become a woman, all at once, stole
+a look at him, remarkable for its intense and searching character. He
+saw nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again cast down
+her eyes.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was at Stone Lodge when they arrived. He stood before the
+fire on the hearth rug, delivering some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind
+on the circumstance of its being his birthday. It was a commanding
+position from which to subdue Mrs. Gradgrind.
+
+He stopped in his harangue, which was entirely concerned with the story
+of his early disadvantages, at the entrance of his eminently practical
+friend and the two young culprits.
+
+"Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what's the matter? What is young
+Thomas in the dumps about?"
+
+He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa.
+
+"We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa haughtily; "and father
+caught us."
+
+"And, Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband, in a lofty manner, "I should as
+soon have expected to find my children reading poetry."
+
+"Dear me!" whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. "How can you, Louisa and Thomas? I
+wonder at you. I declare you're enough to make one regret ever having
+had a family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. _Then_
+what would you have done, I should like to know? As if, with my head in
+its present throbbing state, you couldn't go and look at the shells and
+minerals and things provided for you, instead of circuses. I'm sure you
+have enough to do if that's what you want. With my head in its present
+state I couldn't remember the mere names of half the facts you have got
+to attend to."
+
+"That's the reason," pouted Louisa.
+
+"Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing of the
+sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. "Go and be something logical directly."
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind, not being a scientific character, usually dismissed her
+children to their studies with the general injunction that they were to
+choose their own pursuit.
+
+
+_II.--Mr. Bounderby of Coketown_
+
+
+Mr. Josiah Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend as a
+man perfectly devoid of sentiment can be to another man perfectly devoid
+of sentiment.
+
+He was a rich man--banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big,
+loud man, with a stare and a metallic laugh. A man who could never
+sufficiently vaunt himself--a self-made man. A man who was always
+proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his
+early ignorance and poverty. A man who was the bully of humility.
+
+He was fond of telling, was Mr. Bounderby, how he was born in a ditch,
+and, abandoned by his mother, how he ran away from his grandmother, who
+starved and ill-used him, and so became a vagabond. "I pulled through
+it," he would say, "though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond,
+errand-boy, labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small
+partner--Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown."
+
+This myth of his early life was dissipated later; and it turned out that
+his mother, a respectable old woman, whom Bounderby pensioned off with
+thirty pounds a year on condition she never came near him, had pinched
+herself to help him out in life, and put him as apprentice to a trade.
+From this apprenticeship he had steadily risen to riches.
+
+Mr. Bounderby held strong views about the people who worked for him, the
+"hands" he called them; and found, whenever they complained of anything,
+that they always expected to be set up in a coach and six, and to be fed
+on turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon.
+
+As time went on, and young Thomas Gradgrind became old enough to go into
+Bounderby's Bank, Bounderby decided that Louisa was old enough to be
+married.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, now member of parliament for Coketown, mentioned the
+matter to his daughter.
+
+"Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage that has
+been made to me."
+
+He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something.
+Strange to relate Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this moment as
+his daughter was.
+
+"I have undertaken to let you know that--in short, that Mr. Bounderby
+has long hoped that the time might arrive when he should offer you his
+hand in marriage. That time has now come, and Mr. Bounderby has made his
+proposal to me, and has entreated me to make it known to you."
+
+"Father," said Louisa, "do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?"
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomforted by this unexpected question.
+"Well, my child," he returned, "I--really--cannot take upon myself to
+say."
+
+"Father," pursued Louisa, in exactly the same voice as before, "do you
+ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?"
+
+"My dear Louisa, no. No, I ask nothing."
+
+"Father, does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?"
+
+"Really, my dear, it is difficult to answer your question. Because the
+reply depends so materially, Louisa, on the sense in which we use the
+expression. Mr. Bounderby does not pretend to anything sentimental. Now,
+I should advise you to consider this question simply as one of fact.
+Now, what are the facts of this case? You are, we will say in round
+numbers, twenty years of age. Mr. Bounderby is, we will say in round
+numbers, fifty. There is some disparity in your respective years, but in
+your means and position there is none; on the contrary, there is a great
+suitability. Confining yourself rigidly to fact, the questions of fact
+are: 'Does Mr. Bounderby ask me to marry him?' 'Yes, he does.' And,
+'Shall I marry him?'"
+
+"Shall I marry him?" repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.
+
+There was silence between the two before Louisa spoke again. She thought
+of the shortness of life, of how her brother Tom had said it would be a
+good thing for him if she made up her mind to do--she knew what.
+
+"While it lasts," she said aloud, "I would like to do the little I can,
+and the little I am fit for. What does it matter? Mr. Bounderby asks me
+to marry him. Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I
+am satisfied to accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you
+please, that this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can,
+because I should wish him to know what I said."
+
+"It is quite right, my dear," retorted her father approvingly, "to be
+exact I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in
+reference to the period of your marriage, my child?"
+
+"None, father. What does it matter?"
+
+They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Gradgrind presented Louisa to
+his wife as Mrs. Bounderby.
+
+"Oh!" said Mrs. Gradgrind. "So you have settled it. I am sure I give you
+joy, my dear, and I hope you may turn all your ological studies to good
+account. And now, you see, I shall be worrying myself morning, noon, and
+night, to know what I am to call him!"
+
+"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband solemnly, "what do you mean?"
+
+"Whatever am I to call him when he is married to Louisa? I must call him
+something. It's impossible to be constantly addressing him, and never
+giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is
+insupportable to me. You yourself wouldn't hear of Joe, you very well
+know. Am I to call my own son-in-law 'Mister?' I believe not, unless the
+time has arrived when I am to be trampled upon by my relations. Then,
+what am I to call him?"
+
+There being no answer to this conundrum, Mrs. Gradgrind retired to bed.
+
+The day of the marriage came, and after the wedding-breakfast the
+bridegroom addressed the company--an improving party, there was no
+nonsense about any of them--in the following terms.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown. Since you
+have done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and
+happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same. If you want a speech,
+my friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a member of parliament,
+and you know where to get it. Now, you have mentioned that I am this day
+married to Tom Gradgrind's daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has
+long been my wish to be so. I have watched her bringing up, and I
+believe she is worthy of me. At the same time, I believe I am worthy of
+her. So I thank you for the goodwill you have shown towards us."
+
+Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to
+Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might see how the hands got on in
+those parts, and whether they, too, required to be fed with gold spoons,
+the happy pair departed for the railroad. As the bride passed downstairs
+her brother Tom whispered to her. "What a game girl you are, to be such
+a first-rate sister, too!"
+
+She clung to him as she would have clung to some far better nature that
+day, and was shaken in her composure for the first time.
+
+
+_III.--Mr. James Harthouse_
+
+
+The Gradgrind party wanting assistance in the House of Commons, Mr.
+James Harthouse, who was of good family and appearance, and had tried
+most things and found them a bore, was sent down to Coketown to study
+the neighbourhood with a view to entering Parliament.
+
+Mr. Bounderby at once pounced upon him, and James Harthouse was
+introduced to Mrs. Bounderby and her brother. Tom Gradgrind, junior,
+brought up under a continuous system of restraint, was a hypocrite, a
+thief, and, to Mr. James Harthouse, a whelp.
+
+Yet the visitor saw at once that the whelp was the only creature Mrs.
+Bounderby cared for, and it occurred to him, as time went on, that to
+win Mrs. Bounderby's affection (for he made no secret of his contempt
+for politics), he must devote himself to the whelp.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was proud to have Mr. James Harthouse under his roof,
+proud to show off his greatness and self-importance to this gentleman
+from London.
+
+"You're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be one. You're a man of
+family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of rag, tag,
+and bobtail," said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+At the same time Mr. Bounderby blustered at his wife and bullied his
+hands, so that Mr. Harthouse might understand his independence.
+
+One of these hands, Stephen Blackpool, an old, steady, faithful workman,
+who had been boycotted by his fellows for refusing to join a trade
+union, was summoned to Mr. Bounderby's presence in order that Harthouse
+might see a specimen of the people that had to be dealt with.
+
+Blackpool said he had nought to say about the trade union business; he
+had given a promise not to join, that was all.
+
+"Not to me, you know!" said Bounderby.
+
+"Oh, no sir; not to you!"
+
+"Here's a gentleman from London present," Mr. Bounderby said, pointing
+at Harthouse. "A Parliament gentleman. Now, what do you complain of?"
+
+"I ha' not come here, sir, to complain. I were sent for. Indeed, we are
+in a muddle, sir. Look round town--so rich as 'tis. Look how we live,
+and where we live, an' in what numbers; and look how the mills is always
+a-goin', and how they never works us no nigher to any distant object,
+'cepting always, death. Sir, I cannot, wi' my little learning, tell the
+gentleman what will better this; though some working men o' this town
+could. But the strong hand will never do't; nor yet lettin' alone will
+never do't. Ratin' us as so much power and reg'latin' us as if we was
+figures in a sum, will never do't."
+
+"Now, it's clear to me," said Mr. Bounderby, "that you are one of those
+chaps who have always got a grievance. And you are such a raspish,
+ill-conditioned chap that even your own union--the men who know you
+best--will have nothing to do with you. And I tell you what, I go so far
+along with them for a novelty, that I'll have nothing to do with you
+either. You can finish off what you're at, and then go elsewhere."
+
+Thus James Harthouse learnt how Mr. Bounderby dealt with hands.
+
+Mr. Harthouse, however, only felt bored, and took the earliest
+opportunity to explain to Mrs. Bounderby that he really had no opinions,
+and that he was going in for her father's opinions, because he might as
+well back them as anything else.
+
+"The side that can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds,
+and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun and to
+give a man the best chance. I am quite ready to go in for it to the same
+extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do if I did
+believe it?".
+
+"You are a singular politician," said Louisa.
+
+"Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the
+state, I assure you, if we all fell out of our adopted ranks and were
+reviewed together."
+
+The more Mr. Harthouse's interest waned in politics the greater became
+his interest in Mrs. Bounderby. And he cultivated the whelp, cultivated
+him earnestly, and by so doing learnt from the graceless youth that "Loo
+never cared anything for old Bounderby," and had married him to please
+her brother.
+
+Gradually, bit by bit, James Harthouse established a confidence with the
+whelp's sister from which her husband was excluded. He established a
+confidence with her that absolutely turned upon her indifference towards
+her husband, and the absence at all times of any congeniality between
+them. He had artfully, but plainly, assured her that he knew her heart
+in its last most delicate recesses, and the barrier behind which she
+lived had melted away.
+
+And yet he had not, even now, any earnest wickedness of purpose in him.
+So drifting icebergs, setting with a current, wreck the ships.
+
+
+_IV.--Mr. Gradgrind and His Daughter_
+
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind died while her husband was up in London, and Louisa was
+with her mother when death came.
+
+"You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and so did your brother," said Mrs.
+Gradgrind, when she was dying. "Ologies of all kinds from morning to
+night. But there is something--not an ology at all--that your father has
+missed, or forgotten. I don't know what it is; I shall never get its
+name now. But your father may. It makes me restless. I want to write to
+him to find out, for God's sake, what it is."
+
+It was shortly after Mrs. Gradgrind's death that Mr. Bounderby was
+called away from home on business for a few days; and Mr. James
+Harthouse, still not sure at times of his purpose, found himself alone
+with Mrs. Bounderby.
+
+They were in the garden, and Harthouse implored her to accept him as her
+lover. She urged him to go away, she commanded him to go away; but she
+neither turned her face to him nor raised it, but sat as still as though
+she were a statue.
+
+Harthouse declared that she was the stake for which he ardently desired
+to play away all that he had in life; that the objects he had lately
+pursued turned worthless beside her; the success that was almost within
+his grasp he flung away from him, like the dirt it was, compared with
+her.
+
+All this, and more, he said, and pleaded for a further meeting.
+
+"Not here," Louisa said calmly.
+
+They parted at the beginning of a heavy shower of rain, and the fall
+James Harthouse had ridden for was averted.
+
+Mrs. Bounderby left her husband's house, left it for good; not to share
+Mr. Harthouse's life, but to return to her father.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, released from parliament for a time, was alone in his
+study, when his eldest daughter entered.
+
+"What is the matter, Louisa?"
+
+"Father, I want to speak to you. You have trained me from my cradle?"
+
+"Yes, Louisa."
+
+"I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny. How could you
+give me life, and take from me all the things that raise it from the
+state of conscious death? Now, hear what I have come to say. With a
+hunger and a thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a moment
+appeased, in a condition where it seemed nothing could be worth the pain
+and trouble of a contest, you proposed my husband to me."
+
+"I never knew you were unhappy, my child!"
+
+"I took him. I never made a pretence to him or you that I loved him. I
+knew, and, father you knew, and he knew, that I never did. I was not
+wholly indifferent, for I had a hope of being pleasant and useful to
+Tom. But Tom had been the subject of all the little tenderness of my
+life, perhaps he became so because I knew so well how to pity him. It
+matters little now, except as it may dispose you to think more leniently
+of his errors."
+
+"What can I do, child? Ask me what you will."
+
+"I am coming to it. Father, chance has thrown into my way a new
+acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of--light, polished,
+easy. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for
+nothing else, to care so much for me. It matters little how he gained my
+confidence. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my
+marriage he soon knew just as well."
+
+Her father's face was ashy white.
+
+"I have done no worse; I have not disgraced you. This night, my husband
+being away, he has been with me. This minute he expects me, for I could
+release myself of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I
+am sorry or ashamed. All that I know is, your philosophy and your
+teaching will not save me. Father, you have brought me to this. Save me
+by some other means?"
+
+She fell insensible, and he saw the pride of his heart and the triumph
+of his system lying at his feet. And it came to Thomas Gradgrind that
+night and on the morrow when he sat beside his daughter's bed, that
+there was a wisdom of the heart no less than a wisdom of the head; and
+that in supposing the latter to be all sufficient, he had erred.
+
+But no such change of mind took place in Mr. Bounderby. Finding his wife
+absent, he went at once to Stone Lodge, and blustered in his usual way.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind tried to make him understand that the best thing to do was
+to leave things as they were for a time, and that Louisa, who had been
+so tried, should stay on a visit to her father, and be treated with
+tenderness and consideration. It was all wasted on Blunderby.
+
+"Now, I don't want to quarrel with you, Tom Gradgrind!" he retorted. "If
+your daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by
+leaving Loo Gradgrind, don't come home at noon to-morrow, I shall
+understand that she prefers to stay away, and you'll take charge of her
+in future. What I shall say to people in general of the incompatibility
+that led to my so laying down the law will be this: I am Josiah
+Bounderby, she's the daughter of Tom Gradgrind; and the two horses
+wouldn't pull together. I am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon
+man, and most people will understand that it must be a woman rather out
+of the common who would come up to my mark. I have got no more to say.
+Good-night!"
+
+At five minutes past twelve next day, Mr. Bounderby directed his wife's
+property to be carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind's, and then
+resumed a bachelor's life.
+
+Mr. James Harthouse, learning from Louisa's maid--a young woman greatly
+attached to her mistress--that his attentions were altogether
+undesirable, and that he would never see Mrs. Bounderby again, decided
+to throw up politics and leave Coketown at once. Which he did.
+
+Into how much of futurity did Mr. Bounderby see as he sat alone? Had he
+any prescience of the day, five years to come, when Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown, was to die in a fit in the Coketown street? Could he foresee
+Mr. Gradgrind, a white-haired man, making his facts and figures
+subservient to Faith, Hope, and Charity, and no longer trying to grind
+that Heavenly trio in his dusty little mills? These things were to be.
+
+Could Louisa, sitting alone in her father's house and gazing into the
+fire, foresee the childless years before her? Could she picture a lonely
+brother, flying from England after robbery, and dying in a strange land,
+conscious of his want of love and penitent? These things were to be.
+Herself again a wife--a mother--lovingly watchful of her children, ever
+careful that they should have a childhood of the mind no less than a
+childhood of the body, as knowing it to be an even more beautiful thing,
+and a possession any hoarded scrap of which is a blessing and happiness
+to the wisest? Such a thing was never to be.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Little Dorrit
+
+
+      "Little Dorrit" was written at a time when the author was
+     busying himself not only with other literary work, but also
+     with semi-private theatricals. John Forster, Charles Dickens's
+     biographer and friend, even had some sort of fear at that time
+     that Dickens was in danger of adopting the stage as a
+     profession. Domestic troubles, culminating a year later in the
+     separation from his wife, also explain the restlessness and
+     general dissatisfaction which affected the great novelist in
+     the years 1855-57, when this story appeared. Hence there is no
+     surprise that "Little Dorrit" added but little to its author's
+     reputation. It is a very long book, but it will never take a
+     front-rank place. The story, however, on its appearance in
+     monthly parts, the first of which was published in January
+     1856, and the completed work in 1857, was enormously
+     successful, beating, in Dickens's own words, "'Bleak House'
+     out of the field." Popular with the public, it has never won
+     the critics.
+
+
+_I.--The Father of the Marshalsea_
+
+
+Thirty years ago there stood, a few doors short of the church of Saint
+George, in the Borough of Southwark, on the left-hand side of the way
+going southward, the Marshalsea Prison. It had stood there many years
+before, and it remained there some years afterwards; but it is gone now,
+and the world is none the worse without it.
+
+A debtor had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison, a very amiable and
+very helpless middle-aged gentleman who was perfectly clear--"like all
+the rest of them," the turnkey on the lock said--that he was going out
+again directly.
+
+The affairs of this debtor, a shy, retiring man, with a mild voice and
+irresolute hands, were perplexed by a partnership, of which he knew no
+more than that he had invested money in it.
+
+"Out?" said the turnkey. "He'll never get out unless his creditors take
+him by the shoulders and shove him out!"
+
+The next day the debtor's wife came to the Marshalsea, bringing with her
+a little boy of three, and a little girl of two.
+
+"Two children," the turnkey observed to himself. "And you another, which
+makes three; and your wife another, which makes four."
+
+Six months later a little girl was born to the debtor, and when this
+child was eight years old, her mother, who had long been languishing,
+died.
+
+The debtor had long grown accustomed to the place. Crushed at first by
+his imprisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. His elder
+children played regularly about the yard. If he had been a man with
+strength of purpose, he might have broken the net that held him, or
+broken his heart; but being what he was, he slipped easily into this
+smooth descent, and never more took one step upward.
+
+The shabby old debtor with the soft manners and the white hair became
+the Father of the Marshalsea. And he grew to be proud of the title. All
+newcomers were presented to him. He was punctilious in the exaction of
+this ceremony. They were welcome to the Marshalsea, he would tell them.
+
+It became a not unusual circumstance for letters to be put under his
+door at night enclosing half-a-crown, two half-crowns, now and then, at
+long intervals, even half a sovereign, for the Father of the Marshalsea,
+"With the compliments of a collegian taking leave." He received the
+gifts as tributes to a public character.
+
+Later he established the custom of attending collegians of a certain
+standing to the gate, and taking leave of them there. The collegian
+under treatment would often wrap up something in a paper and give it to
+him, "For the Father of the Marshalsea."
+
+
+_II.--The Child of the Marshalsea_
+
+
+The youngest child of the Father of the Marshalsea, born within the
+jail, was a very, very little creature indeed when she gained the
+knowledge that while her own light steps were free to pass beyond the
+prison gate, her father's feet must never cross that line.
+
+At thirteen she could read and keep accounts--that is, could put down in
+words and figures how much the bare necessaries they needed would cost,
+and how much less they had to buy them with. From the first she was
+inspired to be something which was not what the rest were, and to be
+that something for the sake of the rest. Recognised as useful, even
+indispensable, she took the place of eldest of the three in all but
+precedence; was the head of the fallen family, and bore, in her own
+heart, its anxieties and shames. She had been, by snatches of a few
+weeks at a time, to an evening school outside, and got her sister and
+brother sent to day schools by desultory starts, during three or four
+years. There was no instruction for any of them at home; but she knew
+well--no one better--that a man so broken as to be the Father of the
+Marshalsea could be no father to his own children.
+
+To these scanty means of improvement she added others. Her sister Fanny,
+having a great desire to learn dancing, the Child of the Marshalsea
+persuaded a dancing-master, detained for a short time, to teach her. And
+Fanny became a dancer.
+
+There was a ruined uncle in the family group, ruined by his brother, the
+Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than his ruiner did,
+on whom Fanny's protection devolved. Naturally a retired and simple man,
+he had shown no particular sense of being ruined, further than that he
+left off washing when the shock was announced, and never took to that
+luxury any more. Having been a very indifferent musical amateur in his
+better days, when he fell with his brother he resorted for support to
+playing a clarionet in a small theatre orchestra. It was the theatre in
+which his niece became a dancer, and he accepted the task of serving as
+her escort and guardian.
+
+To get her brother--christened Edward, but called Tip--out of the prison
+was a more difficult task. Every post she obtained for him he always
+gave up, returning with the announcement that he was tired of it, and
+had cut it.
+
+One day he came back, and said he was in for good, that he had been
+taken for forty pounds odd. For the first time in all those years, she
+sank under her cares. It was so hard to make Tip understand that the
+Father of the Marshalsea must not know the truth about his son.
+
+For, the Father of the Marshalsea, as he grew more dependent on the
+contributions of his changing family, made the greater stand by his
+forlorn gentility. So the pretence had to be kept up that neither of his
+daughters earned their bread.
+
+The Child of the Marshalsea learned needlework of an insolvent milliner,
+and went out daily to work for a Mrs. Clennam.
+
+This was the life and this the history of the Child of the Marshalsea at
+twenty-two. Worldly wise in hard and poor necessities, she was innocent
+in all things else. This was the life, and this the history of Little
+Dorrit, now going home upon a dull September evening, and observed at a
+distance by Arthur Clennam. Arthur Clennam had returned to his mother's
+house--a dark and gloomy place--from the Far East. He had noticed that
+Little Dorrit appeared at eight, and left at eight. She let herself out
+to do needlework, he was told. What became of her between the two eights
+was a mystery.
+
+It was not easy for Arthur Clennam to make out Little Dorrit's face; she
+plied her needle in such retired corners. But it seemed to be a pale,
+transparent face, quick in expression, though not beautiful in feature.
+A delicately bent head, a tiny form, a quick little pair of busy hands,
+and a shabby dress--shabby but very neat--were Little Dorrit as she sat
+at work.
+
+Arthur Clennam watched Little Dorrit disappear within the outer gate of
+the Marshalsea, and presently stopped an old man to ask what place it
+was.
+
+"This is the Marshalsea, sir."
+
+"Can anyone go in here?"
+
+"Anyone can go in," replied the old man, plainly implying, "but it is
+not everyone who can go out."
+
+"Pardon me once more. I am not impertinently curious. But are you
+familiar with the place? Do you know the name of Dorrit here?"
+
+"My name, sir," replied the old man, "is Dorrit."
+
+Clennam explained that he had seen a young woman working at his
+mother's, spoken of as Little Dorrit, and had noticed her come in here,
+and that he was sincerely interested in her, and wanted to know
+something about her.
+
+"I know very little of the world, sir," replied the old man, "it would
+not be worth while to mislead me. The young woman whom you saw go in is
+my brother's child. You say you have seen her at your mother's, and have
+felt an interest in her, and wish to know what she does here. Come and
+see."
+
+Arthur Clennam followed his guide to the room of the Father of the
+Marshalsea.
+
+"I found this gentleman," said the uncle--"Mr. Clennam, William, son of
+Amy's friend--at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going by, of paying
+his respects. This is my brother William, sir."
+
+"Mr. Clennam," said William Dorrit, "you are welcome, sir; pray sit
+down. I have welcomed many visitors here."
+
+The Father of the Marshalsea went on to mention that he had been
+gratified by the testimonials of his visitors--the "very acceptable
+testimonials."
+
+When Clennam left he presented his testimonial, and the next morning
+found him there again. He went out with Little Dorrit alone; asked her
+if she had ever heard his mother's name before.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"I am not asking from any reason that can cause you anxiety. You think
+that at no time of your father's life was my name of Clennam ever
+familiar to him?"
+
+"No, sir. And, oh, I hope you will not misunderstand my father! Don't
+judge him, sir, as you would judge others outside the gates. He has been
+there so long."
+
+They had walked some way before they returned. She was not working at
+Mrs. Clennam's that day.
+
+The courtyard received them at last, and there he said good-bye to
+Little Dorrit. Little as she had always looked, she looked less than
+ever when he saw her going into the Marshalsea Lodge passage.
+
+Aware that his mother might have once averted the ruin of the Dorrit
+family, Clennam returned more than once to the Marshalsea. No word of
+love crossed his lips; he told Little Dorrit to think of him as an old
+man, old enough to be her father, and he besought her only to let him
+know if at any time he could do her service. "I press for no confidence
+now. I only ask you to repose unhesitating trust in me," he said.
+
+"Can I do less than that when you are so good?"
+
+"Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness or
+anxiety concealed from me?"
+
+"Almost none."
+
+But if Arthur Clennam kept silent, Little Dorrit was not without a
+lover. Years ago young John Chivery, the sentimental son of the turnkey,
+had eyed her with admiring wonder. There seemed to young John a fitness
+in the attachment. She, the Child of the Marshalsea; he, the
+lock-keeper. Every Sunday young John presented cigars to the Father of
+the Marshalsea--who was glad to get them--and one particular Sunday
+afternoon he mustered up courage to urge his suit.
+
+Little Dorrit was out, walking on the Iron Bridge, when young John found
+her.
+
+"Miss Amy," he stammered, "I have had for a long time--ages they seem to
+me--a heart-cherished wish to say something to you. May I say it? May I,
+Miss Amy? I but ask the question humbly--may I say it? I know very well
+your family is far above mine. It were vain to conceal it. I know very
+well that your high-souled brother, and likewise your spirited sister,
+spurn me from a height."
+
+"If you please, John Chivery," Little Dorrit answered, in a quiet way,
+"since you are so considerate as to ask me whether you shall say any
+more--if you please, no."
+
+"Never, Miss Amy?"
+
+"No, if you please. Never."
+
+"Oh, Lord!" gasped young John.
+
+"When you think of us, John--I mean, my brother and sister and me--don't
+think of us as being any different from the rest; for whatever we once
+were we ceased to be long ago, and never can be any more. And, good-bye,
+John. And I hope you will have a good wife one day, and be a happy man.
+I am sure you will deserve to be happy, and you will be, John."
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Amy. Good-bye!"
+
+
+_III.--The Marshalsea Becomes an Orphan_
+
+
+It turned out that Mr. Dorrit, being of the Dorrits of Dorsetshire, was
+heir-at-law to a great fortune. Inquiries and investigations confirmed
+it.
+
+Arthur Clennam broke the news to Little Dorrit, and together they went
+to the, Marshalsea. William Dorrit was sitting in his old grey gown and
+his old black cap in the sunlight by the window when they entered.
+"Father, Mr. Clennam has brought me such joyful and wonderful
+intelligence about you!"
+
+Her agitation was great, and the old man put his hand suddenly to his
+heart, and looked at Clennam.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Dorrit, what surprise would be the most unlocked for and
+the most acceptable to you. Do not be afraid to imagine it, or to say
+what it would be."
+
+He looked steadfastly at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to
+change into a very old, haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall
+beyond the window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out
+the hand that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.
+
+"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone! And in its place are the means to
+possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr.
+Dorrit, there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will
+be free and highly prosperous."
+
+They had to fetch wine for the old man, and when he had swallowed a
+little he leaned back in his chair and cried. But he quickly recovered,
+and announced that everybody concerned should be nobly rewarded.
+
+"No one, my dear sir, shall say that he has an unsatisfied claim against
+me. Everybody shall be remembered. I will not go away from here in
+anybody's debt. I particularly wish to act munificently, Mr. Clennam."
+
+Clennam's offer of money for present contingencies was at once accepted.
+
+"I am obliged to you for the temporary accommodation, sir. Exceedingly
+temporary, but well timed--well timed. Be so kind, sir, as to add the
+amount to former advances."
+
+He grew more composed presently, and then when he seemed to be falling
+asleep unexpectedly sat up and said, "Mr. Clennam, am I to understand,
+my dear sir, that I could pass through the lodge at this moment, and
+take a walk?"
+
+"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain
+forms to be completed. It is but a few hours now."
+
+"A few hours, sir!" he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very
+easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to a
+man who is choking; for want of air?"
+
+It was his last demonstration for that time, but in the interval before
+the day of his departure he was very imperious with the lawyers
+concerned in his release, and a good deal of business was transacted.
+
+Mr. Arthur Clennam received a cheque for £24 93. 8d. from the solicitors
+of Edward Dorrit, Esq.--once "Tip"--with a note that the favour of the
+advance now repaid had not been asked of him.
+
+To the applications made by collegians within the so-soon-to-be-orphaned
+Marshalsea for small sums of money, Mr. Dorrit responded with the
+greatest liberality. He also invited the whole College to a
+comprehensive entertainment in the yard, and went about among the
+company on that occasion, and took notice of individuals, like a baron
+of the olden time, in a rare good humour.
+
+And now the final hour arrived when he and his family were to leave the
+prison for ever. The carriage was reported ready in the outer courtyard.
+Mr. Dorrit and his brother proceeded arm in arm, Edward Dorrit, Esq.,
+and his sister Fanny followed, also arm in arm.
+
+There was not a collegian within doors, nor a turnkey absent, as they
+crossed the yard. Mr. Dorrit--whose meat and drink had many a time been
+bought with money presented by some of those who stood to watch him
+go--yielding to the vast speculation how the poor creatures were to get
+on without him, was great, and sad, but not absorbed. He patted children
+on the head like Sir Roger de Coverley going to church, spoke to people
+in the background by their Christian names, and condescended to all
+present.
+
+At last three honest cheers announced that he had passed the gate, and
+that the Marshalsea was an orphan.
+
+Only when the family had got into their carriage, and not before, Miss
+Fanny exclaimed, "Good gracious I Where's Amy?"
+
+Her father had thought she was with her sister. Her sister had thought
+she was somewhere or other. They had all trusted to find her, as they
+had always done, quietly in the right place at the right moment. This
+going away was, perhaps, the very first action of their joint lives that
+they had got through without her.
+
+"Now I do say, Pa," cried Miss Fanny, flushed and indignant, "that this
+is disgraceful! Here is that child, Amy, in her ugly old shabby dress.
+Disgracing us at the last moment by being carried out in that dress
+after all. And by that Mr. Clennam too!"
+
+Clennam appeared at the carriage-door, bearing the little insensible
+figure in his arms.
+
+"She has been forgotten," he said. "I ran up to her room, and found the
+door open, and that she had fainted on the floor."
+
+They received her in the carriage, and the attendant, getting between
+Clennam and the carriage-door, with a sharp "By your leave, sir!"
+bundled up the steps, and drove away.
+
+
+_IV.--Another Prisoner in the Marshalsea_
+
+
+The Dorrit family travelled abroad in handsome style, and in due time
+Miss Fanny married.
+
+A sudden seizure carried off old Mr. Dorrit, and he died thinking
+himself back in the Marshalsea. His brother Frederick, stricken with
+grief, did not long survive him.
+
+Arthur Clennam, who had gone into partnership with a friend named Doyce,
+unfortunately invested his money in the financial schemes of Mr. Merdle,
+the greatest swindler of the day, and when the crash came and Merdle
+committed suicide, Clennam with hundreds of other innocent persons was
+involved in the general ruin.
+
+Doyce was working at the time in Germany, and it was some weeks before
+he could be found; in the meantime, Clennam, being insolvent, was taken
+to the Marshalsea.
+
+Mr. Chivery was on the lock and young John was in the lodge when the
+Marshalsea was reached. The elder Mr. Chivery shook hands with him in a
+shamefaced kind of way, and said, "I don't call to mind, sir, as I was
+ever less glad to see you."
+
+The prisoner followed young John up the old staircase into the old room.
+"I thought you'd like the room, and here it is for you," said young
+John.
+
+Young John waited upon him; and it was young John who explained that he
+did this not on the ground of the prisoner's merits, but because of the
+merits of another, of one who loved the prisoner. Clennam tried to argue
+to himself the improbability of Little Dorrit loving him, but he wasn't
+altogether successful.
+
+He fell ill, and it was Little Dorrit whose living presence first
+cheered him when he returned from the world of feverish dreams and
+shadows.
+
+He did his best to dissuade her from coming. He was a ruined man, and
+the time when Little Dorrit and the prison had anything in common had
+long gone by.
+
+But still she came and often read to him. And one day she told him that
+all her money had gone as his had gone, lost in the Merdle whirlpool,
+and that her sister Fanny's was lost, too, in the same way.
+
+"I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When
+papa came over to England, just before his death, he confided everything
+he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. Oh, my dearest and
+best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me?"
+
+Locked in his arms, held to his heart, she drew the slight hand round
+his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand.
+
+Of course, when Doyce, who was a thoroughly good fellow, and successful
+to boot, found out his partner's plight, he came back and put things
+right, and the business was soon set going again.
+
+And on the very day of his release, Arthur Clennam and Little Dorrit
+went into the neighbouring church of St. George, and were married, Doyce
+giving the bride away.
+
+Little Dorrit and her husband walked out of the church alone when the
+signing of the register was done.
+
+They paused for a moment on the steps of the portico, and then went down
+into the roaring streets, inseparable and blessed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Martin Chuzzlewit
+
+
+      On its monthly publication, in 1843-44, "Martin Chuzzlewit"
+     was, pecuniarily, the least successful of Dickens's serials,
+     though popular as a book. It was his first novel after his
+     American tour, and the storm of resentment that had hailed the
+     appearance of "American Notes," in 1842, was intensified by
+     his merciless satire of American characteristics and
+     institutions in "Martin Chuzzlewit." Despite all adverse
+     criticism, however, "Chuzzlewit" is worthy to rank with
+     anything that ever came from the pen of the great Victorian
+     novelist. It is a very long story, and a very full one; the
+     canvas is crowded with a gallery of typical Dickensian people.
+     Through Mrs. Gamp, Dickens dealt a death-blow to the drunken
+     nurse of the period. The name Pecksniff has become synonymous
+     with a certain type of hypocrite, and the adjective
+     Pecksniffian is in common use wherever the English language is
+     spoken. Charged with exaggeration regarding Mr. Pecksniff,
+     Dickens wrote in the preface to "Martin Chuzzlewit," "All the
+     Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that
+     no such character ever existed. I will not offer any plea on
+     his behalf to so powerful and genteel a body." Mrs. Gamp,
+     though one of the humorous types that have, perhaps,
+     contributed most largely to the fame of Dickens, does not
+     appear in this epitome, the character being a minor one in the
+     development of the story.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Pecksniff's New Pupil_
+
+
+Mr. Pecksniff lived in a little Wiltshire village within an easy journey
+of Salisbury.
+
+The brazen plate upon his door bore the inscription, "Pecksniff,
+Architect," to which Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added,
+"and Land Surveyor." Of his architectural doings nothing was clearly
+known, except that he had never designed or built anything.
+
+Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not
+entirely, confined to the reception of pupils. His genius lay in
+ensnaring parents and guardians and pocketing premiums.
+
+Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. Perhaps there never was a more moral man
+than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence.
+Some people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the
+way to a place, and never goes there; but these were his enemies.
+
+Into Mr. Pecksniff's house came young Martin Chuzzlewit, a relation of
+the architect's. Tom Pinch, Mr. Pecksniff's assistant, had driven over
+to Salisbury for the new pupil, and had already discoursed to Martin on
+Mr. Pecksniff and his family (for Mr. Pecksniff had two
+daughters--Mercy, and Charity), in whose good qualities he had a
+profound and pathetic belief.
+
+Festive preparations on a rather extensive scale were already completed
+for Martin's benefit on the night of his arrival. There were two bottles
+of currant wine, white and red; a dish of sandwiches, very long, and
+very slim; another of apples; another of captain's biscuits; a plate of
+oranges cut up small and gritty with powdered sugar; and a highly
+geological home-made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite
+took away Tom Pinch's breath, for though the new pupils were usually let
+down softly, particularly in the wine department, still this was a
+banquet, a sort of lord mayor's feast in private life, a something to
+think of, and hold on by afterwards.
+
+To this entertainment Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do full
+justice.
+
+"Martin," he said, addressing his daughters, "will seat himself between
+you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by me. This is a mingling
+that repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry."
+Here he took a captain's biscuit. "It is a poor heart that never
+rejoices; and our hearts are not poor. No!"
+
+The following morning Mr. Pecksniff announced that he must go to London.
+"On professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional
+business; and I promised my girls long ago that they should accompany
+me. We shall go forth to-night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old,
+my dear Martin--and it will be a week before we again deposit, our
+olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive branches," observed Mr.
+Pecksniff, in explanation, "I mean our unpretending luggage."
+
+"And now let me see," said Mr. Pecksniff presently, "how can you best
+employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to give me
+your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London, or a tomb for a
+sheriff, or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a nobleman's
+park. A pump is a very chaste practice. I have found that a lamp-post is
+calculated to refine the mind and give it a classical tendency. An
+ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect upon the imagination. What
+do you say to beginning with an ornamental turnpike?"
+
+"Whatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Martin doubtfully.
+
+"Stay," said that gentleman. "Come! as you're ambitious, and are a very
+neat draughtsman, you shall try your hand on these proposals for a
+grammar-school. When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of
+occupation, Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of surveying the
+back-garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the road between this
+house and the finger-post, or in any other practical and pleasing
+pursuit. There is a cart-load of loose bricks, and a score or two of old
+flower-pots in the back-yard. If you could pile them up, my dear Martin,
+into any form which would remind me on my return, say, of St. Peter's at
+Rome, or the Mosque of St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once
+improving to you and agreeable to my feelings."
+
+The coach having rolled away, with the olive-branches in the boot and
+the family of doves inside, Martin Chuzzlewit and Tom Pinch were left
+together. Now, there was something in the very simplicity of Pinch that
+invited confidences, and young Martin could not refrain from telling his
+story.
+
+"I must talk openly to somebody," he began, "I'll talk openly to you.
+You must know, then, that I have been bred up from childhood with great
+expectations, and have always been taught to believe that one day I
+should be very rich. Certain things, however, have led to my being
+disinherited."
+
+"By your father?" inquired Tom.
+
+"By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. Now, my
+grandfather has a great many good points, but he has two very great
+faults, which are the staple of his bad side. He has the most confirmed
+obstinacy of character, and he is most abominably selfish; I have heard
+that these are failings of our family, and I have to be very thankful
+that they haven't descended to me. Now I come to the cream of my story,
+and the occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch. I am in love
+with one of the most beautiful girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is
+wholly and entirely dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and
+if he were to know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home
+and everything she possesses in the world. My grandfather, although I had
+conducted myself from the first with the utmost circumspection, is full
+of jealousy and mistrust, and suspected me of loving her. He said
+nothing to her, but attacked me in private, and charged me with
+designing to corrupt the fidelity to himself--observe his selfishness--
+of a young creature who was his only disinterested and faithful
+companion. The upshot of it was that I was to renounce her or be
+renounced by him. Of course, I was not going to yield to him, and here I
+am!"
+
+Mr. Pinch, after staring at the fire, said, "Pecksniff, of course, you
+knew before?"
+
+"Only by name. My grandfather kept not only himself, but me, aloof from
+all his relations. But our separation took place in a town in the
+neighbouring county. I saw Pecksniff's advertisement in the paper when I
+was at Salisbury, and answered it, having always had some natural taste
+in the matters to which it referred. I was doubly bent on coming to him
+if possible, on account of his being--"
+
+"Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rubbing his hands.
+
+"Why, not so much on that account," returned Martin, "as because my
+grandfather has an inveterate dislike to him, and after the old man's
+arbitrary treatment of me, I had a natural desire to run as directly
+counter to all his opinions as I could."
+
+
+_II.--Mr. Pecksniff Discharges His Duty_
+
+
+Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters took up their lodging in London at Mrs.
+Todgers's Commercial Boarding House, and it was at that favoured abode
+that old Martin Chuzzlewit, whose grandson had just entered Mr.
+Pecksniff's house, sought him out.
+
+"I very much regret," said old Martin, "that you and I held such a
+conversation as we did when we met awhile since. The intentions that I
+bear towards you now are of another kind. Deserted by all in whom I have
+ever trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who should help and sustain
+me, I fly to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my ally; to attach
+yourself to me by ties of interest and expectations. I regret having
+been severed from you so long."
+
+Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in
+rapture.
+
+"I fear you don't know what an old man's humours are," resumed old
+Martin. "You don't know what it is to be required to court his likings
+and dislikings; to do his bidding, be it what it may. You have a new
+inmate in your house. He must quit it."
+
+"For--for yours?" asked Mr. Pecksniff.
+
+"For any shelter he can find. He has deceived you."
+
+"I hope not," said Mr. Pecksniff eagerly, "I trust not. I have been
+extremely well disposed towards that young man. Deceit--deceit, my dear
+Mr. Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of
+deceit, to renounce him instantly."
+
+"Of course, you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?"
+
+"Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation, my dear
+sir?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Don't tell me that. For the honour of human
+nature say you're not about to tell me that!"
+
+"I thought he had suppressed it."
+
+The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure was
+only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What, had
+they taken to their hearth and home a secretely contracted serpent?
+Horrible!
+
+Old Martin then went on to inquire when they would be returning home;
+and, after relieving Mr. Pecksniff's unexpressed anxiety by mentioning
+that Mary Graham, the young lady whom the old man had adopted, would
+receive nothing at his death, announced that they might expect to see
+him before long.
+
+With a hasty farewell, the old man left the house, followed to the door
+by Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters. A few days later the Pecksniffs set
+out for home.
+
+Tom Pinch and Martin were both out in the lane to meet the coach, but
+Mr. Pecksniff pointedly ignored Martin's presence, even when the house
+had been reached; and it was not till Martin sharply demanded an
+explanation that he addressed him.
+
+"You have deceived me," said Mr. Pecksniff. "You have imposed upon a
+nature which you knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. This lowly roof,
+sir, must not be contaminated by the presence of one who has, further,
+deceived--and cruelly deceived--an honourable and venerable gentleman,
+and who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my
+protection. I weep for your depravity. I mourn over your corruption, but
+I cannot have a leper and a serpent for an inmate! Go forth," said Mr.
+Pecksniff, stretching out his hand, "go forth, young man! Like all who
+know you, I renounce you!"
+
+Martin made a stride forward at these words, and Mr. Pecksniff stepped
+back so hastily that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and
+fell in a sitting posture on the ground, where he remained, perhaps
+considering it the safest place.
+
+"Look at him, Pinch," said Martin, "as he lies there--a cloth for dirty
+hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning, servile hound! And, mark
+me, Pinch, the day will come when even you will find him out!"
+
+He pointed at him as he spoke with unutterable contempt, and flinging
+his hat upon his head, walked from the house. He went on so rapidly that
+he was clear of the village before Tom Pinch overtook him.
+
+"Are you going?" cried Tom.
+
+"Yes," he answered sternly, "I am."
+
+"Where?" asked Tom.
+
+"I don't know. Yes, I do--to America."
+
+
+_III.--New Eden_
+
+
+Martin did not go to America alone, for Mark Tapley, formerly of the
+Blue Dragon, an inn in the village where Mr. Pecksniff resided, insisted
+on accompanying him.
+
+"Now, sir, here am I, without a sitiwation," Mr. Tapley put it, "without
+any want of wages for a year to come--for I saved up (I didn't mean to
+do it, but I couldn't help it) at the Dragon; here am I with a liking
+for what's wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out
+strong under circumstances as would keep other men down--and will you
+take me, or will you leave me?"
+
+Once landed in the United States, the question of what to do arose, and
+Martin decided to invest his savings in buying land in the rising
+township of New Eden.
+
+"Mark, you shall be a partner in the business," said Martin (Mark having
+invested £37 to Martin's £8); "an equal partner with myself. We are no
+longer master and servant. I will put in, as my additional capital, my
+professional knowledge, and half the annual profits, as long as it is
+carried on, shall be yours. Our business shall be commenced, as soon as
+we get to New Eden, under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley."
+
+"Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, "don't have my name in it! I must be
+'Co.,' I must."
+
+"You shall have your own way, Mark."
+
+"Thank 'ee sir! If any country gentleman thereabouts in the public way
+wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I could take that part of
+the bis'ness, sir."
+
+It was a long steamboat journey, but at last they stopped at Eden. The
+waters of the Deluge might have left it but a week ago, so choked with
+slime and matted growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.
+
+A man advanced towards them when they landed, walking slowly, leaning on
+a stick.
+
+"Strangers!" he exclaimed.
+
+"The very same," said Mark. "How are you, sir?"
+
+"I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. "I haven't stood
+upright these many weeks. My eldest son has a chill upon him. My
+youngest died last week."
+
+"I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart!" said Mark. "The goods
+is safe enough," he added, turning to Martin, and pointing to their
+boxes. "There ain't many people about to make away with 'em. What a
+comfort that is!"
+
+"No," cried the man; "we've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away.
+Them that we have here don't come out at night."
+
+"The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?" said Mark.
+
+"It's deadly poison," was the answer.
+
+Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him as
+ambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explained
+the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his
+own log-house, he said.
+
+It was a miserable cabin, rudely constructed of the trunks of trees, the
+door of which had either fallen down or been carried away. When they had
+brought up their chest, Martin gave way, and lay down on the ground, and
+wept aloud.
+
+"Lord love you, sir," cried Mr. Tapley. "Don't do that. Anything but
+that! It never helped man, woman, or child over the lowest fence yet,
+sir, and it never will."
+
+Mark stole out gently in the morning while his companion slept, and took
+a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of cabins
+in the whole, and half of these appeared untenanted. Their own land was
+mere forest. He went down to the landing-place, where they had left
+their goods, and there he found some half a dozen men, wan and forlorn,
+who helped him to carry them to the log-house.
+
+Martin was by this time stirring, but he had greatly changed, even in
+one night. He was very pale and languid, and spoke of pains and
+weakness.
+
+"Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. "Why, you must be ill. Wait half
+a minute, till I run up to one of our neighbours and find out what's
+best to be took."
+
+Martin was soon dangerously ill, very near his death. Mark, fatigued in
+mind and body, working all the day and sitting up at night, worn by hard
+living, surrounded by dismal and discouraging circumstances, never
+complained or yielded in the least degree. And then, when Martin was
+better, Mark was taken ill. He fought against it; but the malady fought
+harder, and his efforts were vain.
+
+"Floored for the present, sir," he said one morning, sinking back upon
+his bed, "but jolly."
+
+And now it was Martin's turn to work and sit beside the bed and watch,
+and listen through the long, long nights to every sound in the gloomy
+wilderness.
+
+Martin's reflections in those days slowly showed him his own
+selfishness, and when Mark Tapley recovered, he found a singular
+alteration in his companion.
+
+"I don't know what to make of him," he thought one night. "He don't
+think of himself half as much as he did. It's a swindle. There'll be no
+credit in being jolly with _him_!"
+
+The settlement was deserted. The only thing to be done was to return to
+England.
+
+
+_IV.--The Downfall of Pecksniff_
+
+
+Old Martin Chuzzlewit had for some time taken up his residence at Mr.
+Pecksniff's, and Martin and Mark Tapley went to the Blue Dragon on their
+return.
+
+Martin at once sought out his grandfather, and marched into the house
+resolved on reconciliation. The old man listened to his appeal in
+silence; but Mr. Pecksniff spoke for him, and bade the young man begone.
+
+But old Martin was awake to Pecksniff's character, and resolved to set
+Mr. Pecksniff right, and Mr. Pecksniff's victims, too.
+
+Mark Tapley was the first person old Martin invited to see him. The old
+man had gone to London, and his grandson, Mary Graham, and Tom Pinch
+were all summoned to wait on him at a certain hour.
+
+From Mark, old Martin learnt that his grandson was an altered man.
+
+"There was always a deal of good in him," said Mr. Tapley, "but a little
+of it got crusted over somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that
+'ere paste, but--well, I think it may have been you, sir."
+
+"So you think," said Martin, "that his old faults are in some degree of
+my creation?"
+
+"Well, sir, I'm very sorry, but I can't unsay it. I don't believe that
+neither of you ever gave the other a fair chance."
+
+Presently came a knock at the door, and young Martin entered. The old
+man pointed to a distant chair. Then came Tom Pinch and his sister,
+Ruth; and Mary Graham; and Mrs. Lupin, the landlady of the Blue Dragon;
+and John Westlock, an old friend of Tom Pinch's.
+
+"Set the door open, Mark!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit.
+
+The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all knew
+it. It was Mr. Pecksniff's; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry, too, for
+he came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he stumbled once
+or twice.
+
+"Where is my venerable friend?" he cried upon the upper landing. And
+then, darting in and catching sight of old Martin, "My venerable friend
+is well?"
+
+Mr. Pecksniff looked round upon the assembled group, and shook his head
+reproachfully.
+
+"Oh, vermin!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Oh bloodsuckers! Horde of unnatural
+plunderers and robbers! Leave him! Leave him, I say! Begone! Abscond!
+You had better be off! Wander over the face of the earth, young sirs,
+and do not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the grey
+hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have the
+honour to act as an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff."
+
+He advanced, with outstretched arms, to take the old man's hand; but he
+had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its
+grasp. As he came smiling on, and got within his reach, old Martin,
+burning with indignation, rose up and struck him to the ground.
+
+"Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!" said Martin. And Mr. Tapley
+actually did drag him away, and struck him upon the floor with his back
+against the opposite wall.
+
+"Hear me, rascal!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. "I have summoned you here to
+witness your own work. Come hither, my dear Martin! Why did we ever
+part? How could we ever part? How could you fly from me to him? The
+fault was mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so, and I have known
+it long. Mary, my love, come here."
+
+She trembled, and was very pale; but he sat her in his own chair, and
+stood beside it holding her hand, Martin standing by him.
+
+"The curse of our house," said the old man, looking kindly down upon
+her, "has been the love of self--has ever been the love of self." He
+drew one hand through Martin's arm, and standing so, between them,
+proceeded, "What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can
+hold it."
+
+Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist--well,
+well!
+
+But it was good in him that even then, in high fortune and happiness, he
+had still a hand left to stretch out to Tom Pinch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Nicholas Nickleby
+
+
+      Writing in 1848, Charles Dickens declared that when "Nicholas
+     Nickleby" was begun in 1838 "there were then a good many-cheap
+     Yorkshire schools in existence. There are very few now." In
+     the preface to the completed book the author mentioned that
+     more than one Yorkshire schoolmaster laid claim to be the
+     original of Squeers, and he had reason to believe "one worthy
+     has actually consulted authorities learned in the law as to
+     his having good grounds on which to rest an action for libel."
+     But Squeers, as Dickens insisted, was the representative of a
+     class, and not an individual. The Brothers Cheeryble were "no
+     creations of the author's brain" Dickens also wrote; and in
+     consequence of this statement "hundreds upon hundreds of
+     letters from all sorts of people" poured in upon him to be
+     forwarded "to the originals of the Brothers Cheeryble." They
+     were the Brothers Grant, cotton-spinners, near Manchester.
+     "Nicholas Nickleby" was completed in October, 1839.
+
+
+_I.--A Yorkshire Schoolmaster_
+
+
+Mr. Nickleby, a country gentleman of small estate, having endeavoured to
+increase his scanty fortune by speculation, found himself ruined; he
+took to his bed (apparently resolved to keep that, at all events), and,
+after embracing his wife and children, very soon departed this life. So
+Mrs. Nickleby went to London to wait upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph
+Nickleby, and with her two children, Nicholas, then nineteen, and Kate,
+a year or two younger, took lodgings in the Strand.
+
+It was to these apartments that Ralph Nickleby, a hard, unscrupulous,
+cunning money-lender, came on receipt of the widow's note.
+
+"Are you willing to work, sir?" said Ralph, frowning at his nephew.
+
+"Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily.
+
+"Then see here," said his uncle. "This caught my eyes this morning, and
+you may thank your stars for it."
+
+With that Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his pocket and read
+the following advertisement.
+
+"_Education_.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers' Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at the
+delightful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, youths are boarded,
+clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, instructed in all
+languages living or dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry,
+trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if
+required), writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of
+classic literature. Terms, twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no
+vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends
+daily from one till four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B.--An able
+assistant wanted. Annual salary, £5, A Master of Arts would be
+preferred."
+
+"There!" said Ralph, folding the paper again. "Let him get that
+situation and his fortune's made. If he don't like that, let him get one
+for himself."
+
+"I am ready to do anything you wish me," said Nicholas, starting gaily
+up. "Let us try our fortune with Mr. Squeers at once; he can but
+refuse."
+
+"He won't do that," said Ralph. "He will be glad to have you on my
+recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be a
+partner in the establishment in no time."
+
+Nicholas, having taken down the address of Mr. Wackford Squeers, the
+uncle and nephew at once went forth in quest of that accomplished
+gentleman.
+
+"Perhaps you recollect me?" said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
+schoolmaster, as the Saracen's Head.
+
+"You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town
+for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a
+boy who, unfortunately----"
+
+"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
+sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
+assistant. Do you really want one?"
+
+"Certainly," answered Squeers.
+
+"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
+the man you want."
+
+"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
+youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."
+
+"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
+being a Master of Arts?"
+
+"The absence of the college degree _is_ an objection." replied Squeers,
+considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
+nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.
+
+"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
+apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
+Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
+assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.
+
+"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
+coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
+with us."
+
+"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
+to do but keep yourself warm."
+
+
+_II.--At Dotheboys Hall_
+
+
+"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
+arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the
+pump's froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be
+content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the
+well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys."
+
+Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
+the school-room.
+
+"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
+our shop."
+
+It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
+copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
+desks and forms.
+
+But the pupils!
+
+Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
+and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
+bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
+horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
+been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
+yet, painful as the scene was, it had its grotesque features.
+
+Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
+nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of
+brimstone and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in
+succession, using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.
+
+"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
+the operation was over.
+
+A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
+desk, and called up the first class.
+
+"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
+said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
+the first boy?"
+
+"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."
+
+"So he is, to be sure," replied Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode
+of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean,
+verb active, to make bright. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When
+the boy knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the
+second boy?"
+
+"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."
+
+"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
+bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned
+that bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's
+our system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"
+
+"A beast, sir," replied the boy.
+
+"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
+for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
+perfect in that, go and look after _my_ horse, and rub him down well, or
+I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till
+somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and
+they want the coppers filled."
+
+The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
+lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
+see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and
+know that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.
+
+In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
+Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
+slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.
+
+It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.
+
+Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
+displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a
+proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that "she'd
+bring his pride down"), and the petty indignities this lady could
+inflict upon him. He bore with the bad food, dirty lodging, and daily
+round of squalid misery in the school.
+
+But there came a day when Smike, unable to face his tormentors any
+longer, ran away. He was taken within four-and-twenty hours, and brought
+back, bedabbled with mud and rain, haggard and worn--to all appearance
+more dead than alive.
+
+The work this unhappy drudge performed would have cost the establishment
+some ten or twelve shillings a week in the way of wages, and Squeers,
+who, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of all runaways from
+Dotheboys Hall, prepared to take full vengeance on Smike.
+
+At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby
+started up from his desk, and cried "Stop!" in a furious voice.
+
+"Touch that boy at your peril. I will not stand by and see it done."
+
+He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
+spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.
+
+All Nicholas's feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were
+concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon
+the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the
+throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.
+
+Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her
+partner's coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary.
+With the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining
+strength into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from
+him with all the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated
+over an adjacent form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his
+descent, lay at full length on the ground, stunned and motionless.
+
+Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the
+room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched
+boldly out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.
+
+
+_III.--Brighter Days for Nicholas_
+
+
+After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned
+all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry
+office in London. And as he stood there looking at the various placards
+in the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted
+blue coat, happened to stop too.
+
+Nicholas caught the old gentleman's eye, and began to wonder whether the
+stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.
+
+As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to
+speak, and good-naturedly stood still.
+
+"I was only going to say," said Nicholas, "that I hoped you had some
+object in consulting those advertisements in the window."
+
+"Ay, ay; what object now?" returned the old gentleman. "Did you think I
+wanted a situation now, eh? I thought the same of you, at first, upon my
+word I did."
+
+"If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
+from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. "The kindness of your face and
+manner--both so unlike any I have ever seen--tempt me to speak in a way
+I should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of
+London."
+
+"Wilderness! Yes, it is; it is. It was a wilderness to me once. I came
+here barefoot--I have never forgotten it. What's the matter, how did it
+all come about?" said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of
+Nicholas, and walking him up the street. "In mourning, too, eh?" laying
+his finger on the sleeve of his black coat.
+
+"My father," replied Nicholas.
+
+"Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps?"
+
+Nicholas nodded.
+
+"Brothers and sisters, too, eh?"
+
+"One sister."
+
+"Poor thing, poor thing! You're a scholar too, I dare say. Education's a
+great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very
+fine thing. Tell me more of your history, all of it. No impertinent
+curiosity--no, no!"
+
+There was something so earnest and guileless in the way this was said
+that Nicholas could not resist it. So he told his story, and, at the
+end, the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they
+emerged in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into
+some business premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers,"
+on the doorpost, and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk
+in the counting-house.
+
+"Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.
+
+"Yes, he is, sir," said the clerk.
+
+What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor took him into a
+room and presented him to another old gentleman, the very type and model
+of himself--the same face and figure, the same clothes. Nobody could
+have doubted their being twin brothers.
+
+"Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, "here is a young friend of mine
+that we must assist." Then brother Charles related what Nicholas had
+told him. And, after that, and some conversation between the brothers,
+Tim Linkinwater was called in, and brother Ned whispered a few words in
+his ear.
+
+"Tim," said brother Charles, "you understand that we have an intention
+of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house."
+
+Brother Ned remarked that Tim quite approved of it, and Tim, having
+nodded, said, with resolution, "But I'm not coming an hour later in the
+morning, you know. I'm not going to the country either. It's forty-four
+years since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I've opened
+the safe all that time every morning at nine, and I've never slept out
+of the back attic one single night. This ain't the first time you've
+talked about superannuating me, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles; but, if you
+please, we'll make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore."
+
+With which words Tim Linkinwater stalked out, with the air of a man who
+was thoroughly resolved not to be put down.
+
+The brothers coughed.
+
+"He must be done something with, brother Ned. We must, disregard his
+scruples; he must be made a partner."
+
+"Quite right, quite right, brother Charles. If he won't listen to
+reason, we must do it against his will. But, in the meantime, we are
+keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be
+anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present." And at
+that the brothers hurried Nicholas out of the office, shaking hands with
+him all the way.
+
+That was the beginning of brighter days for Nicholas and for Mrs.
+Nickleby and Kate. The brothers Cheeryble not only took Nicholas into
+their office, but a small cottage at Bow, then quite out in the country,
+was found for the widow and her children.
+
+There never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first
+week at that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new
+had been found. One day it was a grape-vine, and another day it was a
+boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlour cupboard at
+the bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items.
+
+As for Nicholas's work in the counting-house, Tim Linkinwater was
+satisfied with the young man the very first day.
+
+Tim turned pale and stood watching with breathless anxiety when Nicholas
+made his first entry in the books of Cheeryble Brothers, while the two
+brothers looked on with smiling faces.
+
+Presently the old clerk nodded his head, signifying "He'll do." But when
+Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, Tim Linkinwater, unable to
+restrain his satisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and
+caught him rapturously by the hand.
+
+"He has done it!" said Tim, looking round triumphantly at his employers.
+"His capital 'B's' and 'D's' are exactly like mine; he dots his small
+'i's' and crosses every 't.' There ain't such a young man in all London.
+The City can't produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it!"
+
+
+_IV.--The Brothers Cheeryble_
+
+
+In course of time the brothers Cheeryble, in their frequent visits to
+the cottage at Bow, often took with them their nephew Frank; and it also
+happened that Miss Madeline Bray, a ward of the brothers, was taken to
+the cottage to recover from a serious illness.
+
+Nicholas, from the first time he had seen Madeline in the office of
+Cheeryble Brothers, had fallen in love with her; but he decided that as
+an honourable man no word of love must pass his lips. While Kate
+Nickleby had been equally firm in declining to listen to any proposal
+from Frank.
+
+It was some time after Madeline had left the cottage, and Nicholas and
+Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own regrets, and
+to live for each other and for their mother, when there came one
+evening, per Mr. Linkinwater, an invitation from the brothers to dinner
+on the next day but one.
+
+"You may depend on it that this means something besides dinner," said
+Mrs. Nickleby solemnly.
+
+When the great day arrived who should be there at the house of the
+brothers but Frank and Madeline.
+
+"Young men," said brother Charles, "shake hands."
+
+"I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas.
+
+"Nor I," rejoined Frank, and the two young men clasped hands heartily.
+
+The old gentleman took them aside.
+
+"I wish to see you friends--close and firm friends. Frank, look here!
+Mrs. Nickleby, will you come on the other side? This is a copy of the
+will of Madeline's grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of £12,000. Now,
+Frank, you were largely instrumental in recovering this document. The
+fortune is but a small one, but we love Madeline. Will you become a
+suitor for her hand?"
+
+"No, sir. I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument,
+believing that her hand was already pledged elsewhere. In this, it
+seems, I judged hastily."
+
+"As you always do, sir!" cried brother Charles. "How dare you think,
+Frank, that we could have you marry for money? How dare you go and make
+love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without telling us first, and letting us
+speak for you. Mr. Nickleby, sir, Frank judged hastily, but he judged,
+for once, correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied--give me your hand--it
+is occupied by you and worthily. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby, as we,
+her dearest friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would
+have _him_ choose. He should have your sister's little hand, sir, if she
+had refused it a score of times--ay, he should, and he shall! What? You
+are the children of a worthy gentleman. The time was, sir, when my
+brother Ned and I were two poor, simple-hearted boys, wandering almost
+barefoot to seek bur fortunes. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, what a happy day this
+is for you and me! If our poor mother had only lived to see us now, Ned,
+how proud it would have made her dear heart at last!"
+
+So Madeline gave her heart and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day,
+and at the same time, Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. Madeline's money
+was invested in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Nicholas had
+become a partner, and before many years elapsed the business was carried
+on in the names of "Cheeryble and Nickleby."
+
+Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreating and brow-beating, to
+accept a share in the house; but he could never be prevailed upon to
+suffer the publication of his name as partner, and always persisted in
+the punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties.
+
+The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were happy?
+
+The first act of Nicholas, when he became a rich and prosperous
+merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and there
+came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was altered and
+enlarged; but no tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any
+association of bygone times was ever removed or changed. Mr. Squeers,
+having come within the meshes of the law over some nefarious scheme of
+Ralph Nickleby's, suffered transportation beyond the seas, and with his
+disappearance Dotheboys Hall was broken up for good.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Oliver Twist
+
+
+      "The Adventures of Oliver Twist," published serially in
+     "Bentley's Miscellany," 1837-39, and in book form in 1838, was
+     the second of Dickens's novels. It lacks the exuberance of
+     "Pickwick," and is more limited in its scenes and characters
+     than any other novel he wrote, excepting "Hard Times" and
+     "Great Expectations." But the description of the workhouse,
+     its inmates and governors, is done in Dickens's best style,
+     and was a frontal attack on the Poor Law administration of the
+     time. Bumble, indeed, has passed into common use as the
+     typical workhouse official of the least satisfactory sort. No
+     less powerful than the picture of Oliver's wretched childhood
+     is the description of the thieves' kitchen, presided over by
+     Fagin. Bill Sikes and the Artful Dodger are household words
+     for criminals, and the character of Fagin is drawn with
+     wonderful skill in this terrible view of the underworld of
+     London.
+
+
+_I.--The Parish Boy_
+
+
+Oliver was born in the workhouse, and his mother died the same night.
+Not even a promised reward of £10 could produce any information as to
+the boy's father or the mother's name. The woman was young, frail, and
+delicate--a stranger to the parish.
+
+"How comes he to have any name at all, then?" said Mrs. Mann (who was
+responsible for the early bringing up of the workhouse children) to Mr.
+Bumble, the parish beadle.
+
+The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I invented it.
+We name our foundings in alphabetical order. The last was a S; Swubble I
+named him. This was a T; Twist I named _him_. I have got names ready
+made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when
+we come to Z."
+
+"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann.
+
+Oliver, being now nine years old, was removed from the tender mercies of
+Mrs. Mann, in whose wretched home not one kind word or look had ever
+lighted the gloom of his infant years, and was taken into the workhouse.
+
+Now the members of the board, who were long-headed men, had just
+established the rule that all poor people should have the alternative
+(for they would compel nobody, not they) of being starved by a gradual
+process in the house, or by a quick one out of it. All relief was
+inseparable from the workhouse, and the thin gruel issued three times a
+day to its inmates.
+
+The system was in full operation for the first six months after Oliver
+Twist's admission, and boys having generally excellent appetites, Oliver
+Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation. Each
+boy had one porringer of gruel, and no more. At last the boys got so
+voracious and wild with hunger, that one, who was tall for his age and
+hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small
+cook's shop), hinted darkly to his companions that unless he had another
+basin of gruel _per diem_ he was afraid he might some night happen to
+eat the boy who slept next him, a weakly youth of tender age. He had a
+wild, hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council was held,
+lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper that
+evening and ask for more, and it fell to Oliver Twist.
+
+The evening arrived, the boys took their places. The master, in his
+cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper to ladle out the gruel;
+his pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him, the gruel was served
+out, and a long grace was said over the short commons.
+
+The gruel disappeared, the boys whispered to each other, and winked at
+Oliver, while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was
+desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table,
+and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat
+alarmed at his own temerity, "Please, sir, I want some more."
+
+The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in
+stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then
+said, "What!"
+
+"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."
+
+The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in
+his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
+
+The board were sitting in solemn conclave when Mr. Bumble rushed into
+the room in great excitement, and addressing a gentleman in a high
+chair, said, "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has
+asked for more!"
+
+There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.
+
+"For _more_?" said the chairman. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer
+me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had
+eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"
+
+"He did, sir," replied Bumble.
+
+"That boy will be hung," said a gentleman in a white waistcoat. "I know
+that boy will be hung."
+
+Nobody disputed the opinion. Oliver was ordered into instant
+confinement, and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
+workhouse gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would
+take Oliver Twist off their hands. In other words, five pounds and
+Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice
+to any trade, business, or calling.
+
+Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep, was the first to respond to this offer.
+
+"It's a nasty trade," said the chairman of the board.
+
+"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now," said another
+member.
+
+"That's because they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley
+to make 'em come down again," said Gamfield. "That's all smoke, and no
+blaze; vereas smoke only sinds him to sleep, and that ain't no use in
+making a boy come down. Boys is wery obstinite and wery lazy, gen'l'men,
+and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down with a
+run. It's humane, too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the
+chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate
+theirselves."
+
+The board consented to hand over Oliver to the chimney-sweep (the
+premium being reduced to £3 10s.), but the magistrates declined to
+sanction the indentures, and it was Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, who
+finally relieved the board of their responsibility.
+
+Mrs. Sowerberry's ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight. He left the
+house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across
+fields, and gained the high road outside the town. A milestone intimated
+that it was seventy miles to London. In London he would be beyond the
+reach of Mr. Bumble; to London he would trudge.
+
+
+_II.--The Artful Dodger_
+
+
+It was on the seventh morning after he had left his native place that
+Oliver limped slowly into the town of Barnet. Tired and hungry he sat
+down on a doorstep, and presently was roused by the question "Hallo, my
+covey, what's the row?"
+
+The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer was about his
+own age, but one of the queerest-looking boys that Oliver had ever seen.
+He was short for his age, and dirty, and he had about him all the airs
+and manners of a man. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his
+heels, and he had turned the cuffs back half-way up his arm to get his
+hands out of the sleeves. Altogether he was as roystering and swaggering
+a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six in his bluchers.
+
+"You want grub," said this strange boy, helping Oliver to rise; "and you
+shall have it. I'm at low-watermark myself, only one bob and a magpie;
+but as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump."
+
+"Going to London?" said the strange boy, while they sat and finished a
+meal in a small public-house.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Got any lodgings?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Money?"
+
+"No."
+
+The strange boy whistled.
+
+"I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you? Well,
+I've got to be in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman
+as lives there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for
+the change--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you."
+
+This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, and on
+the way to London, where they arrived at nightfall, Oliver learnt that
+his friend's name was Jack Dawkins, but that he was known among his
+intimates as "The Artful Dodger."
+
+In Field Lane, in the slums of Saffron Hill, the Dodger pushed open the
+door of a house, and drew Oliver within.
+
+"Now, then," cried a voice, in reply to his whistle.
+
+"Plummy and slam," said the Dodger.
+
+This seemed to be a watchword, for a man at once appeared with a candle.
+
+"There's two on you," said the man. "Who's the t'other one, and where
+does he come from?"
+
+"A new pal from Greenland," replied Jack Dawkins. "Is Fagin upstairs?"
+
+"Yes, he's sortin the wipes. Up with you."
+
+The room that Oliver was taken into was black with age and dirt. Several
+rough beds, made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor.
+Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the
+Dodger, smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of
+middle-aged men. An old shrivelled Jew, of repulsive face, was standing
+over the fire, dividing his attention between a frying-pan and a
+clothes-horse full of silk handkerchiefs.
+
+The Dodger whispered a few words to the Jew, and then said aloud, "This
+is him, Fagin, my friend Oliver Twist."
+
+The Jew grinned. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very."
+
+A good supper Oliver had that night, and a heavy sleep, and a hearty
+breakfast next morning.
+
+When the breakfast was cleared away, Fagin, who was quite a merry old
+gentleman, and the Dodger and another boy named Charley Bates, played at
+a very curious game. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one
+pocket of his trousers, a note-book in the other, and a watch in his
+waistcoat, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, and
+spectacle-case and handkerchief in his coat-pocket, trotted up and down
+the room in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about
+the streets; while the Dodger and Charley Bates had to get all these
+things out of his pockets without being observed. It was so very funny
+that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face.
+
+A few days later, and he understood the full meaning of the game.
+
+The Dodger and Charley Bates had taken Oliver out for a walk, and after
+sauntering along, they suddenly pulled up short on Clerkenwell Green, at
+the sight of an old gentleman reading at a bookstall. So intent was he
+over his book that he might have been sitting in an easy chair in his
+study.
+
+To Oliver's horror, the Dodger plunged his hand into the gentleman's
+pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and handed it to Bates. Then both boys
+ran away round the corner at full speed. Oliver, frightened at what he
+had seen, ran off, too; the old gentleman, at the same moment missing
+his handkerchief, and seeing Oliver scudding off, concluded he was the
+thief, and gave chase, still holding his book in his hand.
+
+The cry of "Stop thief!" was raised. Oliver was knocked down, captured,
+and taken to the police-station by a constable.
+
+The magistrate was still sitting, and Oliver would have been convicted
+there and then but for the arrival of the bookseller.
+
+"Stop, stop! Don't take him away! I saw it all! I keep the bookstall,"
+cried the man. "I saw three boys, two others, and the prisoner here. The
+robbery was committed by another boy. I saw that this one was amazed by
+it."
+
+Oliver was acquitted. But he had fainted. Mr. Brownlow, for that was the
+name of the old gentleman, shocked and moved at the boy's deathly
+whiteness, straightway carried the boy off in a cab to his own house in
+a quiet, shady street near Pentonville.
+
+
+_III.--Back in Fagin's Den_
+
+
+For many days Oliver remained insensible to the goodness of his new
+friends. But all that careful nursing could do was done, and he slowly
+and surely recovered. Mr. Brownlow, a kind-hearted old bachelor, took
+the greatest interest in his _protégé_, and Oliver implored him not to
+turn him out of doors to wander in the streets.
+
+"My dear child," said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver's
+appeal, "you need not be afraid of my deserting you. I have been
+deceived before in people I have endeavored to benefit, but I feel
+strongly disposed to trust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested
+in your behalf than I can well account for. Let me hear your story;
+speak the truth to me, and you shall not be friendless while I am
+alive."
+
+A certain unmistakable likeness in Oliver to a lady's portrait that was
+on the wall of the room struck Mr. Brownlow. What connection could there
+be between the original of the portrait, and this poor child?
+
+But before Mr. Brownlow had heard Oliver's story he had lost the boy.
+For Fagin, horribly uneasy lest Oliver should be the means of betraying
+his late companions, resolved to get him back as quickly as possible. To
+accomplish his evil purpose, Nancy, a young woman who belonged to
+Fagin's gang, and who had seen Oliver, was prevailed upon to undertake
+the commission.
+
+Now, the very evening before Oliver was to tell his story to Mr.
+Brownlow, the boy, anxious to prove his honesty, had set out with some
+books on an errand to the bookseller at Clerkenwell Green.
+
+"You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, "that you have brought these books
+back, and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This
+is a five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten shillings
+change."
+
+"I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied Oliver eagerly.
+
+He was walking briskly along, thinking how happy and contented he ought
+to feel, when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud,
+"Oh, my dear brother!" He had hardly looked up when he was stopped by
+having a pair of arms thrown tight round his neck.
+
+"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me. Who is it? What are
+you stopping me for?"
+
+The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the
+young woman who had embraced him.
+
+"I've found him! Oh, Oliver, Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy to make me
+suffer such distress on your account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've
+found him! Thank gracious goodness heavens, I've found him!"
+
+The young woman burst out crying, and a couple of women standing by
+asked what was the matter.
+
+"Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, "he ran away from his parents, and
+went and joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke
+his mother's heart."
+
+"Young wretch!" said one woman.
+
+"Go home, do, you little brute," said the other.
+
+"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't know her. I haven't
+any sister or father or mother. I'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville."
+
+"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out," cried the young woman. "Make
+him come home, or he'll kill his dear mother and father, and break my
+heart!"
+
+"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a
+white dog at his heels. "Young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother,
+you young dog!"
+
+"I don't belong to them. I don't know them! Help, help!" cried Oliver,
+struggling in the man's powerful grasp.
+
+"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes, I'll help you, you young rascal! What
+books are these? You've been a-stealin' 'em, have you? Give 'em here!"
+
+With these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him
+on the head.
+
+Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of
+the attack, terrified by the brutality of the man--who was none other
+than Bill Sikes, the roughest of all Fagin's pupils--what could one poor
+child do? Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; resistance
+was useless. Sikes and Nancy hurried the boy on between them through
+courts and alleys till, once more, he was within the dreadful house
+where the Dodger had first brought him. Long after the gas-lamps were
+lighted, Mr. Brownlow sat waiting in his parlour. The servant had run up
+the street twenty times to see if there were any traces of Oliver. The
+housekeeper had waited anxiously at the open door. But no Oliver
+returned.
+
+
+_IV.--Oliver Falls among Friends_
+
+
+Mr. Bill Sikes having an important house-breaking engagement with his
+fellow-robber, Mr. Toby Crackit, at Shepperton, decided that Oliver must
+accompany him.
+
+It was a detached house, and the night was dark as pitch when Sikes and
+Crackit, dragging Oliver along, climbed the wall and approached a
+narrow, shuttered window. In vain Oliver implored them to let him go.
+
+"Listen, you young limb," whispered Sikes, when a crowbar had overcome
+the shutter, and the lattice had been opened. "I'm going to put you
+through there." Drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, he added, "Take
+this light; go softly up the steps straight afore you, and along the
+hall to the street door; unfasten it, and let us in."
+
+The boy was put through the window, and Sikes, pointing to the door with
+his pistol, told him if he faltered he would shoot him.
+
+Hardly had Oliver advanced a few yards before Sikes called out, "Back!
+back!"
+
+Startled, the boy dropped the lantern, uncertain whether to advance or
+fly.
+
+The cry was repeated--a light appeared--a vision of two terrified,
+half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes--a
+flash--a loud noise--and he staggered back.
+
+Sikes got him out of the window before the smoke cleared away, and fired
+his pistol after the men, who were already in retreat.
+
+"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes. "Give me a shawl here. They've hit
+him. Quick! The boy is bleeding."
+
+Then came the loud ringing of a bell, and the shouts of men, and the
+sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then
+the noises grew confused in the distance, and Oliver saw and heard no
+more.
+
+Sikes, finding the chase too hot, was compelled to leave Oliver in a
+ditch and make his escape with his friend Crackit.
+
+It was morning when Oliver awoke. His left arm was rudely bandaged in a
+shawl, and the bandage was saturated with blood. Weak and dizzy, he yet
+felt that if he remained where he was he would surely die, and so he
+staggered to his feet. The only house in sight was the one he had
+entered a few hours earlier, and he bent his steps towards it. He pushed
+against the garden-gate--it was unlocked. He tottered across the lawn,
+climbed the steps, knocked faintly at the door, and, his whole strength
+failing him, sank down against the little portico.
+
+Mr. Giles, the butler and general steward of the house, who had fired
+the shot and led the pursuit, was just explaining the exciting events of
+the night to his fellow-servants of the kitchen when Oliver's knock was
+heard. With considerable reluctance the door was opened, and then the
+group, peeping timorously over each other's shoulders, beheld no more
+formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and
+exhausted.
+
+"Here he is!" bawled Giles. "Here's one of the, thieves, ma'am! Wounded,
+miss! I shot him!"
+
+They lugged the fainting boy into the hall, and then in the midst of all
+the noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet and gentle voice, which
+quelled it in an instant.
+
+"Giles!" whispered the voice from the stairhead. "Hush! You frighten my
+aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?"
+
+"Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles.
+
+After a hasty consultation with her aunt, the same gentle speaker bade
+them carry the wounded person upstairs, and send to Chertsey at all
+speed for a constable and a doctor. The latter arrived when the young
+lady and her aunt, Mrs. Maylie, were at breakfast, and his visit to the
+sick-room changed the state of affairs. On his return he begged Mrs.
+Maylie and her niece to accompany him upstairs.
+
+In lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they had expected to see,
+there lay a mere child, sunk in a deep sleep.
+
+The ladies could not believe this delicate boy was a criminal, and when,
+on waking up, he told them his simple history, they were determined to
+prevent his arrest.
+
+The doctor undertook to save the boy, and to that end entered the
+kitchen where Mr. Giles, Brittles, his assistant, and the constable were
+regaling themselves with ale.
+
+"How is the patient, sir?" asked Giles.
+
+"So-so," returned the doctor. "I'm afraid you've got yourself into a
+scrape there, Mr. Giles. Are you a Protestant? And what are _you_?"
+turning sharply on Brittles.
+
+"Yes, sir; I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, turning very pale, for the
+doctor spoke with strange severity.
+
+"I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir," said Brittles, starting violently.
+
+"Then tell me this, both of you," said the doctor. "Are you going to
+take upon yourselves to swear that that boy upstairs is the boy that was
+put through the little window last night? Come, out with it! Pay
+attention to the reply, constable. Here's a house broken into, and a
+couple of men catch a moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of
+gunpowder-smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness.
+Here's a boy comes to that very same house next morning, and because he
+happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him,
+place his life in danger, and swear he is the thief. I ask you again,"
+thundered the doctor, "are you, on your solemn oaths, able to identify
+that boy?"
+
+Of course, under these circumstances, as Mr. Giles and Brittles couldn't
+identify the boy, the constable retired, and the attempted robbery was
+followed by no arrests.
+
+Oliver Twist grew up in the peaceful and happy home of Mrs. Maylie,
+under the tender affection of two good women. Later on, Mr. Brownlow was
+found, and Oliver's character restored. It was proved, too, that the
+portrait Mr. Brownlow possessed was that of Oliver's mother, whom its
+owner had once esteemed dearly. Betrayed by fate, the unhappy woman had
+sought refuge in the workhouse, only to die in giving birth to her son.
+
+In that same workhouse, where his authority had formerly been so
+considerable, Mr. Bumble came--as a pauper--to die.
+
+Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting
+against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage
+housebreaker murdered her.
+
+But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.
+
+For the Jew was taken and condemned to death, and in the condemned cell
+came the recollection to him of all the men he had known who had died
+upon the scaffold, some of them through his means.
+
+Sikes, when the news of Nancy's murder got abroad, was hunted by a
+furious crowd. He had taken refuge in an old, disreputable uninhabited
+house, known to his accomplices, which stood right over the Thames, in
+Jacob's Island, not far from Dockhead; but the pursuit was hot, and the
+only chance of safety lay in getting to the river.
+
+At the very moment when the crowd was forcing its way into the house,
+Sikes made a running noose to slip beneath his arm-pits, and so lower
+himself to a ditch beneath. He was out on the roof, and then, when the
+loop was over his head, the face of the murdered girl seemed to stare at
+him.
+
+"The eyes again!" he cried, in an unearthly screech, and threw up his
+arms in horror.
+
+Staggering, as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled
+over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight,
+tight as a bowstring. He fell for five-and-thirty feet, and then, after
+a sudden jerk, and a terrible convulsion of the limbs, swung lifeless
+against the wall.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Old Curiosity Shop
+
+
+      "The Old Curiosity Shop" was begun by Dickens in his new
+     weekly publication called "Master Humphrey's Clock," in 1840,
+     and its early chapters were written in the first person. But
+     its author soon got rid of the impediments that pertained to
+     "Master Humphrey," and "when the story was finished," Dickens
+     wrote, "I caused the few sheets of 'Master Humphrey's Clock,'
+     which had been printed in connection with it, to be
+     cancelled." "The Old Curiosity Shop" won a host of friends for
+     the author; A.C. Swinburne even declared Little Nell equal to
+     any character in fiction. The lonely figure of the child with
+     grotesque and wild, but not impossible, companions, took the
+     hearts of all readers by storm, and the death of Little Nell
+     moved thousands to tears. While the story was appearing, Tom
+     Hood, then unknown to Dickens, wrote an essay "tenderly
+     appreciative" of Little Nell, "and of all her shadowy kith and
+     kin." The immense and deserved popularity of the book is shown
+     by the universal acquaintance with Mrs. Jarley, and the common
+     use of the phrase "Codlin's the friend--not Short."
+
+
+_I.--Little Nell and Her Grandfather_
+
+
+The shop was one of those receptacles for old and curious things which
+seem to crouch in odd corners of London. There were suits of mail
+standing like ghosts in armour, rusty weapons of various kinds,
+tapestry, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.
+
+The haggard aspect of a little old man, with long grey hair, who stood
+within, was wonderfully suited to the place. Nothing in the whole
+collection looked older or more worn than he.
+
+Confronting the old man was a young man of dissipated appearance, and
+high words were taking place.
+
+"I tell you again I want to see my sister," said the younger man. "You
+can't change the relationship, you know. If you could, you'd have done
+it long ago. But as I may have to wait some time I'll call in a friend
+of mine, with your leave."
+
+At this he brought in a companion of even more dissolute appearance than
+himself.
+
+"There, it's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in.
+
+"But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone.
+"What is the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of
+conviviality, and the wing of friendship never moults a feather! But,
+only one little whisper, Fred--_is_ the old min friendly?"
+
+Mr. Swiveller then leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silence;
+only to break it by observing, "Gentlemen, how does the case stand? Here
+is a jolly old grandfather, and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly
+old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up
+and educated you, Fred; you have bolted a little out of the course, and
+you shall never have another chance.' The wild young grandson makes
+answer, 'You're as rich as can be, why can't you stand a trifle for your
+grown up relation?' Then the plain question is, ain't it a pity this
+state of things should continue, and how much better it would be for the
+old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all
+right and comfortable?"
+
+"Why do you persecute me?" said the old man, turning to his grandson.
+"Why do you bring your profligate companions here? I am poor. You have
+chosen your own path, follow it. Leave Nell and me to toil and work."
+
+"Nell will be a woman soon," returned the other; "She'll forget her
+brother unless he shows himself sometimes."
+
+The door opened, and the child herself appeared, followed by an elderly
+man so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face
+were large enough for the body of a giant.
+
+Mr. Swiveller turned to the dwarf and, stooping down, whispered audibly
+in his ear. "The watchword to the old min is--fork."
+
+"Is what?" demanded Quilp, for that--Daniel Quilp--was the dwarf's name.
+
+"Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slapping his pocket. "You
+are awake, sir?"
+
+The dwarf nodded; the grandson, having announced his intention of
+repeating his visit, left the house accompanied by his friend.
+
+"So much for dear relations," said Quilp, with a sour look. He put his
+hand into his breast, and pulled out a bag. "Here, I brought it myself,
+as, being in gold, it was too large and heavy for Nell to carry. I would
+I knew in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are
+a deep man, and keep your secret close."
+
+"My secret!" said the old man, with a haggard look. "Yes, you're
+right--I keep it close--very close."
+
+He said no more, but, taking the money, locked it in an iron safe.
+
+That night, as on many a night previous, Nell's grandfather went out,
+leaving the child in the strange house alone, to return in the early
+morning.
+
+Quilp, to whom the old man had again applied for money, learnt of these
+nocturnal expeditions, and sent no answer, but came in person to the old
+curiosity shop.
+
+The old man was feverish and excited as he impatiently addressed the
+dwarf.
+
+"Have you brought me any money?"
+
+"No," returned Quilp.
+
+"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands, "the child and I are
+lost. No recompense for the time and money lost!"
+
+"Neighbour," said Quilp, "you have no secret from me now. I know that
+all those sums of money you have had from me have found their way to the
+gamingtable."
+
+"I never played for gain of mine, or love of play," cried the old man
+fiercely. "My winnings would have been bestowed to the last farthing on
+a young sinless child, whose life they would have sweetened and made
+happy. But I never won."
+
+"Dear me!" said Quilp. "The last advance was £70, and it went in one
+night. And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you could
+scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the stock and property."
+
+So saying, he nodded, deaf to all entreaties for further loans, and took
+his leave.
+
+The house was no longer theirs. Mr. Quilp encamped on the premises, and
+the goods were sold. A day was fixed for their removal.
+
+"Grandfather, let us begone from this place," said little Nell; "let us
+wander barefoot through the world, rather than linger here."
+
+"We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the
+fields and woods, and by the side of rivers and trust ourselves to God.
+Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to
+forget this time, as if it had never been."
+
+
+_II.--Messrs. Codlin and Short_
+
+
+The sun was setting when little Nell and her grandfather, who had been
+wandering many days, reached the wicket gate of a country churchyard.
+
+Two men were seated in easy attitudes on the grass by the church--two
+men of the class of itinerant showmen, exhibitors of the freaks of
+Punch--and they had come there to make needful repairs in the stage
+arrangements, for one was engaged in binding together a small gallows
+with thread, while the other was fixing a new black wig upon the head of
+a puppet.
+
+"Are you going to show 'em to-night? Are you?" said the old man.
+
+"That's the intention, governor, and unless I'm much mistaken, my
+partner, Tommy Codlin, is a-calculating at this minute what we've lost
+through your coming upon us. Cheer up, Tommy, it can't be much."
+
+To this Mr. Codlin replied in a surly, grumbling manner, "I don't care
+if we haven't lost a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front
+of the curtain, and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human
+natur' better."
+
+"Ah! it's been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your taking to that branch,"
+rejoined his companion. "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama
+in the fairs, you believed in everything--except ghosts. But now you're
+a universal mistruster."
+
+"Never mind," said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a discontented
+philosopher; "I know better now; p'r'aps I'm sorry for it. Look here,
+here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again."
+
+The child, seeing they were at a loss for a needle and thread, timidly
+proposed to mend it for them, and even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge
+against a proposal so reasonable.
+
+"If you're wanting a place to stop at," said Short, "I should advise you
+to take up at the same house with us. That's it, the long, low, white
+house there. It's very cheap."
+
+The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady, who made
+no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty,
+and were at once prepossessed in her behalf.
+
+"We're going on to the races," said Short next morning to the
+travellers. "If that's your way, and you'd like to have us for company,
+let us go together. If you prefer going alone, only say the word, and we
+shan't trouble you."
+
+"We'll go with you," said the old man. "Nell--with them, with them."
+
+They stopped that night at an ancient roadside inn called the Jolly
+Sandboys, and supper being in preparation, Nelly and her grandfather had
+not long taken their seats by the kitchen fire before they fell asleep.
+
+"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.
+
+"No-good, I suppose," said Mr. Codlin.
+
+"They're no harm," said Short, "depend upon that. It's very plain,
+besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell me that
+handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about as she's done
+these last two or three days. I know better. The old man ain't in his
+right mind. Haven't you noticed how anxious he is always to get
+on--furder away--furder away? Mind what I say, he has given his friends
+the slip, and persuaded this delicate young creatur all along of her
+fondness for him to be his guide--where to, he knows no more than the
+man in the moon. I'm not a-going to stand that!"
+
+"You're not a-going to stand that!" cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the
+clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.
+
+"I," repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, "am not a-going to stand
+it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad
+hands. Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from
+us, I shall take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to
+their friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up
+on every wall in London by this time."
+
+"Short," said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, "it's possible
+there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there should be
+a reward, Short, remember that we're partners in everything!"
+
+Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled
+by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.
+
+"Nothing's the matter, my dear; only I'm your friend. Perhaps you
+haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him. I'm the
+real, open-hearted man. Short's very well, and seems kind, but he
+overdoes it. Now, I don't."
+
+The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.
+
+"Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you
+can. Recollect the friend. Codlin's the friend, not Short. Short's very
+well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin--not Short."
+
+
+_III.--Jarley's Waxwork_
+
+
+Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the
+child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr.
+Thomas Codlin. The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and
+once more the travellers were alone.
+
+It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they
+came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside. It was a smart little
+house upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a
+Christian lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum
+covered with a white napkin.
+
+"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child
+walking slowly by. "Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes!
+And very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low,
+practical, wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at."
+
+"I was not there by choice," returned the child. "We don't know our way,
+and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do
+you know them, ma'am?"
+
+"Know 'em, child! Know _them_! But you're young and inexperienced. Do I
+look as if I knowed 'em? Does the caravan look as if _it_ knowed 'em?"
+
+"No, ma'am, no. I beg your pardon."
+
+It was granted immediately. And then the lady of the caravan, finding
+the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter
+and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the
+caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.
+
+As the caravan moved slowly along, its owner began to talk to Nell, and
+presently pulled out a large roll of canvas. "There child," she said,
+"read that!"
+
+Nell read aloud the inscription, "Jarley's Waxwork."
+
+"That's me," said the lady complacently.
+
+"I never saw any waxwork, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than Punch?"
+
+"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all.
+It's calm and--what's that word again--critical? No--classical, that's
+it--it's calm and classical."
+
+In the course of the journey Mrs. Jarley was so taken with the child
+that she proposed to engage her, and as Nell would not be separated from
+her grandfather, he was included in the agreement.
+
+"What I want your granddaughter for," said Mrs. Jarley, "is to point 'em
+out to the company, for she has a way with her that people wouldn't
+think unpleasant. It's not a common offer, bear in mind; it's Jarley's
+Waxwork. The duty's very light and genteel, the exhibition takes place
+in assembly rooms or town halls. There is none of your open-air wagrancy
+at Jarley's, remember. And the price of admission is only sixpence."
+
+"We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Nell, speaking for her
+grandfather, "and thankfully accept your offer."
+
+"And you'll never be sorry for it," returned Mrs. Jarley. "So, as that's
+all settled, let us have a bit of supper."
+
+The next morning, the caravan having arrived at the town, and the
+waxworks having been unpacked in the town hall, Mrs. Jarley sat down in
+an armchair in the centre of the room, and began to instruct Nell in her
+duty.
+
+"That," said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, "is an unfortunate maid
+of honour in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her
+finger in consequence of working on a Sunday. Observe the blood which is
+trickling from her finger, also the gold-eyed needle of the period, with
+which she is at work."
+
+Nell found in the lady of the caravan a kind and considerate person, who
+had not only a peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, but for
+making everybody about her comfortable also.
+
+But the child noticed that her grandfather grew more and more listless
+and vacant, and soon a greater sorrow was to come. The passion for
+gambling revived in the old man one evening, when he and Nell, out
+walking in the country, took passing shelter from a storm in a small
+public-house. He saw men playing cards, and, allowed to join them, lost.
+The next night he went off alone, and Nell, finding him gone, followed.
+Her grandfather was with the card-players near an encampment of gypsies,
+and, to her horror, he promised to bring more money.
+
+Flight was now the only thing possible, before her grandfather should
+steal. How else could he get the money?
+
+
+_IV.--Beyond the Pale_
+
+
+Flight by water! For two days they travelled on a barge, Nell sitting
+with her grandfather in the boat. Rugged and noisy fellows were the
+bargemen, and quite brutal among themselves, though civil enough to
+their passengers. The barge floated into the wharf to which it belonged,
+and now came flight by land through a strange, unfriendly town. The
+travellers were penniless, and at nightfall took refuge in a deep
+doorway.
+
+A man, miserably clad and begrimed with smoke, found them here, and,
+learning they were homeless, promised them shelter by the fire of a
+great furnace.
+
+A dark and blackened region was this they were in. On every side tall
+chimneys poured out their plague of smoke, and at night the smoke was
+changed to fire, and chimneys spurted flame. Struggling vegetation
+sickened and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace. The
+people--men, women, and children--wan in their looks and ragged in their
+attire, tended the engines, or scowled, half naked, from the doorless
+houses.
+
+That night Nell and her grandfather lay down with nothing between them
+and the sky. A penny loaf was all they had had that day, and very weak
+and spent the child felt.
+
+With morning she was weaker still, and a loathing of food prevented her
+sharing the loaf bought with their last penny. Still she dragged her
+weary feet on, and only at the very end of the town fell senseless to
+the ground.
+
+Once in their earlier wanderings they had made friends with a village
+schoolmaster, and now, when all hope seemed gone, it was this
+schoolmaster who brought the travellers into a peaceful haven. For it
+was he who passed along when little Nell fell fainting to the ground,
+and it was he who carried her into a small inn hard by. A day's rest
+brought some recovery to the child, and in the evening she was able to
+sit up.
+
+"I have made my fortune since I saw you last," said the schoolmaster. "I
+have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village a long way from
+here at five-and-thirty pounds a year."
+
+Then the schoolmaster insisted they must come with him, and make the
+journey by waggons, and that when they reached the village some
+occupation should be found by which they could subsist.
+
+They agreed to go, and when the village was reached the efforts of the
+good schoolmaster procured a post for Nell. Someone was wanted to keep
+the keys of the church and show it to strangers, and the old clergyman
+yielded to the schoolmaster's petition.
+
+"But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you,
+my child," said the old clergyman, laying his hand upon her head and
+smiling sadly, "I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights
+than have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches."
+
+It was very peaceful in the old church, and the village children soon
+grew to love little Nell. At last Nell and her grandfather were beyond
+the need of flight.
+
+But the child's strength was failing, and in the winter came her death.
+Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. The traces of her early
+cares, her sufferings, and fatigues were gone. She had died with her
+arms round her grandfather's neck and "God bless you!" on her lips.
+
+The old man never realised that she was dead. "She is asleep," he said.
+"She will come to-morrow."
+
+And thenceforth every day, and all day long he waited at her grave. And
+people would hear him whisper, "Lord, let her come to-morrow."
+
+The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the
+usual hour, and they went to seek him, and found him lying dead upon the
+stone.
+
+They laid by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and in the
+church where they had often lingered hand in hand the child and the old
+man slept together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Our Mutual Friend
+
+
+      "Our Mutual Friend" was the last long complete novel Dickens
+     wrote, and, like all his books, it first appeared in monthly
+     parts. It was so published in 1864-65. After three numbers had
+     appeared, the author wrote: "I have grown hard to satisfy, and
+     write very slowly. Although I have not been wanting in
+     industry, I have been wanting in imagination." In his
+     "Postscript in Lieu of Preface," the author points out--in
+     answer to those who had disputed the probability of Harmon's
+     will--"that there are hundreds of will cases far more
+     remarkable than that fancied in this book." In this same
+     postscript Dickens also renewed his attack on Poor Law
+     administration, begun in "Oliver Twist." Though "Our Mutual
+     Friend" is not one of the greatest or most famous of Dickens's
+     works, for it is somewhat loosely constructed as a story, and
+     shows signs of laboured composition, it abounds in scenes of
+     real Dickensian character, and is not without touches of the
+     genius which had made its author the foremost novelist of his
+     time, and one of the greatest writers of all ages.
+
+
+_I.--The Man from Somewhere_
+
+
+It was at a dinner-party that Mortimer Lightwood, solicitor, at the
+request of Lady Tippins, told the story of the Man from Somewhere.
+
+"Upon my life," says Mortimer languidly, "I can't fix him with a local
+habitation; but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me,
+where they make the wine.
+
+"The man," Mortimer goes on, "whose name is Harmon, was the only son of
+a tremendous old rascal, who made his money by dust, as a dust
+contractor. This venerable parent, displeased with his son, turns him
+out of doors. The boy takes flight, gets aboard ship, turns up on dry
+land among the Cape wine; small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you
+like to call it. Venerable parent dies. His will is found. It leaves the
+lowest of a range of dust mountains, with a dwelling-house, to an old
+servant, who is sole executor. And that's all, except that the son's
+inheritance is made conditional on his marrying a girl, at the date of
+the will a child four or five years old, who is now a marriageable young
+woman. Advertisement and inquiry discovered the son in the Man from
+Somewhere, and he is now on his way home, after fourteen years' absence,
+to succeed to a very large fortune, and to take a wife."
+
+Mortimer, being asked what would become of the fortune in the event of
+the marriage condition not being fulfilled, replies that by a clause in
+the will it would then go to the old servant above-mentioned, passing
+over and excluding the son; also, that if the son had not been living,
+the same old servant would have been sole residuary legatee.
+
+It is just when the ladies are retiring that Mortimer receives a note
+from the butler.
+
+"This really arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner," says
+Mortimer, after reading the paper presented to him. "This is the
+conclusion of the story of the identical man. Man's drowned!"
+
+The dinner being over, Mortimer Lightwood and his friend Eugene Wrayburn
+interviewed the boy who had brought the note, and then set out in a cab
+to the riverside quarter of Wapping.
+
+The cab dismissed, a little winding through some muddy alleys brings
+then to the bright lamp of a police-station, where they find the
+night-inspector. He takes a bull's-eye, and Mortimer and Eugene follow
+him to a cool grot at the end of the yard. They quickly come out again.
+
+"No clue, gentlemen," says the inspector, "as to how the body came into
+river. Very often no clue. Steward of ship, in which gentleman came home
+passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity. Likewise
+could swear to clothes. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict."
+
+A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn
+attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.
+
+"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"
+
+"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."
+
+"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't
+have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who
+was it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down
+your name and address?"
+
+The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford,
+Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."
+
+At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the
+proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr.
+Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to
+appear.
+
+Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had
+come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act
+there was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of
+one hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time
+public interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.
+
+
+_II.--The Golden Dustman_
+
+
+Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning,
+dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves
+like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg
+sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice
+collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and
+assuredly it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little
+stalls in London.
+
+"Morning, morning!" said the old fellow.
+
+"Good-morning to _you_, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.
+
+The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question,
+"How did you get your wooden leg?"
+
+"In an accident."
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered desperately.
+
+"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"
+
+"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."
+
+"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another
+chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick
+or Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."
+
+"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I
+could wish anyone to call _me_ by, but there may be persons that would
+not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't
+know why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."
+
+"Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, "I came by here one morning and heard you
+reading through your ballads to a butcher-boy. I thought to myself,
+'Here's a literary man _with_ a wooden leg, and all print is open to
+him! And here am I without a wooden leg, and all print is shut to me.'"
+
+"I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print that I
+wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing," Mr. Wegg admitted
+modestly.
+
+"Now I want some reading, and I must pay a man so much an hour to come
+and do it for me. Say two hours a night at twopence-halfpenny. Half-a-
+crown a week. What do you think of the terms, Wegg?"
+
+"Mr. Boffin, I never did 'aggle, and I never will 'aggle. I meet you at
+once, free and fair, with----Done, for double the money!"
+
+From that night Silas Wegg came to read at Boffin's Bower--or Harmony
+Jail, as the house was formerly called--and he soon learnt that his
+employer was no other than the inheritor of old Harmon's property, and
+that he was known as the Golden Dustman.
+
+It was not long after Silas Wegg's appointment that Mr. Boffin was
+accosted by a strange gentleman, who gave his name as John Rokesmith,
+and proposed his services as private secretary. Mr. Rokesmith mentioned
+that he lodged at one Mr. Wilfer's, in Holloway. Mr. Boffin stared.
+
+"Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?"
+
+"My landlord has a daughter named Bella."
+
+"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to say," said Mr.
+Boffin; "but call at the Bower, though I don't know that I shall ever be
+in want of a secretary."
+
+So to the Bower came Mr. John Rokesmith, but not before the Boffins had
+called at the Wilfers' and seen the young lady destined by old Harmon
+for his son's bride.
+
+"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin, "I have been thinking early and late of that
+girl, Bella Wilfer, who was so cruelly disappointed both of her husband
+and his riches. Don't you think we might do something for her? Have her
+to live with us? And, Noddy, I tell you what I want--I want society. We
+have come into a great fortune, and we must act up to it. It's never
+been acted up to, and consequently no good has come of it."
+
+It was agreed that they should move into a good house in a good
+neighbourhood, and that a visit should be paid to Mr. Wilfer at once.
+Mrs. Wilfer received them with a tragic air.
+
+"Mrs. Boffin and me, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, "are plain people, and we
+make this call to say we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure
+of your daughter's acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your
+daughter will come to consider our house in the light of her home
+equally with this."
+
+"I am much obliged to you--I am sure," said Miss Bella, coldly shaking
+her curls, "but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all."
+
+"Bella," Mrs. Wilfer admonished her solemnly, "you must conquer this!"
+
+"Yes, do what your ma says, and conquer it, my dear," urged Mrs. Boffin,
+"because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too
+pretty to keep yourself shut up."
+
+With that Mrs. Boffin gave her a kiss, which Bella frankly returned; and
+it was settled that Bella should be sent for as soon as they were ready
+to receive her.
+
+"By the bye, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, as he was leaving, "you have a
+lodger?"
+
+"A gentleman," Mrs. Wilfer answered, "undoubtedly occupies our first
+floor."
+
+"I may call him our mutual friend," said Mr. Boffin. "What sort of
+fellow _is_ our mutual friend, now? Do you like him?"
+
+"Mr. Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet--a very eligible inmate."
+
+The Boffins drove away, and Mr. Rokesmith, coming to the Bower,
+extricated Mr. Boffin from a mass of disordered papers, and gave such
+satisfaction that his services were accepted, and he took up the
+secretaryship.
+
+
+_II.--The Golden Dustman Deteriorates_
+
+
+Miss Bella Wilfer was conscious that she was growing mercenary. She
+admitted as much to her father. There were several other secrets she had
+to impart beyond her own lack of improvement.
+
+"Mr. Rokesmith has made an offer to me, pa, and I told him I thought it
+a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me. Mrs. Boffin has
+herself told me, with her own kind lips, that they wish to see me well
+married; and that when I marry, with their consent, they will portion me
+most handsomely. That is another secret. And now there is only one more,
+and it is very hard to tell it. But Mr. Boffin is being spoilt by
+prosperity, and is changing for the worse every day. Not to me--he is
+always the same to me--but to others about him. He grows suspicious,
+hard, and unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is
+my benefactor."
+
+Bella parted from her father, and returned to the Boffins, to find fresh
+proofs of the deterioration of the Golden Dustman.
+
+"Now, Rokesmith," Mr. Boffin was saying, "it's time to settle about your
+wages. A man of property like me is bound to consider the market price.
+If I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a
+secretary, I buy _him_ out and out. It's convenient to have you at all
+times ready on the premises."
+
+The secretary bowed and withdrew. Bella's eyes followed him to the door.
+She felt that Mrs. Boffin was uncomfortable.
+
+"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin thoughtfully, "haven't you been a little
+strict with Mr. Rokesmith to-night? Haven't you been just a little not
+quite like your own old self?"
+
+"Why, old woman, I hope so," said Mr. Boffin cheerfully. "Our old selves
+wouldn't do here, old lady. Our old selves would be fit for nothing but
+to be imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new
+selves are. It's a great difference."
+
+Very uncomfortable was Bella that night, and very uneasy was she as the
+days went by, for Mr. Boffin made a point of hunting up old books that
+gave the lives of misers, and the more enjoyment he seemed to get out of
+this literature, the harder he became to the secretary. Somehow, the
+worse Mr. Boffin treated his secretary, the more Bella felt drawn to the
+man whose offer of marriage she had refused. The crisis came one morning
+when the Golden Dustman's bearing towards Rokesmith was even more
+arrogant and offensive than it had been before. Mrs. Boffin was seated
+on a sofa, and Mr. Boffin had Bella on his arm.
+
+"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said gently. "I'm going to see you
+righted."
+
+Then he turned to his secretary.
+
+"Now, sir, look at this young lady. How dare you come out of your
+station to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses? This
+young lady, who was far above _you_. This young lady was looking about
+for money, and you had no money."
+
+Bella hung her head, and Mrs. Boffin broke out crying.
+
+"This Rokesmith is a needy young man," Mr. Boffin went on unmoved. "He
+gets acquainted with my affairs and gets to know that I mean to settle a
+sum of money upon this young lady."
+
+"I indignantly deny it!" said the secretary quietly. "But our connection
+being at an end, it matters little what I say."
+
+"I discharge you," Mr. Boffin retorted. "There's your money."
+
+"Mrs. Boffin," said Rokesmith, "for your unvarying kindness I thank you
+with the warmest gratitude. Miss Wilfer, good-bye."
+
+"Oh, Mr. Rokesmith," said Bella in her tears, "hear one word from me
+before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my
+account. Out of the depths of my heart I beg your pardon."
+
+She gave him her hand, and he put it to his lips and said, "God bless
+you!"
+
+"There was a time when I deserved to be 'righted,' as Mr. Boffin has
+done," Bella went on, "but I hope that I shall never deserve it again."
+
+Once more John Rokesmith put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished
+it, and left the room.
+
+Bella threw her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most
+shamefully abused and driven away, and I am the cause of it. I must go
+home; I am very grateful for all you have done for me, but I can't stay
+here."
+
+"Now, Bella," said Mr. Boffin, "look before you leap. Go away, and you
+can never come back. And you mustn't expect that I'm a-going to settle
+money on you if you leave me like this, because I'm not. Not one brass
+farthing."
+
+"No power on earth could make me take it now," said Bella haughtily.
+
+Then she broke into sobs over saying good-bye to Mrs. Boffin, said a
+last word to Mr. Boffin, and ran upstairs. A few minutes later she went
+out of the house.
+
+"That was well done," said Bella when she was in the street, "and now
+I'll go and see my dear, darling pa in the city."
+
+
+_IV.--The Runaway Marriage_
+
+
+Bella found her way to her father's office in the city. It was after
+hours, and the little man was alone, having tea on a small cottage loaf
+and a pennyworth of milk, for R. Wilfer was but a clerk on a small
+income. He immediately fetched another loaf and another pennyworth of
+milk, and then, before she could tell him she had left the Boffins, who
+should come along but John Rokesmith. And John Rokesmith not only came
+in, but he caught Bella in his arms, and she was content to leave her
+head on his breast as if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting
+place.
+
+"I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rokesmith. "You
+_are_ mine."
+
+"Yes, I am yours if you think me worth taking," Bella responded.
+
+Then Bella's father had to hear what had happened, and said his daughter
+had done well.
+
+"To think," said Wilfer, looking round the office, "that anything of a
+tender nature should come off here is what tickles me."
+
+A few weeks later and Bella and her father went out early one morning
+and took the steamer to Greenwich. And at Greenwich there was John
+Rokesmith, and presently in a church John and Bella were joined together
+in wedlock.
+
+They had been married a year, and lived in a little house at Blackheath.
+John Rokesmith went up to the city every day, and explained that he was
+"in a China house." From time to time he would ask her, "Would you like
+to be rich _now_, my darling?" and got for answer, "Dear John, am I not
+rich?"
+
+But for all that a change came in their affairs. For Mortimer Lightwood,
+who had met Bella at the Boffins', seeing her walking with her husband,
+recognised him as Julius Handford; and as Mr. Inspector had never
+discovered what became of Mr. Julius Handford, he must needs pay Mr.
+Rokesmith a visit. And then it turned out that John Rokesmith was not
+only Julius Handford, but John Harmon himself, much to Mr. Inspector's
+astonishment.
+
+More surprises were to follow, for when John came home next day he told
+Bella that he had left the China house, and was better off.
+
+"We must have our headquarters in London now, my dear, and there's a
+house ready for us."
+
+And the house which John and Bella visited next day was none other than
+the Boffins', and when they arrived, there were Mr. and Mrs. Boffin
+beaming at them. Mrs. Boffin told Bella that John Rokesmith was John
+Harmon, and how, remembering him as a small boy, she had guessed it
+quite early. Then Mrs. Boffin admitted that John, despairing of winning
+Bella's heart, and determined that there should be no question of money
+in the marriage, he was for going away, and that Noddy said he would
+prove that she loved him. "We was all of us in it, my beauty," Mrs.
+Boffin concluded, "and when you was married there was we hid up in the
+church organ by this husband of yours, for he wouldn't let us out with
+it then, as was first meant. But it was Noddy who said that he would
+prove you had a true heart of gold. 'If she was to stand up for you when
+you was slighted,' he said to John, 'and if she was to do that against
+her own interest, how would that do?' 'Do?' says John, 'it would raise
+me to the skies.' 'Then,' says my Noddy, 'get ready for the ascent,
+John, for up you go. Look out for being slighted and oppressed.' And
+then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?"
+
+"It looks as if old Harmon's spirit had found rest at last, and as if
+his money had turned bright again after a long rust in the dark," said
+Mrs. Boffin to her husband that night.
+
+"Yes, old lady."
+
+The mystery of the Harmon murder is yet to be explained. John Harmon,
+going on shore with a fellow passenger, who greatly resembled him, was
+drugged and robbed of his money in a house near the river by this man.
+But the robber, who had taken Harmon's clothes, was himself robbed and
+thrown into the water, and Harmon recovered consciousness and made his
+escape just at the time when the body of his assailant was recovered. In
+this state of strange excitement he turned up at the police station,
+and, unwilling to reveal his identity at the moment, passed himself off
+as Julius Handford.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Pickwick Papers
+
+      Dickens first became known to the public through the famous
+     "Sketches by Boz," which appeared in the "Monthly Magazine" in
+     December, 1833, the complete series being collected and
+     published in volume form three years later. This was followed
+     by the immortal "Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club" in
+     1836, which soon placed Dickens in the front rank of English
+     novelists. Frankly humorous as "Pickwick" is, Dickens, in a
+     preface to a later edition, recorded with satisfaction that
+     "legal reforms had pared the claws of Messrs. Dodson and
+     Fogg," that the laws relating to imprisonment for debt had
+     been altered, and the Fleet Prison pulled down.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Pickwick Engages Sam Weller_
+
+
+Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell Street were of a very neat and
+comfortable description, peculiarly adapted for a man of his genius and
+observation, and importance as General Chairman of the world-famed
+Pickwick Club.
+
+His landlady, Mrs. Bardell, was a comely woman of bustling manners and
+agreeable appearance, with a natural gift for cooking. Cleanliness and
+quiet reigned throughout the house, and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was
+law.
+
+To anyone acquainted with these things and with Mr. Pickwick's admirably
+regulated mind, his conduct on the morning previous to his setting out
+for Eatanswill seemed most mysterious and unaccountable. He paced the
+room, popped his head out of the window, and constantly referred to his
+watch. It was evident to Mrs. Bardell, who was dusting the apartment,
+that something of importance was in contemplation.
+
+"Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick at last, "your little boy is a very
+long time gone."
+
+"Why, it's a good long way to the Borough, sir!" remonstrated Mrs.
+Bardell.
+
+"Very true; so it is. Mrs. Bardell do you think it's a much greater
+expense to keep two people than to keep one?"
+
+"La, Mr. Pickwick!" said Mrs. Bardell, colouring, as she fancied she
+observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger.
+"La, Mr. Pickwick, what a question!"
+
+"Well, but _do_ you?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, "a good deal upon the person, you
+know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it's a saving and careful person, sir."
+
+"That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick; "but the person I have in my eye
+(here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these
+qualities. To tell you the truth, I have made up my mind. You'll think
+it very strange now that I never consulted you about this matter till I
+sent your little boy out this morning, eh?"
+
+Mrs. Bardell had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, and now she
+thought he was going to propose. A deliberate plan, too--sent her little
+boy to the Borough to get him out of the way! How thoughtful! How
+considerate!
+
+"It'll save you a good deal of trouble, won't it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
+"And when I am in town you'll always have somebody to sit with you." Mr.
+Pickwick smiled placidly.
+
+"I'm sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. Bardell,
+trembling with agitation. "Oh, you kind, good, playful dear!" And,
+without more ado, she flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck.
+
+"Bless my soul!" cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick. "Mrs. Bardell, my
+good woman! Dear me, what a situation! Pray consider if anybody should
+come!"
+
+"Oh, let them come!" exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically. "I'll never
+leave you, dear, kind soul!" And she clung the tighter.
+
+"Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling; "I hear somebody coming
+upstairs! Don't, there's a good creature, don't!" But Mrs. Bardell had
+fainted in his arms, and before he could gain time to deposit her on a
+chair, Master Bardell entered the room, followed by Mr. Pickwick's
+friends Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.
+
+"What is the matter?" said the three Pickwickians.
+
+"I don't know!" replied Mr. Pickwick; while the ever gallant Mr. Tupman
+led Mrs. Bardell, who said she was better, downstairs. "I cannot
+conceive what has been the matter with the woman. I merely told her of
+my intention of keeping a manservant, when she fell into an
+extraordinary paroxysm. Very remarkable thing."
+
+"Very," said his three friends.
+
+"There's a man in the passage now," said Mr. Tupman.
+
+"It's the man I've sent for from the Borough," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have
+the goodness to call him up."
+
+Mr. Samuel Weller forthwith presented himself, having previously
+deposited his old white hat on the landing outside.
+
+"Ta'nt a wery good 'un to look at," said Sam, "but it's an astonishin'
+'un to wear. And afore the brim went it was a wery handsome tile."
+
+"Now, with regard to the matter on which I sent for you," said Mr.
+Pickwick.
+
+"That's the pint, sir; out vith it, as the father said to the child ven
+he swallowed a farden."
+
+"We want to know, in the first place," said Mr. Pickwick, "whether you
+are discontented with your present situation?"
+
+"Afore I answers that 'ere question," replied Mr. Weller, "_I_ should
+like to know whether you're a-goin' to purwide me vith a better."
+
+Mr. Pickwick smiled benevolently as he said: "I have half made up my
+mind to engage you myself."
+
+"Have you though?" said Sam. "Wages?"
+
+"Twelve pounds a year."
+
+"Clothes?"
+
+"Two suits."
+
+"Work?"
+
+"To attend upon me, and travel about with me and these gentlemen here."
+
+"Take the bill down," said Sam emphatically. "I'm let to a single
+gentleman, and the terms is agreed upon. If the clothes fit me half as
+well as the place, they'll do."
+
+
+_II.--Bardell vs. Pickwick_
+
+
+Acting on the advice of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, solicitors, Mrs. Bardell
+brought an action for breach of promise of marriage against Mr.
+Pickwick, and the damages were laid at £1,500. February 14 was the day
+fixed for the memorable trial.
+
+When Mr. Pickwick and his friends reached the court, and the judge--Mr.
+Justice Stareleigh--had taken his place, it was found that only ten of
+the special jury were present, and a greengrocer and a chemist were
+caught from the common jury to make up the number.
+
+"I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, "but I hope this court
+will excuse my attendance. I have no assistant, and I can't afford to
+hire one."
+
+"Then you ought to be able to afford it," said the judge, a most
+particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and
+waistcoat.
+
+"Very well, my lord," replied the chemist, "then there'll be murder
+before this trial's over, that's all. I've left nobody, but an errand-
+boy in my shop, and I know that he thinks Epsom salts means oxalic acid,
+and syrup of senna, laudanum; that's all, my lord."
+
+Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest
+horror when Mrs. Bardell, supported by her friend, Mrs. Cluppins, was
+led into court.
+
+Then Sergeant Buzfuz opened the case for the plaintiff, and when he had
+finished Elizabeth Cluppins was called.
+
+"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you
+recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back room on one particular morning
+last July, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?"
+
+"Yes, my lord and jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.
+
+"What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?" inquired the little
+judge.
+
+"My lord and jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, "I will not deceive you."
+
+"You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.
+
+"I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
+been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red
+kidney pertaties, which was tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's
+street-door on the jar."
+
+"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.
+
+"Partly open, my lord."
+
+"She _said_ on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning look.
+
+"I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin', and went in a
+permiscuous manner upstairs, and into the back room. There was a sound
+of voices in the front room, very loud, and forced themselves upon my
+ear."
+
+Mrs. Cluppins then related the conversation we have already heard
+between Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell.
+
+The next witness was Mr. Winkle, and after him came Mr. Tupman, and Mr.
+Snodgrass, all of whom appeared on subpoena by the plaintiff's lawyers.
+
+Sergeant Buzfuz then rose and said, with considerable importance, "Call
+Samuel Weller."
+
+It was quite unnecessary to call him, for Samuel Weller stepped briskly
+into the box the instant his name was pronounced.
+
+"What's your name, sir?" inquired the judge.
+
+"Sam Weller, my lord."
+
+"Do you spell it with a 'V or a 'W?" inquired the judge.
+
+"That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord," replied
+Sam, "but I spells it with a 'V.'"
+
+Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, "Quite right, too, Samuel;
+quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we."
+
+"Who is that that dares to address the court?" said the little judge,
+looking up.
+
+"I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," replied Sam.
+
+"Do you see him here now?" said the judge.
+
+"No, I don't my lord," replied Sam, staring right up in the roof of the
+court.
+
+"If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him
+instantly," said the judge.
+
+Sam bowed his acknowledgments.
+
+"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "I believe you are in the
+service of Mr. Pickwick; speak up, if you please."
+
+"I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam. "I am in the service o' that
+'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is."
+
+"Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?" said Sergeant Buzfuz.
+
+"Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him
+three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam.
+
+"You must not tell us what the soldier said," interposed the judge,
+"it's not evidence."
+
+"Wery good, my lord."
+
+"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you recollect anything
+particular happening on the morning when you were first engaged by the
+defendant?"
+
+"Yes, I do, sir. I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin',
+and that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith me in
+those days."
+
+"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of the
+fainting of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant?"
+
+"Certainly not; I was in the passage till they called me up, and then
+the old lady wasn't there."
+
+"Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?"
+
+"Yes, that's just it," replied Sam. "If they was a pair o' patent double
+million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps I might be
+able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door, but bein' only
+eyes, you see, my wision's limited."
+
+"Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night last
+November? I suppose you went to have a little talk about this trial, eh,
+Mr. Weller?" said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly at the jury.
+
+"I went up to pay the rent," said Sam; "but the ladies gets into a wery
+great state of admiration at the honourable conduct o' Mr. Dodson and
+Fogg, and said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken
+up the case on spec., and to have charged nothin' at all for costs,
+unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick."
+
+At this very unexpected reply the spectators tittered, and Mr. Sergeant
+Buzfuz said curtly, "Stand down, sir."
+
+Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant, and
+after that Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up.
+
+At the end of a quarter of an hour the jury brought in a verdict for the
+plaintiff with £750 damages.
+
+In the court-room Mr. Pickwick encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,
+rubbing their hands with satisfaction.
+
+"Not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get out of me, if I
+spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"We shall see about that," said Mr. Fogg grinning.
+
+Outside Mr. Pickwick and his friends made their way to a hackney coach,
+and Sam Weller was just preparing to jump upon the box when his father
+stood before him. The old gentleman shook his head gravely and said in
+warning accents, "I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin'
+bisness. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi?"
+
+"But surely, my dear sir," said Perker to his client the following
+morning, "you don't really mean, seriously now, that you won't pay these
+costs and damages?"
+
+"Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
+renew the bill," observed Mr. Samuel Weller.
+
+
+_III.--In the Fleet Prison_
+
+
+Two months later Mr. Pickwick was arrested for the non-payment of costs
+and damages and taken to the Fleet Prison. And so, for the first time in
+his life, Mr. Pickwick found himself within the walls of a debtor's
+prison.
+
+"Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr. Pickwick of the turnkey,
+and after some discussion it was discovered there was a bed to let.
+
+"It ain't a large 'un, but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,
+sir," said the turnkey.
+
+Mr. Pickwick, accompanied by Sam Weller, followed his guide up a
+staircase and along a gallery; at the end of this was an apartment
+containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.
+
+Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable when he was left
+alone, and he went slowly to bed. He was awakened from his slumbers by
+the noise of his bed-fellows, one of whom, wearing grey cotton
+stockings, was performing a hornpipe; while another, evidently very
+drunk, was warbling as much as he could recollect of a comic song; the
+third, a man with thick, bushy whiskers, was applauding both performers.
+
+"My name is Smangle, sir," said the man with the whiskers to Mr.
+Pickwick.
+
+"Mine is Mivins," said the man in the stockings.
+
+"Well; but come," said Mr. Smangle, after assuring Mr. Pickwick a great
+many times that he entertained a very high respect for the feelings of a
+gentleman, "this is but dry work. Let's rinse our mouths with a drop of
+burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and
+I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and gentleman-like division of
+labour, anyhow."
+
+Mr. Pickwick, unwilling to hazard a quarrel, gladly assented to the
+proposition.
+
+When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object upon
+which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small black
+portmanteau.
+
+He soon learnt that money was in the Fleet just what money was out of
+it; and that if he wished it he could have a room to himself, if he was
+willing to pay for it.
+
+"There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a
+Chancery prisoner," said the turnkey. "It'll stand you in a pound a
+week. Lord! Why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come
+down handsome?"
+
+The matter was soon arranged, and in a short time the room was
+furnished.
+
+"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when his servant had done his best to make the
+apartment comfortable, and was now inspecting the arrangements, "I have
+felt from the first that this is not the place to bring a young man to."
+
+"Nor an old 'un neither, sir."
+
+"You're quite right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But old men may come here
+through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion. Do you understand me,
+Sam?"
+
+"Vell, sir," rejoined Sam, after a pause, "I think I see your drift, and
+it's my 'pinion that you're a-comin' it a great deal too strong, as the
+mail-coachman said to the snowstorm ven it overtook him."
+
+"For the time that I remain here," said Mr. Pickwick, "you must leave
+me, Sam."
+
+"Now, I tell you vot it is," said Mr. Weller, in a grave and solemn
+voice. "This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't let's hear no
+more about it."
+
+"I am serious, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"You air, air you, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller. "Wery good, sir. Then so
+am I."
+
+With that Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great precision and
+left the room. Having found his father, Sam explained to the elder Mr.
+Weller that Mr. Pickwick must not be left alone in the Fleet.
+
+"Vy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy!" exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller.
+"Stop there by himself, poor creetur, without nobody to take his part!
+It can't be done, Samivel, it can't be done!"
+
+"O' course it can't," asserted Sam. "Well, then, I tell you wot it is.
+I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-twenty pound. P'raps you may
+ask for it five minits artervards, p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut
+up rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and
+sendin' him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?"
+
+The elder Mr. Weller, having grasped the idea, laughed till he was
+purple.
+
+In the course of the day Sam was duly arrested at the suit of his
+father, and Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's
+custody, passed at once into the prison, and went straight to his
+master's room.
+
+"I'm a pris'ner, sir," said Sam. "I was arrested this here wery
+arternoon for debt, and the man as put me in 'ull never let me out till
+you go yourself."
+
+"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall be
+a pris'ner, and I'm very glad on it. He's a malicious, bad-disposed,
+vorldly-minded, windictive creetur wot's put me in, with a hard heart as
+there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman remarked of the old
+gen'l'm'n with a dropsy, ven he said that upon the whole he thought he'd
+rather leave his property to his vife than build a chapel with it."
+
+In vain Mr. Pickwick remonstrated.
+
+"I takes my determination on principle, sir," remarked Sam, "and you
+takes yours on the same ground; vich puts me in mind o' the man as
+killed hisself on principle."
+
+
+_IV.--Mr. Pickwick Leaves the Fleet_
+
+
+Those enterprising lawyers, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having obtained no
+money from Mr. Pickwick, proceeded in July to arrest Mrs. Bardell, who,
+as a matter of form, had given them a _cognovit_ for the amount of their
+costs.
+
+Mr. Pickwick was taking his evening walk in the grounds of the Fleet
+when Mrs. Bardell was brought in, and Sam Weller, seeing the lady, took
+off his hat in mock reverence. Mr. Pickwick turned indignantly away.
+
+"Don't bother the woman," said the turnkey to Weller; "she's just come
+in."
+
+"A pris'ner!" said Sam. "Who's the plaintives? What for? Speak up, old
+feller!"
+
+"Dodson and Fogg," replied the man.
+
+"Here, Job, Job!" shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, and calling for
+a man who went errands for the prisoners. "Run to Mr. Perker's, Job; I
+want him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game! Hooray!"
+
+Mr. Perker was in Mr. Pickwick's room betimes next morning.
+
+"Well, now, my dear sir," said Perker, "the first question I have to ask
+is whether this woman is to remain here? It rests solely and wholly and
+entirely with you."
+
+"With me!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"Nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, to which
+no man, and still more no woman, should ever be consigned if I had my
+will," resumed Mr. Perker. "I have seen the woman this morning. By
+paying the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the
+damages; and, further, a voluntary statement, under her hand, that this
+business was from the very first fomented and encouraged by these men,
+Dodson and Fogg. She entreats me to intercede with you, and implores
+your pardon."
+
+Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, there was a low murmuring of voices
+outside, and a hesitating knock at the door; and Mr. Winkle, Mr. Tupman,
+and Mr. Snodgrass entering most opportunely, at last, by their united
+pleadings, Mr. Pickwick was fairly argued out of his resolutions. At
+three o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little
+room, and made his way as well as he could through the throng of debtors
+who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached
+the lodge steps. He turned here to look about him, and his eye
+brightened as he did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he
+saw not one which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity.
+
+As for Sam Weller, having dispatched Job Trotter to procure his formal
+discharge, his next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready
+money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which
+he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake
+of it. This done, he hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he
+lost his voice, and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and
+philosophical condition, and followed his master out of the prison.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Tale of Two Cities
+
+
+      The French Revolution has been the subject of more books than
+     any secular event that ever occurred, and two books by English
+     writers have brought the passion, the cruelty, and the horror
+     of it for all time within the shuddering comprehension of
+     English-speaking people. One is a history that is more than a
+     history; the other a tale that is more than a tale. Dickens,
+     no doubt, owed much of his inspiration to Carlyle's tremendous
+     prose epic. But the genius that depicted a moving and tragic
+     story upon the red background of the Terror was Dickens's own,
+     and the "Tale of Two Cities" was final proof that its author
+     could handle a great theme in a manner that was worthy of its
+     greatness. The work was one of the novelist's later
+     writings--it was published in 1859--and is in many respects
+     distinct from all his others. It stands by itself among
+     Dickens's masterpieces, in sombre and splendid loneliness--a
+     detached glory to its author, and to his country's literature.
+
+
+
+_I.--Recalled to Life_
+
+
+A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken in the street. All the
+people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to
+run to the spot and drink the wine. Some kneeled down, made scoops of
+their two hands joined, and tried to sip before the wine had all run out
+between their fingers. Others dipped in the puddles with little mugs of
+mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads. A
+shrill sound of laughter resounded in the street while this wine game
+lasted.
+
+The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street
+in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had
+stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many
+wooden shoes. One tall joker so besmirched scrawled upon a wall, with
+his finger dipped in muddy wine lees, "Blood!"
+
+And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam
+had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--
+cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want were the lords in waiting on
+the saintly presence. The children had ancient faces and grave voices;
+and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow
+of age, and coming up afresh, was the sign--Hunger.
+
+The master of the wine-shop outside of which the cask had been broken
+turned back to his shop when the struggle for the wine was ended.
+Monsieur Defarge was a dark, bull-necked man, good-humoured-looking on
+the whole, but implacable-looking, too. Three men who had been drinking
+at the counter paid for their wine, and left. An elderly gentleman, who
+had been sitting in a corner with a young lady, advanced, introduced
+himself as Mr. Jarvis Lorry, of Tellson's Bank, London, and begged the
+favour of a word.
+
+The conference was very short, but very decided. It had not lasted a
+minute, when Monsieur Defarge nodded and went out, followed by Mr. Lorry
+and the young lady.
+
+He led them through a stinking little black courtyard, and up a
+staircase to a dim garret, where a white-haired man sat on a low bench,
+stooping and very busy, making shoes.
+
+"You are still hard at work, I see," said Monsieur Defarge.
+
+A pair of haggard eyes looked at the questioner, and a very faint voice
+replied, "Yes, I am working."
+
+"Here is a visitor. Show him that shoe and tell him the maker's name."
+
+There was a long pause, and the shoemaker asked, "What did you say?"
+
+Defarge repeated his words.
+
+"It is a lady's shoe," answered the shoemaker.
+
+"And the maker's name?"
+
+"One Hundred and Five, North Tower."
+
+"Dr. Manette," said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him, "do you
+remember nothing of me? Do you remember nothing of Defarge--your old
+servant?"
+
+As the Bastille captive of many years gazed at them, marks of
+intelligence forced themselves through the mist that had fallen on him.
+They were fainter; they were gone, but they had been there. The young
+lady moved forward, with tears streaming from her eyes, and kissed him.
+He took up her golden hair, and looked at it; then drew from his breast
+a folded rag, and opened it carefully. It contained a little quantity of
+hair. He took the girl's hair into his hand again.
+
+"It is the same! How can it be? She had a fear of my going that night.
+_Was it you?_" He turned upon her with frightful suddenness. But his
+vigour swiftly died out, and he gloomily shook his head. "No, no, no! It
+can't be!"
+
+She fell on her knees and clasped his neck.
+
+"If you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that was once sweet
+music to your ears, weep for it--weep for it! Thank God!" she cried. "I
+feel his sacred tears upon my face! Leave us here," she said. And, as
+the darkness closed in, they left father and daughter together.
+
+They came back at night. A coach stood outside the courtyard, and the
+lately released prisoner, in scared, blank wonder, began the journey
+that was to end in England and rest.
+
+
+_II.--The Jackal_
+
+
+In the dimly-lighted passages of the Old Bailey, Dr. Manette, his
+daughter, and Mr. Lorry stood by Mr. Charles Darnay--just acquitted on a
+charge of high treason--congratulating him on his escape from death.
+
+It was not difficult to recognise in Dr. Manette, intellectual of face
+and upright in bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. He and his
+daughter had been unwilling witnesses for the prosecution, called to
+give evidence that might be distorted into corroboration of a paid spy's
+falsehoods as to Darnay's dealings with the French king.
+
+Darnay kissed Lucie Manette's hand fervently and gratefully, and warmly
+thanked his counsel, Mr. Stryver. As he watched them go, a person who
+had been leaning against the wall stepped up to him. It was Mr. Carton,
+a barrister, who had sat throughout the trial with his whole attention
+seemingly concentrated upon the ceiling of the court. Everybody had been
+struck with the extraordinary resemblance, cleverly used by the
+defending counsel to confound a witness, between Mr. Carton and Mr.
+Darnay. Mr. Carton was shabbily dressed, and did not appear to be quite
+sober.
+
+"This must be a strange sight to you," said Carton, with a laugh.
+
+"I hardly seem yet," returned Darnay, "to belong to this world again."
+
+"Then why the devil don't you dine?"
+
+He led him to a tavern, where Darnay recruited his strength with a good,
+plain dinner. Carton drank, but ate nothing.
+
+"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you give
+your toast?"
+
+"What toast?"
+
+"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue."
+
+"Miss Manette, then!"
+
+Carton drank the toast, and flung his glass over his shoulder against
+the wall, where it shivered in pieces.
+
+After Darnay had gone, Carton drank and slept till ten o'clock, and then
+walked to the chambers of Mr. Stryver. Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and
+an unscrupulous, and a bold, and was fast shouldering his way to a
+lucrative practice; but it had been noted that he had not the striking
+and necessary faculty of extracting evidence from a heap of statements.
+A remarkable improvement, however, came upon him as to this. Sydney
+Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was his great ally. What the
+two drank together would have floated a king's ship.
+
+Stryver never had a case in hand but what Carton was there, with his
+hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. At last it began to get
+about that, although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an
+amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered service to Stryver in that
+humble capacity. Folding wet towels on his head in a manner hideous to
+behold, the jackal began the "boiling down" of cases, while Stryver
+reclined before the fire. Each had bottles and glasses ready to his
+hand. The work was not done until the clocks were striking three.
+
+Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, Carton threw himself
+down in his clothes on a neglected bed. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It
+rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good
+emotions, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of
+the blight upon him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
+
+
+_III.--The Loadstone Rock_
+
+
+"Dear Dr. Manette," said Charles Darnay, "I love your daughter fondly,
+devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her!"
+
+Dr. Manette turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him or
+raise his eyes.
+
+"Have you spoken to Lucie?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle
+with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark
+doubt and dread.
+
+"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her
+perfect happiness, I will give her to you."
+
+"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be
+returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like
+yourself, a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is
+not my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."
+
+"Stop!"
+
+The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.
+
+"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"
+
+On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her
+work alone, Sydney Carton entered.
+
+"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.
+
+"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."
+
+"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"
+
+"It is too late for that." He covered her eyes with his hand. "Will you
+hear me?" he continued. "Since I have known you, I have been troubled by
+a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again. A dream, all a
+dream, that ends in nothing; but let me carry through the rest of my
+misdirected life the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of
+all the world."
+
+"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "I promise to
+respect your secret."
+
+"God bless you! My last application is this, that you will believe that
+for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. Oh, Miss Manette,
+think now and then that there is a man who would give his life to keep a
+life you love beside you!"
+
+He said "farewell!" and left her.
+
+A wonderful corner for echoes was the quiet street-corner near Soho
+Square, where Dr. Manette lived with his daughter and her husband. But
+Lucie heard in the echoes none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her
+husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm
+and equal. The time came when a little Lucie lay on her bosom. But there
+were other echoes that rumbled menacingly in the distance, with a sound
+as of a great storm in France, with a dreadful sea rising.
+
+It was August of the year 1792. Charles Darnay talked in a low voice
+with Mr. Lorry in Tellson's Bank. The bank had a branch in Paris, and
+the London establishment was the headquarters of the aristocratic
+emigrants who had fled from France.
+
+"And do you really go to Paris to-night?" asked Darnay.
+
+"I do. You can have no conception of the peril in which our books and
+papers over yonder are involved, and the getting them out of harm's way
+is in the power of scarcely anyone but myself."
+
+As Mr. Lorry spoke a letter was laid before him. Darnay saw the
+direction--it was to himself. "To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St.
+Evrémonde." Horrified at the oppression and cruelty of his family
+towards the people, Darnay had left his native country and had never
+used the title that had, some years before, fallen to him by
+inheritance. He had told his secret to Dr. Manette on the wedding
+morning, and to none other.
+
+"I know the man," he said.
+
+"Will you take charge of the letter and deliver it?" asked Mr. Lorry.
+
+"I will."
+
+When alone, Darnay opened the letter. It was from the steward of his
+French estate. The man had been charged with acting for an emigrant
+against the people. It was in vain he had urged that by the marquis's
+instructions he had acted for the people--had remitted all rents and
+imposts. The only response was that he had acted for an emigrant.
+Nothing but the marquis's personal testimony could save him from
+execution.
+
+Could he resist his old servant's appeal? He knew the peril of it, but
+his honour was at stake; he must go. That evening he wrote two letters
+explaining his purpose, one to Lucie, one to the doctor. On the next
+night he went out, pretending he would be back by-and-by. The two
+letters he left with the trusty porter to be delivered before midnight;
+and, with a heavy heart, leaving all that was dear on earth behind him,
+he journeyed on--drawn, like the mariner in the old story, to the
+Loadstone Rock.
+
+
+_IV.--The Track of a Storm_
+
+
+In the buildings of Tellson's Bank in Paris, Mr. Lorry sat by a wood
+fire (it was early September, but the blighted year was prematurely
+cold), and on his honest face there was a deeper shade than the pendant
+lamp could throw--a shade of horror. By him sat Dr. Manette; Lucie and
+her child were in an inner room. They had hastened after Darnay to
+Paris. Dr. Manette knew that as a Bastille prisoner he bore a charmed
+life in revolutionary France, and that if Darnay was in danger he could
+help him. Darnay was indeed in danger. He had been arrested as an
+aristocrat and an enemy of the Republic.
+
+From the streets there came the usual night hum of the city, with now
+and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some
+unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.
+
+A loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the courtyard. Mr.
+Lorry put his hand on the doctor's arm, and they looked out.
+
+A throng of men and women crowded round a grindstone. Turning madly at
+its double handle were two men, whose faces were more horrible and cruel
+than the visages of the wildest savages. The eye could not detect one
+creature in the surrounding group free from the smear of blood.
+Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone were men
+with the stain all over their limbs and bodies; hatchets, knives,
+bayonets, swords, all were red with it.
+
+"They are murdering the prisoners," whispered Mr. Lorry.
+
+Dr. Manette hastened out of the room, and down into the courtyard. There
+was a pause, a murmur, and the sound of his voice. Then Mr. Lorry saw
+him, surrounded by all, hurried out with cries of "Live the Bastille
+prisoner! Help for the Bastille prisoner's kindred in La Force!"
+
+It was long ere he returned. He had presented himself at the prison
+before the self-appointed tribunal that was consigning the prisoners to
+massacre, and had announced himself as a victim of the Bastille. One
+member of the tribunal had identified him; the member was Defarge. He
+had pleaded hard for his son-in-law's life, and had been informed that
+the prisoner must remain in custody; but should, for the doctor's sake,
+be held in safe custody.
+
+For fifteen months Charles Darnay remained in prison. During all that
+time Lucie was never sure but that her husband's head would be struck
+off next day. When at length arraigned as an emigrant whose life was
+forfeit to the Republic, he pleaded that he had come back to save a
+citizen's life. That night he sat by the fire with his family, a free
+man. Lucie at last was at ease.
+
+"What is that?" she cried suddenly.
+
+There was a knock at the door; four armed men in red caps entered the
+room.
+
+"Evrémonde," said the first, "you are again the prisoner of the
+Republic!"
+
+"Why?" he asked, with his wife and child clinging to him.
+
+"You will know to-morrow."
+
+"One word," entreated the doctor, "who has denounced him?"
+
+"The Citizen Defarge, and another."
+
+"What other?"
+
+"Citizen," said the man, with a strange look, "you will be answered
+to-morrow."
+
+
+_V.--Condemned_
+
+
+The news that Darnay had been again arrested was brought to Mr. Lorry
+later in the evening, and the man who brought it was Sydney Carton. He
+had come to Paris, he said, on business; his business was now completed,
+he was about to return, and he had obtained his leave to pass.
+
+"Darnay," he said, "cannot escape condemnation this time."
+
+"I fear not," answered Mr. Lorry.
+
+"I have found," continued Carton, "that the Old Bailey spy who charged
+Darnay with high treason years ago is now in the service of the Republic
+and is a turnkey at the prison of the Conciergerie where Darnay is
+confined. By threatening to denounce him as a spy of Pitt, I have
+secured that I shall gain access to Darnay in the prison if the trial
+should go against him."
+
+"But access to him," said Mr. Lorry, "will not save him."
+
+"I never said it would."
+
+Mr. Lorry looked at him mystified, and once more noted his strange
+resemblance to the man whose fate was to be decided on the morrow.
+
+Carton stood next day in an obscure corner among the crowd when Charles
+Evrémonde, called Darnay, appeared again before the judges.
+
+"Who denounces the accused?" asked the president.
+
+"Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor."
+
+"Good."
+
+"Alexandre Manette, physician."
+
+"President," cried the doctor, pale and trembling, "I indignantly
+protest to you."
+
+"Citizen Manette, be silent! Call Citizen Defarge."
+
+Rapidly Defarge told his story. He had been among the leaders in the
+taking of the Bastille. When the citadel had fallen, he had gone to the
+cell One Hundred and Five, North Tower, and had searched it. In a hole
+in the chimney he had found a paper in the handwriting of Dr. Manette.
+
+"Let it be read," said the president.
+
+In this paper Dr. Manette had written the history of his imprisonment.
+In the year 1757 he had been taken secretly by two nobles to visit two
+poor people who were on the point of death. One was a woman whom one of
+the nobles had forcibly carried off from her husband; the other, her
+brother, whom the seducer had mortally wounded. The doctor had come too
+late; both the woman and her brother died. The doctor refused a fee,
+and, to relieve his mind, wrote privately to the government stating the
+circumstances of the crime. One night he was called out of his home on a
+false pretext, and taken to the Bastille.
+
+The nobles were the Marquis de St. Evrémonde and his brother; and the
+Marquis was the father of Charles Darnay. A terrible sound arose in the
+court when the reading was done. The voting of the jury was unanimous,
+and at every vote there was a roar. Death in twenty-four hours!
+
+That night Carton again came to Mr. Lorry. Between the two men, as they
+spoke, a figure on a chair rocked itself to and fro, moaning. It was Dr.
+Manette.
+
+"He and Lucie and her child must leave Paris to-morrow," said Carton.
+"They are in danger of being denounced. It is a capital crime to mourn
+for, or sympathise with, a victim of the guillotine. Be ready to start
+at two o'clock to-morrow afternoon. See them into their seats; take your
+own seat. The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.
+
+"It shall be done."
+
+Carton turned to the couch where Lucie lay unconscious, prostrated with
+utter grief.
+
+He bent down, touched her face with his lips, and murmured some words.
+Little Lucie told them afterwards that she heard him say, "A life you
+love."
+
+
+_VI.--The Guillotine_
+
+
+In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited
+their fate. Fifty-two persons were to roll that afternoon on the
+life-tide of the city to the boundless, everlasting sea.
+
+The hours went on as Darnay walked to and fro in his cell, and the
+clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. The final hour, he
+knew, was three, and he expected to be summoned at two. The clocks
+struck one. "There is but another now," he thought.
+
+He heard footsteps. The door was opened, and there stood before him,
+quiet, intent, and smiling, Sydney Carton.
+
+"Darnay," he said, "I bring you a request from your wife."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"There is no time--you must comply. Take off your boots and coat, and
+put on mine."
+
+"Carton, there is no escaping from this place. It is madness."
+
+"Do I ask you to escape?" said Carton, forcing the changes upon him.
+
+"Now sit at the table and write what I dictate."
+
+"To whom do I address it?"
+
+"To no one."
+
+"If you remember," said Carton, dictating, "the words that passed
+between us long ago, you will comprehend this when you see it. I am
+thankful that the time has come when I can prove them." Carton's hand
+was withdrawn from his breast, and slowly and softly moved down the
+writer's face. For a few seconds Darnay struggled faintly, Carton's hand
+held firmly at his nostrils; then he fell senseless to the ground.
+
+Carton called quietly to the turnkey, who looked in and went again as
+Carton was putting the paper in Darnay's breast. He came back with two
+men. They raised the unconscious figure and carried it away.
+
+The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of
+listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote
+suspicion or alarm. There was none. Presently his door opened, and a
+gaoler looked in, merely saying: "Follow me," whereupon Carton followed
+him into a dark room. As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, a young
+woman, with a slight, girlish figure, came to speak to him.
+
+"Citizen Evrémonde," she said, "I am a poor little seamstress, who was
+with you in La Force."
+
+He murmured an answer.
+
+"I heard you were released."
+
+"I was, and was taken again and condemned."
+
+"If I may ride with you, will you let me hold your hand?"
+
+As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in
+them.
+
+"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "Oh, you will let me hold your
+hand?"
+
+"Hush! Yes, my poor sister, to the last."
+
+That afternoon a coach going out of Paris drove up to the Barrier.
+"Papers!" demanded the guard. The papers are handed out and read.
+
+"Alexandre Manette, Lucie Manette, her child. Jarvis Lorry, banker,
+English. Sydney Carton, advocate, English. Which is he?"
+
+He lies here, in a corner, apparently in a swoon. He is in bad health.
+
+"Behold your papers, countersigned."
+
+"One can depart, citizen?"
+
+"One can depart."
+
+The ministers of Sainte Guillotin are robed and ready. Crash!--and the
+women who sit with their knitting in front of the guillotine count one.
+Crash!--and the women count two.
+
+The supposed Evrémonde descends with the seamstress from the tumbril,
+and joins the fast-thinning throng of victims before the crashing engine
+that constantly whirrs up and falls. The spare hand does not tremble as
+he grasps it. She goes next before him--is gone. The knitting women
+count twenty-two.
+
+The murmuring of many voices, the pressing on of many footsteps in the
+outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward like one great heave
+of water, all flashes away. Twenty-three.
+
+They said of him about the city that night that it was the peacefulest
+man's face ever beheld there. Had he given utterance to his thoughts at
+the foot of the scaffold, they would have been these:
+
+"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
+prosperous, and happy in that England which I shall see no more. I see
+her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see that I hold a
+sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants,
+generations hence.
+
+"It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a
+far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+BENJAMIN DISRAELI
+
+
+Coningsby
+
+
+      Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was not only a great
+     figure in English politics in the nineteenth century; he was
+     also a novelist of brilliant powers. Born in London on
+     December 21, 1804, the son of Isaac D'Israeli, the future
+     Prime Minister of England was first articled to a solicitor;
+     but he quickly turned from this to politics. Disraeli was
+     leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Commons in
+     1847; he was twice Prime Minister. In 1876 he was created Earl
+     of Beaconsfield. Disraeli's novels--especially the famous
+     trilogy of "Coningsby," 1844, "Sybil," 1845, and "Tancred,"
+     1846--are remarkable chiefly for the view they give of
+     contemporary political life, and for the definite political
+     philosophy of their author. Neither the earlier
+     novels--"Vivian Grey", 1826, "Contarini Fleming," "Alroy,"
+     1832, "Henrietta Temple" and "Venetia," 1837--nor the later
+     ones--"Lothair," 1870, and "Endymion," 1874--are to be ranked
+     with "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Many characters in "Coningsby"
+     are well-known men. Lord Monmouth is Lord Hertford, whom
+     Thackeray depicted as the Marquess of Steyne, Rigby is John
+     Wilson Croker, Oswald Millbank is Mr. Gladstone, Lord H.
+     Sydney is Lord John Manners, Sidonia is Baron Alfred de
+     Rothschild, and Coningsby is Lord Lyttelton. Lord Beaconsfield
+     died in London on April 19, 1881.
+
+
+_I.--The Hero of Eton_
+
+
+Coningsby was the orphan child of the younger of the two sons of Lord
+Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds. The elder son hated
+his father, and lived at Naples, maintaining no connection either with
+his parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated
+his younger son, who had married against his consent a woman to whom
+that son was devoted. Persecuted by his father, he died abroad, and his
+widow returned to England. Not having a relation, and scarcely an
+acquaintance, in the world, she made an appeal to her husband's father,
+the wealthiest noble in England, and a man who was often prodigal, and
+occasionally generous, who respected law, and despised opinion. Lord
+Monmouth decided that, provided she gave up her child, and permanently
+resided in one of the remotest counties, he would make her a yearly
+allowance of three hundred pounds. Necessity made the victim yield; and
+three years later, Mrs. Coningsby died, the same day that her father-
+in-law was made a marquess.
+
+Coningsby was then not more than nine years of age; and when he attained
+his twelfth year an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at
+Rome, that he should go at once to Eton.
+
+Coningsby had never seen his grandfather. It was Mr. Rigby who made
+arrangements for his education. This Mr. Rigby was the manager of Lord
+Monmouth's parliamentary influence and the auditor of his vast estates.
+He was a member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs, and, in fact, a
+great personage. Lord Monmouth had bought him, and it was a good
+purchase.
+
+In the spring of 1832, when the country was in the throes of agitation
+over the Reform Bill, Lord Monmouth returned to England, accompanied by
+the Prince and Princess Colonna and the Princess Lucretia, the prince's
+daughter by his first wife. Coningsby was summoned from Eton to Monmouth
+House, and returned to school in the full favour of the marquess.
+
+Coningsby was the hero of Eton; everybody was proud of him, talked of
+him, quoted him, imitated him. But the ties of friendship bound
+Coningsby to Henry Sydney and Oswald Millbank above all companions. Lord
+Henry Sydney was the son of a duke, and Millbank was the son of one of
+the wealthiest manufacturers in Lancashire. Once, on the river,
+Coningsby saved Millbank's life; and this was the beginning of a close
+and ardent friendship.
+
+Coningsby liked very much to talk politics with Millbank. He heard
+things from Millbank which were new to him. Politics had, as yet,
+appeared to him a struggle whether the country was to be governed by
+Whig nobles or Tory nobles; and Coningsby, a high Tory as he supposed
+himself to be, thought it very unfortunate that he should probably have
+to enter life with his friends out of power and his family boroughs
+destroyed. But, in conversing with Millbank, he heard for the first time
+of influential classes in the country who were not noble, and were yet
+determined to acquire power.
+
+Generally, at that time, among the upper boys at Eton there was a
+reigning inclination for political discussion, and a feeling in favour
+of "Conservative principles." A year later, and in 1836, gradually the
+inquiry fell upon attentive ears as to what these Conservative
+principles were. Before Coningsby and his friends left Eton--Coningsby
+for Cambridge, and Millbank for Oxford--they were resolved to contend
+for political faith rather than for mere partisan success or personal
+ambition.
+
+
+_II.--A Portrait of a Lady_
+
+
+On his way to Coningsby Castle, in Lancashire, where the Marquess of
+Monmouth was living in state--feasting the county, patronising the
+borough, and diffusing confidence in the Conservative party in order
+that the electors of Dartford might return his man, Mr. Rigby, once more
+for parliament--our hero halted for the night at Manchester. In the
+coffee-room at the hotel a stranger, loud in praise of the commercial
+enterprise of the neighbourhood, advised Coningsby, if he wanted to see
+something tip-top in the way of cotton works, to visit Millbank of
+Millbank's; and thus it came about that Coningsby first met Edith
+Millbank. Oswald was abroad; and Mr. Millbank, when he heard the name of
+his visitor, was only distressed that the sudden arrival left no time
+for adequate welcome.
+
+"My visit to Manchester, which led to this, was quite accidental," said
+Coningsby. "I am bound for the other division of the county, to pay a
+visit to my grandfather, Lord Monmouth, but an irresistible desire came
+over me during my journey to view this famous district of industry."
+
+A cloud passed over the countenance of Millbank as the name of Lord
+Monmouth was mentioned; but he said nothing, only turning towards
+Coningsby, with an air of kindness, to beg him, since to stay longer was
+impossible, to dine with him. Coningsby gladly agreed to this and the
+village clock was striking five when Mr. Millbank and his guest entered
+the gardens of his mansion and proceeded to the house.
+
+The hall was capacious and classic; and as they approached the staircase
+the sweetest and the clearest voice exclaimed from above: "Papa, papa!"
+and instantly a young girl came bounding down the stairs; but suddenly,
+seeing a stranger with her father, she stopped upon the landing-place.
+Mr. Millbank beckoned her, and she came down slowly; at the foot of the
+stairs her father said briefly: "A friend you have often heard of,
+Edith--this is Mr. Coningsby."
+
+She started, blushed very much, and then put forth her hand.
+
+"How often have we all wished to see and to thank you!" Miss Edith
+Millbank remarked in tones of sensibility.
+
+Opposite Coningsby at dinner that night was a portrait which greatly
+attracted his attention. It represented a woman extremely young and of a
+rare beauty. The face was looking out of the canvas, and the gaze of
+this picture disturbed the serenity of Coningsby. On rising to leave the
+table he said to Mr. Millbank, "By whom is that portrait, sir?"
+
+The countenance of Millbank became disturbed; his expression was
+agitated, almost angry. "Oh! that is by a country artist," he said, "of
+whom you never heard."
+
+
+_III.--The Course of True Love_
+
+
+The Princess Colonna resolved that an alliance should take place between
+Coningsby and her step-daughter. But the plans of the princess, imparted
+to Mr. Rigby that she might gain his assistance in achieving them, were
+doomed to frustration. Coningsby fell deeply in love with Miss Millbank;
+and Lord Monmouth himself decided to marry Lucretia.
+
+It was in Paris that Coningsby, on a visit to his grandfather, woke to
+the knowledge of his love for Edith Millbank. They met at a brilliant
+party, Miss Millbank in the care of her aunt, Lady Wallinger.
+
+"Miss Millbank says that you have quite forgotten her," said a mutual
+friend.
+
+Coningsby started, advanced, coloured a little, could not conceal his
+surprise. The lady, too, though more prepared, was not without
+confusion. Coningsby recalled at that moment the beautiful, bashful
+countenance that had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had
+effected a wonderful change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed
+girl into a woman of surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith
+Millbank was the last thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated
+slumber. In the morning his first thought was of her of whom he had
+dreamed. The light had dawned on his soul. Coningsby loved.
+
+The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
+few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to
+Sidonia, a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord
+Monmouth. Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of
+Sidonia; against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering
+courage to speak, left hastily for England.
+
+But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
+once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
+Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.
+
+Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
+the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
+accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
+Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
+between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old,
+implacable hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and
+Coningsby left the castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again,
+and still more the beautiful sister of his old friend.
+
+Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
+Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
+Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom
+met in a scene more fresh and fair.
+
+Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
+head, and met his glance.
+
+"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
+Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
+Edith! I love you!"
+
+She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
+impending twilight.
+
+The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
+home.
+
+Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
+he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.
+
+"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
+inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but without harshness. "You are
+the grandson of Lord Monmouth; at present enjoying his favour, but
+dependent on his bounty. You may be the heir of his wealth to-morrow and
+to-morrow you may be the object of his hatred and persecution. Your
+grandfather and myself are foes--to the death. It is idle to mince
+phrases. I do not vindicate our mutual feelings; I may regret that they
+have ever arisen, especially at this exigency. Lord Monmouth would crush
+me, had he the power, like a worm; and I have curbed his proud fortunes
+often. These feelings of hatred may be deplored, but they do not exist;
+and now you are to go to this man, and ask his sanction to marry my
+daughter!"
+
+"I would appease these hatreds," retorted Coningsby, "the origin of
+which I know not. I would appeal to my grandfather. I would show him
+Edith."
+
+"He has looked upon as fair even as Edith," said Mr. Millbank. "And did
+that melt his heart? My daughter and yourself can meet no more."
+
+In vain Coningsby pleaded his suit. It was not till Mr. Millbank told
+that he, too, had suffered--that he had loved Coningsby's own mother,
+and that she gave her heart to another, to die afterwards solitary and
+forsaken, tortured by Lord Monmouth--that Coningsby was silent. It was
+his mother's portrait he had looked upon that night at Millbank; and he
+understood the cause of the hatred.
+
+He wrung Mr. Millbank's hand, and left Hellingsley in despair. But
+Oswald overtook him in the park; and, leaning on his friend's arm,
+Coningsby poured forth a hurried, impassioned, and incoherent strain--
+all that had occurred, all that he had dreamed, his baffled bliss, his
+actual despair, his hopeless outlook.
+
+A thunderstorm overtook them; and Oswald took refuge from the elements
+at the castle. There, as they sat together, pledging their faithful
+friendship, the door opened, and Mr. Rigby appeared.
+
+
+_IV.--Coningsby's Political Faith_
+
+
+Lord Monmouth banished the Princess Colonna from his presence, and
+married Lucretia. Coningsby returned to Cambridge, and continued to
+enjoy his grandfather's hospitality whenever Lord Monmouth was in
+London.
+
+Mr. Millbank had, in the meantime, become a member of parliament, having
+defeated Mr. Rigby in the contest for the representation of Dartford.
+
+In the year 1840 a general election was imminent, and Lord Monmouth
+returned to London. He was weary of Paris; every day he found it more
+difficult to be amused. Lucretia had lost her charm: they had been
+married nearly three years. The marquess, from whom nothing could be
+concealed, perceived that often, while she elaborately attempted to
+divert him, her mind was wandering elsewhere.
+
+He fell into the easy habit of dining in his private rooms, sometimes
+_tête-à-tête_ with Villebecque, his private secretary, a cosmopolitan
+theatrical manager, whose tales and adventures about a kind of society
+which Lord Monmouth had always preferred to the polished and somewhat
+insipid circles in which he was born, had rendered him the prime
+favourite of his great patron. Villebecque's step-daughter Flora, a
+modest and retiring maiden, waited on Lucretia.
+
+Back in London, Lord Monmouth, on the day of his arrival, welcomed
+Coningsby to his room, and at a sign from his master Villebecque left
+the apartment.
+
+"You see, Harry," said Lord Monmouth, "that I am much occupied to-day,
+yet the business on which I wish to communicate with you is so pressing
+that it could not be postponed. These are not times when young men
+should be out of sight. Your public career will commence immediately.
+The government have resolved on a dissolution. My information is from
+the highest quarter. The Whigs are going to dissolve their own House of
+Commons. Notwithstanding this, we can beat them, but the race requires
+the finest jockeying. We can't give a point. Now, if we had a good
+candidate, we could win Dartford. But Rigby won't do. He is too much of
+the old clique used up a hack; besides, a beaten horse. We are assured
+the name of Coningsby would be a host; there is a considerable section
+who support the present fellow who will not vote against a Coningsby.
+They have thought of you as a fit person; and I have approved of the
+suggestion. You will, therefore, be the candidate for Dartford with my
+entire sanction and support; and I have no doubt you will be
+successful."
+
+To Coningsby the idea was appalling. To be the rival of Mr. Millbank on
+the hustings of Dartford! Vanquished or victorious, equally a
+catastrophe. He saw Edith canvassing for her father and against him.
+Besides, to enter the House of Commons a slave and a tool of party!
+Strongly anti-Whig, Coningsby distrusted the Conservative party, and
+looked for a new party of men who shared his youthful convictions and
+high political principles.
+
+Lord Monmouth, however, brushed aside his grandson's objections.
+
+"You are certainly still young; but I was younger by nearly two years
+when I first went in, and I found no difficulty. As for your opinions,
+you have no business to have any other than those I uphold. I want to
+see you in parliament. I tell you what it is, Harry," Lord Monmouth
+concluded, very emphatically, "members of this family may think as they
+like, but they must act as I please. You must go down on Friday to
+Dartford and declare yourself a candidate for the town, or I shall
+reconsider our mutual positions."
+
+Coningsby left Monmouth House in dejection, but to his solemn resolution
+of political faith he remained firm. He would not stand for Dartford
+against Mr. Millbank as the nominee of a party he could not follow. In
+terms of tenderness and humility he wrote to his grandfather that he
+positively declined to enter parliament except as the master of his own
+conduct.
+
+In the same hour of his distress Coningsby overheard in his club two men
+discussing the engagement of Miss Millbank to the Marquess of
+Beaumanoir, the elder brother of his school friend, Henry Sydney.
+
+Edith Millbank, too, had heard news at a London assembly of wealth and
+fashion that Coningsby was engaged to be married to Lady Theresa Sydney.
+
+So easily does rumour spin her stories and smite her victims with
+sadness.
+
+
+_V.--Lady Monmouth's Departure_
+
+
+It was Flora, to whom Coningsby had been always kind and courteous, who
+told Lucretia that Lord Monmouth was displeased with his grandson.
+
+"My lord is very angry with Mr. Coningsby," she said, shaking her head
+mournfully. "My lord told M. Villebecque that perhaps Mr. Coningsby
+would never enter the house again."
+
+Lucretia immediately dispatched a note to Mr. Rigby, and, on the arrival
+of that gentleman, told him all she had learnt of the contention between
+Harry Coningsby and her husband.
+
+"I told you to beware of him long ago," said Lady Monmouth. "He has ever
+been in the way of both of us."
+
+"He is in my power," said Rigby. "We can crush him. He is in love with
+the daughter of Millbank, the man who bought Hellingsley. I found the
+younger Millbank quite domiciliated at the castle, a fact which of
+itself, if known to Lord Monmouth, would ensure the lad's annihilation."
+
+"The time is now most mature for this. Let us not conceal it from
+ourselves that since this grandson's first visit to Coningsby Castle we
+have neither of us really been in the same position with my lord which
+we then occupied, or believed we should occupy. Go now; the game is
+before you! Rid me of this Coningsby, and I will secure all that you
+want."
+
+"It shall be done," said Rigby, "it must be done."
+
+Lady Monmouth bade Mr. Rigby hasten at once to the marquess and bring
+her news of the interview. She awaited with some excitement his return.
+Her original prejudice against Coningsby and jealousy of his influence
+had been aggravated by the knowledge that, although after her marriage
+Lord Monmouth had made a will which secured to her a very large portion
+of his great wealth, the energies and resources of the marquess had of
+late been directed to establish Coningsby in a barony.
+
+Two hours elapsed before Mr. Rigby returned. There was a churlish and
+unusual look about him.
+
+"Lord Monmouth suggests that, as you were tired of Paris, your ladyship
+might find the German baths at Kissingen agreeable. A paragraph in the
+'Morning Post' would announce that his lordship was about to join you;
+and even if his lordship did not ultimately reach you, an amicable
+separation would be effected."
+
+In vain Lucretia stormed. Mr. Rigby mentioned that Lord Monmouth had
+already left the house and would not return, and finally announced that
+Lucretia's letters to a certain Prince Trautsmandorff were in his
+lordship's possession.
+
+A few days later, and Coningsby read in the papers of Lady Monmouth's
+departure to Kissingen. He called at Monmouth House, to find the place
+empty, and to learn from the porter that Lord Monmouth was about to
+occupy a villa at Richmond.
+
+Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the
+exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced
+nothing but kindness from Lord Monmouth. He determined to pay him a
+visit at Richmond.
+
+Lord Monmouth, who was entertaining two French ladies at his villa,
+recoiled from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds; but
+Coningsby so pleasantly impressed his fair visitors that Lord Monmouth
+decided to ask him to dinner. Thus, in spite of the combinations of
+Lucretia and Mr. Rigby, and his grandfather's resentment, within a month
+of the memorable interview at Monmouth House, Coningsby found himself
+once more a welcome guest at Lord Monmouth's table.
+
+In that same month other important circumstances also occurred.
+
+At a fête in some beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames,
+Coningsby and Edith Millbank were both present. The announcement was
+made of the forthcoming marriage of Lady Theresa Sydney to Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, a friend of Mr. Coningsby; and later, from the lips of Lady
+Wallinger herself, Miss Millbank's aunt, Coningsby learnt how really
+groundless was the report of Lord Beaumanoir's engagement.
+
+"Lord Beaumanoir admires her--has always admired her," Lady Wallinger
+explained to Coningsby; "but Edith has given him no encouragement
+whatever."
+
+At the end of the terrace Edith and Coningsby met. He seized the
+occasion to walk some distance by her side.
+
+"How could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby, after some time.
+
+"I was unhappy."
+
+"And now we are to each other as before."
+
+"And will be, come what may," said Edith.
+
+
+_VI.--Lord Monmouth's Money_
+
+
+In the midst of Christmas-revels at the country house of Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, surrounded by the duke and duchess and their children--the
+Sydneys--Coningsby was called away by a messenger, who brought news of
+the sudden death of Lord Monmouth. The marquess had died at supper at
+his Richmond villa, with no persons near him but those who were very
+amusing.
+
+The body had been removed to Monmouth House; and after the funeral, in
+the principal saloon of Monmouth House, the will was eventually read.
+
+The date of the will was 1829; and by this document the sum of £10,000
+was left to Coningsby, who at that time was unknown to his grandfather.
+
+But there were many codicils. In 1832, the £10,000 was increased to
+£50,000. In 1836, after Coningsby's visit to the castle, £50,000 was
+left to the Princess Lucretia, and Coningsby was left sole residuary
+legatee.
+
+After the marriage, an estate of £9,000 a year was left to Coningsby,
+£20,000 to Mr. Rigby, and the whole of the residue went to issue by Lady
+Monmouth.
+
+In the event of there being no issue, the whole of the estate was to be
+divided equally between Lady Monmouth and Coningsby. In 1839, Mr. Rigby
+was reduced to £10,000, Lady Monmouth was to receive £3,000 per annum,
+and the rest, without reserve, went absolutely to Coningsby.
+
+The last codicil was dated immediately after the separation with Lady
+Monmouth.
+
+All dispositions in favour of Coningsby were revoked, and he was left
+with the interest of the original £10,000, the executors to invest the
+money as they thought best for his advancement, provided it were not
+placed in any manufactory.
+
+Mr. Rigby received £5,000, M. Villebecque £30,000, and all the rest,
+residue and remainder, to Flora, commonly called Flora Villebecque,
+step-child of Armand Villebecque, "but who is my natural daughter by an
+actress at the Théâtre Français in the years 1811-15, by the name of
+Stella."
+
+Sidonia lightened the blow for Coningsby as far as philosophy could be
+of use.
+
+"I ask you," he said, "which would you have rather lost--your
+grandfather's inheritance or your right leg?"
+
+"Most certainly my inheritance."
+
+"Or your left arm?"
+
+"Still the inheritance."
+
+"Would you have given up a year of your life for that fortune trebled?"
+
+"Even at twenty-three I would have refused the terms."
+
+"Come, then, Coningsby, the calamity cannot be very great. You have
+health, youth, good looks, great abilities, considerable knowledge, a
+fine courage, and no contemptible experience. You can live on £300 a
+year. Read for the Bar."
+
+"I have resolved," said Coningsby. "I will try for the Great Seal!"
+
+Next morning came a note from Flora, begging Mr. Coningsby to call upon
+her. It was an interview he would rather have avoided. But Flora had not
+injured him, and she was, after all, his kin. She was alone when
+Coningsby entered the room.
+
+"I have robbed you of your inheritance."
+
+"It was not mine by any right, legal or moral. The fortune is yours,
+dear Flora, by every right; and there is no one who wishes more
+fervently that it may contribute to your happiness than I do."
+
+"It is killing me," said Flora mournfully. "I must tell you what I feel.
+This fortune is yours. I never thought to be so happy as I shall be if
+you will generously accept it."
+
+"You are, as I have ever thought you, the kindest and most
+tender-hearted of beings," said Coningsby, much moved; "but the custom
+of the world does not permit such acts to either of us as you
+contemplate. Have confidence in yourself. You will be happy."
+
+"When I die, these riches will be yours; that, at all events, you cannot
+prevent," were Flora's last generous words.
+
+
+_VII.--On Life's Threshold_
+
+
+Coningsby established himself in the Temple to read law; and Lord Henry
+Sydney, Oswald Millbank, and other old Eton friends rallied round their
+early leader.
+
+"I feel quite convinced that Coningsby will become Lord Chancellor,"
+Henry Sydney said gravely, after leaving the Temple.
+
+The General Election of 1841, which Lord Monmouth had expected a year
+before, found Coningsby a solitary student in his lonely chambers in the
+Temple. All his friends and early companions were candidates, and with
+sanguine prospects. They sent their addresses to Coningsby, who, deeply
+interested, traced in them the influence of his own mind.
+
+Then, in the midst of the election, one evening in July, Coningsby,
+catching up a third edition of the "Sun," was startled by the word
+"Dartford" in large type. Below it were the headlines:
+
+"Extraordinary Affair! Withdrawal of the Liberal Candidate! Two Tory
+Candidates in the Field!"
+
+Mr. Millbank, at the last moment, had retired, and had persuaded his
+supporters to nominate Harry Coningsby in his place. The fight was
+between Coningsby and Rigby.
+
+Oswald Millbank, who had just been returned to parliament, came up to
+London; and from him, as they travelled to Dartford, Coningsby grasped
+the change of events. Sidonia had explained to Lady Wallinger the cause
+of Coningsby's disinheritance. Lady Wallinger had told Oswald and Edith;
+and Oswald had urged on his father the recognition of his friend's
+affection for his sister.
+
+On his own impulse Mr. Millbank decided that Coningsby should contest
+Dartford.
+
+Mr. Rigby was beaten; and Coningsby arrived at Dartford in time to
+receive the cheers of thousands. From the hustings he gave his first
+address to a public assembly; and by general agreement no such speech
+had ever been heard in the borough before.
+
+Early in the autumn Harry and Edith were married at Millbank, and they
+passed their first moon at Hellingsley.
+
+The death of Flora, who had bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the
+husband of Edith, took place before the end of the year, hastened by the
+fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days,
+haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the
+instrument of injuring the only being whom she loved.
+
+Coningsby passed his next Christmas in his own hall, with his beautiful
+and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart
+and his youth.
+
+The young couple stand now on the threshold of public life. What will be
+their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the
+great truths, which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? Or
+will vanity confound their fortunes, and jealousy wither their
+sympathies?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Sybil, or the Two Nations
+
+
+      "Sybil, or the Two Nations" was published in 1845, a year
+     after "Coningsby," and in it the novelist "considered the
+     condition of the people." The author himself, writing in 1870
+     of this novel, said: "At that time the Chartist agitation was
+     still fresh in the public memory, and its repetition was far
+     from improbable. I had visited and observed with care all the
+     localities introduced, and as an accurate and never
+     exaggerated picture of a remarkable period in our domestic
+     history, and of a popular organisation which in its extent and
+     completeness has perhaps never been equalled, the pages of
+     "Sybil" may, I venture to believe, be consulted with
+     confidence." "Sybil," indeed, is not only an extremely
+     interesting novel; but as a study of social life in England it
+     is of very definite historical value.
+
+
+_I.--Hard Times for the Poor_
+
+
+It was Derby Day, 1837. Charles Egremont was in the ring at Epsom with a
+band of young patricians. Groups surrounded the betting post, and the
+odds were shouted lustily by a host of horsemen. Egremont had backed
+Caravan to win, and Caravan lost by half a length. Charles Egremont was
+the younger brother of the Earl of Marney; he had received £15,000 on
+the death of his father, and had spent it. Disappointed in love at the
+age of twenty-four, Egremont left England, to return after eighteen
+months' absence a much wiser man. He was now conscious that he wanted an
+object, and, musing over action, was ignorant how to act.
+
+The morning after the Derby, Egremont, breakfasting with his mother,
+learnt that King William IV. was dying, and that a dissolution of
+parliament was at hand. Lady Marney was a great stateswoman, a leader in
+fashionable politics.
+
+"Charles," said Lady Marney, "you must stand for the old borough, for
+Marbury. No doubt the contest will be very expensive, but it will be a
+happy day for me to see you in parliament, and Marney will, of course,
+supply the funds. I shall write to him, and perhaps you will do so
+yourself."
+
+The election took place, and Egremont was returned. Then he paid a visit
+to his brother at Marney Abbey, and an old estrangement between the two
+was ended.
+
+Marney Abbey was as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of
+accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. It had been a
+religious house. The founder of the Marney family, a confidential
+domestic of one of the favourites of Henry VIII., had contrived by
+unscrupulous zeal to obtain the grant of the abbey lands, and in the
+reign of Elizabeth came a peerage.
+
+The present Lord Marney upheld the workhouse, hated allotments and
+infant schools, and declared the labourers on his estate to be happy and
+contented with a wage of seven shillings a week.
+
+The burning of hayricks on the Abbey Farm at the time of Egremont's
+visit showed that the torch of the incendiary had been introduced and
+that a beacon had been kindled in the agitated neighbourhood. For misery
+lurked in the wretched tenements of the town of Marney, and fever was
+rife. The miserable hovels of the people had neither windows nor doors,
+and were unpaved, and looked as if they could scarcely hold together.
+There were few districts in the kingdom where the rate of wages was more
+depressed.
+
+"What do you think of this fire?" said Egremont to a labourer at the
+Abbey Farm.
+
+"I think 'tis hard times for the poor, sir," was the reply, given with a
+shake of the head.
+
+
+_II.--The Old Tradition_
+
+
+"Why was England not the same land as in the days of his light-hearted
+youth?" Charles Egremont mused, as he wandered among the ruins of the
+ancient abbey. "Why were these hard times for the poor?" Brooding over
+these questions, he observed two men hard by in the old cloister garden,
+one of lofty stature, nearer forty than fifty years of age, the other
+younger and shorter, with a pale face redeemed from ugliness by its
+intellectual brow. Egremont joined the strangers, and talked.
+
+"Our queen reigns over two nations, between whom there is no intercourse
+and no sympathy--the rich and the poor," said the younger stranger.
+
+As he spoke, from the lady chapel rose the evening hymn to the Virgin in
+tones of almost supernatural tenderness.
+
+The melody ceased; and Egremont beheld a female form, a countenance
+youthful, and of a beauty as rare as it was choice.
+
+The two men joined the beautiful maiden; and the three quitted the abbey
+grounds together without another word, and pursued their way to the
+railway station.
+
+"I have seen the tomb of the last abbot of Marney, and I marked your
+name on the stone, my father," said the maiden. "You must regain our
+lands for us, Stephen," she added to the younger man.
+
+"I can't understand why you lost sight of those papers, Walter," said
+Stephen Morley.
+
+"You see, friend, they were never in my possession; they were not mine
+when I saw them. They were my father's. He was a small yeoman,
+well-to-do in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition
+that the lands were ours. This Hatton got hold of him; he did his work
+well, I have heard. It is twenty-five years since my father brought his
+writ of right, and though baffled, he was not beaten. Then he died; his
+affairs were in great confusion; he had mortgaged his land for his writ.
+There were debts that could not be paid. I had no capital. I would not
+sink to be a labourer. I had heard much of the high wages of this new
+industry; I left the land."
+
+"And the papers?"
+
+"I never thought of them, or thought of them with disgust, as the cause
+of my ruin. Of Hatton, I have not heard since my father's death. He had
+quitted Mowbray, and none could give me tidings of him. When you came
+and showed me in a book that the last abbot of Marney was a Walter
+Gerard, the old feeling stirred again, and though I am but the
+overlooker at Mr. Trafford's mill, I could not help telling you that my
+fathers fought at Agincourt."
+
+They approached the station, entered the train, and two hours later
+arrived at Mowbray. Gerard and Morley left their companion at a convent
+gate in the suburbs of the manufacturing town.
+
+The two men made their way through the streets and entered a prominent
+public house. Here they sought an interview with the landlord, and from
+him got information of Hatton's brother.
+
+"You have heard of a place called Hell-house Yard?" said the publican.
+"Well, he lives there, and his name is Simon, and that's all I know
+about him."
+
+
+_III.--The Gulf Impassable_
+
+
+When it came to the point, Lord Marney very much objected to paying
+Egremont's election expenses, and proposed instead that he should
+accompany him to Mowbray Castle, and marry Earl Mowbray's daughter, Lady
+Joan Fitz-Warene.
+
+Lord Mowbray was the grandson of a waiter, who had gone out to India a
+gentleman's valet, and returned a nabob. Lord Mowbray's two daughters--
+he had no sons--were great heiresses. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud
+inquisitive. Egremont fell in love with neither, and the visit was a
+failure. Lord Marney declined to pay the election expenses.
+
+The brothers parted in anger; and Egremont took up his abode in a
+cottage in Mowedale, a few miles outside the town of Mowbray. He was
+drawn to this by the knowledge that Walter Gerard and his daughter
+Sybil, and their friend Stephen Morley, lived close by. Of Egremont's
+rank these three were ignorant. Sybil had met him with Mr. St. Lys, the
+good vicar of Mowbray, relieving the misery of a poor weaver's family in
+the town, and at Mowedale he passed as Mr. Franklin, a journalist.
+
+For some weeks Egremont enjoyed the peace of rural life, and the
+intercourse with the Gerards ripened into friendship. When the time came
+for parting, for Egremont had to take his seat in parliament, it was a
+tender farewell on both sides.
+
+Egremont, embarrassed by his deception, could not only speak vaguely of
+their meeting again soon. The thought of parting from Sybil nearly
+overwhelmed him.
+
+When he met Gerard and Morley again it was in London, and disguise was
+no longer possible. Gerard and Morley came as delegates to the Chartist
+National Convention in 1839, and, deputed by their fellows to interview
+Charles Egremont, M.P., came face to face with "Mr. Franklin."
+
+The general misery in the country at that time was appalling. Weavers
+and miners were starving, agricultural labourers were driven into the
+new workhouses, and riots were of common occurrence. The Chartists
+believed their proposals would improve matters, other working-class
+leaders believed that a general stoppage of work would be more
+effective.
+
+Sybil, in London with her father, ardently supported the popular
+movement. Meeting Egremont near Westminster Abbey on the very day after
+Gerard and Morley had waited upon him, she allowed him to escort her
+home. Then, for the first time, she learnt that her friend "Mr.
+Franklin" was the brother of Lord Marney.
+
+It was in vain Egremont urged that they might still be friends, that the
+gulf between rich and poor was not impassable.
+
+"Oh, sir," said Sybil haughtily, "I am one of those who believe the gulf
+is impassable--yes, utterly impassable!"
+
+
+_IV.--Plotting Against Lord De Mowbray_
+
+
+Stephen Morley was the editor of the "Mowbray Phoenix," a teetotaler, a
+vegetarian, a believer in moral force. The friend of Gerard, and in love
+with Sybil, Stephen looked with no favour on Egremont. Although a
+delegate to the Chartist Convention, Stephen had not forgotten the
+claims of Gerard to landed estate, and had pursued his inquiries as to
+the whereabouts of Hatton with some success.
+
+First Stephen had journeyed to Woodgate, commonly known as Hell-house
+Yard, a wild and savage place, the abode of a lawless race of men who
+fashioned locks and instruments of iron. Here he had found Simon Hatton,
+who knew nothing of his brother's residence.
+
+By accident Stephen discovered that the man he sought lived in the
+Temple. Baptist Hatton at that time was the most famous of heraldic
+antiquaries. Not a pedigree in dispute, not a peerage in abeyance, but
+it was submitted to his consideration. A solitary man was Baptist
+Hatton, wealthy and absorbed in his pursuits. The meeting with Morley
+excited him, and he turned over the matter anxiously in his mind as he
+sat alone.
+
+"The son of Walter Gerard, a Chartist delegate! The best blood in
+England! Those infernal papers! They made my fortune; and yet the deed
+has cost me many a pang. It seemed innoxious; the old man dead,
+insolvent; myself starving; his son ignorant of all--to whom could they
+be of use, for it required thousands to work them? And yet with all my
+wealth and power what memory shall I leave? Not a relative in the world,
+except a barbarian. Ah! had I a child like the beautiful daughter of
+Gerard. I have seen her. He must be a fiend who could injure her. I am
+that fiend. Let me see what can be done. What if I married her?"
+
+But Hatton did not offer marriage to Sybil. He did much to make her stay
+in London pleasant; but there was something about the maiden that awed
+while it fascinated him. A Catholic himself, Hatton was not surprised to
+hear from Gerard of Sybil's wish to enter a convent. "And to my mind she
+is right. My daughter cannot look to marriage; no man that she could
+marry would be worthy of her."
+
+This did not deter Hatton from considering how the papers relating to
+Gerard's lost estates could be recovered.
+
+The first move was an action entered against Lord de Mowbray, and this
+brought that distinguished peer to Mr. Hatton's chambers in the Temple,
+for Hatton was at that time advising Lord de Mowbray in the matter of
+reviving an ancient barony. Hatton easily quieted his client.
+
+"Mr. Walter Gerard can do nothing without the deed of '77. Your
+documents you say are all secure?"
+
+"They are at this moment in the muniment room of the tower of Mowbray
+Castle."
+
+"Keep them; this action is a feint."
+
+As for Mr. Baptist Hatton, the next time we see him a few months had
+elapsed. He is at the principal hotel in Mowbray in consultation with
+Stephen Morley.
+
+A great labour demonstration had taken place the previous night on the
+moors outside the town, and Gerard had been acclaimed as a popular hero.
+
+"Documents are in existence," said Hatton, "which prove the title of
+Walter Gerard to the proprietorship of this great district. Two hundred
+thousand human beings yesterday acknowledged the supremacy of Gerard.
+Suppose they had known that within the walls of Mowbray Castle were
+contained the proofs that Walter Gerard was the lawful possessor of the
+lands on which they live? Moral force is a fine thing, friend Morley,
+but the public spirit is inflamed here. You are a leader of the people.
+Let us have another meeting on the Moor! you can put your fingers in a
+trice on the man who will do our work. Mowbray Castle in their
+possession, a certain iron chest, painted blue, and blazoned with the
+shield of Valence, would be delivered to you. You shall have £10,000
+down and I will take you back to London besides."
+
+"The effort would fail," said Stephen Morley. "Wages must drop still
+more, and the discontent here be deeper. But I will keep the secret; I
+will treasure it up."
+
+
+_V.--Liberty--At a Price_
+
+
+While Mr. Baptist Hatton and Stephen Morley discussed the possible
+recovery of the papers, much happened in London. Gerard became a marked
+man in the Chartist Convention, a member of a small but resolute
+committee. Egremont, now deeply in love with Sybil, declared his suit.
+
+"From the first moment I beheld you in the starlit arch of Marney, your
+image has never been absent from my consciousness. Do not reject my
+love; it is deep as your nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those
+prejudices that have embittered your existence. If I be a noble, I have
+none of the accidents of nobility. I cannot offer you wealth, splendour,
+and power; but I can offer you the devotion of an entranced being,
+aspirations that you shall guide, an ambition that you shall govern."
+
+"These words are mystical and wild," said Sybil in amazement. "You are
+Lord Marney's brother; I learnt it but yesterday. Retain your hand, and
+share your life and fortunes! You forget what I am. No, no, kind
+friend--for such I'll call you--your opinion of me touches me deeply. I
+am not used to such passages in life. A union between the child and
+brother of nobles and a daughter of the people is impossible. It would
+mean estrangement from your family, their hopes destroyed, their pride
+outraged. Believe me, the gulf is impassable."
+
+The Chartist petition was rejected by the House of Commons
+contemptuously. Riots took place in Birmingham. Sybil grew anxious for
+her father's safety.
+
+Egremont's speech in parliament on the presentation of the national
+petition created some perplexity among his aristocratic relatives and
+acquaintances. It was free from the slang of faction--the voice of a
+noble who had upheld the popular cause, who had pronounced that the
+rights of labour were as sacred as those of property, that the social
+happiness of the millions should be the statesman's first object.
+
+Sybil, enjoying the calm of St. James's Park on a summer morning, read
+the speech with emotion, and while she still held the paper the orator
+himself stood before her. She smiled without distress, and presently
+confided to Egremont that she was unhappy, about her father.
+
+"I honour your father," said Egremont "Counsel him to return to Mowbray.
+Exert every energy to get him to leave London at once--to-night if
+possible. After this business at Birmingham the government will strike
+at the convention. If your father returns to Mowbray and is quiet, he
+has a chance of not being disturbed."
+
+Sybil returned and warned her father. "You are in danger," she cried,
+"great and immediate. Let us quit this city to-night."
+
+"To-morrow, my child," Walter Gerard assured her, "we will return to
+Mowbray. To-night our council meets, and we have work of utmost
+importance. We must discountenance scenes of violence. The moment our
+council is over I will come back to you."
+
+But Walter Gerard did not return. While Sybil sat and waited, Stephen
+Morley entered the room. His manner was strange and unusual.
+
+"Your father is in danger; time is precious. I can endure no longer the
+anguish of my life. I love you, and if you will not be mine, I care for
+no one's fate. I can save your father. If I see him before eight
+o'clock, I can convince him that the government knows of his intentions,
+and will arrest him to-night. I am ready to do this service--to save the
+father from death and the daughter from despair, if she would but only
+say to me: 'I have but one reward, and it is yours.'"
+
+"It is bitter, this," said Sybil, "bitter for me and mine; but for you
+pollution, this bargaining of blood. In the name of the Holy Virgin I
+answer you--no!"
+
+Morley rushed frantically from the room.
+
+Sybil, in despair, made her way to a coffee-house near Charing Cross,
+which she knew had been much frequented by members of the Chartist
+Convention. Here, after some delay, she was given the fatal address in
+Hunt Street, Seven Dials.
+
+Sybil arrived at the meeting a few minutes before the police raided the
+premises. She was found with her father, and taken with him and six
+other men to Bow Street Police Station. A note to Egremont procured her
+release in the early hours of the morning.
+
+Walter Gerard in due time was sent to trial, convicted and sentenced to
+eighteen month's confinement in York Castle.
+
+
+_VI.--Within the Castle Walls_
+
+
+In 1842 came the great stoppage of work. The mills ceased; the miners
+went "to play," despairing of a fair day's wage for a fair day's work;
+and the inhabitants of Woodgate--the Hell-cats, as they were called--
+stirred up by a Chartist delegate, sallied forth with Simon Hatton,
+named the "liberator," at their head to deal ruthlessly with all
+"oppressors of the people."
+
+They sacked houses, plundered cellars, ravaged provision shops,
+destroyed gas-works and stormed workhouses. In time they came to
+Mowbray. There the liberator came face to face with Baptist Hatton
+without recognising his brother.
+
+Stephen Morley and Baptist Hatton were in close conference.
+
+"The times are critical," said Hatton.
+
+"Mowbray may be burnt to the ground before the troops arrive," Morley
+replied.
+
+"And the castle, too," said Hatton quietly. "I was thinking only
+yesterday of a certain box of papers. To business, friend Morley. This
+savage relative of mine cannot be quiet. If he does not destroy
+Trafford's Mill it will be the castle. Why not the castle instead of the
+mill?"
+
+Trafford's Mill was saved by the direct intervention of Walter Gerard.
+All the people of Mowbray knew the good reputation of the Traffords, and
+Gerard's eloquence turned the mob from the attack.
+
+While the liberator and the Hell-cats hesitated, a man named Dandy Mick,
+prompted by Morley, urged that a walk should be taken in Lord de
+Mowbray's park.
+
+The proposition was received with shouts of approbation. Gerard
+succeeded in detaching a number of Mowbray men, but the Hell-cats, armed
+with bludgeons, poured into the park and on to the castle.
+
+Lady de Mowbray and her friends made their escape, taking Sybil, who had
+sought refuge from the mob, with them.
+
+Mr. St. Lys gathered a body of men in defence of the castle, but came
+too late to prevent the entrance of the Hell-cats. Singularly enough,
+Morley and one or two of his followers entered with the liberator.
+
+The first great rush was to the cellars, and the invaders were quickly
+at work knocking off the heads of bottles, and brandishing torches.
+Morley and his lads traced their way down a corridor to the winding
+steps of the Round Tower, and forced their way into the muniment room of
+the castle. It was not till his search had nearly been abandoned in
+despair that he found the small blue box blazoned with the arms of
+Valence. He passed it hastily to a trusted companion, Dandy Mick, and
+bade him deliver it to Sybil Gerard at the convent.
+
+At this moment the noise of musketry was heard; the yeomanry were on the
+scene.
+
+Morley, cut off from flight by the military, was shot, pistol in hand,
+with the name of Sybil on his lips. "The world will misjudge me," he
+thought--"they will call me hypocrite, but the world is wrong."
+
+The man with the box escaped through the window, and in spite of the
+fire, troopers, and mob, reached the convent in safety.
+
+The castle was burnt to the ground by the torches of the Hell-cats.
+
+Sybil, separated from her friends, found herself surrounded by a band of
+drunken ruffians. She was rescued by a yeomanry officer, who pressed her
+to his heart.
+
+"Never to part again," said Egremont.
+
+Under Egremont's protection, Sybil returned to the convent, and there in
+the courtyard they found Dandy Mick, who had refused to deliver his
+charge, and was lying down with the blue box for his pillow. He had
+fulfilled his mission. Sybil, too agitated to perceive all its import,
+delivered the box into the custody of Egremont, who, bidding farewell to
+Sybil, bade Mick follow him to his hotel.
+
+While these events were happening, Lord Marney, hearing an alarmed and
+exaggerated report of the insurrection, and believing that Egremont's
+forces were by no means equal to the occasion, had set out for Mowbray
+with his own troop of yeomanry.
+
+Crossing the moor, he encountered Walter Gerard with a great multitude,
+whom Gerard headed for purposes of peace.
+
+His mind inflamed, and hating at all times any popular demonstration,
+Lord Marney hastily read the Riot Act, and the people were fired on and
+sabred. The indignant spirit of Gerard resisted, and the father of Sybil
+was shot dead. Instantly arose a groan, and a feeling of frenzy came
+over the people. Armed only with stones and bludgeons they defied the
+troopers, and rushed at the horsemen; a shower of stones rattled without
+ceasing on the helmet of Lord Marney, nor did the people rest till Lord
+Marney fell lifeless on Mowbray Moor, stoned to death.
+
+The writ of right against Lord de Mowbray proved successful in the
+courts, and his lordship died of the blow.
+
+For a long time after the death of her father Sybil remained in helpless
+woe. The widowed Lady Marney, however, came over one day, and carried
+her back to Marney Abbey, never again to quit it until the bridal day,
+when the Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italy.
+
+Though the result was not what Mr. Hatton had once anticipated, the idea
+that he had deprived Sybil of her inheritance had, ever since he had
+become acquainted with her, been the plague-spot of Hatton's life, and
+there was nothing he desired more than to see her restored to those
+rights, and to be instrumental in that restoration.
+
+Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had encountered in the
+service of Sybil, and was set up in business by Lord Marney. A year
+after the burning of Mowbray Castle, on the return of the Earl and
+Countess of Marney to England, the romantic marriage and the enormous
+wealth of Lord and Lady Marney were still the talk in fashionable
+circles.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Tancred, or the New Crusade
+
+
+      "Tancred," published in 1847, completes the trilogy, which
+     began with "Coningsby" in 1844, and had its second volume in
+     "Sybil" in 1845. In these three novels Disraeli gave to the
+     world his political, social, and religious philosophy.
+     "Coningsby" was mainly political, "Sybil" mainly social, and
+     in "Tancred," as the author tells us, Disraeli dealt with the
+     origin of the Christian Church of England and its relation to
+     the Hebrew race whence Christianity sprang. "Public opinion
+     recognized the truth and sincerity of these views," although
+     their general spirit ran counter to current Liberal
+     utilitarianism. Although "Tancred" lacks the vigour of "Sibyl"
+     and the wit of "Coningsby," it is full of the colour of the
+     East, and the satire and irony in the part relating to
+     Tancred's life in England are vastly entertaining. As in
+     others of Disraeli's novels, many of the characters here are
+     portraits of real personages.
+
+
+_I.--Tancred Goes Forth on His Quest_
+
+
+Tancred, the Marquis of Montacute, was certainly strangely distracted on
+his twenty-first birthday. He stood beside his father, the Duke of
+Bellamont, in the famous Crusaders' gallery in the Castle of Montacute,
+listening to the congratulations which the mayor and corporation of
+Montacute town were addressing to him; but all the time he kept his eyes
+fixed on the magnificent tapestries from which the name of the gallery
+was derived. His namesake, Tancred of Montacute, had distinguished
+himself in the Third Crusade by saving the life of King Richard at the
+siege of Ascalon, and his exploits were depicted on the fine Gobelins
+work hanging on the walls of the great hall. Oblivious of the gorgeous
+ceremony in which he was playing the principal part, the young Marquis
+of Montacute stared at the pictures of the Crusader, and a wild,
+fantastical idea took hold of him.
+
+He was the only child of the Duke of Bellamont, and all the high
+nobility of England were assembled to celebrate his coming of age.
+Everything that fortune could bestow seemed to have been given to him.
+He was the heir of the greatest and richest of English dukes, and his
+life was made smooth and easy. His father had got a seat in parliament
+waiting for him, and his mother had already selected a noble and
+beautiful young lady for his wife. Neither of them had yet consulted
+their son, but Tancred was so sweet and gentle a boy that they did not
+dream he would oppose their wishes. They had planned out his life for
+him ever since he was born, with the view to educating him for the
+position which he was to occupy in the English aristocracy, and he had
+always taken the path which they had chosen for him.
+
+In the evening, the duke summoned his son into his library.
+
+"My dear Tancred," he said, "I have a piece of good news for you on your
+birthday. Hungerford feels that he cannot represent our constituency now
+that you have come of age, and, with great kindness, he is resigning his
+seat in your favour. He says that the Marquis of Montacute ought to
+stand for the town of Montacute, so you will be able to enter parliament
+at once."
+
+"But I do not wish to enter parliament," said Tancred.
+
+The duke leant back from his desk with a look of painful surprise on his
+face.
+
+"Not enter parliament?" he exclaimed. "Every Lord Montacute has gone
+into the House of Commons before taking his seat in the House of Lords.
+It is an excellent training."
+
+"I am not anxious to enter the House of Lords either," said Tancred.
+"And I hope, my dear father," he added, with a smile that lit up his
+young, grave, beautiful face, "that it will be very, very long before I
+succeed to your place there."
+
+"What, then, do you intend to do, my boy?" said Bellamont, in intense
+perplexity. "You are the heir to one of the greatest positions in the
+state, and you have duties to perform. How are you going to fit yourself
+for them?"
+
+"That is what I have been thinking of for years," said Tancred. "Oh, my
+dear father, if you knew how long and earnestly I have prayed for
+guidance! Yes, I have duties to perform! But in this wild, confused, and
+aimless age of ours, what man can see what his duties are? For my part,
+I cannot find that it is my duty to maintain the present order of
+things. In nothing in our religion, our government, our manners, do I
+find faith. And if there is no faith, how can there be any duty? We have
+ceased to be a nation. We are a mere crowd, kept from utter anarchy by
+the remains of an old system which we are daily destroying."
+
+"But what would you do, my dear boy?" said the duke, pale with anxiety.
+"Have you found any remedy?"
+
+"No," said Tancred mournfully. "There is no remedy to be found in
+England. Oh, let me save myself, father! Let me save our people from the
+corruption and ruin that threaten us!"
+
+"But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?" said the duke.
+
+"I want to go to God!" cried the young nobleman, his blue eyes flaming
+with a strange light "How is it that the Almighty Power does not send
+down His angels to enlighten us in our perplexities? Where is the
+Paraclete, the Comforter Who was promised us? I must go and seek him."
+
+"You are a visionary, my boy," said the duke, gazing at him in blank
+astonishment.
+
+"Was the Montacute that fought by the side of King Richard in the Holy
+Land a visionary?" said Tancred. "All I ask is to be allowed to follow
+in his footsteps. For three days and three nights he knelt in prayer at
+the tomb of his Redeemer. Six centuries and more have gone by since
+then. It is high time that we renewed our intercourse with the Most High
+in the country of His chosen people. I, too, would kneel at that tomb.
+I, too, surrounded by the holy hills and groves of Jerusalem, would lift
+my voice to Heaven, and ask for inspiration."
+
+"But surely God will hear your prayers in England as well as in
+Palestine?"
+
+"No," said his son. "He has never raised up a prophet or a great saint
+in this country. If we want Him to speak to us as He spoke to the men of
+old, we must go, like the Crusaders, to the Holy Land."
+
+Finding that he could not turn his son from the strange course on which
+he was bent, the duke got a great prelate to try and persuade him that
+all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
+
+"We live in an age of progress," reasoned the philosophic bishop.
+"Religion is spreading with the spread of civilisation. How all our
+towns are growing! We shall soon see a bishop in Manchester."
+
+"I want to see an angel in Manchester," replied Tancred.
+
+It was no use arguing with a man who talked in this way, and the duke
+gave Tancred permission to set out on his new crusade.
+
+
+_II.--The Vigil by the Tomb_
+
+
+The moon sank behind the Mount of Olives, leaving the towers, minarets,
+and domes of Jerusalem in deep shadow; the lamps in the city went out,
+and every outline was lost in gloom; but the Church of the Holy
+Sepulchre still shone in the darkness like a beacon light. There, while
+every soul in Jerusalem slumbered, Tancred knelt in prayer by the tomb
+of Christ, under the lighted dome, waiting for the fire from heaven to
+strike into his soul.
+
+His strange vigil was the talk of Syria. It is remarkable how quickly
+news travels in the East.
+
+"Do you know," said Besso, Rothschild's agent, to his foster-son
+Fakredeen, an emir of Lebanon, as they sat talking in a house near the
+gate of Sion, "the young Englishman has brought me such a letter that if
+he were to tell me to rebuild Solomon's temple, I must do it!"
+
+"He must be fabulously rich!" said Fakredeen, with a sigh. "What has he
+come here for? The English do not come on pilgrimages. They are all
+infidels."
+
+"Well, he has come on a pilgrimage," said Besso, "and he is the greatest
+of English princes. He kneels all night and day in the church over
+there."
+
+Yes, after a week of solitude, fasting, and prayer, Tancred was keeping
+vigil before the empty Sepulchre, where Tancred of Montacute had knelt
+six hundred years before. Day after day, night after night, he prayed
+for inspiration, but no divine voice broke in upon his impassioned
+reveries. It was for him that Alonzo Lara, the prior of Terra Santa,
+kept the light burning all night long at the Holy Sepulchre, for the
+Spaniard had been moved by the deep faith of the young English nobleman.
+And one day he said to him:
+
+"Sinai led to Calvary. I think it would be wise for you to trace the
+path backward from Calvary to Sinai."
+
+It was extremely perilous at that time to adventure into the great
+desert, for the wild Bedouin tribes were encamped there. But, in spite
+of this, Tancred made arrangements with an Arabian chief, Sheikh Hassan,
+and set out for Sinai at the head of a well-armed band of Arabs.
+
+"Ah!" said the sheikh, as they entered the mountainous country, after a
+three days' march across the wilderness. "Look at these tracks of horses
+and camels in the defile. The marks are fresh. See that your guns are
+primed!" he cried to his men.
+
+As he spoke a troop of wild horsemen galloped down the ravine.
+
+"Hassan," one of them shouted, "is that the brother of the Queen of the
+English with you? Let him ride with us, and you may return in peace."
+
+"He is my brother, too," said Hassan. "Stand aside, you sons of Eblis,
+or you shall bite the earth."
+
+A wild shout from every height of the defile was the answer. Tancred
+looked up. The crest on either side was lined with Bedouins, each with
+his musket levelled.
+
+"There is only one thing for us to do," said Tancred to Hassan. "Let us
+charge through the defile, and die like men!"
+
+Seizing his pistols, he shot the first horseman through the head, and
+disabled another. Then he charged down the ravine, and Hassan and his
+men followed, and scattered the horsemen before them. The Bedouins fired
+down on them from the crests, and, in a few moments, the place was
+filled with smoke, and Tancred could not see a yard around him. Still he
+galloped on, and the smoke suddenly drifted, and he found himself at the
+mouth of the defile, with a few followers behind him. A crowd of
+Bedouins were waiting for him.
+
+"Die fighting! Die fighting!" he shouted. Then his horse stumbled,
+stabbed from beneath by a Bedouin dagger, and fell in the sand. Before
+he could get his feet out of the stirrups, he was overpowered and bound.
+
+"Don't hurt him," said the Bedouin chief. "Every drop of his blood is
+worth ten thousand piastres."
+
+Late that night, as Amalek, the great Rechabite Bedouin sheikh, was
+sitting before his tent, a horseman rode up to him.
+
+"Salaam," he cried. "Sheikh of sheikhs, it is done! The brother of the
+Queen of England is your slave!"
+
+"Good!" said Amalek. "May your mother eat the hump of a young camel! Is
+the brother of the queen with Sheikh Salem?"
+
+"No," said the horseman, "Sheikh Salem is in paradise, and many of our
+men are with him. The brother of the Queen of the English is a mighty
+warrior. He fought like a lion, but we brought his horse down at last
+and took him alive."
+
+"Good!" said Amalek. "Camels shall be given to all the widows of the men
+he has killed, and I will find them new husbands. Go and tell Fakredeen
+the good news!"
+
+Amalek and Fakredeen would not have cared had they lost a hundred men in
+the affair. The Bedouin chief and the emir of Lebanon could bring into
+the field more than twenty thousand lances, and the capture of Tancred
+was part of a political scheme which they were engineering for the
+conquest of Syria. They knew from Besso that the young English prince
+was fabulously rich, and, as they wanted arms, they meant to hold him to
+the extraordinary ransom of two million piastres.
+
+"My foster father will pay it," said Fakredeen. "He told me that he
+would have to rebuild Solomon's temple if the English prince asked him
+to. We will get him to help us rebuild Solomon's empire."
+
+
+_III.--The Vision on the Mount_
+
+
+On the wild granite scarp of Mount Sinai, about seven thousand feet
+above the blue seas that lave its base, is a small plain hemmed in by
+pinnacles of rock. In the centre of the plain are a cypress tree and a
+fountain. This is the traditional scene of the greatest event in the
+history of mankind. It was here that Moses received the divine laws on
+which the civilisation of the world is based.
+
+Tancred of Montacute knelt down on the sacred soil, and bowed his head
+in prayer. Far below him, in one of the green-valleys sloping down to
+the sea, Fakredeen and a band of Bedouins pitched their tents for the
+night, and talked in awed tones of their strange companion. Wonderful is
+the power of soul with which a great idea endues a man. The young emir
+of Lebanon and his men were no longer the captors of Tancred, but his
+followers. He had preached to them with the eyes of flame and the words
+of fire of a prophet; and they now asked of him, not a ransom, but a
+revelation. They wanted him to bring down from Sinai the new word of
+power, which would bind their scattered tribes into a mighty nation,
+with a divine mission for all the world.
+
+What was this word to be? Tancred did not know any more than his
+followers, and he knelt all day long under the Arabian sun, waiting for
+the divine revelation. The sunlight faded, and the shadows fell around
+him, and he still remained bowed in a strange, quiet ecstasy of
+expectation. But at last, lifting up his eyes to the clear, starry sky
+of Arabia, he prayed:
+
+"O Lord God of Israel, I come to Thine ancient dwelling-place to pour
+forth the heart of tortured Europe. Why does no impulse from Thy
+renovating will strike again into the soul of man? Faith fades and duty
+dies, and a profound melancholy falls upon the world. Our kings cannot
+rule, our priests doubt, and our multitudes toil and moan, and call in
+their madness upon unknown gods. If this transfigured mount may not
+again behold Thee, if Thou wilt not again descend to teach and console
+us, send, oh send, one of the starry messengers that guard Thy throne,
+to save Thy creatures from their terrible despair!"
+
+As he prayed all the stars of Arabia grew strangely dim. The wild peaks
+of Sinai, standing sharp and black in the lucid, purple air, melted into
+shadowy, changing masses. The huge branches of the cypress-tree moved
+mysteriously above his head, and he fell upon the earth senseless and in
+a trance.
+
+It seemed to Tancred that a mighty form was bending over him with a
+countenance like an oriental night, dark yet lustrous, mystical yet
+clear. The solemn eyes of the shadowy apparition were full of the
+brightness and energy of youth and the calm wisdom of the ages.
+
+"I am the Angel of Arabia," said the spectral figure, waving a sceptre
+fashioned like a palm-tree, "the guardian spirit of the land which
+governs the world; for its power lies neither in the sword nor in the
+shield, for these pass away, but in ideas which are divine. All the
+thoughts of every nation come from a higher power than man, but the
+thoughts of Arabia come directly from the Most High. You want a new
+revelation to Christendom? Listen to the ancient message of Arabia!
+
+"Your people now hanker after other gods than the God of Sinai and
+Calvary. But the eternal principles of that Arabian faith, which moulded
+them from savages into civilised men when they descended from their
+northern forests fifteen hundred years ago, and spread all over the
+world, can alone breathe new vigour into them, now that they are
+decaying in the dust and fever of their great cities. Tell them that
+they must cease from seeking in their vain philosophies for the solution
+of their social problems. Their, longing for the brotherhood of mankind
+can only be satisfied when they acknowledge the sway of a common father.
+Tell them that they are the children of God. Announce the sublime and
+solacing doctrine of theocratic equality. Fear not, falter not. Obey the
+impulse of thine own spirit, and find a ready instrument in every human
+being."
+
+A sound as of thunder roused Tancred from his trance. Above him the
+mountains rose sharp and black in the clear purple air, and the Arabian
+stars shone with undimmed brightness; but the voice of the angel still
+lingered in his ear. He went down the mountain; at its base he found his
+followers sleeping amid their camels. He aroused Fakredeen, and told him
+that he had received the word which would bind together the warring
+nations of Arabia and Palestine, and reshape the earth.
+
+
+_IV.--The Mystic Queen_
+
+
+"It has been a great day," said Tancred to Fakredeen, as they were
+sitting some months afterwards in the castle of the young emir of
+Lebanon, where all the princes of Syria had assembled to discuss the
+foundation of the new empire. "If your friends will only work together
+as they promise, Syria is ours."
+
+"Even Lebanon," said Fakredeen, "can send forth more than fifty thousand
+well-armed footmen, and Amalek is gathering all the horsemen of the
+desert, from Petraea to Yemen, under our banner. If we can only win over
+the Ansarey," he continued, "we shall have all Syria and Arabia as a
+base for our operations."
+
+"The Ansarey?" exclaimed Tancred. "They hold the mountains around
+Antioch, which are the key of Palestine, don't they? What is their
+religion? Do you think that the doctrine of theocratic equality would
+appeal to them as it did to the Arabians?"
+
+"I don't know," said the emir. "They never allow strangers to enter
+their country. They are a very ancient people, and they fight so well in
+their mountains that even the Turks have not been able to conquer them."
+
+"But can't we make overtures?" said Tancred.
+
+"That is what I have done," said Fakredeen. "The Queen of the Ansarey
+has heard about you, and I have arranged that we should go and see her
+as soon as the Syrian assembly was over. Everything is ready for our
+journey, so, if you like, we will start at once."
+
+It was a difficult expedition, as the Queen of the Ansarey was then
+waging war on the Turkish pasha of Aleppo. Happily, the travellers came
+upon a band of Ansareys who were raiding the Turkish province, and were
+led by them through their black ravines to the fortress palace of the
+queen.
+
+She received them, sitting on her divan, clothed in a purple robe, and
+shrouded in a long veil. This she took off when Tancred came towards
+her, and he marvelled at the strangeness of her beauty. There was
+nothing oriental about her. She was a Greek girl of the ancient type,
+with violet eyes, fair cheeks, and dark hair.
+
+"Prince," she said, "we are a people who wish neither to see nor to be
+seen. We do not care what goes on in the world around. Our mountains are
+wild and barren, but while Apollo dwells among us, we do not care for
+gold, or silk, or jewels."
+
+"Apollo!" cried Tancred. "Are the gods of Olympus still worshipped on
+earth?"
+
+"Yes, Apollo still lives among us, and another greater than Apollo,"
+said the young queen, looking at Tancred long and earnestly. "Follow me,
+and you shall now behold the secret of the Ansarey."
+
+Her maidens adorned her with a garland of roses, and put a garland on
+the head of Tancred, and she led him through a portal of bronze, down an
+underground passage, into an Ionic temple, filled with the white and
+lovely forms of the gods of ancient Greece.
+
+"Do you know this?" said the queen to Tancred, looking at a statue in
+golden ivory, and then at the young Englishman, whose clear-cut features
+and hyacinthine locks curiously resembled those of the carven image.
+
+"It is Phoebus Apollo," said Tancred, and, moved by admiration at the
+beauty of the figure, he murmured some lines of Homer.
+
+"Ah, you know all!" cried the queen. "You know our secret language. Yes,
+this is Phoebus Apollo. He used to stand in Antioch in the ancient days
+before the Christians drove us into the mountains. And look," she said,
+pointing to the statue beside Apollo, "here is the Syrian goddess before
+whom the pilgrims of the world once knelt. She is named Astarte, and I
+am called after her."
+
+"Oh, angels watch over me!" said Tancred to himself as Queen Astarte
+fixed her violet eyes upon him with a glance of love that could not be
+mistaken, and led him back into the hall of audience.
+
+There he saw Fakredeen bending over a maiden with a flower-like face,
+and large, dark, lustrous eyes.
+
+"She is my foster-sister, Eva," said Fakredeen. "The Ansareys captured
+her on the plain of Aleppo."
+
+Tancred had met Eva at the house of Besso in Jerusalem, but she did not
+then exercise over him the strange charm which now drew him to her side.
+It seemed to him that the beautiful Jewish girl had been sent to help
+him in his struggle against the heathen spells of Astarte. As he was
+meditating how he could rescue her, a messenger came in, and announced
+that the pasha of Aleppo had invaded the mountains at the head of 5,000
+troops.
+
+"Ah!" cried Astarte. "Few of them will ever see Aleppo again. I have
+25,000 men under arms, and you, my prince," she said, turning to
+Tancred, "shall command them."
+
+Tancred had learnt something of the arts of mountain warfare from Sheikh
+Amalek. He allowed the Turkish troops to penetrate into the heart of the
+wild hills, and then, as they were marching down a long defile, he
+attacked them from the crests above, shooting them down like sheep and
+burying them in avalanches of rolling rock. Instead of returning to the
+fortress palace, he sent his men on ahead, and rode out alone into the
+desert, and went through the Syrian wilderness back to Jerusalem.
+
+Riding up to the door of Besso's house by Sion gate, he asked if there
+were any news of Eva. A negro led him into a garden, and there, sitting
+by the side of a fountain, was the lovely Jewish maiden.
+
+"So Fakredeen brought you safely away, Eva," he said tenderly. "I was
+afraid that Astarte meant to harm you."
+
+"She would have killed me," said Eva, "if she could. I am afraid that
+your faith in your idea of theocratic equality has been destroyed by the
+Ansareys. How can you build up an empire in a land divided by so many
+jarring creeds? Do you still believe in Arabia?"
+
+"I believe in Arabia," cried Tancred, kneeling down at her feet,
+"because I believe in you. You are the angel of Arabia, and the angel of
+my life. You cannot guess what influence you have had on my fate. You
+came into my life like another messenger from God. Thanks to you, my
+faith has never faltered. Will you not share it, dearest?"
+
+He clasped her hand, and gazed with passionate adoration into her face.
+As her head fell upon his shoulder, the negro came running to the
+fountain.
+
+"The Duke of Bellamont!" he said to Tancred.
+
+Tancred looked up, and saw the Duke of Bellamont coming through the
+pomegranate trees of the garden.
+
+"Father," he said, advancing towards the duke, "I have found my mission
+in life, and I am going to marry this lady."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ALEXANDRE DUMAS
+
+
+
+Marguerite de Valois
+
+
+      Alexandre Dumas, _père_ (to distinguish him from his son of
+     the same name), early became known as a talented writer, and
+     especially as a poet and dramatist. His first published work
+     appeared in 1823; then came volumes of poems in 1825, 1826,
+     and the drama of "Henry III." in 1828. In "Marguerite de
+     Valois," published in 1845, the first of the "Valois" series
+     of historical romances, Dumas takes us back from the days of
+     Richelieu and the "Three Musketeers" to the preceding century
+     and the early struggles of Catholic and Huguenot. It was a
+     stirring time in France, full of horrors and bloodshed, plots
+     and intrigues, when Marguerite de Valois married Henry of
+     Navarre, and Alexandre Dumas gives us, in his wonderfully,
+     vivid and attractive style, a great picture of the French
+     court in the time of Charles IX. Little affection existed
+     between Henry and his bride, but strong ties of interest and
+     ambition bound them together, and for a long time they both
+     adhered loyally to the treaty of political alliance they had
+     drawn up for their mutual advantage. Dumas died on December 5,
+     1870, after experiencing many changes of fortune. His son also
+     won considerable reputation as a dramatist and novelist.
+
+
+_I.--Henry of Navarre and Marguerite_
+
+
+On Monday, August 18, 1572, a great festival was held in the palace of
+the Louvre. It was to celebrate the marriage of Henry of Navarre and
+Marguerite de Valois, a marriage that perplexed a good many people, and
+alarmed others.
+
+For Henry de Bourbon, King of Navarre, was the leader of the Huguenot
+party, and Marguerite was the daughter of Catherine de Medici, and the
+sister of the king, Charles IX., and this alliance between a Protestant
+and a Catholic, it seemed, was to end the strife that rent the nation.
+The king, too, had set his heart on this marriage, and the Huguenots
+were somewhat reassured by the king's declaration that Catholic and
+Huguenot alike were now his subjects, and were equally beloved by him.
+Still, there were many on both sides who feared and distrusted the
+alliance.
+
+At midnight, six days later, on August 24, the tocsin sounded, and the
+massacre of St. Bartholomew began.
+
+The marriage, indeed, was in no sense a love match; but Henry succeeded
+at once in making Marguerite his friend, for he was alive to the dangers
+that surrounded him.
+
+"Madame," he said, presenting himself at Marguerite's rooms on the night
+of the wedding festival, "whatever many persons may have said, I think
+our marriage is a good marriage. I stand well with you--you stand well
+with me. Therefore, we ought to act towards each other like good allies,
+since to-day we have been allied in the sight of God! Don't you think
+so?"
+
+"Without question, sir!"
+
+"I know, madame, that the ground at court is full of dangerous abysses;
+and I know that, though I am young and have never injured any person, I
+have many enemies. The king hates me, his brothers, the Duke of Anjou
+and the Duke D'Alençon, hate me. Catherine de Medici hated my mother too
+much not to hate me. Well, against these menaces, which must soon become
+attacks, I can only defend myself by your aid, for you are beloved by
+all those who hate me!"
+
+"I?" said Marguerite.
+
+"Yes, you!" replied Henry. "And if you will--I do not say love me--but
+if you will be my ally I can brave anything; while, if you become my
+enemy, I am lost."
+
+"Your enemy! Never, sir!" exclaimed Marguerite.
+
+"And my ally."
+
+"Most decidedly!"
+
+And Marguerite turned round and presented her hand to the king. "It is
+agreed," she said.
+
+"Political alliance, frank and loyal?" asked Henry.
+
+"Frank and loyal," was the answer.
+
+At the door Henry turned and said softly, "Thanks, Marguerite; thanks!
+You are a true daughter of France. Lacking your love, your friendship
+will not fail me. I rely on you, as you, for your part, may rely on me.
+Adieu, madame."
+
+He kissed his wife's hand; and then, with a quick step, the king went
+down the corridor to his own apartment. "I have more need of fidelity in
+politics than in love," he said to himself.
+
+If on both sides there was little attempt at fidelity in love, there was
+an honourable alliance, which was maintained unbroken and saved the life
+of Henry of Navarre from his enemies on more than one occasion.
+
+On the day of the St. Bartholomew massacre, while the Huguenots were
+being murdered throughout Paris, Charles IX., instigated by his mother,
+summoned Henry of Navarre to the royal armoury, and called upon him to
+turn Catholic or die.
+
+"Will you kill me, sire--me, your brother-in-law?" exclaimed Henry.
+
+Charles IX. turned away to the open window. "I must kill someone," he
+cried, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.
+
+Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loaded and fired his
+arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim was
+successful.
+
+"It's all over with me!" said Henry to himself. "When he sees no one
+else to kill, he will kill me!"
+
+Catherine de Medici entered as the king fired his last shot. "Is it
+done?" she said, anxiously.
+
+"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. "No; the
+obstinate blockhead will not consent!"
+
+Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and
+which said, "Why, then, is he alive?"
+
+"He lives," said the king, "because he is my relative."
+
+Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend.
+
+"Madame," he said, addressing her, "I can see quite clearly that all
+this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles. It was you who
+planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us
+all. It was you who made your daughter the bait. It has been you who
+have separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed
+before her eyes!"
+
+"Yes; but that shall not be!" cried another voice; and Marguerite,
+breathless and impassioned, burst into the room.
+
+"Sir," said Marguerite to Henry, "your last words were an accusation,
+and were both right and wrong. They have made me the means for
+attempting to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you
+were going to destruction. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very
+night they all but killed me in seeking you. Directly I knew of your
+danger I sought you. If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if
+they imprison you they shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will
+also die!"
+
+She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly.
+
+"Brother," cried Marguerite to Charles IX., "remember, you made him my
+husband!"
+
+"Faith, Margot is right, and Henry is my brother-in-law," said the king.
+
+
+_II.--The Boar Hunt_
+
+
+As time went on, if Catherine's hatred of Henry of Navarre did not
+diminish, Charles IX. certainly became more friendly.
+
+Catherine was for ever intriguing and plotting for the fortune of her
+sons and the downfall of her son-in-law, but Henry always managed to
+evade the webs she wove. At a certain boar-hunt Charles was indebted to
+Henry for his life.
+
+It was at the time when the king's brother D'Anjou had accepted the
+crown of Poland, and the second brother, D'Alençon, a weak-minded,
+ambitious man, was secretly hoping for a crown somewhere, that Henry
+paid his debt for the king's mercy to him on the night of St.
+Bartholomew.
+
+Charles was an intrepid hunter, but the boar had swerved as the king's
+spear was aimed at him, and, maddened with rage, the animal had rushed
+at him. Charles tried to draw his hunting-knife but the sheath was so
+tight it was impossible.
+
+"The boar! the boar!" shouted the king. "Help, D'Alençon, help!"
+
+D'Alençon was ghastly white as he placed his arquebuse to his shoulder
+and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, felled the king's
+horse.
+
+"I think," D'Alençon murmured to himself, "that D'Anjou is King of
+France, and I King of Poland."
+
+The boar's tusk had indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an
+iron glove dashed itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife was
+plunged into its shoulder.
+
+Charles rose with difficulty, and seemed for a moment as if about to
+fall by the dead boar. Then he looked at Henry of Navarre, and for the
+first time in four-and-twenty years his heart was touched.
+
+"Thanks, Harry!" he said. "D'Alençon, for a first-rate marksman you made
+a most curious shot."
+
+On Marguerite coming up to congratulate the king and thank her husband,
+Charles added, "Margot, you may well thank him. But for him Henry III.
+would be King of France."
+
+"Alas, madame," returned Henry, "M. D'Anjou, who is always my enemy,
+will now hate me more than ever; but everyone has to do what he can."
+
+Had Charles IX. been killed, the Duke d'Anjou would have been King of
+France, and D'Alençon most probably King of Poland. Henry of Navarre
+would have gained nothing by this change of affairs.
+
+Instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have had the Duke
+d'Anjou on the throne, who, being absolutely at one with his mother,
+Catherine, had sworn his death, and would have kept his oath.
+
+These ideas were in his brain when the wild boar rushed on Charles, and
+like lightning he saw that his own existence was bound up with the life
+of Charles IX. But the king knew nothing of the spring and motive of the
+devotion which had saved his life, and on the following day he showed
+his gratitude to Henry by carrying him off from his apartments, and out
+of the Louvre. Catherine, in her fear lest Henry of Navarre should be
+some day King of France, had arranged the assassination of her son-in-
+law; and Charles, getting wind of this, warned him that the air of the
+Louvre was not good for him that night, and kept him in his company.
+Instead of Henry, it was one of his followers who was killed.
+
+
+_III.--The Poisoned Book_
+
+
+Once more Catherine resolved to destroy Henry. The Huguenots had plotted
+with D'Alençon that he should be King of Navarre, since Henry not only
+abjured Protestantism but remained in Paris, being kept there indeed by
+the will of Charles IX.
+
+Catherine, aware of D'Alençon's scheme, assured her son that Henry was
+suffering from an incurable disease, and must be taken away from Paris
+when D'Alençon started for Navarre.
+
+"Are you sure that Henry will die?" asked D'Alençon.
+
+"The physician who gave me a certain book assured me of it."
+
+"And where is this book? What is it?"
+
+Catherine brought the book from her cabinet.
+
+"Here it is. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons
+by an Italian. Give it to Henry, who is going hawking with the king
+to-day, and will not fail to read it."
+
+"I dare not!" said D'Alençon, shuddering.
+
+"Nonsense!" replied Catherine. "It is a book like any other, only the
+leaves have a way of sticking together. Don't attempt to read it
+yourself, for you will have to wet the finger in turning over each leaf,
+which takes up so much time."
+
+"Oh," said D'Alençon, "Henry is with the court! Give me the book, and
+while he is away I will put it in his room."
+
+D'Alençon's hand was trembling as he took the book from the
+queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear he entered Henry's
+apartment and placed the volume, open at the title-page.
+
+But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who found
+the book and carried it off to his own room. D'Alençon found the king
+reading.
+
+"By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cried Charles. "Only it seems
+as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the
+wonders it contains."
+
+D'Alençon's first thought was to snatch the book from his brother, but
+he hesitated.
+
+The king again moistened his finger and turned over a page. "Let me
+finish this chapter," he said, "and then tell me what you please. I have
+already read fifty pages."
+
+"He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thought
+D'Alençon. "He is a dead man!"
+
+The poison did its deadly work. Charles was taken ill while out hunting,
+and returned to find his dog dead, and in its mouth pieces of paper from
+the precious book on falconry. The king turned pale. The book was
+poisoned! Many things flashed across his memory, and he knew his life
+was doomed.
+
+Charles summoned Renè, a Florentine, the court perfumer to Catherine de
+Medici, to his presence, and bade him examine the dog.
+
+"Sire," said Renè, after a close investigation, "the dog has been
+poisoned by arsenic."
+
+"He has eaten a leaf of this book," said Charles; "and if you do not
+tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by
+red-hot pincers."
+
+"Sire," stammered the Florentine, "this book belongs to me!"
+
+"And how did it leave your hands?"
+
+"Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house."
+
+"Why did she do that?"
+
+"I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked
+for a book on hawking."
+
+"Ah," said Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room.
+It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to
+Renè, "this poison does not always kill at once?"
+
+"No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time."
+
+"Is there no remedy?"
+
+"None, sire, unless it be instantly administered."
+
+Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This
+book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de Medici.--Renè,"
+and then dismissed him.
+
+Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in
+the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the
+physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth.
+
+Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his
+disease.
+
+"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"
+
+"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity.
+
+"Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An
+enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible
+conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it,
+perhaps, but I know it for a certainty."
+
+"I never doubt what you tell me," replied the king sarcastically. "I am
+curious to know how they have sought to kill me."
+
+"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of
+yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden
+stars, and over this a royal mantle.
+
+"See, it has on its head a crown," said Catherine, "and there is a
+needle in its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"
+
+"Myself?"
+
+"Yes, in your royal robes, with the crown on your head."
+
+"And who made this figure?" asked-the king, weary of the wretched farce.
+"The King of Navarre, of course!"
+
+"No, sire; he did not actually make it, but it was found in the rooms of
+M. de la Mole, who serves the King of Navarre."
+
+"So, then, the person who seeks to kill me is M. de la Mole?" said
+Charles.
+
+"He is only the instrument, and behind the instrument is the hand that
+directs it," replied Catherine.
+
+"This, then, is the cause of my illness. And now what must I do--for I
+know nothing of sorcery?"
+
+"The death of the conspirator destroys the charm. Its power ends with
+his life. You are convinced now, are you not, of the cause of your
+illness?"
+
+"Oh, certainly," Charles answered ironically. "And I am to punish M. de
+la Mole, as you say he is the guilty party?"
+
+"I say he is the instrument, and," muttered Catherine, "we have
+infallible means for making him confess the name of his principal."
+
+Catherine left hurriedly without understanding the sardonic laughter of
+the king, and as she went out Marguerite appeared.
+
+"Oh, sire--sire," cried Marguerite, "you know what _she_ says is false.
+It is terrible to accuse anyone's own mother, but she only lives to
+persecute the man who is devoted to you, Henry--your Henry--and I swear
+to you that what she says is false!"
+
+"I think so, too, Margot. But Henry is safe. Safer in disgrace in
+Vincennes than in favour at the Louvre."
+
+"Oh, thanks, thanks! But there is another person in whose welfare I am
+interested, whom I hardly dare mention to my brother, much less to my
+king."
+
+"M. de la Mole, is it not? But do you know that a figure dressed in
+royal robes and pierced to the heart was found in his rooms?"
+
+"I know it; but it was the figure of a woman, not of a man."
+
+"And the needle?"
+
+"Was a charm not to kill a man, but to make a woman love him."
+
+"What was the name of this woman?"
+
+"Marguerite!" cried the queen, throwing herself down and bathing the
+king's hand in her tears.
+
+"Margot, what if I know the real author of the crime? For a crime has
+been committed, and I have not three months to live. I am poisoned, but
+it must be thought I die by magic."
+
+"You know who is guilty?"
+
+"Yes; but it must be kept from the world, and so it must be believed I
+die of magic, and by the agency of him they accuse."
+
+"But it is monstrous!" exclaimed Marguerite. "You know he is innocent.
+Pardon him--pardon him!"
+
+"I know it, but the world must believe him guilty. Let your friend die.
+His death alone can save the honour of our family. I am dying that the
+secret may be preserved."
+
+M. de la Mole, after enduring excruciating tortures at the hand of
+Catherine, without making any admissions, died on the scaffold.
+
+
+_IV--"The Bourbon Shall Not Reign_!"
+
+
+Before he died Charles showed Catherine the poisoned book, which he had
+kept under lock and key.
+
+"And now burn it, madame. I read this book too much, so fond was I of
+the chase. And the world must not know the weaknesses of kings. When it
+is burnt, please summon my brother Henry. I wish to speak to him about
+the regency."
+
+Catherine brought Henry of Navarre to the king, and warned him that if
+he accepted the regency he was a dead man.
+
+Charles, however, though on his death-bed, declared Henry should be
+regent.
+
+"Madame," he said, addressing his mother, "if I had a son he would be
+king, and you would be regent. In your stead, did you decline, the King
+of Poland would be regent; and in his stead, D'Alençon. But I have no
+son, and therefore the throne belongs to D'Anjou, who is absent. To make
+D'Alençon regent is to invite civil war. I have therefore chosen the
+fittest person for regent Salute him, madame; salute him, D'Alençon. It
+is the King of Navarre!"
+
+"Never," cried Catherine, "shall my race yield to a foreign one! Never
+shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives!"
+
+She left the room, followed by D'Alençon.
+
+"Henry," said Charles, "after my death you will be great and powerful.
+D'Anjou will not leave Poland--they will not let him. D'Alençon is a
+traitor. You alone are capable of governing. It is not the regency only,
+but the throne I give you."
+
+A stream of blood choked his speech.
+
+"The fatal moment is come," said Henry. "Am I to reign, or to live?"
+
+"Live, sire!" a voice answered, and Renè appeared. "The queen has sent
+me to ruin you, but I have faith in your star. It is foretold that you
+shall be king. Do you know that the King of Poland will be here very
+soon? He has been summoned by the queen. A messenger has come from
+Warsaw. You shall be king, but not yet."
+
+"What shall I do, then?"
+
+"Fly instantly to where your friends wait for you."
+
+Henry stooped and kissed his brother's forehead, then disappeared down a
+secret passage, passed through the postern, and, springing on his horse,
+galloped off.
+
+"He flies! The King of Navarre flies!" cried the sentinels.
+
+"Fire on him! Fire!" said the queen.
+
+The sentinels levelled their pieces, but the king was out of reach.
+
+"He flies!" muttered D'Alençon. "I am king, then!"
+
+At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, and Henry d'Anjou
+galloped into the court, followed by four knights, crying, "France!
+France!"
+
+"My son!" cried Catherine joyfully.
+
+"Am I too late?" said D'Anjou.
+
+"No. You are just in time. Listen!"
+
+The captain of the king's guards appeared at the balcony of the king's
+apartment. He broke the wand he held in two places, and holding a piece
+in either hand, called out three times, "King Charles the Ninth is
+dead!"
+
+King Charles the Ninth is dead! King Charles the Ninth is dead!"
+
+"Charles the Ninth is dead!" said Catherine, crossing herself. "God save
+Henry the Third!"
+
+All repeated the cry.
+
+"I have conquered," said Catherine, "and the odious Bourbon shall not
+reign!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Black Tulip
+
+      "The Black Tulip," published in 1850, was the last of
+     Alexandre Dumas' more famous stories, and ranks deservedly
+     high among the short novels of its prolific author. Dumas
+     visited Holland in May, 1849, in order to be present at the
+     coronation of William III. at Amsterdam, and according to
+     Flotow, the composer, it was the king himself who told Dumas
+     the story of "The Black Tulip," and mentioned that none of the
+     author's romances were concerned with the Dutch. Dumas,
+     however, never gave any credit to this anecdote, and others
+     have alleged that Paul Lacroix, the bibliophile, who was
+     assisting Dumas with his novels at that time, is responsible
+     for the plot. The question can never be answered, for who can
+     disentangle the work of Dumas from that of his army of
+     helpers? A feature of "The Black Tulip" is that in it is the
+     bulb, and not a human being, that is the real centre of
+     interest. The fate of the bulb is made of first importance,
+     and the fortunes of Cornelius van Baerle, the tulip fancier,
+     of Boxtel, and of Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, exciting though
+     they are, take second place.
+
+
+_I.--Mob Vengeance_
+
+
+On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of The Hague was crowded in every
+street with a mob of people, all armed with knives, muskets, or sticks,
+and all hurrying towards the Buytenhof.
+
+Within that terrible prison was Cornelius de Witt, brother of John de
+Witt, the ex-Grand Pensionary of Holland.
+
+These brothers De Witt had long served the United Provinces of the Dutch
+Republic, and the people had grown tired of the Republic, and wanted
+William, Prince of Orange, for Stadtholder. John de Witt had signed the
+Act re-establishing the Stadtholderate, but Cornelius had only signed it
+under the compulsion of an Orange mob that attacked his house at
+Dordrecht.
+
+This was the first count against the De Witts--their objection to a
+Stadtholder. The second count was that the De Witts had always done
+their best to keep at peace with France. They knew that war with France
+meant ruin to Holland, but the more violent Orangists still believed
+that such a war would bring honour to the Dutch.
+
+Hence the popular hatred against the De Witts. A miscreant named
+Tyckelaer fanned the flame against Cornelius by declaring that he had
+bribed him to assassinate William, the newly-elected Stadtholder.
+
+Cornelius was arrested, brought to trial, and tortured on the rack, but
+no confession of guilt could be wrung from the innocent, high-souled
+man. Then the judges acquitted Tyckelaer, deprived Cornelius of all his
+offices, and passed sentence of banishment. John de Witt had already
+resigned the office of Grand Pensionary.
+
+On the 20th of August, Cornelius was to leave his prison for exile, and
+a fierce Orangist populace, incited to violence by the harangues of
+Tyckelaer, was rushing to the Buytenhof prepared to do murder, and
+fearful lest the prisoner should escape alive. "To the gaol! To the
+gaol!" yelled the mob. But outside the prison was a line of cavalry
+drawn up under the command of Captain Tilly with orders to guard the
+Buytenhof, and while the populace stood in hesitation, not daring to
+attack the soldiers, John de Witt had quietly driven up to the prison,
+and had been admitted by the gaoler.
+
+The shouts and clamour of the people could be heard within the prison as
+John de Witt, accompanied by Gryphus the gaoler, made his way to his
+brother's cell.
+
+Cornelius learnt there was no time to be lost, but there was a question
+of certain correspondence between John de Witt and M. de Louvois of
+France to be discussed. These letters, entirely creditable though they
+were to the statesmanship of the Grand Pensionary, would have been
+accepted as evidence of treason by the maddened Orangists, and
+Cornelius, instead of burning them, had left them in the keeping of his
+godson, Van Baerle, a quiet, scholarly young man of Dordrecht, who was
+utterly unaware of the nature of the packet.
+
+"They will kill us if these papers are found," said John de Witt, and
+opening the window, they heard the mob shouting, "Death to traitors!"
+
+In spite of fingers and wrists broken by the rack, Cornelius managed to
+write a note.
+
+      DEAR GODSON: Burn the packet I gave you, burn without opening
+     or looking at it, so that you may not know the contents. The
+     secrets it contains bring death. Burn it, and you will have
+     saved both John and Cornelius.
+
+     Farewell, from your affectionate
+
+     CORNELIUS DE WITT.
+
+Then a letter was given to Craeke, John de Witt's faithful servant, who
+at once set off for Dordrecht, and within a few minutes the two brothers
+were driving away to the city gate. Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, unknown
+to her father, had opened the postern, and had herself bidden De Witt's
+coachman drive round to the rear of the prison, and by this means the
+fury of the mob was, for the moment, evaded.
+
+And now the clamour of the Orangists was at the prison door, for Tilly's
+horse had withdrawn on an order signed by the deputies in the town hall,
+and the people were raging to get within the Buytenhof.
+
+The mob burst open the great gate, and yelling, "Death to the traitors!
+To the gallows with Cornelius de Witt!" poured in, only to find the
+prisoner had escaped. But the escape was but from the prison, for the
+city gate was locked when the carriage of the De Witts drove up, locked
+by order of the deputies of the Town Hall, and a certain young man--who
+was none other than William, Prince of Orange--held the key.
+
+Before another gate could be reached the mob, streaming from the
+Buytenhof, had overtaken the carriage, and the De Witts were at its
+mercy.
+
+The two men, whose lives had been spent in the welfare of their country,
+were massacred with unspeakable savagery, and their bodies, stripped,
+and hacked almost beyond recognition, were then strung up on a hastily
+erected gibbet in the market-place.
+
+When the worst had been done, the young man, who had secretly watched
+the proceedings from the window of a neighbouring house, returned the
+key to the gatekeeper.
+
+Then the prince mounted a horse which an equerry held in waiting for
+him, and galloped off to camp to await the message of the States. He
+galloped proudly, for the burghers of The Hague had made of the corpses
+of the De Witts a stepping stone to power for William of Orange.
+
+
+_II.--Betrayed for his Bulbs_
+
+
+Doctor Cornelius van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius de Witt, was in his
+twenty-eighth year, an orphan, but nevertheless, a really happy man. His
+father had amassed a fortune of 400,000 guilders in trade with the
+Indies, and an estate brought him in 10,000 guilders a year. He was
+blessed with the love of a peaceful life with good nerves, ample wealth,
+and a philosophic mind.
+
+Left alone in the big house at Dordrecht, he steadily resisted all
+temptations to public life. He took up the study of botany, and then,
+not knowing what to do with his time and money, decided to go in for one
+of the most extravagant hobbies of the time--the cultivation of his
+favourite flower, the tulip. The fame of Mynheer van Baerle's tulips
+soon spread in the district, and while Cornelius de Witt had roused
+deadly hatred by sowing the seeds of political passion, Van Baerle with
+his tulips won general goodwill. Yet, all unknowingly, Van Baerle had
+made an enemy, an implacable, relentless enemy. This was his neighbour,
+Isaac Boxtel, who lived next door to him in Dordrecht.
+
+Boxtel, from childhood, had been a passionate tulip-grower. He had even
+produced a tulip of his own, and the Boxtel had won wide admiration. One
+day, to his horror, Boxtel discovered that his next-door neighbour, the
+wealthy Mynheer van Baerle, was also a tulip-grower. In bitter anguish
+Boxtel foresaw that he had a rival who, with all the resources at his
+command, might equal and possibly surpass the famous Boxtel creations.
+He almost choked with envy, and from the moment of his discovery lived
+under continual fear. The healthy pastime of tulip growing became, under
+these conditions, a morbid and evil occupation for Boxtel, while Van
+Baerle, on the other hand, totally unaware of the enmity brewing, threw
+himself into the business with the keenest zest, taking for his motto
+the old aphorism, "To despise flowers is to insult God."
+
+So fierce was the envy that seized Boxtel that though he would have
+shrunk from the infamy of destroying a tulip, he would have killed the
+man who grew them. His own plants were neglected; it was useless and
+hopeless to contend against so wealthy a rival. Then Boxtel, fascinated
+by his evil passion, bought a telescope, and, perched on a ladder,
+studied Van Baerle's tulip beds and the drying-room, the tulip-grower's
+sacred place.
+
+One night he lost all moral control, and tying the hind legs of two cats
+together with a piece of string, he flung the animals into Van Baerle's
+garden. To Boxtel's bitter mortification the cats, though they made
+havoc of many precious plants before they broke the string, left the
+four finest tulips untouched.
+
+Shortly afterwards the Haarlem Tulip Society offered a prize of 100,000
+guilders to whomsoever should produce a large black tulip, without spot
+or blemish. Van Baerle at once thought out the idea of the black tulip.
+He had already achieved a dark brown one, while Boxtel, who had only
+managed to produce a light brown one, gave up the quest as impossible,
+and could do nothing but spy on his neighbour's activities.
+
+One evening in January 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to see his grandson,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and went with him alone into the sacred drying-
+room, the laboratory of the tulip-grower. Boxtel, with his telescope,
+recognised the well-known features of the statesman, and presently he
+saw him hand his godson a packet, which the latter put carefully away in
+a cabinet. This packet contained the correspondence of John de Witt and
+M. de Louvois.
+
+Cornelius drove away, and Boxtel wondered what the packet contained. It
+could hardly be bulbs; it must be secret papers.
+
+It was not till August, as we know, that Craeke was despatched to Van
+Baerle with the note bidding him destroy the packet.
+
+Craeke arrived just when Van Baerle was nursing his precious bulbs--the
+bulbs of the black tulip--and his sudden entrance rudely disturbed the
+tulip-grower. He had not time to read the note; indeed, he was too much
+concerned with the welfare of his three particular bulbs to trouble
+about it, before a magistrate and some soldiers entered to arrest him.
+Van Baerle wrapped up the bulbs in the note from his godfather, and was
+sent off under close custody to The Hague. The magistrate carried off
+the packet from the cabinet.
+
+All this was Boxtel's work. It was he who had reported to the magistrate
+the visit of De Witt and the placing of the packet in a cabinet. And
+now, with Van Baerle out of the house as a prisoner, Boxtel in the dead
+of night broke into his neighbour's house, to secure the priceless bulbs
+of the black tulip. He had made out where they were growing, and he
+plunged his hands into the soft soil--only to find nothing. Then the
+wretched man guessed that the bulbs had gone with the prisoner to The
+Hague, and decided to go in pursuit. Van Baerle could only keep them
+while he was alive, and then--they should be his, Isaac Boxtel's.
+
+
+_III.--The Theft of the Tulip_
+
+
+Van Baerle was placed in the cell occupied by Cornelius de Witt in the
+Buytenhof. Outside, in the market-place, the bodies of the De Witts were
+hanging, and Van Baerle read with horror the inscription, "Here hang
+that great rascal John de Witt and the little rascal Cornelius de Witt,
+enemies of their country."
+
+Gryphus laughed when the prisoner asked him what it meant, and replied,
+"That's what happens to those that write secret letters to the enemies
+of the Prince of Orange."
+
+A terrible despair fell on Van Baerle, but he refused to escape when
+Rosa, the gaoler's beautiful daughter, suggested it to him. He was
+brought to trial, and though he denied all knowledge of the
+correspondence, his goods were confiscated, and he was condemned to
+death. He bequeathed his three tulip bulbs to Rosa, explained how she
+must get a certain soil from Dordrecht, and went out calmly to die. On
+the scaffold Van Baerle was reprieved and sentenced to perpetual
+imprisonment, for the Prince of Orange shrank from further bloodshed.
+
+One spectator in the crowd was bitterly disappointed. This was Boxtel,
+who had bribed the headsman to let him have Van Baerle's clothes,
+believing that he would thus obtain the priceless bulbs.
+
+Van Baerle was sent to the prison of Loewenstein, and in February 1673,
+when he was thinking his tulips lost for ever, he heard Rosa's voice.
+Gryphus had applied for the gaolership of Loewenstein, and had been
+appointed.
+
+Nothing could persuade him that if Van Baerle was not a traitor he was
+certainly in league with the devil, like all learned men, and he did all
+he could to mortify and annoy his prisoner. But Rosa would come every
+night when her father, stupefied by gin, was asleep, and talk to
+Cornelius through the barred grating of his cell door.
+
+He taught her to read, and together they planned how the tulip bulbs
+should be brought to flower. One bulb Rosa was to plant, the second Van
+Baerle would cultivate in his cell with soil placed in an old water jug,
+and the third was to be kept in reserve.
+
+Once more hope revived in Baerle's mind, but Rosa often suffered
+vexation because Cornelius thought more of his black tulip than of her.
+
+In the meantime Boxtel, under the assumed name of Jacob Gisels, had made
+his way to Loewenstein in pursuit of the bulbs, and had ingratiated
+himself with Gryphus, offering to marry his daughter. Rosa's tulip had
+to be guarded from Gisels, who was always spying on her movements. She
+kept it in her room for safety, but Boxtel had a key made, and the day
+the tulip flowered, and arose a spotless black, he resolved to take it
+at once, and rush to Haarlem and claim the prize.
+
+The day came. Rosa described to Cornelius the wonderful black tulip, and
+they drew up a letter to the president of the Horticultural Society at
+Haarlem, begging him to come and fetch the wonderful flower.
+
+That very night while Cornelius and Rosa rejoiced as lovers--for now
+even Rosa was convinced of the prisoner's love for her--over the
+happiness of the flowering tulip, Boxtel crept into her room, and
+carried off the black tulip to Haarlem.
+
+As for Van Baerle, he was beside himself with the rage of desperation
+when Rosa told him that the black tulip had been stolen. Rosa, bent on
+recovering the tulip, and certain in her own mind as to the thief,
+hastened away from Loewenstein the next day without a word, Gryphus was
+mad when he learnt his daughter was nowhere to be found, and put down
+the mysterious disappearance of Jacob Gisels and Rosa to the work of the
+devil, and was convinced that Van Baerle was the devil's agent.
+
+The third day after the theft Gryphus, armed with a stick and a knife,
+attacked Cornelius, calling out, "Give me back my daughter." Cornelius
+got hold of the stick, forced Gryphus to drop the knife, and then
+proceeded to give the gaoler a thrashing. The noise brought in turnkeys
+and guards, who speedily carried off the wounded gaoler and arrested Van
+Baerle. To comfort the prisoner they assured him he would certainly be
+shot within twelve hours.
+
+Then an officer, an aide-de-camp of the Prince of Orange, entered,
+escorted Van Baerle to the prison gate, and bade him enter a carriage.
+Believing himself about to die, he thought sadly of Rosa and of the
+tulip he was never to see again. The carriage rolled off, and they
+travelled all that day and night until the journey ended at Haarlem.
+
+
+_IV.--The Triumph of the Tulip_
+
+
+Rosa reached Haarlem just four hours after Boxtel's arrival, and she
+went at once to seek an interview with Mynheer van Systens, the
+President of the Horticultural Society. Immediate admittance was granted
+on her mentioning the magic words "black tulip."
+
+"Sir, the black tulip has been stolen from me," said Rosa.
+
+"But I only saw it two hours ago!" replied the president.
+
+"You saw it--where?"
+
+"Why, at your master's! Are you not in the service of Mynheer Isaac
+Boxtel?"
+
+"I, sir? Certainly not! But this Isaac Boxtel, is he a thin,
+bald-headed, bow-legged, crook-backed, haggard-looking man?"
+
+"You have described him exactly."
+
+"He is the thief; he stole the black tulip from me."
+
+"Well, go and find Mynheer Boxtel--he is at the White Swan Inn, and
+settle it with him." And with that the president took up his pen and
+went on writing, for he was busy over his report.
+
+But Rosa still implored him, and while she was speaking the Prince of
+Orange entered the building. Rosa told everything, how she had received
+the bulb from the prisoner at Loewenstein, and how she had first seen
+the prisoner at The Hague. Then Boxtel was sent for. He was ready with
+his tale. The girl had plotted with her lover, the state prisoner,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and had stolen his--Boxtel's--black tulip, which
+he had unwisely mentioned. However, he had recovered it.
+
+A thought struck Rosa.
+
+"There were three bulbs. What has become of the others?" she asked.
+
+"One failed, the second produced the black tulip, and the third is at
+home at Dordrecht," said Boxtel uneasily.
+
+"You lie; it is here!" cried Rosa. And she drew from her bosom the third
+bulb, still wrapped in the same paper Van Baerle had so hastily put
+round the bulbs on his flight. "Take it, my lord," she said, handing it
+to the prince. And then, glancing at the paper for the first time, she
+added, "Oh, my lord, read this!"
+
+William passed the third bulb to the president, and read the paper
+carefully. It was Cornelius de Witt's letter to his godson, exhorting
+him to burn the packet without opening it. It was the proof of Van
+Baerle's innocence and of his ownership of the bulbs.
+
+"Go, Mynheer Boxtel; you shall have justice. And you, Mynheer van
+Systens, take care of this maiden and of the tulip," said the prince.
+
+That same evening the prince summoned Rosa to the town hall, and talked
+to her. Rosa did not deny her love for Cornelius.
+
+"But what is the good of loving a man condemned to live and die in
+prison?" the prince asked.
+
+"I can help him to live and die," came the answer.
+
+The prince sealed a letter, and sent it off to Loewenstein by Colonel
+van Deken. Then he turned to Rosa, and said, "The day after to-morrow is
+Sunday, and it will be the festival of the tulip. Take these 500
+guilders, and dress yourself in the costume of a Friesland bride, for I
+want it to be a grand festival for you."
+
+Sunday came, May 15, 1673, and all Haarlem gathered to do honour to the
+black tulip. Boxtel was in the crowd, feasting his eyes on the sacred
+flower, which was born aloft in a litter. The procession stopped, and
+the flower was placed on a pedestal, while the people cheered with wild
+enthusiasm. At the solemn moment when the Prince of Orange was to
+acclaim the triumphant owner of the black tulip and present the prize of
+100,000 guilders, the coach with the unhappy prisoner Cornelius van
+Baerle drew up in the market-place.
+
+Cornelius, hearing that the celebration of the black tulip was actually
+proceeding, besought his guard to let him have one glimpse of the
+flower; and the petition was granted by the Prince of Orange.
+
+From a distance of six paces Van Baerle gazed at the black tulip, and
+then he, with the multitude, turned his eyes towards the prince. In dead
+silence the prince declared the occasion of the festival, the discovery
+of the wonderful black tulip, and concluded, "Let the owner of the black
+tulip approach."
+
+Cornelius made an involuntary movement. Boxtel and Rosa rushed forward
+from the crowd.
+
+The prince turned to Rosa. "This tulip is yours, is it not?" he said.
+
+"Yes, my lord," she answered softly. And general applause came from the
+crowd.
+
+"This tulip will henceforth bear the name of its producer, and will be
+called _Tulipa nigra Rosa Baerttensis_, because Van Baerle is to be the
+married name of this damsel," the prince announced; and at the same time
+he took Rosa's hand and placed it within the hand of the prisoner, who
+had rushed forward at the words he had heard.
+
+Boxtel fell down in a fit, and when they raised him up he was dead.
+
+The procession returned to the town hall, the prince declared Rosa the
+prizewinner, and informed Cornelius that, having been wrongfully
+condemned, his property was restored to him. Then he entered his coach,
+and was driven away.
+
+Cornelius and Rosa departed for Dordrecht, and Van Baerle remained ever
+faithful to his wife and his tulips.
+
+As for old Gryphus, after being the roughest gaoler of men, he lived to
+be the fiercest guardian of tulips at Dordrecht.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Corsican Brothers
+
+
+      "The Corsican Brothers" is one of the most famous of Dumas'
+     shorter stories. It was published in 1845, when the author was
+     at the height of his powers, and is remarkable not only for
+     its strong dramatic interest, but for its famous account of
+     old Corsican manners and customs, being inspired by a visit to
+     Corsica in 1834. The scenery of the island, and the life of
+     the inhabitants, the survival of the vendetta, and the fierce
+     family feuds, all made strong appeal to his imaginative mind.
+     Several versions of the story have been dramatised for the
+     English stage, and as a play "The Corsican Brothers" has
+     enjoyed a long popularity; but Dumas himself, who was fond of
+     adapting his works to the stage, never dramatised this story.
+
+
+_I.--The Twins_
+
+
+I was travelling in Corsica early in March 1841. Corsica is a French
+department, but it is by no means French, and Italian is the language
+commonly spoken. It is free from robbers, but it is still the land of
+the vendetta, and the province of Sartene, wherein I was travelling, is
+the home of family feuds, which last for years and are always
+accompanied by loss of life.
+
+I was travelling alone across the island, but I had been obliged to take
+a guide; and when at five o'clock we halted on a hill overlooking the
+village of Sullacro, my guide asked me where I would like to stay for
+the night. There were, perhaps, one hundred and twenty houses in
+Sullacro for me to choose from, so after looking out carefully for the
+one that promised the most comfort, I decided in favour of a strong,
+fortified, squarely-built house.
+
+"Certainly," said my guide. "That is the house of Madame Savilia de
+Franchi. Your honour has chosen wisely."
+
+I was a little uncertain whether it was quite the right thing for me to
+seek hospitality at a house belonging to a lady, for, being only
+thirty-six, I considered myself a young man. But I found it quite
+impossible to make my guide understand my feelings. The notion that my
+staying a night could give occasion for gossip concerning my hostess, or
+that it made any difference whether I was old or young, was
+unintelligible to a Corsican.
+
+Madame Savilia, I learnt from the guide, was about forty, and had two
+sons--twins--twenty-one years old. One lived with his mother, and was a
+Corsican; the other was in Paris, preparing to be a lawyer.
+
+We soon arrived at the house we sought. My guide knocked vigorously at
+the door, which was promptly opened by a man in velvet waistcoat and
+breeches and leather gaiters. I explained that I sought hospitality, and
+was answered in return that the house was honoured by my request. My
+luggage was carried off, and I entered.
+
+In the corridor a beautiful woman, tall, and dressed in black, met me.
+She bade me welcome, and promised me that of her son, telling me that
+the house was at my service.
+
+A maid-servant was called to conduct me to the room of M. Louis, and as
+supper would be served in an hour, I went upstairs.
+
+My room was evidently that of the absent son, and the most comfortable
+in the house. Its furniture was all modern, and there was a well-filled
+bookcase. I hastily looked at the volumes; they denoted a student of
+liberal mind.
+
+A few minutes later, and my host, M. Lucien de Franchi, entered. I
+observed that he was young, of sunburnt complexion, well made, and
+fearless and resolute in his bearing.
+
+"I am anxious to see that you have all you need," he said, "for we
+Corsicans are still savages, and this old hospitality, which is almost
+the only tradition of our forefathers left, has its shortcomings for the
+French."
+
+I assured him that the apartment was far from suggesting savagery.
+
+"My brother Louis likes to live after the French fashion," Lucien
+answered. He went on to speak of his brother, for whom he had a profound
+affection. They had already been parted for ten months, and it was three
+or four years before Louis was expected home.
+
+As for Lucien, nothing, he said, would make him leave Corsica. He
+belonged to the island, and could not live without its torrents, its
+rocks, and its forests. The physical resemblance between himself and his
+brother, he told me, was very great; but there was considerable
+difference of temperament.
+
+Having completed my own change of dress, I went into Lucien's room, at
+his suggestion. It was a regular armoury, and all the furniture was at
+least 300 years old.
+
+While my host put on the dress of a mountaineer, for he mentioned to me
+that he had to attend a meeting after supper, he told me the history of
+some of the carbines and daggers that hung round the room. Of a truth,
+he came of an utterly fearless stock, to whom death was of small account
+by the side of courage and honour.
+
+At supper, Madame de Franchi could not help expressing her anxiety for
+her absent son. No letter had been received, but Lucien for days had
+been feeling wretched and depressed.
+
+"We are twins," he said simply, "and however greatly we are separated,
+we have one and the same body, as we had at our birth. When anything
+happens to one of us, be it physical or mental, it at once affects the
+other. I know that Louis is not dead, for I should have seen him again
+in that case."
+
+"You would have told me if he had come?" said Madame de Franchi
+anxiously.
+
+"At the very moment, mother."
+
+I was amazed. Neither of them seemed to express the slightest doubt or
+surprise at this extraordinary statement.
+
+Lucien went on to regret the passing of the old customs of Corsica. His
+very brother had succumbed to the French spirit, and on his return would
+settle down as an advocate at Ajaccio, and probably prosecute men who
+killed their enemies in a vendetta. "And I, too, am engaged in affairs
+unworthy of a De Franchi," he concluded. "You have come to Corsica with
+curiosity about its inhabitants. If you care to set out with me after
+supper, I will show you a real bandit."
+
+I accepted the invitation with pleasure.
+
+
+_II.--M. Luden de Franchi_
+
+
+Lucien explained to me the object of our expedition. For ten years the
+village of Sullacro had been divided over the quarrel of two families,
+the Orlandi and the Colona--a quarrel that had originated in the seizure
+of a paltry hen belonging to the Orlandi, which had flown into the
+poultry-yard of the Colonas. Nine people had already been killed in this
+feud, and now Lucien, as arbitrator, was to bring it to an end. The
+local prefect had written to Paris that one word from De Franchi would
+end the dispute, and Louis had appealed to him.
+
+To-night Lucien was to arrange matters with Orlandi, as he had already
+done with Colona, and the meeting-place was at the ruins of the Castle
+of Vicentello d'Istria. It was a steep ascent, but we arrived in good
+time, and while we sat and waited, Lucien told me terrible stories of
+feuds and vengeance. Orlandi made his appearance exactly at nine
+o'clock, and after some discussion agreed to Lucien's terms. I found
+that I was expected to act as surety for Orlandi, and accepted the
+responsibility.
+
+"You will now be able to tell my brother, on your return to Paris, that
+it's all been settled as he wished," said Lucien.
+
+On our way home Lucien showed wonderful marksmanship with his gun, and
+admitted he was equally skillful with the pistol. His brother Louis, on
+the other hand, had never touched either gun or pistol.
+
+Next morning came the grand reconciliation of Orlandi and Colona, in the
+market square in the presence of the mayor and the notary. The mayor
+compelled the belligerents to shake hands, a document was signed
+declaring the vendetta at an end, and everybody went to mass.
+
+Later in the day I was compelled to bid good-bye to Madame de Franchi
+and her son, and set out for Paris; but before I left Lucien told me how
+in his family his father had appeared to him on his death-bed, and that,
+not only at death, but at any great crisis in life, an apparition
+appeared. He was certain by his own depression that his brother Louis
+was suffering.
+
+Lucien told me his brother's address, 7, Rue du Helder, and gave me a
+letter which I undertook to deliver personally.
+
+We parted with great cordiality, and a week later I was back in Paris.
+
+
+_III.--The Fate of Louis_
+
+
+I was startled by the extraordinary resemblance of M. Louis de Franchi,
+whom I had at once called upon, to his brother.
+
+I was relieved to find that he was not suffering from illness, and I
+told him of the anxiety of his family concerning his health. M. de
+Franchi replied that he had not been ill, but that he had been suffering
+from a very bitter disappointment, aggravated by the knowledge that his
+own suffering caused his brother to suffer, too. He hoped, however, that
+time would heal the wound in his heart.
+
+We agreed to meet the following night at the opera ball at midnight, on
+the young lawyer's suggestion. I rallied him on his recovery from his
+sorrow, but Louis only said mournfully that he was driven by fate,
+dragged against his will.
+
+"I am quite sure," he said, "that it would be better for me not to go,
+but nevertheless I am going."
+
+Louis was too pre-occupied to talk when we met at the masked ball, and
+he suddenly left me for a lady carrying violets. Later he rejoined me,
+and together we set off to supper at three o'clock in the morning. It
+was my friend D----'s supper party, and he had included Louis in the
+invitation.
+
+We found our friends waiting supper, and D---- announced that the only
+person who had not arrived was Château-Renard. It seemed there was a
+wager on that M. de Château-Renard would not arrive with a certain lady
+whom he had undertaken to bring to supper.
+
+Louis, who was as pale as death, implored D---- not to mention the
+lady's name, and our host acceded to the request.
+
+"Only as her husband is at Smyrna, or in India or Mexico or somewhere,
+and in such a case it's the same as if the lady wasn't married," D----
+observed.
+
+"I assure you her husband is coming back soon, and he is such a good
+fellow he would be horribly mortified to hear his wife had done anything
+silly in his absence."
+
+Château-Renard had till four o'clock to save his bet. At five minutes to
+four he had not arrived, and Louis smiled at me over his wine. At that
+very moment the bell rang. D---- went to the door, and we could hear
+some argument going on in the hall.
+
+Then a lady entered with obvious reluctance, escorted by D---- and
+Château-Renard.
+
+"It's not yet four," said Château-Renard to D----.
+
+"Quite right, my boy," the other answered. "You've won your bet."
+
+"No, hardly yet, sir," said the unknown lady. "Now I know why you were
+so persistent. You have wagered to bring me here to supper, and I
+supposed you were taking me to sup with one of my own friends."
+
+Both Château-Renard and D---- besought the lady to stay, but the fair
+unknown, after expressing her thanks to D---- for his welcome, turned to
+M. Louis de Franchi, and asked him to escort her home. Louis at once
+sprang forward.
+
+Château-Renard, furious, insisted that he would know whom to hold
+accountable.
+
+"If I am the person meant," said Louis, with great dignity, "you will
+find me at home at 7, Rue du Helder all day to-morrow."
+
+Louis departed with his fair companion, and though Château-Renard was
+ostentatiously cheerful, the end of the supper-party was not at all a
+festive business.
+
+At ten o'clock the same morning I arrived at the rooms of M. Louis de
+Franchi. The seconds of Château-Renard had already called, and I passed
+them on the stairs.
+
+Louis had written me a note; with another friend, Baron Giordano
+Martelli, the affair was to be arranged with Baron de Châteaugrand, and
+M. de Boissy, the gentleman I had met on the stairs.
+
+I looked at the cards of these two men, and asked Louis if the matter
+was of any great seriousness.
+
+Louis replied by telling the story of the quarrel. A friend of his, a
+sea captain, had married a beautiful woman, so beautiful and so young
+that Louis could not help falling in love with her. As an honourable man
+he had kept away from the house, and then on being reproached by his
+friend, had frankly told him the reason.
+
+In return, his friend, who was just setting off for Mexico, commended
+his wife, Emilie, whom he adored and trusted absolutely, to his care,
+and asked his wife to consider Louis de Franchi as her brother. For six
+months the captain had been away, and Emilie had been living at her
+mother's. To this house, among other visitors, had come M. de Château-
+Renard, and from the first, this typical man of the world had been an
+object of dislike to Louis. Emilie's flirtations with Château-Renard at
+last provoked a remonstrance from Louis, and in return the lady told him
+that he was in love with her himself, and that he was absurd in his
+notions. After that Louis had left off calling on Emilie, but gossip was
+soon busy with the lady's name.
+
+An anonymous letter had made an appointment for Louis with the lady of
+the violets at the masked ball, and from this person he was informed
+again not only of Emilie's infidelity, but further, that M. de
+Château-Renard had wagered he would bring her to supper at D----'s.
+
+The rest I knew, and I could only assent mournfully that things must go
+on, and that the proposals of Château-Renard's seconds could not be
+declined.
+
+But M. Louis de Franchi had never touched sword or pistol in his life!
+However, there was nothing for it but to return M. de Châteaugrand's
+call.
+
+Martelli and I found that Château-Renard's two supporters were both
+polite men of the world. They were as indifferent as Louis was to the
+choice of weapons, and by a spin of a coin it was decided that pistols
+were to be used.
+
+The place agreed upon for the duel was the Bois de Vincennes, and the
+time nine o'clock the following morning.
+
+I called in the evening on Louis to ask him if he had any instructions
+for me; but his only reply was "Counsel comes with the night," so I
+waited on him next morning.
+
+He was just finishing a letter when I entered, and he bade his servant
+Joseph leave us undisturbed for ten minutes.
+
+"I am anxious," said Louis, "that my friend Giordano Martelli, who is a
+Corsican, should not know of this letter. But you must promise to carry
+out my wishes, and then my family may be saved a second misfortune. Now,
+please read the letter."
+
+I read the letter Louis had written. It was to his mother, and it said
+that he was dying of brain fever. Her son, writing in a lucid interval,
+was beyond hope of recovery. It would be posted to her a quarter of an
+hour after his death. There was an affectionate postscript to Lucien.
+
+"What does this mean? I don't understand it," I said.
+
+"It means that at ten minutes past nine I shall be dead. I have been
+forewarned, that is all. My father appeared to me last night and
+announced my death."
+
+He spoke so simply of this visit, that if it was an illusion it was as
+terribly convincing as the truth.
+
+"There is one thing more," said Louis. "If my brother was to hear that I
+had been killed in a duel, he would at once leave Sullacro to come and
+fight the man who had killed me. And then if he were killed in his turn
+my mother would be thrice widowed. To prevent that I have written this
+letter. If it is believed that I have died of brain fever no one can be
+blamed." He paused. "Unless, unless--but no, that must not be."
+
+I knew that my own strange fear was his.
+
+On the way to Vincennes Baron Giordano stopped to get a case of pistols,
+powder, and balls, and we arrived at our destination just as M. de
+Château-Renard's carriage drove up. At M. de Châteaugrand's suggestion
+we all made our way to a certain glade away from the public pathway.
+
+Martelli and Châteaugrand measured, the distance together, while Louis
+bade me farewell, asking me to accept his watch, and begging me to keep
+the duel out of the papers, and to prevail upon Giordano not to let any
+word of the matter reach Sullacro.
+
+M. Château-Renard was at his post. Baron Giordano gave Louis his pistol.
+
+Châteaugrand called out, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then he clapped his
+hands "One, two, three."
+
+Two shots went off at the same moment, and Louis de Franchi fell. His
+opponent was unhurt. I rushed to Louis and raised him up. Blood came to
+his lips. It was useless to send for a surgeon.
+
+Château-Renard had withdrawn, but his seconds hastened to express their
+horror at the fatal ending of the combat.
+
+Châteaugrand added that he hoped M. de Franchi bore no malice against
+his opponent.
+
+"No, no, I forgive him!" said Louis. "But tell him to leave Paris. He
+must go."
+
+The dying man spoke with difficulty. He reminded me of my promise, and
+asked me, as he fell back, to look at my watch.
+
+It was exactly ten minutes past nine, and Louis was dead.
+
+We carried the body back to the house, and Giordano made the required
+statement to the District Commissioner of Police. Then the house was
+sealed by the police, and Louis de Franchi was laid to rest in
+Père-La-chaise. But M. de Château-Renard could not be persuaded to leave
+Paris, though MM. de Boissy and de Châteaugrand both did their best to
+induce him to go.
+
+
+_IV.--Lucien Takes Vengeance_
+
+
+One night, five days after the funeral, I was working late at my
+writing-table, when my servant entered, and told me in a frightened tone
+that M. de Franchi wanted to speak to me.
+
+"Who?" I said, in astonishment.
+
+"M. de Franchi, sir, your friend--the gentleman who has been here once
+or twice to see you."
+
+"You must be out of your senses, Victor! Don't you know that he died
+five days ago?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and that's why I am so upset. I heard a ring at the bell, and
+when I opened the door, he walked in, asked if you were at home, and
+told me to tell you that M. de Franchi desired to speak with you."
+
+"Are you out of your mind, my good man? I suppose the hall is badly lit,
+and you were half-asleep and heard the name wrong. Go back and ask the
+name again."
+
+"No, sir, I will swear that I'm not mistaken. I'm sure I heard and saw
+perfectly."
+
+"Very well, then, show him in."
+
+Victor went back to the door, trembling all the time, and said, "Please
+step in, sir."
+
+My hasty sensation of terror was quickly dispelled. It was Lucien who
+was apologising to me for disturbing me at such an hour.
+
+"The fact is," he said, "I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will
+understand how impossible it was not to come and see you at once."
+
+I at once thought of the letter I had sent. In five days it could not
+have reached Sullacro.
+
+"Good heaven!" I cried. "Nothing is known to you?"
+
+"Everything is known," he said quietly.
+
+Lucien mentioned that on going to his brother's house, the people were
+so panic-stricken that they refused the door to him.
+
+"Tell me," I said, when we were alone. "You must have been on your way
+here when you heard the fatal news?"
+
+"On the contrary, I was at Sullacro. Have you for-forgotten what I told
+you about the apparitions in my family?"
+
+"Has your brother appeared to you?" I cried.
+
+"Yes. He told me he had been killed in a duel by M. de Château-Renard. I
+saw my brother in his room the day he was killed," Lucien went on, "and
+that night in a dream I saw the place where the duel was fought, and
+heard the name of M. de Château-Renard. And I have come to Paris to kill
+the man who killed my brother. My brother had never touched a pistol in
+his life, and it was as easy to kill him as to kill a tame stag. My
+mother knows why I have come. She is a true Corsican, and she kissed me
+on the forehead and said 'Go!'"
+
+The next morning Lucien wrote to Giordano and sent a challenge to
+Château-Renard. Then he went with me to Vincennes, and, though he had
+never been there in his life before, Lucien walked straight to the spot
+where his brother had fallen. He turned round, walked twenty paces, and
+said, "This is where the villain stood, and to-morrow he will lie here."
+
+Lucien predicted with absolute confidence the death of Château-Renard.
+The challenge was accepted, the same seconds acted, and on the morrow we
+assembled in the fatal glade. Château-Renard was obviously uneasy. The
+signal was given, both men fired, and, sure enough, Château-Renard fell,
+shot through the temple as Lucien had foretold.
+
+Then, for the first time since Louis' death, Lucien burst into tears. He
+dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms. "My brother, my dear
+brother!" he cried.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Count of Monte Cristo
+
+
+      "The Count of Monte Cristo" appeared in 1844, when Dumas had
+     been writing plays and stories for twenty years, and at a
+     period when he was most extraordinarily prolific. In that
+     year, assisted by his staff of compilers and transcribers, he
+     is said to have turned out something like forty volumes!
+     "Monte Cristo" first gave Dumas' novels a world-wide audience.
+     Its unflagging spirit, the endless surprises, and the air of
+     reality which was cast over the most extravagant situations
+     made the work worthy of the popularity it enjoyed in almost
+     every country in the world. The island from which it takes its
+     name is a barren rock rising 2,000 feet out of the sea a few
+     miles south of Elba. Dumas attempted to emulate Scott, and
+     built a château near St. Germain, which he called Monte
+     Cristo, costing over $125,000. It was afterwards sold for a
+     tenth of that sum to pay his debts.
+
+
+_I.--The Conspiracy of Envy_
+
+
+On February 28, 1815, the three-masted Pharaon arrived at Marseilles
+from Smyrna, commanded by the first mate, young Edmond Dantès, the
+captain having died on the voyage. He had left a package for the
+Maréchal Bertrand on the Isle of Elba, which Dantès had duly delivered,
+conversing with the exiled Emperor Napoleon himself.
+
+The shipowner, M. Morrel, confirmed young Dantès in the command, and,
+overjoyed, he hastened to his father, and then to the village of the
+Catalans, near Marseilles, where the dark-eyed Mercédès, his betrothed,
+impatiently awaited him.
+
+But his good fortune excited envy. Danglars, the supercargo of the
+Pharaon, wanted the command for himself, and Fernand, the Catalan cousin
+of Mercédès, hated Dantès because he had won her heart. Fernand's
+jealousy so took possession of him that he fell in willingly with a
+scheme which the envious Danglars proposed. Making use of Dantès'
+compromising visit to Elba, they addressed an anonymous denunciation to
+the _procureur du roi_, which, in this period of Bonapartist plots, was
+indeed a formidable matter. Caderousse, a boon companion, was at first
+taken into their confidence, but as he came to think it a dangerous
+trick to play the young captain, he refused to take part in it.
+
+On the morrow the wedding-feast took place, and at two o'clock Dantès,
+radiant with joy and happiness, prepared to accompany his bride to the
+hotel de ville for the civil ceremony. But at that moment the measured
+tread of soldiery was heard on the stairs, and a magistrate presented
+himself, bearing an order for the arrest of Edmond Dantès. Resistance or
+remonstrance was useless, and Dantès suffered himself to be taken to
+Marseilles, where he was examined by the deputy _procureur du roi,_ M.
+de Villefort. To him, on demand, he recounted the story of his visit to
+Elba.
+
+"Ah!" said Villefort, "if you have been culpable it was imprudence. Give
+up this letter you have brought from Elba, and go and rejoin your
+friends."
+
+"You have it already," cried Dantès.
+
+Villefort glanced at it, and sank into his seat, stupefied. It was
+addressed to M. Noirtier, a staunch Bonapartist.
+
+"Oh, if he knew the contents of this," murmured he, "and that Noirtier
+is father of Villefort, I am lost!" He approached the fire, and cast the
+fatal letter in.
+
+"Sir," said he, "I shall detail you till this evening in the Palais de
+Justice. Should anyone else interrogate you do not breathe a word of
+this letter."
+
+"I promise."
+
+It was Villefort who seemed to entreat, and the prisoner to reassure
+him.
+
+But the doom of Edmond Dantès was cast. Sacrificed to Villefort's
+ambition, he was lodged the same night in a dungeon of the gloomy
+fortress-prison of the Château d'If, while Villefort posted to Paris to
+warn the king that the usurper Bonaparte was meditating a landing in
+France.
+
+Napoleon returned. There followed the Hundred Days, and Louis XVIII.
+again mounted the throne. M. Morrel's intercessions during Napoleon's
+brief triumph for the release of Dantès but served, on the restoration
+of Louis, to compromise further the unhappy prisoner, who languished in
+a foul prison in the depths of the Château d'If.
+
+In the cell next to Dantès was another political prisoner, the Abbé
+Faria. He had been in the château four years when Dantès was immured,
+and, with marvellously contrived tools and incredible toil, had burrowed
+a tunnel through the rock fifty feet long, only to find that, instead of
+leading to the outer wall of the château, whence he could have flung
+himself into the sea, it led to the cell of another prisoner--Dantès. He
+penetrated it after Dantès had been solitary six years.
+
+The prisoners met every day between the visits of their gaolers. Faria
+showed Dantès the products of his industry and ingenuity--his books,
+written on the linen of shirts, his fish-bone pens and needles, knives,
+and matches, all accomplished secretly; and beguiled much of the
+weariness of confinement by educating Dantès in the sciences, history,
+and languages. Dantès possessed a prodigious memory, combined with
+readiness of conception, and his studies progressed rapidly. Soon Dantès
+told the abbé his story, and the abbé had little difficulty in opening
+the eyes of the astonished Dantès to the villainy of his supposed
+friends and the deputy _procurer_. Thus was instilled into his heart a
+new passion--vengeance.
+
+
+_II.--The Cemetery of the Château d'If_
+
+
+More than seven years passed thus when coming into the abbé's dungeon
+one night, Dantès found him stricken with paralysis. His right arm and
+leg remained paralysed after the seizure. When Dantès next visited him
+the abbé showed him a paper, half-burnt, and rolled in a cylinder.
+
+"This paper," said Faria, "is my treasure; and if I have not been
+allowed to possess it, you will. Who knows if another attack may not
+come, and all be finished?"
+
+The abbé had been secretary to the last of the Counts of Spada, one of
+the most powerful families of mediaeval Italy, and he, dying in poverty,
+had left Faria an old breviary, which had been in the family since the
+days of the Borgias. In this, by chance, Faria found a piece of yellowed
+paper, on which, when put in the fire, writing began to appear. From the
+remains of the paper he made out during the early days of his
+imprisonment, that a Cardinal Spada, at the end of the fifteenth
+century, fearing poisoning at the hands of Pope Alexander VI., had
+buried in the Island of Monte Cristo, a rock between Corsica and Elba,
+all his ingots, gold, money, and jewels, amounting then to nearly two
+million Roman crowns.
+
+"The last Count of Spada made me his heir," said the abbé. "The treasure
+now amounts to nearly thirteen millions of money!"
+
+The abbé remained paralysed, and had given up all hope of enjoying the
+treasure himself; and presently another seizure took him, and one night
+Dantès was alone with the corpse.
+
+Next morning the preparations for burying the dead man were made, the
+body being placed in a sack and left in the cell till the evening.
+Dantès came into the cell again.
+
+"Ah!" he muttered. "Since the dead leave this dungeon, let me assume the
+place of the dead!"
+
+Opening the sack, he took out the dead body of his friend, and dragged
+it through the tunnel to his own cell. Placing it on his own bed, he
+covered it with the rags he wore himself. Then he sewed himself in the
+sack with one of the abbé's needles. In his hand he held the dead man's
+knife, and with palpitating heart awaited events.
+
+Slowly the hours dragged on, until at length he heard the heavy
+footsteps of the gaolers descending to the cell. They lifted the sack,
+and carried him on a bier through the castle passages, until they came
+to a door, which was opened. On passing through this, the noise of the
+waves was heard as they dashed on the rocks below.
+
+Then Dantès felt that they took him by the head and by the heels, and
+flung him into the sea, into whose depths he was dragged by a thirty-
+six-pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the cemetery of Château
+d'If!
+
+Although giddy, and almost suffocated, he had yet sufficient presence of
+mind to hold his breath; and as his right hand held his knife, he
+rapidly ripped up the sack, extricated his arm, and then, by a desperate
+effort, severed the cord that bound his legs at the moment he was
+suffocating. With a vigorous spring he rose to the surface, paused to
+breathe, and then dived again, in order to avoid being seen. When he
+rose again, he struck boldly out to sea, and, fortunately, was picked up
+by a sailing-vessel.
+
+Now at liberty, fourteen years after his arrest, he renewed an oath of
+implacable vengeance against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort. Nor was
+it long before he had discovered the secret cave in the island of Monte
+Cristo, with all its dazzling wealth, as the Abbe Faria had truly
+foretold. He now stood possessed of such means of vengeance as never in
+his wildest dreams had any innocent prisoner hoped to be able to
+command.
+
+
+_III.--Vengeance Begins_
+
+
+Some two years later Caspar Caderousse, the keeper of an inn near
+Beaucaire, was lounging listlessly at his door, when a traveller on
+horseback dismounted at his door and entered. The visitor--Monte
+Cristo--gave the name of Abbe Busoni, and astonished Caderousse by
+showing a minute knowledge of his earlier history. The abbé explained
+that he had been present at the death of Edmond Dantès in prison, and
+said that even in his dying moments the prisoner had protested he was
+utterly ignorant of the cause of his imprisonment.
+
+"And so he was!" exclaimed Caderousse. "How should he have been
+otherwise?"
+
+The abbè had heard of the death of Edmond's aged father, and now he was
+told the old man had died of starvation.
+
+"Thus Heaven recompenses virtue," said Caderousse. "I am in destitution
+and shall die of hunger, as old Dantès did, whilst Fernand and Danglars
+roll in wealth. All their malpractices have turned to luck. Danglars
+speculated and made a fortune. He is a millionaire, and now Count
+Danglars. Fernand played traitor at the battle of Ligny, and that served
+for his recommendation to the Bourbons. Afterwards he became Count de
+Morcerf, and got a considerable sum by the betrayal of Ali Pasha in the
+Greek war of independence."
+
+The abbé, making an effort, said, "And Mercédès--she disappeared?"
+
+"Yes, as the sun, to rise next day with more splendour. She is rich, the
+Countess de Morcerf--she waited two hopeless years for Dantès--and yet I
+am sure she is not happy."
+
+"And M. de Villefort?" asked the abbé.
+
+"Some time after having arrested Dantès, he married and left Marseilles;
+no doubt but he has been as lucky as the rest."
+
+"God may seem sometimes to forget for a time," said the abbé, "while His
+justice reposes, but there always comes a moment when He remembers."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in 1838 a certain Count of Monte Cristo became a great figure in
+the life of Paris. His name awakened thoughts of romance and dazzling
+wealth in the minds of all. It was Albert, the son of the Count de
+Morcerf, who first introduced the Count of Monte Cristo to the high
+society of Paris. They had become acquainted at Rome, where Monte Cristo
+had been able to render a great service to the Viscount Albert de
+Morcerf and his friend, the Baron Franz d'Epinay.
+
+All sorts of stories were afloat in Paris as to the history of this
+Count of Monte Cristo. When he went to the opera he was accompanied by a
+beautiful Greek girl, named Haidée, whose guardian he was.
+
+But nothing ruffled Monte Cristo. Calmness and deliberation marked all
+his movements; in some respects he was more like a machine than a human
+being. Everything he said he would do was done precisely. And now the
+schemes he had long studied in secret he had begun to carry through as
+certainly and relentlessly as Fate.
+
+M. de Villefort, now _procureur du roi,_ had a daughter by his first
+wife, for he had married a second time. Her name was Valentine, and at
+the command of her father, but not by her own wish, she was engaged to
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay. She loved a young military officer named
+Maximilian Morrel, a son of the Marseilles shipowner. But neither of
+them had dared to avow their affection for each other to Valentine's
+father.
+
+Meanwhile, the tide of fortune seemed to have turned with Baron
+Danglars. His business had suffered many losses, but his greatest loss
+of all was due to some false news about the price of shares which had
+been telegraphed to Paris by means which Monte Cristo could have
+explained.
+
+The baron's daughter was engaged to Albert de Morcerf, but the Count of
+Morcerf had now come under a cloud, for his betrayal of Ali Pasha had
+been made public; and perhaps the Count of Monte Cristo could have told
+how the truth came out at last. So the baron did not hesitate to break
+the engagement, and to accept as the suitor for his daughter a dashing
+young man known as Count Cavalcanti, who had been introduced to Paris by
+Monte Cristo, but concerning whose antecedents nothing seemed to be
+known.
+
+The Count de Morcerf was tried for his betrayal of Ali, and seemed
+likely to be acquitted, when a veiled woman was brought to the place of
+trial, and testified before the committee that she was the daughter of
+Ali Pasha, and that Morcerf had not only betrayed her father to the
+Turks, but had sold her and her mother into slavery. The veiled woman
+was Haidée, the ward of Monte Cristo. The count was now a ruined man,
+and when his son Albert discovered the part that Monte Cristo had
+played, he publicly insulted the count at the opera.
+
+A duel was averted, for Albert publicly apologised to the count when he
+learned the reasons for his actions. Furious that he had not been
+avenged by his son, Morcerf rushed to the house of Monte Cristo.
+
+"I came to tell you," said Morcerf, "that as the young people of the
+present day will not fight, it remains for us to do it."
+
+"So much the better," said Monte Cristo. "Are you prepared?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and witnesses are unnecessary, as we know each other so
+little."
+
+"Truly they are unnecessary," said Monte Cristo, "but for the reason
+that we know each other well. Are you not the soldier Fernand who
+deserted on the eve of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who
+served as guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the
+Captain Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali?"
+
+"Oh," cried the general, "wretch, to reproach me with my shame! Tell me
+your real name that I may pronounce it when I plunge my sword through
+your heart."
+
+At this Monte Cristo, bounding to a dressing room near, quickly pulled
+off his coat, and waistcoat, and, donning a sailor's jacket and hat, was
+back in an instant.
+
+Gazing for a moment in terror at this man who seemed to have risen from
+the dead to avenge his wrongs, Morcerf turned, seeking the wall to
+support him, and went out by the door uttering the cry--"Edmond Dantès!"
+
+Events marched rapidly now, and Paris had scarcely ceased talking of the
+suicide of the Count de Morcerf, when Cavalcanti, identified as a former
+galley-slave named Benedetto, was arrested for the murder of a fellow-
+convict.
+
+Danglars fled from France, his great business in ruin. With him he took
+a large sum of money belonging to Paris hospitals, which, however, was
+taken from him near Rome by brigands controlled by Monte Cristo.
+
+
+_IV.--Vengeance is Complete_
+
+
+In the household of Villefort, Monte Cristo had done nothing to bring
+vengeance on that evil man. He had seen from the first that Villefort's
+second wife was studying the art of poisoning, and he felt that revenge
+was already at work here. There had already been three mysterious deaths
+in the house, and now the beautiful Valentine seemed to be suffering
+from the early effects of some slow poison. Maximilian Morrel, in
+despair of Valentine's life, rushed to Monte Cristo for his advice and
+assistance.
+
+"Must I let one of the accursed race escape?" Monte Cristo asked
+himself, but decided, for Maxmilian's sake, that he would save
+Valentine. He had bought the house adjoining that of Villefort, and,
+clearing out the tenants, had engaged workmen to remove so much of the
+old wall between the two houses that it was a simple matter for him to
+take out the remaining stones and pass into a large cupboard in
+Valentine's room. Here the count watched while Valentine was asleep, and
+saw Madame de Villefort creep into the room and substitute for the
+medicine in Valentine's glass a dose of poison.
+
+He then entered the room and threw half the draught into the fireplace,
+leaving the rest in the glass. When Valentine awoke he gave her a pellet
+of hashish, which made her sink into a deathlike sleep.
+
+Next morning the doctor declared that Valentine was dead. In the glass
+he discovered poison, and as the same poison was found in madame's
+laboratory, there was no doubt of her guilt. She admitted all, and
+confessed that her object had been to make her own son sole heir to
+Villefort's fortune.
+
+Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He addressed her with
+passionate words of reproach as he turned to leave her.
+
+"Think of it, madame," he said; "if on my return justice has not been
+satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my
+own hands! I am going to the court to pronounce sentence of death on a
+murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in
+gaol."
+
+Madame sighed, her nerves gave way, and she sank on the carpet.
+
+But Villefort little knew at the moment he spoke these burning words to
+the woman who was his wife that he himself was not going out to condemn
+a fellow-sinner, but to be himself condemned. For the man to whom he
+referred as a murderer was the so-called Count Cavalcanti, really
+Benedetto, who now turned out to be an illegitimate son of Villefort's
+whom he had endeavoured to bury alive as an infant in the garden of a
+house at Auteuil. The night before the criminal had had a long interview
+with Monte Cristo's steward, who had disclosed to the prisoner the
+secret of his birth, and in court he declared his father was Villefort,
+the public prosecutor! This statement made a great commotion in the
+court, and all eyes were on Villefort, while Benedetto continued to
+answer the questions of the president, and proved that he was the child
+whom Villefort would have buried alive years before. The public
+prosecutor himself confirmed the prisoner's story by admitting his
+guilt, and staggering from the court.
+
+When Villefort arrived at his own house he found everything in
+confusion. Making his way to his wife's apartments, he had the horror of
+meeting her while she still lived, just at the very instant when the
+poison she had taken did its work, and of finding a moment or two after
+that she had poisoned his little son Edward.
+
+This was more than the brain of man could endure, and Villefort turned
+from the tragic scene a raving madman, rushing wildly to the garden, and
+beginning to dig with a spade.
+
+The vengeance of Edmond Dantès, so long delayed, so carefully and
+laboriously planned, was now complete, and it only remained for him to
+perform the last of his marvels, at the same time giving proof of his
+boundless generosity. Valentine de Villefort had been buried, and
+Maximilian was in despair; but Monte Cristo urged the young man to have
+patience and hope.
+
+It seemed a strange thing to ask a lover whose sweetheart had been
+placed within the tomb to have hope and to come to Monte Cristo in one
+month. But this was the bargain they made.
+
+When the month had passed, Maximilian came to the isle of Monte Cristo.
+
+"I have your word," he said to the count, "that you would help me die or
+give me Valentine!"
+
+"Ah! A miracle alone can save you--the resurrection of Valentine! Thus
+do I fulfil my promise!"
+
+Monte Cristo turned to a jewelled cabinet, and took from it a tube of
+greenish paste. Maximilian swallowed some of the mysterious substance,
+which was but hashish. He sat down and waited.
+
+"Monte Cristo," he said, "I feel that I am dying--good-bye!"
+
+Meanwhile, Monte Cristo had opened a door from which a great light
+streamed. Maximilian opened his eyes, looked towards the light; and
+then--he saw Valentine!
+
+Then Monte Cristo spoke. "He calls you, Valentine, even as he thinks he
+dies by his own will. But even as I saved you from the tomb, so have I
+saved him. I feared for his reason if he saw you, except in a trance--
+from his trance he will wake to happiness!"
+
+Next morning Valentine and Maximilian were walking on the beach, when
+Jacopo, the captain of Monte Cristo's yacht, gave them a letter. As they
+looked on the superscription they cried, simultaneously, "Gone!"
+
+In his letter, Monte Cristo, said: "All that is in this grotto, my
+friend, my house in the Champs Elysées, and my château at Tréport, are
+the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantès upon the son of his old
+master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share them with you; for
+I entreat her to give to the poor the immense fortune reverting to her
+from her father, now a madman, and her brother, who died last September
+with his mother."
+
+"But where is the count?" asked Morrel eagerly. Jacopo pointed towards
+the horizon, where a white sail was visible.
+
+"And where is Haidée?" asked Valentine. Jacopo still pointed towards the
+sail.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Three Musketeers
+
+
+      It was not till the publication of "The Three Musketeers," in
+     1844, that the amazing gifts of Dumas were fully recognised.
+     From 1844 till 1850, the literary output of novels, plays, and
+     historical memoirs was enormous, and so great was the demand
+     for Dumas' work that he made no attempt to supply his
+     customers single-handed, but engaged a host of assistants, and
+     was content to revise and amend--or in some cases only to
+     sign--their productions. "The Three Musketeers" was followed
+     by its sequel, "Twenty Years After," in 1845, and the story
+     was continued still further in the "Vicomte de Bragelonne."
+     The "Valois" series of novels, "Monte Cristo," and the
+     "Memoirs of a Physician," were all published before 1850, in
+     addition to many dramatised versions of stories.
+
+
+_I.--The Musketeer's Apprenticeship_
+
+
+D'Artagnan was without acquaintances in Paris, and now on the very day
+of his arrival he was committed to fight with three of the most
+distinguished of the king's musketeers.
+
+Coming from Gascony, a youth with all the pride and ambition of his
+race, D'Artagnan had brought no money; with him, but only a letter of
+introduction from his father to M. de Treville, captain of the
+musketeers. But he had been taught that by courage alone could a man now
+make his way to fortune, and that he was to bear nothing, save from the
+cardinal--the great Cardinal Richelieu, or from the king--Louis XIII.
+
+It was immediately after his interview with M. de Treville that
+D'Artagnan, well trained at home as a swordsman, quarrelled with the
+three musketeers.
+
+First, on the palace stairs, he ran violently into Athos, who was
+suffering from a wounded shoulder.
+
+"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry."
+
+"You are in a hurry?" said the musketeer, pale as a sheet. "Under that
+pretence, you run against me; you say 'Excuse me!' and you think that
+sufficient. You are not polite; it is easy to see that you are from the
+country."
+
+D'Artagnan had already passed on, but this remark made him stop short.
+
+"However far I may come it is not you, monsieur, who can give me a
+lesson in manners, I warn you."
+
+"Perhaps," said Athos, "you are in a hurry now, but you can find me
+without running after me. Do you understand me."
+
+"Where, and when?" said D'Artagnan.
+
+"Near the Carmes-Deschaux at noon," replied Athos. "And please do not
+keep me waiting, for at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your ears
+if you run."
+
+"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "I will be there at ten minutes to twelve."
+
+At the street gate Porthos was talking with the soldiers on guard.
+Between the two there was just room for a man to pass, and D'Artagnan
+hurried on, only to find himself enveloped in the long velvet cloak of
+Porthos, which the wind had blown out.
+
+"The fellow must be mad," said Porthos, "to run against people in this
+manner! Do you always forget your eyes when you happen to be in a
+hurry?"
+
+"No," replied D'Artagnan, who, in extricating himself from the cloak,
+had observed that the handsome cloth of gold coat worn by Porthos was
+only gold in front and plain buff at the back, "no, and thanks to my
+eyes, I can see what others cannot see."
+
+"Monsieur," said Porthos angrily, "you stand a chance of getting
+chastised if you run against musketeers in this fashion. I shall look
+for you, at one o'clock behind the Luxembourg."
+
+"Very well, at one o'clock then," replied D'Artagnan, turning into the
+street.
+
+A few minutes later D'Artagnan annoyed Aramis, the third musketeer, who
+was chatting with some gentleman of the king's musketeers. As D'Artagnan
+came up Aramis accidentally dropped an embroidered pocket-handkerchief
+and covered it at once with his foot to prevent observation. D'Artagnan,
+conscious of a certain want of politeness in his treatment of Athos and
+Porthos, and determined to be more obliging in future, stooped and
+picked up the handkerchief--much to the vexation of Aramis, who denied
+all claim to the delicate piece of cambric.
+
+D'Artagnan not taking the rebukes of Aramis in good part, they fixed two
+o'clock as the hour of meeting.
+
+The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis going up the street which
+led to the Luxembourg, whilst D'Artagnan, finding that it was near noon,
+took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, "Decidedly I
+can't draw back; but at least if I am killed, I shall be killed by a
+musketeer."
+
+Knowing nobody in Paris, D'Artagnan went to his appointment without a
+second.
+
+It was just striking twelve when he arrived on the ground, and Athos,
+still suffering from his old wound on the shoulder, was already waiting
+for his adversary.
+
+Athos explained with all politeness that his seconds had not yet
+arrived.
+
+"If you are in great haste, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "and if it be
+your will to despatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself. I am
+ready. But if you would wait three days till your shoulder is healed, I
+have a miraculous balsam given me by my mother, and I am sure this
+balsam will cure your wound. At the end of three days it would still do
+me a great honour to be your man."
+
+"That is well said," said Athos, "and it pleases me. Thus spoke the
+gallant knights of Charlemagne. Monsieur, I love men of your stamp, and
+I can tell that if we don't kill each other, I shall enjoy your society.
+But here comes my seconds."
+
+"What!" cried D'Artagnan as Porthos and Aramis appeared. "Are these
+gentlemen your seconds?"
+
+"Yes," replied Athos. "Are you not aware that we are never seen one
+without the others, and that we are called the three inseparables?"
+
+"What does this mean?" said Porthos, who had now come up and stood
+astonished.
+
+"This is the gentleman I am to fight with," said Athos, pointing to
+D'Artagnan and saluting him.
+
+"Why I am also going to fight with him," said Porthos.
+
+"But not before one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan.
+
+"Well, and I also am going to fight with that gentleman," said Aramis.
+
+"But not till two o'clock," said D'Artagnan calmly.
+
+"And now you are all assembled, gentleman, permit me to offer you my
+excuses."
+
+At this word "excuses" a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty
+smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of
+Aramis.
+
+"You do not understand me, gentleman," said D'Artagnan, throwing up his
+head. "I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my
+debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first. And now,
+gentleman, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and--guard!"
+
+At these words D'Artagnan drew his sword, and at that moment so elated
+was he that he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in
+the kingdom.
+
+Scarcely had the two rapiers sounded on meeting, when a company of the
+cardinal's guards appeared on the scene. At that time there was not only
+a standing feud between the king's musketeers and the guards of Cardinal
+Richelieu, there was also a prohibition against duelling.
+
+"The cardinal's guards! The cardinal's guards!" cried Aramis and Porthos
+at the same time. "Sheathe swords, gentlemen! Sheathe swords!" But it
+was too late.
+
+Jussac, commander of the guards, had seen the combatants in a position
+which could not be mistaken.
+
+"Hullo, musketeers," he called out; "fighting, are you, in spite of the
+edicts? Well, duty before everything. Sheathe your swords, please, and
+follow us."
+
+"That is quite impossible," said Aramis politely. "The best thing you
+can do is to pass on your way."
+
+"We shall charge upon you, then," said Jussac. "if you disobey."
+
+"There are five of them," said Athos, "and we are but three. We shall be
+beaten, and must die on the spot, for on my part I will never face my
+captain as a conquered man."
+
+Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly closed in, and Jussac drew up his
+soldiers.
+
+In that short interval D'Artagnan determined on the part he was to take;
+it was a decision of life-long importance. He had to choose between the
+king and the cardinal, and the choice made, it must be persisted in. He
+turned towards Athos and his friends. "Gentlemen," said he, "allow me to
+correct your words. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we
+are four. I do not wear the uniform, but my heart is that of a
+musketeer."
+
+"Withdraw, young man, and save your skin!" cried Jussac.
+
+The three musketeers thought of D'Artagnan's youth, and dreaded his
+inexperience.
+
+"Try me, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "and I swear to you that I will
+never go hence if we are conquered."
+
+Athos pressed the young man's hand, and exclaimed, "Well, then! Athos,
+Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forward!"
+
+The nine combatants rushed upon each other with fury, and the battle
+ended in the utter discomfiture of the cardinal's guards, one of whom
+was slain and three badly wounded. The musketeers returned walking arm
+in arm. D'Artagnan marched between Athos and Porthos, his heart full of
+delight.
+
+"If I am not yet a musketeer," said he to his new friends, "at least, I
+have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven't I?"
+
+
+_II.--The Queen's Diamonds_
+
+
+The king, always jealous of Richelieu's guards, was extremely pleased
+when he heard from M. de Treville of the fight that had taken place. He
+gave D'Artagnan a handful of gold, and promised him a place in the ranks
+of the musketeers at the first vacancy; in the meantime he was to join a
+company of royal guards. From this time the life of the four young men
+became common, for D'Artagnan fell quite easily into the habits of his
+three friends.
+
+Athos, who was scarcely thirty years old, was of great personal beauty
+and intelligence of mind. He never spoke of women, he never laughed,
+rarely smiled, and his reserved and silent habits seemed to make him a
+much older man.
+
+Porthos was exactly the opposite of Athos. He not only talked much, but
+he talked loudly, not caring whether anyone listened to him. He would
+talk about anything except the sciences, alleging that from childhood
+dated his inveterate hatred of learning. The physical strength of
+Porthos was enormous, and with all the vanity of a child he was a
+thoroughly loyal and brave man.
+
+As for Aramis, he always gave out that he intended to take orders in the
+Church, and was merely a musketeer for the time being. Aramis revelled
+in intrigues and mysteries.
+
+What the real names of his comrades were D'Artagnan had no idea. That
+the names they bore had been assumed was all he knew.
+
+The motto of the four was "all for one, one for all." D'Artagnan had
+already earned the dislike of Cardinal Richelieu by his part in the
+fight with the cardinal's guards; it was not long before his daring gave
+greater cause for offence.
+
+The king suspected his wife, Anne of Austria, of being in love with the
+Duke of Buckingham, and the cardinal suspected the queen of intriguing
+with Buckingham against France. Now, a secret interview had taken place
+at the palace between Buckingham and the queen, and the cardinal, who
+employed spies everywhere, found out this as he found out everything,
+and determined to destroy the queen's reputation, for there was deadly
+enmity between Anne of Austria and Richelieu.
+
+Buckingham had received from the queen a set of diamond studs--a present
+from the king--as a keepsake; so the cardinal despatched a certain lady,
+a woman of rare beauty, known as "Milady," to England, to get hold of
+two of these studs.
+
+Then the cardinal, by fostering the royal suspicion, persuaded the king
+to give a grand ball whereat the queen should wear the diamond studs. By
+this means Louis would be convinced of Buckingham's visit, for the set
+of studs would be incomplete.
+
+The queen was in dispair. It was D'Artagnan and the three musketeers
+who saved her honour. D'Artagnan loved Madame Bonacieux, a confidential
+dressmaker of the queen's; and this woman, devoted to her royal
+mistress, gave D'Artagnan a secret note from the queen to Buckingham.
+
+D'Artagnan went at once to M. de Treville, obtained leave of absence for
+himself and his friends, and set out for England. It was not a minute
+too soon, for the cardinal had already made plans to prevent any such
+counter-move, giving orders that no one was to sail from France without
+a permit.
+
+Between Paris and Calais, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were all left
+behind, wounded by Richelieu's guards, and D'Artagnan only effected a
+passage to Dover by fighting and nearly killing a young noble who held a
+permit from the cardinal to leave France.
+
+Once in England, D'Artagnan hastened to find Buckingham. The latter
+discovered, to his horror, that Milady had already become possessed
+cunningly of two of the precious studs, and D'Artagnan had to wait while
+the skill of the first English jeweller made good the loss beyond
+detection.
+
+He returned to Paris with the twelve studs in time for the royal ball.
+Milady had already given the two she had stolen to the cardinal, who had
+passed them on to the king.
+
+"What does this mean, Monsieur le Cardinal?" said the king severely,
+when in the middle of the ball he found, to his joy, that the queen was
+already wearing twelve diamonds.
+
+"It means, sire," the cardinal replied, with vexation, "that I was
+anxious to present her majesty with two studs, but did not dare to offer
+them myself."
+
+"I am very grateful," said Anne of Austria, fully alive to the
+cardinal's defeat, "only I am afraid these two studs must have cost your
+eminence as much as all the others cost his majesty."
+
+The man, D'Artagnan, to whom the queen owed this extraordinary triumph
+over her enemy, stood unknown in the crowd that gathered round the
+doors. It was only when the queen retired that someone touched him on
+the shoulder and bade him follow. He readily obeyed; D'Artagnan waited
+in an ante-room of the queen's apartments; he could hear voices within,
+and presently a hand and an arm, marvellously white and beautiful, came
+through the tapestry.
+
+D'Artagnan felt that this was his reward. He dropped on his knees,
+seized the hand, and touched it modestly with his lips. Then the hand
+was withdrawn, and in his own a ring was left. The tapestry closed, and
+his guide, no other than Bonacieux, reappeared and escorted him hastily
+to the corridor.
+
+
+_III.--The Musketeers at La Rochelle_
+
+
+The siege of La Rochelle was an important affair, one of the chief
+political events of the reign of Louis XIII.
+
+For a time D'Artagnan was separated from his friends, for the musketeers
+were escorting the king to the seat of war, and our intrepid Gascon was
+with the main army. It was now that D'Artagnan began to realise that he
+had attracted, not only the displeasure of the cardinal, but also the
+deadly hatred of Milady, the cardinal's secret agent, whose overtures at
+friendship, made in the cardinal's interest, he had insulted before
+leaving Paris, and whose secret shame he had discovered.
+
+Twice his life was nearly taken by hired assassins, and the third time a
+present of wine turned out to be poisoned.
+
+To add to his natural discomfort, Madame Bonacieux had disappeared from
+Paris, and probably was in prison.
+
+The arrival of the musketeers restored his spirits, and the four were
+again inseparable. One drawback to their intercourse was the fact that
+the cardinal and his spies were all over the camp, and that,
+consequently, it was difficult to talk confidentially without being
+overheard.
+
+In order to secure privacy for a conference, they decided to go and
+breakfast in a bastion near the enemy's lines, and wagered with some
+officers they would stay there an hour. It was a position of terrible
+danger, but the feat was accomplished, and the wild undertaking of the
+musketeers was acclaimed with tremendous enthusiasm in the French camp.
+
+The noise reached the cardinal's ears, and he inquired its meaning.
+
+"Monseigneur," said the officer, "three musketeers and a guard laid a
+wager that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and
+they breakfasted and held it for two hours against the enemy, killing I
+don't know how many Rochellais."
+
+"Did you inquire the names of those three musketeers?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur. MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis."
+
+"Still the three braves!" muttered the cardinal. "And the guard?"
+
+"M. D'Artagnan!"
+
+"Still my reckless young friend! I must have these four men as my own."
+
+That same night the cardinal spoke to M. de Treville of the episode of
+the bastion, and gave permission for D'Artagnan to become a musketeer,
+"for such men should be in the same company," he said.
+
+One night during the siege, the three musketeers, seeking D'Artagnan,
+were met in a country lane by the cardinal, travelling, as he often did,
+with a single attendant. Athos recognised him, and the cardinal bade the
+three men escort him to a lonely inn. At the door they all alighted. The
+landlord of the inn received the cardinal, for he had been expecting an
+officer to visit a lady who was within. The three musketeers were
+accommodated in a large room on the ground floor, and the cardinal
+passed up the staircase as a man who knew his road. Porthos and Aramis
+sat down at the table to dice, while Athos walked up and down the room
+in a thoughtful mood. To his astonishment, Athos found that, the
+stovepipe being broken, he could hear all that was passing in the room
+above.
+
+"Listen, Milady," the cardinal was saying, "this affair is of utmost
+importance. A small vessel is waiting for you at the mouth of the river.
+You will go on board to-night and set sail to-morrow morning for
+England. Half an hour after I have gone, you will leave here. When you
+reach England, you will seek the Duke of Buckingham, explain to him that
+I have proofs of his secret interviews with the queen, and tell him that
+if England moves in support of the besieged in La Rochelle, I will at
+once ruin the queen."
+
+"But what if he persists in spite of this in making war?" said Milady.
+
+"If he persists? Why, then he must be got rid of. Some woman doubtless
+exists, handsome, young, and clever, who has a grievance against the
+duke; and some fanatic can be found to be her instrument."
+
+"The woman exists, and the fanatic will be found," returned Milady. "And
+now, will monseigneur permit me to speak of my enemies, as we have
+spoken of yours?"
+
+"Your enemies? Who are they?" asked Richelieu.
+
+"First, there is a meddlesome little woman called Bonacieux. She was in
+prison at Nantes, but has been conveyed to a convent by an order which
+the queen obtained from the king. Will your eminence find out where that
+convent is?"
+
+"I don't object to that."
+
+"Then I have a much more dangerous enemy than the little Bonacieux, and
+that is her lover, the wretch D'Artagnan. I will get you a thousand
+proofs that he has conspired with Buckingham."
+
+"Very well; get me proof, and I will send him to the Bastille."
+
+For a few seconds there was silence while the cardinal was writing a
+note.
+
+Athos at once got up and told his companions he would go out to see if
+the road was safe, and left the house.
+
+The cardinal gave his final instructions to Milady, and departed with
+Porthos and Aramis. No sooner had they turned an angle of the road than
+Athos re-entered the inn, marched boldly upstairs, and before he had
+been seen, had bolted the door.
+
+Milady turned round, and became exceedingly white.
+
+"The Count de la Fère!" she said.
+
+"Yes, Milady, the Count de la Fère in person. You believed him dead, did
+you not, as I believed you to be?"
+
+"What do you want? Why do you come here?" said Milady in a hollow voice.
+
+"I have followed your actions," said Athos sternly. "It was you who had
+Madame Bonacieux carried off; it was you who sent assassins after
+D'Artagnan, and poisoned his wine. Only to-night you have agreed to
+assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, and expect D'Artagnan to be slain in
+return. Now, I care nothing about the Duke of Buckingham; he is an
+Englishman, but D'Artagnan is my friend."
+
+"M. D'Artagnan insulted me," said Milady.
+
+"Is it possible to insult you?" said Athos. He drew out a pistol and
+cocked it. "Madame, you will instantly deliver to me the paper you have
+received from the cardinal; or, upon my soul, I will blow out your
+brains."
+
+Athos slowly raised his pistol until the weapon almost touched the
+woman's forehead. Milady knew too well that with this terrible man death
+would certainly come unless she yielded. She drew the paper out of her
+bosom and handed it to Athos. "Take it," she said, "and be accursed."
+
+Athos returned the pistol to his belt, unfolded the paper, and read:
+
+      It is by my order, and for the good of the state, that the
+     bearer of this has done what he has done.
+
+     Dec. 3rd, 1627.
+
+     RICHELIEU.
+
+Athos, without looking at the woman, left the inn, mounted his horse,
+and galloping across country, managed to get in front, on the road,
+before the cardinal had passed.
+
+For a second, Milady thought of pursuing the cardinal in order to
+denounce Athos; but unpleasant revelations might be made, and it seemed
+best to carry out her mission in England, and then, when she had
+satisfied the cardinal, to claim her revenge.
+
+
+_IV.--The Doom of Milady_
+
+
+Milady accomplished the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham at
+Portsmouth, and Richelieu was relieved of the fear of English
+intervention at La Rochelle.
+
+But the doom of Milady was at hand.
+
+The king, weary of the siege, had gone to spend a few days quietly at
+St. Germains, taking for an escort only twenty of the musketeers, and at
+Paris the four friends had obtained from M. de Treville a few days'
+leave of absence.
+
+Aramis had discovered the convent where Madame Bonacieux was confined;
+it was at Bethune, and thither the musketeers hastened. Unfortunately,
+Milady reached Bethune first. She had come there to await the cardinal's
+orders, and having ingratiated herself with the abbess, learnt that
+D'Artagnan was on his way with an order from the queen to take Madame
+Bonacieux to Paris. Milady immediately dispatched a messenger to the
+cardinal, and at the very moment when the musketeers were at the front
+entrance, she poured a powder into a glass of wine and bade Madame
+Bonacieux drink.
+
+"It is not the way I meant to avenge myself," said Milady, as she
+hastily left the convent by the back gate, "but, _ma foi_, we do what we
+must!"
+
+The deadly poison did its work. Constance Bonacieux expired in
+D'Artagnan's arms.
+
+Then the four musketeers, joined by Lord de Winter, who had arrived from
+England in hot pursuit of Milady, his sister-in-law, set out to overtake
+the woman who had wrought so much evil.
+
+They came up with Milady at a solitary house near the village of
+Erquinheim.
+
+The four servants of the musketeers guarded the house; Athos,
+D'Artagnan, Aramis, Porthos, and De Winter entered.
+
+"What do you want?" screamed Milady.
+
+"We want Charlotte Backson, first called Countess de la Fère, and
+afterwards Lady de Winter," said Athos. "M. D'Artagnan, it is for you to
+accuse her first."
+
+"I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, and of
+having attempted to poison me, and I accuse her of having engaged
+assassins to shoot me," said D'Artagnan.
+
+"I accuse this woman of having procured the assassination of the Duke of
+Buckingham," said Lord de Winter. "Moreover, my brother, who made her
+his heiress, died suddenly of a strange disease."
+
+"I married this woman and gave her my name and wealth, and found
+afterwards she was branded as a felon," said Athos.
+
+The musketeers and Lord de Winter passed sentence of death upon the
+miserable woman.
+
+She was taken out to the river bank, and beheaded, and her body dropped
+into the middle of the stream.
+
+"Let the justice of Heaven be done!" they cried in a loud voice.
+
+Within three days the musketeers were back in Paris, ready to return
+with the king to La Rochelle. Then the cardinal summoned D'Artagnan to
+his presence.
+
+"You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of France,
+with having surprised state secrets, and with having attempted to thwart
+the plans of your general," said the cardinal.
+
+"The woman who charges me--a branded felon--Milady de Winter, is dead,"
+replied D'Artagnan.
+
+"Dead!" exclaimed the cardinal. "Dead!"
+
+"We have tried her and condemned her," said D'Artagnan. Then he told the
+cardinal of the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux, and of the subsequent
+trial and execution.
+
+The cardinal shuddered before he answered quietly, "You will be tried
+and condemned."
+
+"Monseigneur," said D'Artagnan, "though I have the pardon in my pocket I
+am willing to die."
+
+"What pardon?" said the cardinal, in astonishment. "From the king?"
+
+"No, a pardon signed by your eminence." D'Artagnan produced the precious
+paper which Athos had forced Milady to give him before her journey to
+England.
+
+For a time the cardinal sat looking at the paper before him. Then he
+slowly tore it up.
+
+"Now I am lost." thought D'Artagnan. "But he shall see how a gentleman
+can die."
+
+The cardinal went to a table, and wrote a few lines on a parchment.
+
+"Here, monsieur," he said; "I have taken away from you one paper; I give
+you another. Only the name is wanting in this commission, and you must
+fill that up."
+
+D'Artagnan took the document with hesitation. He looked at it, saw it
+was a lieutenant's commission in the musketeers, and fell at the
+cardinal's feet.
+
+"Monseigneur, my life is yours. Dispose of it as you will. But I do not
+deserve this. I have three friends, all more worthy----"
+
+The cardinal interrupted him.
+
+"You are a brave young man, D'Artagnan. Fill up this commission as you
+will."
+
+D'Artagnan sought out his friends, and offered the commission to them in
+turn.
+
+But each declined, and Athos filled in the name of D'Artagnan on the
+commission.
+
+"I shall soon have no more friends. Nothing but bitter recollections!"
+said D'Artagnan, thinking of Madame Bonacieux.
+
+"You are young yet," Athos answered. "In time these bitter recollections
+will give way to sweet remembrances."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Twenty Years After
+
+
+      In this first-rate romance, which is a sequel to "The Three
+     Musketeers," and was published in 1845, we have D'Artagnan and
+     the three musketeers in the prime of middle life. Their
+     efforts on behalf of Charles I. are amazing, worthy of
+     anything done when they were twenty years younger. All the
+     characters introduced are for the most part historical, and
+     they are all drawn with spirit, so that our interest in them
+     never flags. A remarkable point in regard to these historical
+     romances of Dumas is that, in spite of their enormous length,
+     no superfluous dialogue or long descriptions prolong them.
+     Dumas took considerable liberties with the facts of history in
+     several places, as, for instance, in the introduction of
+     D'Artagnan and his friends to Charles I., and in making his
+     trial and execution follow as quickly on his surrender as we
+     are made to believe in "Twenty Years After." The story is
+     further continued in "The Vicomte de Bragelonne."
+
+
+_I.--The Parsimony of Mazarin_
+
+
+The great Richelieu was dead, and his successor, Cardinal Mazarin, a
+cunning and parsimonious Italian, was chief minister of France. Paris,
+torn and distracted by civil dissension, and impoverished by heavy
+taxation, was seething with revolt, and Mazarin was the object of
+popular hatred, Anne of Austria, the queen-mother (for Louis XIV. was
+but a child), sharing his disfavour with the people.
+
+It was under these circumstances that the queen recalled how faithfully
+D'Artagnan had once served her, and reminded Mazarin of that gallant
+officer, and of his three friends. Mazarin sent for D'Artagnan, who for
+twenty years had remained a lieutenant of musketeers, and asked him what
+had become of his friends.
+
+"I want you and your three friends to be of use to me," said the
+cardinal. "Where are your friends?"
+
+"I do not know, my lord. We parted company long ago; all three have left
+the service."
+
+"Where can you find them, then?"
+
+"I can find them wherever they are. It would be my business."
+
+"And what are the conditions for finding them?"
+
+"Money, my lord; as much money as the undertaking may require.
+Travelling is dear, and I am only a poor lieutenant in the musketeers."
+
+"You will be at my service when they are found?" asked Mazarin.
+
+"What are we to do?"
+
+"Don't trouble about that. When the time for action arrives you shall
+learn all that I require of you. Wait till that comes, and find out
+where your friends are."
+
+Mazarin gave D'Artagnan a bag of money, and the latter withdrew, to
+discover in the courtyard that the bag contained silver and not gold.
+
+"Crown pieces only, silver!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "I guessed as much.
+Ah, Mazarin, Mazarin, you have no real confidence in me. So much the
+worse for you!"
+
+But the cardinal was rubbing his hands, and congratulating himself that
+he had discovered a secret for a tenth of the coin Richelieu would have
+spent on the matter.
+
+D'Artagnan first sought for Aramis, who was now an abbé, and lived in a
+convent and wrote sermons. But the heart of Aramis was not in religion,
+and when D'Artagnan found him, and the two had sat talking for some
+time, D'Artagnan said, "My friend, it seems to me that when you were a
+musketeer you were always thinking of the Church, and now that you are
+an abbé you are always longing to be a musketeer."
+
+"It's true," said Aramis. "Man is a strange bundle of inconsistencies.
+Since I became an abbé I dream of nothing but battles, and I practise
+shooting all day long here with an excellent master."
+
+Aramis indeed had both retained his swordsmanship and his interest in
+public affairs. But when D'Artagnan mentioned Mazarin, and the serious
+crisis in the state, Aramis declared that Mazarin was an upstart with
+only the queen on his side; and that the young king, the nobles, and
+princes, were all against him. Aramis was already on the side of
+Mazarin's enemies. He could not pledge himself to anyone, and the two
+separated.
+
+D'Artagnan went on to find Porthos, whose address he had learnt from
+Aramis. Porthos, who now called himself De Valon after the name of his
+estate, lived at ease as a country gentleman should; he was a widower
+and wealthy, but he was mortified because his neighbours were of ancient
+family and ignored him. He received D'Artagnan with open arms, and when
+at breakfast he confessed his weariness, D'Artagnan at once invited him
+to join him again and promised that he would get a barony for his
+services.
+
+"Go into harness again!" cried D'Artagnan. "Gird on your sword, and win
+a coronet. You want a title; I want money; the cardinal wants our help."
+
+"For my part," said the gigantic Porthos, "I certainly want to be made a
+baron."
+
+They talked of Athos, who lived on his estate at Bragelonne, and was now
+the Count de la Fère. And Porthos mentioned that Athos had an adopted
+son.
+
+"If we can get Athos, all will be well," said D'Artagnan. "If we cannot,
+we must do without him. We two are worth a dozen."
+
+"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of their old exploits;
+"but we four would be equal to thirty-six."
+
+"I have your word, then?" said D'Artagnan.
+
+"Yes. I will fight heart and soul for the cardinal; but--but he must
+make me a baron."
+
+"Oh, that's settled already!" said D'Artagnan. "I'll answer for your
+barony."
+
+With that he had his horse saddled, and rode on to the castle of
+Bragelonne. Athos was visibly moved at the sight of D'Artagnan, and
+rushed towards him and clasped him in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally
+moved, held him closely, while tears stood in his eyes. Athos seemed
+scarcely aged at all, in spite of his eight-and-forty years; but there
+was a greater dignity about his face. Formerly, too, he had been a heavy
+drinker, but now no signs of excess disturbed the calm serenity of his
+countenance. The presence of his son, whom he called Raoul--a boy of
+fifteen--seemed to explain to D'Artagnan the regenerated existence of
+Athos.
+
+Deeply as the heart of Athos was stirred at meeting his old
+comrade-in-arms, and sincere as his attachment was to D'Artagnan, the
+Count de la Fère would have nothing to do with any plan for helping
+Mazarin.
+
+D'Artagnan returned alone to await Porthos in Paris. The same night
+Athos and his son also left for Paris.
+
+
+_II.--The Four Set Out for England_
+
+
+Queen Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV. of France and wife of
+King Charles I., was lodged in the Louvre, while her husband lost his
+crown in the civil war. The queen had appealed to Mazarin either to send
+assistance to Charles I., or to receive him in France, and the cardinal
+had declined both propositions. Then it was that an Englishman, Lord de
+Winter, who had come to Paris to get help, appealed to Athos, whom he
+had known twenty years earlier, to come to England and fight for the
+king.
+
+Athos and Aramis at once responded, and waited on the queen, who
+received them in the large empty rooms--left unfurnished by the avarice
+of the cardinal--allotted to her in the Louvre.
+
+"Gentlemen," said the queen, "a few years ago I had around me knights,
+treasure, and armies. To-day look around, and know that in order to
+accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have only Lord de
+Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I see for
+the first time, and whom I know but as my countrymen."
+
+"It is enough," said Athos, bowing low, "if the life of three men can
+purchase yours, madame."
+
+"I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me. My husband, King of England, is
+leading so wretched a life that death would be a welcome exchange for
+him. He has asked for the hospitality of France, and it has been refused
+him."
+
+"What is to be done?" said Athos. "I have the honour to inquire from
+your majesty what you desire Monsieur D'Herblay (as Aramis was named)
+and myself to do in your service. We are ready."
+
+"I, madame," said Aramis, "follow M. de la Fère wherever he leads, even
+to death, without demanding any reason; but when it concerns your
+majesty's service, no one precedes me."
+
+"Well, then, gentlemen," said the queen, "since it is thus, and since
+you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess
+whom everybody has forsaken, this is what must be done for me. The king
+is alone with a few gentlemen whom he may lose any day, and he is
+surrounded by the Scotch, whom he distrusts. I ask much, too much,
+perhaps, for I have no title to ask it. Go to England, join the king, be
+his friends, his bodyguard; be with him on the field of battle and in
+his house. Gentlemen, in exchange I can only promise you my love; next
+to my husband and my children, and before everyone else, you will have
+my prayers and a sister's love."
+
+"Madame," said Athos, "when must we set out? we are ready!"
+
+The queen, moved to tears, held out her hand, which they kissed, and
+then, after receiving letters for the king, they withdrew.
+
+"Well," said Aramis, when they were alone, "what do you think of this
+business, my dear count?"
+
+"Bad!" replied Athos. "Very bad!"
+
+"But you entered on it with enthusiasm."
+
+"As I shall ever do when a great principle is to be defended. Kings are
+only strong by the aid of the aristocracy; but aristocracy cannot exist
+without kings. Let us then support monarchy in order to support
+ourselves."
+
+"We shall be murdered there," said Aramis. "I hate the English--they are
+so coarse, like all people who drink beer."
+
+"Would it be better to remain here?" said Athos. "And take a turn in the
+Bastille, by the cardinal's order? Believe me, Aramis, there is little
+left to regret. We avoid imprisonment, and we take the part of heroes--
+the choice is easy!"
+
+While Athos and Aramis were preparing to go to England on behalf of the
+king, Mazarin had decided to employ D'Artagnan and Porthos as his envoys
+to Oliver Cromwell.
+
+"Monsieur D'Artagnan," said the cardinal, "do you wish to become a
+captain?"
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"Your friend wishes to be made a baron?"
+
+"At this very moment, my lord, he's dreaming that he is one."
+
+"Then," said Mazarin, "take this dispatch, carry it to England, and when
+you get to London, tear off the outer envelope."
+
+"And on our return, may we, my friend and I, rely on getting our
+promotion--he his barony, I my captaincy?"
+
+"On the honour of Mazarin, yes."
+
+"I would rather have another sort of oath than that," said D'Artagnan to
+himself as he went out.
+
+Just as they were leaving Paris, a letter came from Athos, who had
+already gone.
+
+"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Porthos,--My friends, perhaps this is the last
+time you will hear from me. I entrust certain papers which are at
+Bragelonne to your keeping; if in three months you do not hear of me,
+take possession of them. May God and the remembrance of our friendship
+support you always.--Your devoted friend, Athos."
+
+
+_III.--In England_
+
+
+Athos and Aramis were with Charles I. at Newcastle. The king had been
+sold by the Scotch to the English Parliament, and on the approach of
+Cromwell's army the king's troops refused to fight. Only fifteen men
+stood round the king when Cromwell's cavalry came charging down. Lord de
+Winter was shot dead by his own nephew, who was in Cromwell's army.
+
+"Come, Aramis, now for the honour of France," said Athos, and the two
+Englishmen who were nearest to them fell mortally wounded.
+
+At the same instant a tremendous shout filled the air, and thirty swords
+flashed before them. Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks,
+fell upon Athos, wound his muscular arms round him, and tearing his
+sword from him, said in his ear, "Silence! Yield--you yield to me, don't
+you?"
+
+A giant from the English ranks at the same moment seized Aramis by the
+wrists, who struggled in vain to get free.
+
+"I yield myself prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to Porthos.
+
+"D'Art----" exclaimed Athos; but the musketeer covered his mouth with
+his hand.
+
+The ranks opened. D'Artagnan held the bridle of Athos' horse, and
+Porthos that of Aramis, and they led their prisoners off the field.
+
+"We are all four lost if you give the least sign you know us," said
+D'Artagnan.
+
+"The king--where is the king?" Athos exclaimed anxiously.
+
+"Ah! We have got him!"
+
+"Yes," said Aramis; "through a base act of treachery!"
+
+Porthos pressed his friend's hand, and answered, "Yes; all is fair in
+war--stratagem as well as force. Look yonder!"
+
+The squadron, which ought to have protected the king, was advancing to
+meet the English regiments.
+
+The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked alone on foot. He caught
+sight of Athos and Aramis, and greeted them.
+
+"Farewell, messieurs. The day has been unfortunate, but it is not your
+fault, thank God! But where is my old friend Winter?"
+
+"Look for him with Strafford," said a voice.
+
+Charles shuddered. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was Winter's.
+
+That hour messengers were sent off in every direction over England and
+Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was now the prisoner of Oliver
+Cromwell. D'Artagnan not only accomplished the release of the prisoners,
+he also joined with his friends in a bold attempt to rescue Charles from
+his captors.
+
+D'Artagnan at first naturally assumed they would all four return to
+France as quickly as possible; but Athos declared that he could not
+abandon the king, and still meant to save him if it were possible.
+
+"But what can you do in a foreign land; in an enemy's country?" said
+D'Artagnan. "Did you promise the queen to storm the Tower of London?
+Come, Porthos, what do you think of this business?"
+
+"Nothing good," said Porthos.
+
+"Friend," said Athos, "our minds are made up! Ah, if we had you with us!
+With you, D'Artagnan, and you, Porthos--all four, and reunited for the
+first time for twenty years--we would dare, not only England but the
+three kingdoms together!"
+
+"Very well," cried D'Artagnan furiously, "very well, since you wish it,
+let us leave our bones in this horrible land, where it is always cold,
+where the fine weather comes after a fog, and the fog after rain; in
+truth, whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must
+die sooner or later."
+
+"But your future career, D'Artagnan? Your ambition, Porthos?" said
+Athos.
+
+"Our future, our ambition!" replied D'Artagnan bitterly. "What do we
+need to think of that for, if we are to save the king? The king saved,
+we shall assemble our friends together, reconquer England, and place him
+securely on the throne."
+
+"And he shall make us dukes and peers," said Porthos joyfully at this
+cheerful prospect.
+
+"Or he will forget us," added D'Artagnan.
+
+"Then," said Athos, offering his hand to D'Artagnan, "I swear to you, my
+friend, by the God who hears us, I believe there is a power watching
+over us, and I look forward to our all meeting in France again."
+
+"So be it!" said D'Artagnan; "but I confess I have quite a contrary
+conviction. However, 'tis settled; but I stay in England only on one
+condition, that I don't have to learn the language."
+
+The attempt to rescue Charles from his guards on the way to London was
+only frustrated by the sudden arrival of General Harrison, with a large
+body of soldiers, and D'Artagnan and his friends made their escape by a
+hasty flight, and followed to London.
+
+"We must see this tragedy played out to the end," said Athos. "Do not
+let us leave England while any hope remains."
+
+And the others agreed.
+
+
+_IV.--At Whitehall_
+
+
+The intrepid four were present at the trial of Charles I., and it was
+the voice of Athos that called out, "You lie!" when the prosecutor
+declared that the accusation against the king was put forward by the
+English people.
+
+Fortunately, D'Artagnan managed to get Athos out of the court quickly,
+and then, followed by Porthos and Aramis, they mingled in the crowd
+outside undetected.
+
+Sentence having been pronounced against the king, the only thing to be
+done by the four was to get rid of the London executioner; this meant at
+least a few days delay while another executioner was being procured.
+D'Artagnan undertook this difficult task, while Aramis was to personate
+Bishop Juxon, the royal chaplain, and explain to Charles the attempt
+being made to save him. Athos engaged to get everything ready for
+leaving England.
+
+On the very night before the execution Aramis brought the king a message
+from D'Artagnan, "Tell the king that to-morrow, at ten o'clock at night,
+we shall carry him off." Aramis added, "He has said it, and he will do
+it."
+
+The scaffold was already being constructed in Whitehall as he spoke, but
+D'Artagnan had the London executioner fast bound under lock and key in a
+cellar, and Athos had a light skiff waiting at Greenwich. Not only this,
+but at midnight these four wonderful men, thanks to Athos, who spoke
+excellent English, were also at work at the scaffold--having bribed the
+carpenter in charge to let them assist--and at the same time boring a
+hole in the wall. The scaffold, which had two lower stories, and was
+covered with black serge, was at the height of twenty feet, on a level
+with the window in the king's room; and the hole communicated with a
+narrow loft, between the floor of the king's room, and the ceiling of
+the one below it.
+
+The plan was to pass through the hole into the loft, and cut out from
+below a piece of the flooring of the king's room, so as to form a kind
+of trap-door. The king was to escape through this on the following
+night, and, hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was then to
+change his dress for that of a workman, and so pass the sentinels on
+duty, and reach the skiff that was waiting for him at Greenwich.
+
+At nine o'clock in the morning Aramis, this time in attendance on Bishop
+Juxon, was once more in the king's room.
+
+"Sire," he said, "you are saved! The London executioner has vanished,
+and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol. The Count de la
+Fère is two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace, and
+strike three times on the floor. He will answer you. He has the path
+ready for your majesty to escape by."
+
+The king did as Aramis suggested, and in reply came three dull knocks
+from below.
+
+"The Count de la Fère," said Aramis.
+
+All was ready; nothing as far as D'Artagnan and Athos could see, had
+been overlooked; twenty-four hours hence would see the king beyond the
+reach of his adversaries.
+
+And then just as Charles had satisfied himself that his life was saved,
+a Parliamentary officer and a file of soldiers entered the king's room
+to announce his immediate execution.
+
+"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.
+
+"Were not you warned that it was to take place this morning?"
+
+"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the London
+executioner?"
+
+"The London executioner has disappeared, but a man has offered his
+services instead. The execution will, therefore, take place at the
+appointed hour."
+
+A fanatical Puritan, nephew of Lord de Winter--whom he slew at
+Newcastle--and a trusted lieutenant of Cromwell's did the work of the
+headsman, and upon Athos, waiting in concealment beneath the scaffold,
+fell drops of the king's blood.
+
+When all was over the four hastened away in deep dejection to the skiff
+at Greenwich, and so to France. But when they had landed at Dunkirk it
+was plain to D'Artagnan that their troubles were not yet at an end.
+
+"Porthos and I were sent by Cardinal Mazarin to fight for Cromwell;
+instead of fighting for Cromwell, we have served Charles I.; that's not
+the same thing at all."
+
+However, D'Artagnan and Porthos, on their return to Paris, rendered such
+signal service to Mazarin and to the queen, by guarding them from the
+violence of the mob, and by quelling a riot, that D'Artagnan received
+his commission as captain of musketeers, and Porthos his barony.
+
+The four old friends met once more in Paris before they separated.
+Aramis was returning to his convent, Athos and Porthos to their estates.
+As war had just broken out in Flanders, D'Artagnan made ready to go
+thither.
+
+Then all four embraced, with tears in their eyes. And after that they
+departed on their various ways, not knowing whether they were ever to
+see each other again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+by Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+
+Author: Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+Release Date: January 19, 2004 [EBook #10748]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREATEST BOOKS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<h1>THE WORLD'S</h1> <h1>GREATEST</h1> <h1>BOOKS</h1>
+
+<h2>JOINT EDITORS</h2> <h3>ARTHUR MEE</h3> <h4>Editor and Founder of the
+Book of Knowledge</h4>
+
+<h3>J. A. HAMMERTON</h3> <h4>Editor of Harmsworth's Universal
+Encyclopaedia</h4>
+
+<h3>VOL. III</h3> <h3>FICTION</h3>
+
+<h4>MCMX</h4>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<p><i>Table of Contents</i></p>
+
+<a href="#daudet">DAUDET, ALPHONSE</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#daudet1">Tartarin of Tarascon</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#day">DAY, THOMAS</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#day1">Sandford and Merton</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#defoe">DEFOE, DANIEL</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#defoe1">Robinson Crusoe</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#defoe2">Captain Singleton</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#dickens">DICKENS, CHARLES</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens1">Barnaby Rudge</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens2">Bleak House</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens3">David Copperfield</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens4">Dombey and Son</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens5">Great Expectations</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens6">Hard Times</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens7">Little Dorrit</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens8">Martin Chuzzlewit</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens9">Nicholas Nickleby</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens10">Oliver Twist</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens11">Old Curiosity Shop</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens12">Our Mutual Friend</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens13">Pickwick Papers</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dickens14">Tale of Two Cities</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#disraeli">DISRAELI, BENJAMIN (Earl of Beaconsfield)</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#disraeli1">Coningsby</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#disraeli2">Sybil, or The Two Nations</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#disraeli3">Tancred, or The New Crusade</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#dumas">DUMAS, ALEXANDRE</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas1">Marguerite de Valois</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas2">Black Tulip</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas3">Corsican Brothers</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas4">Count of Monte Cristo</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas5">The Three Musketeers</a><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="#dumas6">Twenty Years After</a><br /><br />
+
+<p>A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
+of Volume XX.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="daudet">ALPHONSE DAUDET</a></h2>
+
+<h3><a name="daudet1">Tartarin of Tarascon</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Alphonse Daudet, the celebrated French novelist, was born at
+Nimes on May 13, 1840, and as a youth of seventeen went to Paris, where he
+began as a poet at eighteen, and at twenty-two made his first efforts in
+the drama. He soon found his feet as a contributor to the leading journals
+of the day and a successful writer for the stage. He was thirty-two when he
+wrote "Tartarin of Tarascon," than which no better comic tale has been
+produced in modern times. Tarascon is a real town, not far from the
+birthplace of Daudet, and the people of the district have always had a
+reputation for "drawing the long bow." It was to satirise this amiable
+weakness of his southern compatriots that the novelist created the
+character of Tartarin, but while he makes us laugh at the absurd
+misadventures of the lion-hunter, it will be noticed how ingeniously he
+prevents our growing out of temper with him, how he contrives to keep a
+warm corner in our hearts for the bragging, simple-minded, good-natured
+fellow. That is to say, it is a work of essential humour, and the lively
+style in which the story is told attracts us to it time and again with
+undiminished pleasure. In two subsequent books, "Tartarin in the Alps," and
+"Port Tarascon," Daudet recounted further adventures of his delightful
+hero. His "Sapho" and "Kings in Exile" have also been widely read. Daudet
+died on December 17, 1897. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Mighty Hunter at Home</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I remember my first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon as clearly as if it
+had been yesterday, though it is now more than a dozen years ago. When you
+had passed into his back garden, you would never have fancied yourself in
+France. Every tree and plant had been brought from foreign climes; he was
+such a fellow for collecting the curiosities of Nature, this wonderful
+Tartarin. His garden boasted, for instance, an example of the baobab, that
+giant of the vegetable world, but Tartarin's specimen was only big enough
+to occupy a mignonette pot. He was mightily proud of it, all the same.</p>
+
+<p>The great sight of his place, however, was the hero's private den at the
+bottom of the garden. Picture to yourself a large hall gleaming from top to
+bottom with firearms and weapons of all sorts: carbines, rifles,
+blunderbusses, bowie-knives, revolvers, daggers, flint-arrows--in a word,
+examples of the deadly weapons of all races used by man in all parts of the
+world. Everything was neatly arranged, and labelled as if it were in a
+public museum. "Poisoned Arrows. Please do not touch!" was the warning on
+one of the cards. "Weapons loaded. Have a care!" greeted you from another.
+My word, it required some pluck to move about in the den of the great
+Tartarin.</p>
+
+<p>There were books of travel and adventure, books about mighty hunting on
+the table in the centre of the room; and seated at the table was a short
+and rather fat, red-haired fellow of about forty-five, with a
+closely-trimmed beard and a pair of bright eyes. He was in his
+shirtsleeves, reading a book held in one hand while he gesticulated wildly
+with a large pipe in the other--Tartarin! He was evidently imagining
+himself the daring hero of the story.</p>
+
+<p>Now you must know that the people of Tarascon were tremendously keen on
+hunting, and Tartarin was the chief of the hunters. You may think this
+funny when you know there was not a living thing to shoot at within miles
+of Tarascon; scarcely a sparrow to attract local sportsmen. Ah, but you
+don't know how ingenious they are down there.</p>
+
+<p>Every Sunday morning off the huntsmen sallied with their guns and
+ammunition, the hounds yelping at their heels. Each man as he left in the
+morning took with him a brand new cap, and when they got well into the
+country and were ready for sport, they took their caps off, threw then high
+in the air, and shot at them as they fell. In the evening you would see
+them returning with their riddled caps stuck on the points of their guns,
+and of all these brave men Tartarin was the most admired, as he always
+swung into town with the most hopeless rag of a cap at the end of a day's
+sport. There's no mistake, he was a wonder!</p>
+
+<p>But for all his adventurous spirit, he had a certain amount of caution.
+There were really two men inside the skin of Tartarin. The one Tartarin
+said to him, "Cover yourself with glory." The other said to him, "Cover
+yourself with flannel." The one, imagining himself fighting Red Indians,
+would call for "An axe! An axe! Somebody give me an axe!" The other,
+knowing that he was cosy by his fireside, would ring the bell and say,
+"Jane, my coffee."</p>
+
+<p>One evening at Costecalde's, the gunsmith's, when Tartarin was
+explaining some mechanism of a rifle, the door was opened and an excited
+voice announced, "A lion! A lion!" The news seemed incredible, but you can
+imagine the terror that seized the little group at the gunsmith's as they
+asked for more news. It appeared that the lion was to be seen in a
+travelling menagerie newly arrived from Beaucaire.</p>
+
+<p>A lion at last, and here in Tarascon! Suddenly, when the full truth had
+dawned upon Tartarin, he shouldered his gun, and, turning to Major Bravida,
+"Let us go to see him!" he thundered. Following him went the cap-hunters.
+Arrived at the menagerie, where many Tarasconians were already wandering
+from cage to cage, Tartarin entered with his gun over his shoulder to make
+inquiries about the king of beasts. His entrance was rather a wet blanket
+on the other visitors, who, seeing their hero thus armed, thought there
+might be danger, and were about to flee. But the proud bearing of the great
+man reassured them, and Tartarin continued his round of the booth until he
+faced the lion from the Atlas Mountains.</p>
+
+<p>Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled
+in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a
+terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.</p>
+
+<p>Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the
+cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery, again
+drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, "Ah, yes, there's
+a hunt for you!"</p>
+
+<p>Not another word did Tartarin utter that day. Yet next day nothing was
+spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt the
+lions of the Atlas Mountains. When asked if this were true his pride would
+not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true. So the notion
+grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid tremendous
+cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very soon to set forth
+in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.</p>
+
+<p>Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins. While the one was
+strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to
+leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon. But he had
+let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through. So he
+began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these how some
+of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by enduring hunger,
+thirst, and other privations before they set out. Tartarin began cutting
+down his food, taking very watery soup. Early in the morning, too, he
+walked round the town seven or eight times, and at nights he would stay in
+the garden from ten till eleven o'clock, alone with his gun, to inure
+himself to night chills; while, so long as the menagerie remained in
+Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in the dark, prowling
+around the tent, listening to the growling of the lion. This was Tartarin,
+accustoming himself to be calm when the king of beasts was raging.</p>
+
+<p>The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking. He
+showed no haste to be off. At length, one night Major Bravida went to
+Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, "Tartarin, you must go!"</p>
+
+<p>It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of
+the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he
+replied at length in a choking voice, "Bravida, I shall go!" Having made
+this irrevocable decision, he now pushed ahead his final preparations with
+some show of haste. From Bompard's he had two large trunks, one inscribed
+with "Tartarin of Tarascon. Case of Arms," and he sent to Marseilles all
+manner of provisions of travel, including a patent camp-tent of the latest
+style.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Tartarin Sets off to Lion-Land</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Then the great day of his departure arrived. All the town was agog. The
+neighbourhood of Baobab Villa was crammed with spectators. About ten
+o'clock the bold hero issued forth.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a Turk! He's wearing spectacles!" This was the astonished cry of
+the beholders, and, sure enough, Tartarin had thought it his duty to don
+Algerian costume because he was going to Algeria. He also carried two heavy
+rifles, one on each shoulder, a huge hunting-knife at his waist and a
+revolver in a leather case. A pair of large blue spectacles were worn by
+him, for the sun in Algeria is terribly strong, you know.</p>
+
+<p>At the station the doors of the waiting-room had to be closed to keep
+the crowd out, while the great man took leave of his friends, making
+promises to each, and jotting down notes on his tablets of the various
+people to whom he would send lion-skins.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, that I had the brush of an artist, that I might paint you some
+pictures of Tartarin during his three days aboard the Zouave on the voyage
+from Marseilles! But I have no facility with the brush, and mere words
+cannot convey how he passed from the proudly heroic to the hopelessly
+miserable in the course of the journey. Worst of all, while he was groaning
+in his stuffy bunk, he knew that a very merry party of passengers were
+enjoying themselves in the saloon. He was still in his bunk when the ship
+came to her moorings at Algiers, and he got up with a sudden jerk, under
+the impression that the Zouave was sinking. Seizing his many weapons, he
+rushed on deck, to find it was not foundering, but only arriving.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after Tartarin had set foot on shore, following a great negro
+porter, he was almost stupefied by the babel of tongues; but, fortunately,
+a policeman took him in hand and had him directed, together with his
+enormous collection of luggage, to the European hotel.</p>
+
+<p>On arriving at his hotel, he was so fatigued that his marvellous
+collection of weapons had to be taken from him, and he had to be carried to
+bed, where he snored very soundly until it was striking three o'clock. He
+had slept all the evening, through the night and morning, and well into the
+next afternoon!</p>
+
+<p>He awakened refreshed, and the first thought in his mind was, "I'm in
+lion-land at last!" But the thought sent a cold shiver through him, and he
+dived under the bedclothes. A moment later he determined to be up.
+Exclaiming, "Now for the lions!" he jumped on the floor and began his
+preparations.</p>
+
+<p>His plan was to get out at once into the country, take ambush for the
+night, shoot the first lion that came along, and then back to the hotel for
+breakfast. So off he went, carrying not only his usual arsenal, but the
+marvellous patent tent strapped to his back. He attracted no little
+attention as he trudged along, and catching sight of a very fine camel, his
+heart beat fast, for he thought the lions could not be far off now.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite dark by the time he had got only a little way beyond the
+outskirts of the town, scrambling over ditches and bramble-hedges. After
+much hard work of this kind, the mighty hunter suddenly stopped, whispering
+to himself, "I seem to smell a lion hereabouts." He sniffed keenly in all
+directions. To his excited imagination, it seemed a likely place for a
+lion; so, dropping on one knee, and laying one of his guns in front of him,
+he waited.</p>
+
+<p>He waited very patiently. One hour, two hours; but nothing stirred. Then
+he suddenly remembered that great lion-hunters take a little young goat
+with them to attract the lion by its bleating. Having forgotten to supply
+himself with one, Tartarin conceived the happy idea of bleating like a kid.
+He started softly, calling, "Meh, meh!" He was really afraid that a lion
+might hear him, but as no lion seemed to be paying attention, he became
+bolder in his "mehs," until the noise he made was more like the bellowing
+of a bull.</p>
+
+<p>But hush! What was that? A huge black object had for the moment loomed
+up against the dark blue sky. It stooped, sniffing the ground; then seemed
+to move away again, only to return suddenly. It must be the lion at last;
+so, taking a steady aim, bang went the gun of Tartarin, and a terrible
+howling came in response. Clearly his shot had told; the wounded lion had
+made off. He would now wait for the female to appear, as he had read in
+books.</p>
+
+<p>But two or more hours passed, and she did not come; and the ground was
+damp, and the night air cold, so the hunter thought he would camp for the
+night. After much struggling, he could not get his patent tent to open.
+Finally, he threw it on the ground in a rage, and lay on the top of it.
+Thus he slept until the bugles in the barracks near by wakened him in the
+morning. For behold, instead of finding himself out on the Sahara, he was
+in the kitchen garden of some suburban Algerian!</p>
+
+<p>"These people are mad," he growled to himself, "to plant their
+artichokes where lions are roaming about. Surely I have been dreaming.
+Lions do come here; there's proof positive."</p>
+
+<p>From artichoke to artichoke, from field to field, he followed the thin
+trail of blood, and came at length to a poor little donkey he had
+wounded!</p>
+
+<p>Tartarin's first feeling was one of vexation. There is such a difference
+between a lion and an ass, and the poor little creature looked so innocent.
+The great hunter knelt down and tried to stanch the donkey's wounds, and it
+seemed grateful to him, for it feebly flapped its long ears two or three
+times before it lay still for ever.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a voice was heard calling, "Noiraud! Noiraud!" It was "the
+female." She came in the form of an old French woman with a large red
+umbrella, and it would have been better for Tartarin to have faced a female
+lion.</p>
+
+<p>When the unhappy man tried to explain how he had mistaken her little
+donkey for a lion, she thought he was making fun of her, and belaboured him
+with her umbrella. When her husband came on the scene the matter was soon
+adjusted by Tartarin agreeing to pay eight pounds for the damage he had
+done, the price of the donkey being really something like eight shillings.
+The donkey owner was an inn-keeper, and the sight of Tartarin's money made
+him quite friendly. He invited the lion-hunter to have some food at the inn
+with him before he left. And as they walked thither he was amazed to be
+told by the inn-keeper that he had never seen a lion there in twenty
+years!</p>
+
+<p>Clearly, the lions were to be looked for further south. "I'll make
+tracks for the south, too," said Tartarin to himself. But he first of all
+returned to his hotel in an omnibus. Think of it! But before he was to go
+south on the high adventure, he loafed about the city of Algiers for some
+time, going to the theatres and other places of amusement, where he met
+Prince Gregory of Montenegro, with whom he made friends.</p>
+
+<p>One day the captain of the Zouave came across him in the town, and
+showed him a note about himself in a Tarascon newspaper. This spoke of the
+uncertainty that prevailed as to the fate of the great hunter, and wound up
+with these words:</p>
+
+<p>"Some Negro traders state, however, that they met in the open desert a
+European whose description answers to that of Tartarin, and who was making
+tracks for Timbuctoo. May Heaven guard for us our hero!"</p>
+
+<p>Tartarin went red and white by turns as he read this, and realised that
+he was in for it. He very much wished to return to his beloved Tarascon,
+but to go there without having shot some lions--one at least--was
+impossible, and so it was Southward ho!</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Tartarin's Adventures in the Desert</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The lion-hunter was keenly disappointed, after a very long journey in
+the stage-coach, to be told that there was not a lion left in all Algeria,
+though a few panthers might still be found worth shooting.</p>
+
+<p>He got out at the town of Milianah, and let the coach go on, as he
+thought he might as well take things easily if, after all, there were no
+lions to be shot. To his amazement, however, he came across a real live
+lion at the door of a caf&eacute;.</p>
+
+<p>"What made them say there were no more lions?" he cried, astounded at
+the sight. The lion lifted in its mouth a wooden bowl from the pavement,
+and a passing Arab threw a copper in the bowl, at which the lion wagged its
+tail. Suddenly the truth dawned on Tartarin. He was a poor, blind, tame
+lion, which a couple of negroes were taking through the streets, just like
+a performing dog. His blood was up at the very idea. Shouting, "You
+scoundrels, to humiliate these noble beasts so!" he rushed and took the
+degrading bowl from the royal jaws of the lion. This led to a quarrel with
+the negroes, at the height of which Prince Gregory of Montenegro came upon
+the scene.</p>
+
+<p>The prince told him a most untrue story about a convent in the north of
+Africa where lions were kept, to be sent out with priests to beg for money.
+He also assured him that there were lots of lions in Algeria, and that he
+would join him in his hunt.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it was in the company of Prince Gregory, and with a following of
+half a dozen negro porters, that Tartarin set off early next morning for
+the Shereef Plain; but they very soon had trouble, both with the porters
+and with the provisions Tartarin had brought for his great journey. The
+prince suggested dismissing the negroes and buying a couple of donkeys, but
+Tartarin could not bear the thought of donkeys, for a reason with which we
+are acquainted. He readily agreed, however, to the purchase of a camel, and
+when he was safely helped up on its hump, he sorely wished the people of
+Tarascon could see him. But his pride speedily had a fall, for he found the
+movement of the camel worse than that of the boat in crossing the
+Mediterranean. He was afraid he might disgrace France. Indeed, if truth
+must out, France was disgraced! So, for the remainder of their expedition,
+which lasted nearly a month, Tartarin preferred to walk on foot and lead
+the camel.</p>
+
+<p>One night in the desert, Tartarin was sure he heard sounds just like
+those he had studied at the back of the travelling menagerie at Tarascon.
+He was positive they were in the neighbourhood of a lion at last. He
+prepared to go forward and stalk the beast. The prince offered to accompany
+him, but Tartarin resolutely refused. He would meet the king of beasts
+alone! Entrusting his pocket-book, full of precious documents and
+bank-notes, to the prince, in case he might lose it in a tussle with the
+lion, he moved forward. His teeth were chattering in his head when he lay
+down, trembling, to await the lion.</p>
+
+<p>It must have been two hours before he was sure that the beast was moving
+quite near him in the dry bed of a river. Firing two shots in the direction
+whence the sound came, he got up and bolted back to where he had left the
+camel and the prince--but there was only the camel there now! The prince
+had waited a whole month for such a chance!</p>
+
+<p>In the morning he realised that he had been robbed by a thief who
+pretended to be a prince. And here he was in the heart of savage Africa
+with a little pocket money only, much useless luggage, a camel, and not a
+single lion-skin for all his trouble.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting on one of the desert-tombs erected over pious Mohammedans, the
+great man fell to weeping bitterly. But, even as he wept the bushes were
+pushed aside a little in front of him, and a huge lion presented itself. To
+his honour, be it said, Tartarin never moved a muscle, but, breathing a
+fervent "At last!" he leapt to his feet, and, levelling his rifle, planted
+two explosive bullets in the lion's head. All was over in a moment, for he
+had nearly blown the king of beasts to pieces! But in another moment he saw
+two tall, enraged negroes bearing down upon him. He had seen them before at
+Milianah, and this was their poor blind lion! Fortunately for Tartarin, he
+was not so deeply in the desert as he had thought, but merely outside the
+town of Orleansville, and a policeman now came up, attracted by the firing,
+and took full particulars.</p>
+
+<p>The upshot of it was that he had to suffer much delay in Orleansville,
+and was eventually fined one hundred pounds. How to pay this was a problem
+which he solved by selling all his extensive outfit, bit by bit. When his
+debts were paid, he had nothing but the lion's skin and the camel. The
+former he dispatched to Major Bravida at Tarascon. Nobody would buy the
+camel, and its master had to face all the journey back to Algiers in short
+stages on foot.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Home-Coming of the Hero</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The camel showed a curious affection for him, and followed him as
+faithfully as a dog. When, at the end of eight days' weary tramping, he
+came at last to Algiers, he did all he could to lose the animal, and hoped
+he had succeeded. He met the captain of the Zouave, who told him that all
+Algiers had been laughing at the story of how he had killed the blind lion,
+and he offered Tartarin a free passage home.</p>
+
+<p>The Zouave was getting up steam next day as the dejected Tartarin had
+just stepped into the captain's long-boat, when, lo! his faithful camel
+came tearing down the quay and gazed affectionately at its friend. Tartarin
+pretended not to notice it; but the animal seemed to implore him with his
+eyes to be taken away. "You are the last Turk," it seemed to say, "I am the
+last camel. Let us never part again, O my Tartarin!"</p>
+
+<p>But the lion-hunter pretended to know nothing of this ship of the
+desert.</p>
+
+<p>As the boat pulled off to the Zouave, the camel jumped into the water
+and swam after it, and was taken aboard. At last Tartarin had the joy of
+hearing the Zouave cast anchor at Marseilles, and, having no luggage to
+trouble him, he rushed off the boat at once and hastened through the town
+to the railway station, hoping to get ahead of the camel.</p>
+
+<p>He booked third class, and quickly hid himself in a carriage. Off went
+the train. But it had not gone far when everybody was looking out of the
+windows and laughing. Behind the train ran the camel--holding his own,
+too!</p>
+
+<p>What a humiliating home-coming! All his weapons of the chase left on
+Moorish soil, not a lion with him, nothing but a silly camel!</p>
+
+<p>"Tarascon! Tarascon!" shout the porters as the train slows up at the
+station, and the hero gets out. He had hoped to slink home unobserved; but,
+to his amazement, he is received with shouts of "Long live Tartarin!"
+"Three cheers for the lion-slayer!" The people are waving their caps in the
+air; it is no joke, they are serious. There is Major Bravida, and there the
+more noteworthy cap-hunters, who cluster round their chief and carry him in
+triumph down the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Now, all this was the result of sending home the skin of the blind lion.
+But the climax was reached when, following the crowd down the stairs of the
+station, limping from his long run, came the camel. Even this Tartarin
+turned to good account. He reassured his fellow-citizens, patting the
+camel's hump.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my camel; a noble beast! It has seen me kill all my lions."</p>
+
+<p>And so, linking his arm with the worthy major, he calmly wended his way
+to Baobab Villa, amid the ringing cheers of the populace. On the road he
+began a recital of his hunts.</p>
+
+<p>"Picture to yourself," he said, "a certain evening in the open
+Sahara----"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="day">THOMAS DAY</a></h2>
+
+<h3><a name="day1">Sandford and Merton</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Thomas Day was born in London on June 22, 1748, and educated
+at the Charterhouse and at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. Entering the
+Middle Temple in 1765, he was called to the Bar ten years later, but never
+practised. A contemporary and disciple of Rousseau, he convinced himself
+that human suffering was, in the main, the result of the artificial
+arrangements of society, and inheriting a fortune at an early age he spent
+large sums in philanthropy. A poem written by him in 1773, entitled "The
+Dying Negro," has been described as supplying the keynote of the
+anti-slavery movement. His "History of Sandford and Merton," published in
+three volumes between the years 1783 and 1789, provided a channel through
+which many generations of English people have imbibed a kind of refined
+Rousseauism. It retains its interest for the philosophic mind, despite the
+burlesque of <i>Punch</i> and its waning popularity as a book for children.
+Thomas Day died through a fall from his horse on September 28, 1789.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Barlow and his Pupils</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the western part of England lived a gentleman of a large fortune,
+whose name was Merton. He had a great estate in Jamaica, but had determined
+to stay some years in England for the education of his only son. When Tommy
+Merton came from Jamaica he was six years old. Naturally very good-natured,
+he had been spoiled by indulgence. His mother was so fond of him that she
+gave him everything he cried for, and would not let him learn to read
+because he complained that it made his head ache. The consequence was that,
+though Master Merton had everything he wanted, he was fretful and unhappy,
+made himself disagreeable to everybody, and often met with very dangerous
+accidents. He was also so delicately brought up that he was perpetually
+ill.</p>
+
+<p>Very near to Mr. Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer named
+Sandford, whose only son, Harry, was not much older than Master Merton, but
+who, as he had always been accustomed to run about in the fields, to follow
+the labourers when they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to their
+pasture, was active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. Harry had an
+honest, good-natured countenance, was never out of humour, and took the
+greatest pleasure in obliging others, in helping those less fortunate than
+himself, and in being kind to every living thing. Harry was a great
+favourite, particularly with Mr. Barlow, the clergyman of the parish, who
+taught him to read and write, and had him almost always with him.</p>
+
+<p>One summer morning, while Master Merton and a maid were walking in the
+fields, a large snake suddenly started up and curled itself round Tommy's
+leg. The maid ran away, shrieking for help, whilst the child, in his
+terror, dared not move. Harry, who happened to be near, ran up, and seizing
+the snake by the neck, tore it from Tommy's leg, and threw it to a great
+distance. Mrs. Merton wished to adopt the boy who had so bravely saved her
+son, and Harry's intelligence so appealed to Mr. Merton that he thought it
+would be an excellent thing if Tommy could also benefit by Mr. Barlow's
+instruction. With this view he decided to propose to the farmer to pay for
+the board and education of Harry that he might be a constant companion to
+Tommy. Mr. Barlow, on being consulted, agreed to take Tommy for some months
+under his care; but refused any monetary recompense.</p>
+
+<p>The day after Tommy went to Mr. Barlow's the clergyman took his two
+pupils into the garden, and, taking a spade in his own hand, and giving
+Harry a hoe, they both began to work. "Everybody that eats," he said,
+"ought to assist in procuring food. This is my bed, and that is Harry's.
+If, Tommy, you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground,
+all the produce of which shall be your own."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," said Tommy; "I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave
+like a ploughboy."</p>
+
+<p>"Just as you please, Mr. Gentleman," said Mr. Barlow. And Tommy, not
+being asked to share the plate of ripe cherries with which Mr. Barlow and
+Harry refreshed themselves after their labour, wandered disconsolately
+about the garden, surprised and vexed to find himself in a place where
+nobody felt any concern whether he was pleased or not. Meanwhile, Harry,
+after a few words of advice from Mr. Barlow, read aloud the story of "The
+Ants and the Flies," in which it is related how the flies perished for lack
+of laying up provisions for the winter, whereas the industrious ants, by
+working during the summer, provided for their maintenance when the bad
+weather came.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Barlow and Harry then rambled into the fields, where Mr. Barlow
+pointed out the several kinds of plants to be seen, and told his little
+companion the name and nature of each. When they returned to dinner Tommy,
+who had been skulking about all day, came in, and being very hungry, was
+going to sit down to the table, when Mr. Barlow said, "No, sir; though you
+are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not so proud, do not
+choose to work for the idle!"</p>
+
+<p>Upon this Tommy retired into a corner, crying as if his heart would
+break; when Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy, looked
+up, half-crying, into Mr. Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir, may I do as
+I please with my dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to be sure, my boy," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then," said Harry, "I will give it to poor Tommy, who wants it
+more than I do."</p>
+
+<p>Tommy took it and thanked Harry; but without turning his eyes from the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said Mr. Barlow, "that though certain gentlemen are too proud
+to be of any use to themselves, they are not above taking the bread that
+other people have been working hard for."</p>
+
+<p>At this Tommy cried more bitterly than before.</p>
+
+<p>The next day, when they went into the garden, Tommy begged that he might
+have a hoe, too, and, having been shown how to use it, soon worked with the
+greatest pleasure, which was much increased when he was asked to share the
+fruit provided after the work was done. It seemed to him the most delicious
+fruit that he had ever tasted.</p>
+
+<p>Harry read as before, the story this time being about the gentleman and
+the basket-maker. It described how a rich man, jealous of the happiness of
+a poor basket-maker, destroyed the latter's means of livelihood, and was
+sent by a magistrate with his humble victim to an island, where the two
+were made to serve the natives. On this island the rich man, because he
+possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was condemned
+to be the basket-maker's servant. When they were recalled, the rich man,
+having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated the
+basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed his
+riches in relieving the poor.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Gentleman Tommy Learns to Read</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>From this time forward Mr. Barlow and his two pupils used to work in
+their garden every morning; and when they were fatigued they retired to the
+summer-house, where Harry, who improved every day in reading, used to
+entertain them with some pleasant story. Then Harry went home for a week,
+and the morning after, when Tommy expected that Mr. Barlow would read to
+him as usual, he found to his great disappointment, that gentleman was busy
+and could not. The same thing happening the next day and the day after,
+Tommy said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like Harry, I should not
+need to ask anybody to do it for me." So when Harry returned, Tommy took an
+early opportunity of asking him how he came to be able to read.</p>
+
+<p>"Why," said Harry, "Mr. Barlow taught me my letters; and then, by
+putting syllables together, I learnt to read."</p>
+
+<p>"And could you not show me my letters?" asked Tommy.</p>
+
+<p>"Very willingly," was Harry's reply. And the lessons proceeded so well
+that Tommy, who learned the whole alphabet at the very first lesson, at the
+end of two months was able to read aloud to Mr. Barlow "The History of the
+Two Dogs," which shows how vain it is to expect courage in those who lead a
+life of indolence and repose, and that constant exercise and proper
+discipline are frequently able to change contemptible characters into good
+ones.</p>
+
+<p>Later, Harry read the story of Androcles and the Lion, and asked how it
+was that one person should be the servant of another and bear so much
+ill-treatment.</p>
+
+<p>"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
+must command others; and some are born servants, and they must do as they
+are bid." And he recalled how the black men and women in Jamaica had to
+wait upon him, and how he used to beat them when he was angry. But when Mr.
+Barlow asked him how these people came to be slaves, he could only say that
+his father had bought them, and that he was born a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Mr. Barlow, "if you were no longer to have a fine house,
+nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these
+things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and do whatever he liked
+with you."</p>
+
+<p>Seeing that he could not but admit this, Tommy became convinced that no
+one should make a slave, of another, and decided that for the future he
+would never use their black William ill.</p>
+
+<p>Some days after this Tommy became interested in the growing of corn, and
+Harry promising to get some seed from his father, Tommy got up early and,
+having dug very perseveringly in a corner of his garden to prepare the
+ground for the seed, asked Mr. Barlow if this was not very good of him.</p>
+
+<p>"That," said Mr. Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of the
+corn when you have raised it. Where," he asked, "will be the great goodness
+in your sowing corn for your own eating? That is no more than all the
+people round here continually do. And if they did not do it, they would be
+obliged to fast."</p>
+
+<p>"But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."</p>
+
+<p>"What," answered Mr. Barlow, "must not gentlemen eat as well as others;
+and therefore, is it not for their interest to know how to procure food as
+well as other people?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," answered Tommy; "but they can have other people to raise it
+for them."</p>
+
+<p>"How does that happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is
+made."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they pay for it with money?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then they must have money before they can buy corn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"But have all gentlemen money?"</p>
+
+<p>Tommy hesitated some time, and at last said, "I believe not always,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then," said Mr. Barlow, "if they have not money, they will find it
+difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves." And he
+proceeded to recount the History of the Two Brothers, Pizarro and Alonzo,
+the former of whom, setting out on a gold-hunting expedition, prevailed
+upon the latter to accompany him, and became dependent upon Alonzo, who,
+instead of taking gold-seeking implements, provided himself with the
+necessaries for stocking a farm.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Town Life and Country Life</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>This story was followed by others, describing life in different and
+distant parts of the world; and in addition to the knowledge they acquired
+in this way, Tommy and Harry, in their intercourse with their neighbours
+and in the cultivation of their gardens, learned a great deal. Tommy in
+particular, growing much kinder towards the poor and towards dumb animals,
+as well as growing in physical well-being.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Barlow's young pupils were gradually taught many interesting and
+useful facts about natural history. They learned to cultivate their powers
+of observation also by studying the heavens. From a study of the stars
+their tutor drew them on to an acquaintance with the compass, the
+telescope, the magic lantern, the magnet, and the wonders of
+arithmetic.</p>
+
+<p>The stories of foreign lands were interspersed with others illustrating
+the habits of society; one for example, told how a certain rich man was
+cured of the gout, showing how, while most of the diseases of the poor
+originate in the want of food and necessaries, the rich are generally the
+victims of their own sloth and intemperance.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me," said Tommy on one occasion, "what a number of accidents
+people are subject to in this world."</p>
+
+<p>"It is very true," said Mr. Barlow; "but as that is the case, it is
+necessary to improve ourselves in every manner, that we may be able to
+struggle against them."</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: Indeed, sir, I begin to believe it is; for when I was younger
+than I am now, I remember I was always fretful and hurting myself, though I
+had two or three people constantly to take care of me. At present I seem
+quite another thing, I do not mind falling down and hurting myself, or
+cold, or scarcely anything that happens.</p>
+
+<p>MR. BARLOW: And which do you prefer--to be as you are now, or as you
+were before?</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: As I am now, a great deal, sir; for then I always had something
+or another the matter with me. At present I think I am ten times stronger
+and healthier than ever I was in my life.</p>
+
+<p>All the same, Tommy found it difficult at first to understand how people
+who lived in countries where they had to undergo great hardships could be
+so attached to their own land as to prefer it to any other country in the
+world. "I have," he said, "seen a great many ladies and little misses at
+our house, and whenever they were talking of the places where they should
+like to live, I have always heard them say that they hated the country of
+all things, though they were born and bred there."</p>
+
+<p>MR. BARLOW: And yet there are thousands who bear to live in it all their
+lives, and have no desire to change. Should you, Harry, like to go to live
+in some town?</p>
+
+<p>HARRY: Indeed, sir, I should not, for then I must leave everything I
+love in the world.</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: And have you ever been in any large town?</p>
+
+<p>HARRY: Once I was in Exeter, but I did not much like it. The houses
+seemed to me to stand too thick and close, and then there are little,
+narrow alleys where the poor live, and the houses are so high that neither
+light nor air can ever get to them. And they most of them appeared so dirty
+and unhealthy that it made my heart ache to look at them. I went home the
+next day, and never was better pleased in my life. When I came to the top
+of the great hill, from which you have a prospect of our house, I really
+thought I should have cried with joy. The fields looked all so pleasant,
+and the very cattle, when I went about to see them, all seemed glad that I
+was come home again.</p>
+
+<p>MR. BARLOW: You see by this that it is very possible for people to like
+the country, and to be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies you
+talk of, the truth is that they neither love nor would be contented in any
+place. It is no wonder they dislike the country, where they find neither
+employment nor amusement. They wish to go to London, because they there
+meet with numbers of people as idle and as frivolous as themselves; and
+these people assist each other to talk about trifles and to waste their
+time.</p>
+
+<p>TOMMY: That is true, sir, really; for when we have a great deal of
+company, I have often observed that they never talk about anything but
+eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the
+playhouse or a great room called Ranelagh, where everybody goes to meet
+their friends.</p>
+
+<p>Which discourse led on to a story of the ancient Spartans, and their
+superiority to the luxury-loving Persians.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Bull-Baiting</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The time had now arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and
+spend some time with his parents. Mr. Barlow had been long afraid of this
+visit, as he knew his pupil would meet a great deal of company there who
+would give him impressions of a nature very different from those he had,
+with so much assiduity, been labouring to excite. However, the visit was
+unavoidable, and Mrs. Merton sent so pressing an invitation for Harry to
+accompany his friend, after having obtained the consent of his father, that
+Mr. Barlow, with much regret, took leave of his pupils.</p>
+
+<p>When the boys arrived at Mr. Merton's they were introduced into a
+crowded drawing-room full of the most elegant company which that part of
+the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies of
+different ages who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays with
+Master Merton.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his
+praise. As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by
+nobody except Mr. Merton, who received him with great cordiality, and a
+Miss Simmons, who had been brought up by an uncle who endeavoured, by a
+hardy and robust education, to prevent in his niece that sickly delicacy
+which is considered so great an ornament in fashionable life. Harry and
+this young lady became great friends, though to a considerable extent they
+were the butt of the others.</p>
+
+<p>A lady who sat by Mrs. Merton, asked her, in a whisper loud enough to be
+heard all over the room, whether (indicating Harry) that was the little
+ploughboy whom she had heard Mr. Barlow was attempting to bring up like a
+gentleman? Mrs. Merton answered "Yes." "Indeed," said the lady, "I should
+have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I wonder, my dear
+madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without flattery, is one of the
+most accomplished children I ever saw, with quite the air of fashion, to
+keep such company."</p>
+
+<p>Whilst Tommy was being estranged from his friend by a constant
+succession of flattery from his elders and the example of others of his own
+age, Harry, who never said any of those brilliant things that render a boy
+the darling of the ladies, and who had not that vivacity, or rather
+impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial people, paid
+the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made the most judicious
+observations upon subjects he understood. For this reason, Miss Simmons,
+although much older and better informed, received great satisfaction from
+conversing with him, and thought him infinitely more agreeable and sensible
+than any of the smart young gentlemen she had hitherto seen.</p>
+
+<p>One morning the young gentlemen agreed to take a walk in the country.
+Harry went with them. As they walked across a common they saw a great
+number of people moving forward towards a bull-baiting. Instantly they were
+seized with a desire to see the diversion. One obstacle alone presented
+itself. Their parents, particularly Mrs. Merton, had made them promise to
+avoid every kind of danger. However, all except Harry, agreed to go,
+insisting among themselves that there was no danger.</p>
+
+<p>"Master Harry," said one, "has not said a word. Surely he will not tell
+of us."</p>
+
+<p>Harry said he did not wish to tell; but if, he added, he were asked, he
+would have to tell the truth.</p>
+
+<p>A quarrel followed, in which Tommy struck his friend in the face with
+his fist. This, added to Tommy's recent conduct towards him, caused the
+tears to start to Harry's eyes, whereupon the others assailed him with
+cries of "Coward!" "Blackguard!" and so on. Master Mash went further and
+slapped him in the face. Harry, though Master Mash's inferior in size and
+strength, returned this by a punch, and a fight ensued, from which, though
+severely punished himself, Harry emerged the victor, to be assailed with a
+chorus of congratulation from those who before were loading him with taunts
+and outrages.</p>
+
+<p>The young gentlemen persisting in their intention to see the
+bull-baiting, Harry followed at some distance, deciding not to quit his
+friend till he had once more seen him in a place of safety. As it happened,
+the bull, after disposing of his early tormentors, broke loose when three
+fierce dogs were set upon it at once. In the stampede little Tommy fell
+right in the path of the infuriated animal, and would have lost his life
+had not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above his years,
+suddenly seized a prong which one of the fugitives had dropped, and, at the
+very moment when the bull was stopping to gore his defenceless friend,
+advanced and wounded it in the flank. The bull turned, and with redoubled
+rage made at his new assailant, and it is probable that, notwithstanding
+his intrepidity, Harry would have paid with his own life the price of his
+assistance to his friend had not a poor negro, whom he had helped earlier
+in the day, come opportunely to his aid, and by his promptitude and address
+secured the animal.</p>
+
+<p>The gratitude of Mr. Merton for his son's escape was unbounded, and even
+Mrs. Merton was ashamed of her disparaging remarks about Harry. As for
+Tommy, he went to his friend's home to seek reconciliation, reflecting with
+shame and contempt upon the ridiculous prejudices he had once
+entertained.</p>
+
+<p>He had now learned to consider all men as his brethren, not forgetting
+the poor negro; and that, as he said, it is much better to be useful than
+rich or fine.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="defoe">DANIEL DEFOE</a></h2>
+
+<h3><a name="defoe1">Robinson Crusoe</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Daniel Defoe, English novelist, historian and pamphleteer, was
+born in 1660 or 1661, in London, the son of James Foe, a butcher, and only
+assumed the name of De Foe, or Defoe, in middle life. He was brought up as
+a dissenter, and became a dealer in hosiery in the city. He early began to
+publish his opinions on social and political questions, and was an
+absolutely fearless writer, audacious and independent, so that he twice
+suffered imprisonment for his daring. The immortal "Robinson Crusoe" was
+published on April 25, 1719. Defoe was already fifty-eight years of age. It
+was the first English work of fiction that represented the men and manners
+of its own time as they were. It appeared in several parts, and the first
+part, which is here epitomised, was so successful that no fewer than four
+editions were printed in as many months. "Robinson Crusoe" was widely
+pirated, and its authorship gave rise to absurd rumours. Some claimed it
+had been written by Lord Oxford in the Tower; others that Defoe had
+appropriated Alexander Selkirk's papers. The latter idea was only justified
+inasmuch as the story was partly founded on Selkirk's adventures and partly
+on Dampier's voyages. Defoe died on April 26, 1731. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--I Go to Sea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was born of a good family in the city of York, where my father--a
+foreigner, of Bremen--settled after having retired from business. My father
+had given me a competent share of learning and designed me for the law; but
+I would be satisfied in nothing but going to sea. My mind was filled with
+thoughts of seeing the world, and nothing could persuade me to give up my
+desire.</p>
+
+<p>At length, on September 1, 1651, I left home, and went on board a ship
+bound for London. The ship was no sooner out of the Humber than the wind
+began to blow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner; and as I had
+never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in body and
+terrified in mind. The next day, however, the wind abated, and for several
+days the weather continued calm. My fears being forgotten, and the current
+of my desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows to return home that I
+made in my distress.</p>
+
+<p>The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads and cast
+anchor. Our troubles were not yet over, however, for a few days later the
+wind increased till it blew a terrible storm indeed. I began to see terror
+in the faces even of the seamen themselves; and as the captain passed me, I
+could hear him softly to himself say, several times, "We shall be all
+lost!"</p>
+
+<p>My horror of mind put me into such a condition that I can by no words
+describe it. The storm increased, and the seamen every now and then cried
+out the ship would founder. One of the men cried out that we had sprung a
+leak, and all hands were called to the pumps; but the water increasing in
+the hold, it was apparent that the ship would founder. We fired guns for
+help, and a ship who had rid it out just ahead of us ventured a boat out.
+It was with the utmost hazard the boat came near us, but at last we got all
+into it, and got into shore, though not without much difficulty, and walked
+afterwards on foot to Yarmouth.</p>
+
+<p>Having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London, and there got
+acquainted with the master of a ship which traded on the coast of Guinea.
+This captain, taking a fancy to my conversation, told me if I would make a
+voyage with him I might do some trading on my own account. I embraced the
+offer, and went the voyage with him. With the help of some of my relations
+I raised &pound;40, which I laid out in toys, beads, and such trifles as my
+friend the captain said were most in demand on the Guinea Coast. It was a
+prosperous voyage. It made me both a sailor and a merchant, for my
+adventure yielded me on my return to London almost &pound;300, and this
+filled me with those aspiring thoughts which have since so completed my
+ruin.</p>
+
+<p>I was now set up as a Guinea trader, and made up my mind to go the same
+voyage again in the same ship; but this was the unhappiest voyage ever man
+made, for as we were off the African shore we were surprised by a Moorish
+rover of Salee, who gave chase with all sail. About three in the afternoon
+he came up with us, and after a great fight we were forced to yield, and
+were carried all prisoners into the port of Salee, where we were sold as
+slaves.</p>
+
+<p>I was fortunate enough to fall into the hands of a master who treated me
+with no little kindness. He frequently went fishing, and as I was dexterous
+in catching fish, he never went without me. One day he sent me out with a
+Moor to catch fish for him. Then notions of deliverance darted into my
+thoughts, and I prepared not for fishing, but for a voyage. When everything
+was ready, we sailed away to the fishing-grounds. Purposely catching
+nothing, I said we had better go farther out. The Moor agreed, and I ran
+the boat out near a league farther; then I brought to as if I would fish.
+Instead of that, however, I stepped forward, and, stooping behind the Moor,
+took him by surprise and tossed him overboard. He rose to the surface, and
+called on me to take him in. For reply I presented a gun at him, and told
+him if he came nearer the boat I would shoot him, and that as the sea was
+calm, he might easily swim ashore. So he turned about, and swam for the
+shore, and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease.</p>
+
+<p>About ten days afterwards, as I was steering out to double a cape, I
+came in sight of a Portuguese ship. On coming nearer, they hailed me, but I
+understood not a word. At last a Scotch sailor called to me, and I answered
+I was an Englishman, and had made my escape from the Moors of Salee. They
+then bade me come on board, and very kindly took me in, with all my
+goods.</p>
+
+<p>We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and when we reached our
+destination the captain recommended me to an honest man who had a sugar
+plantation. Here I settled down for a while, and learned the planting of
+sugar. Then I took a piece of land, and became a planter myself. My affairs
+prospered, and had I continued in the station I was now in, I had room for
+many happy things to have yet befallen me; but I was still to be the agent
+of my own miseries.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Lord of an Island and Alone</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Some of my neighbours, hearing that I had a knowledge of Guinea trading,
+proposed to fit out a vessel and send her to the coast of Guinea to
+purchase negroes to work in our plantations. I was well pleased with the
+idea; and when they asked me to go to manage the trading part, I forgot all
+the perils and hardships of the sea, and agreed to go. A ship being fitted
+out, we set sail on September 1, 1659.</p>
+
+<p>We had very good weather for twelve days, but after crossing the line,
+violent hurricanes took us, and drove us out of the way of all human
+commerce. In this distress, one morning, there was a cry of "Land!" and
+almost at the same moment the ship struck against a sandbank. We took to a
+boat, and worked towards the land; but before we could reach it, a raging
+wave came rolling astern of us, and overset the boat. We were all thrown
+into the sea, and out of fifteen who were on board, none escaped but
+myself. I managed, somehow, to scramble to shore, and clambered up the
+cliffs, and sat me down on the grass half-dead. Night coming on me, I took
+up my lodging in a tree.</p>
+
+<p>When I waked, it was broad day, the weather clear, and the storm abated.
+What surprised me most was that in the night the ship had been lifted from
+the bank by the swelling tide, and driven ashore almost as far as the place
+where I had landed. I saw that if we had all kept on board we had been all
+safe, and I had not been so miserable as to be left entirely destitute of
+all company as I now was.</p>
+
+<p>I swam out to the ship, and found that her stern lay lifted up on the
+bank. All the ship's provisions were dry, and, being well disposed to eat,
+I filled my pockets and ate as I went about other things, for I had no time
+to lose. We had several spare yards and planks, and with these I made a
+raft. I emptied three of the seamen's chests, and let them down upon the
+raft, and filled them with provisions. I also let down the carpenter's
+chest, and some arms and ammunition--all of which, after much labour, I got
+safely to land.</p>
+
+<p>My next work was to view the country. Where I was I yet knew not, but
+after I had with great labour got to the top of a hill which rose up very
+steep and high, I saw my fate, to my great affliction--<i>viz</i>., that I
+was in an island, uninhabited except by wild beasts.</p>
+
+<p>I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many things out of
+the ship which would be useful to me; so every day at low water I went on
+board, and brought away something or other until I had the biggest magazine
+that was ever laid up, I believe, for one man. I verily believe, had the
+calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole ship piece by
+piece; but on the fourteenth day it blew a storm, and next morning, behold,
+no more ship was to be seen. I must not forget that I brought on shore two
+cats and a dog. He was a trusty servant to me many years. I wanted nothing
+that he could fetch me, nor any company. I only wanted him to talk to me,
+but that he could not do. Later, I managed to catch a parrot, which did
+much to cheer my loneliness. I taught him to speak, and it would have done
+your heart good to have heard the pitying tones in which he used to say,
+"Robin--poor Robin Crusoe!"</p>
+
+<p>I now went in search of a place where to fix my dwelling. I found a
+little plain on the side of a rising hill, which was there as steep as a
+house-side, so that nothing could come down on me from the top. On the side
+of this rock was a hollow space like the entrance of a cave, before which I
+resolved to pitch my tent. Before I set up my tent, I drew a half-circle
+before the hollow place, which extended backwards about twenty yards. In
+this half-circle I planted two rows of strong stakes, driving them into the
+ground like piles, above five feet and a half high, and sharpened at the
+top. Then I took some pieces of cable I had found in the ship, and laid
+them in rows one upon another between the stakes; and this fence was so
+strong that neither man nor beast could get into it or over it. The
+entrance I made to be by a short ladder to go over the top, and when I was
+in I lifted the ladder after me.</p>
+
+<p>Inside the fence, with infinite labour, I carried all my riches,
+provisions, ammunition, and stores. And I made me a large tent, also, to
+preserve me from the rains. When I had done this I began to work my way
+into the rock. All the earth and stones I dug out I laid up within my
+fence, and thus I made me a cave just behind my tent which served me like a
+cellar.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of my labours it happened that, rummaging in my things, I
+found a little bag with but husks of corn and dust in it. Wishing to make
+use of the bag, I shook it out on one side of my fortification. It was a
+little before the great rains that I threw this stuff away, not remembering
+that I had thrown anything there; about a month after, I saw some green
+stalks shooting up. I was perfectly astonished when, after a little longer
+time, I saw ten or twelve ears of barley. I knew not how it came there. At
+last it occurred to me that I had shaken out the bag there. Besides the
+barley there were also a few stalks of rice. I carefully saved the ears of
+this corn, you may be sure, and resolved to sow them all again. When my
+corn was ripe, I used a cutlass as a scythe, and cut off the ears, and
+rubbed them out with my hands. At the end of my harvesting I had nearly two
+bushels of rice, and two bushels and a half of barley. I kept all this for
+seed, and bore the want of bread with patience.</p>
+
+<p>I soon found that I needed many things to make me comfortable. First I
+wanted a chair and a table, for without them I must live like a savage. So
+I set to work. I had never handled a tool in my life, but I had a saw, an
+axe, and several hatchets, and I soon learned to use them all. If I wanted
+a board, I had to chop down a tree. From the trunk of the tree I cut a log
+of the length my board was to be. Then I split the log, and, with infinite
+labour, hewed it flat till it was as thin as a board. I made myself a table
+and a chair out of short pieces of board, and from the large boards I made
+some wide shelves. On these I laid my tools and other things.</p>
+
+<p>From time to time I made many useful things. From a piece of ironwood,
+cut in the forest with great labour, I made a spade to dig with. Then I
+wanted a pick-axe, but for long I could not think how I was to get one. At
+length I made use of crowbars from the wreck. These I heated in the fire,
+and, little by little, shaped them till I made a pick-axe, proper enough,
+though heavy.</p>
+
+<p>At first I felt the need of baskets in which to carry things, so I set
+to work as a basket-maker. It came to my mind that the twigs of the tree
+whence I cut my stakes might serve. I found them to my purpose as much as I
+could desire, and, during the next rainy season, I employed myself in
+making a great many baskets. Though I did not finish them handsomely, yet I
+made them sufficiently serviceable.</p>
+
+<p>I had, however, one want greater than all the others--bread. My barley
+was very fine, the grains were large and smooth; but before I could make
+bread I must grind the grains into flour. I spent many a day to find out a
+Stone to cut hollow and make fit for a mortar, and could find none; nor
+were the rocks of the island of hardness sufficient. So I gave it over and
+rounded a great block of hard wood and, with the help of fire and great
+labour, made a hollow in it. I made a great heavy pestle of the wood called
+ironwood.</p>
+
+<p>The baking part was the next thing to be considered; for, first, I had
+no yeast. As to that, there was no supplying the want, so I did not concern
+myself much about it. But for an oven I was indeed in great pain. At length
+I found out an experiment for that also. I made some earthen vessels, broad
+but not deep, about two feet across, and about nine inches deep. These I
+burned in the fire till they were as hard as nails and as red as tiles, and
+when I wanted to bake I made a great fire upon a hearth which I paved with
+some square tiles of my own making.</p>
+
+<p>When the fire had all burned I drew the embers forward upon my hearth,
+and let them be there till the hearth was very hot. My loaves being ready,
+I swept the hearth and set them on the hottest part of it. Over each loaf I
+placed one of the large earthen pots, and drew the embers all round to keep
+in and add to the heat. And thus I baked my barley loaves and became, in a
+little time, a good pastrycook into the bargain.</p>
+
+<p>It need not be wondered at if all these things took up most of the third
+year of my abode in the island. I had now brought my state of life to be
+much easier than it was at first, and I learned to look more upon the
+bright side of my condition and less on the dark.</p>
+
+<p>Had anyone in England met such a man as I was, it must have frightened
+them, or raised great laughter. On my head I wore a great, high, shapeless
+cap of goat's skin. Stockings and shoes I had none, but I had made a pair
+of somethings, I scarce knew what to call them, to slip over my legs; a
+jacket, with the skirts coming down to the middle of my thighs, and a pair
+of open-kneed breeches of the same, completing my outfit. I had a broad
+belt of goat's skin, and in this I hung, on one side, a saw, on the other,
+a hatchet. Under my arm hung two pouches for shot and powder; at my back I
+carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun, and over my head a great clumsy
+goat's skin umbrella.</p>
+
+<p>A stoic would have smiled to have seen me at dinner. There was my
+majesty, prince and lord of the whole island. How like a king I dined, too,
+all alone, attended by my servants! Poll, my parrot, as if he had been my
+favourite, was the only person permitted to talk to me. My old dog sat at
+my right hand, and two cats on each side of the table, expecting a bit from
+my hand as a mark of special favour.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Footprint</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was my custom to make daily excursions to some part of the island.
+One day, walking along the beach, I was exceedingly surprised with the
+print of a man's naked foot plainly impressed on the sand. I stood like one
+thunderstruck. I listened, I looked around, but I could hear nothing nor
+see anything. I went up to a rising ground to look further; I walked
+backwards and forwards on the shore, but I could see only that one
+impression.</p>
+
+<p>I went to it again. There was exactly a foot--toes, heel, and every part
+of a foot. How it came thither I knew not; but I hurried home, looking
+behind me at every two or three steps, and mistaking every bush and tree,
+fancying every stump to be a man. I had no sleep that night; but my terror
+gradually wore off, and after some days I ventured down to the beach to
+take measure of the footprint by my own.</p>
+
+<p>I found it much larger! This filled me again with all manner of fears,
+and when I went home I began to prepare against an attack. I got out my
+muskets, loaded them, and went to an enormous amount of labour and
+trouble--all because I had seen the print of a naked foot on the sand.
+There seemed to me then no labour too great, no task too toilsome, and I
+made me a second fortification, and planted a vast number of stakes on the
+outside of my outer wall, which grew and became a thick grove of trees,
+entirely concealing the place of my retreat, and adding greatly to my
+security.</p>
+
+<p>I had now been twenty-two years on the island, and had grown so
+accustomed to the place that, had I felt myself secure from the attack by
+savages, I fancied I could have been contented to remain there till I died
+of old age.</p>
+
+<p>For many months the perturbation of my mind was very great; in the day
+great troubles overwhelmed me, and in the night I dreamed often of killing
+savages. About two years after I first knew these fears, I was surprised
+one morning by seeing five canoes on the shore. I could not tell what to
+think of it, so went and lay in my castle perplexed and discomforted. At
+length, becoming very impatient, I clambered up to the top of the hill and
+perceived, by the help of my perspective glass, no less than thirty men
+dancing round a fire with barbarous gestures. While I was looking, two
+miserable wretches were dragged from the boats. One was immediately knocked
+down, while the other, seeing himself a little at liberty, started away
+from them and ran along the sands directly towards me. I was dreadfully
+frightened, that I must acknowledge, when I perceived him run my way,
+especially when, as I thought, I saw him pursued by the whole body. But my
+spirits began to recover when I found that but three men followed him, and
+that he outstripped them exceedingly, in running.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he came to a creek and, making nothing of it, plunged in,
+landed, and ran on with exceeding strength. Two of the pursuers swam the
+creek, but the third went no farther, and soon after went back again. I
+immediately took my two guns, ran down the hill and clapped myself in the
+way between the pursuers and the pursued, hallooing aloud to him that fled.
+Then, rushing on the foremost of the pursuers, I knocked him down with the
+stock of my piece. The other stopped, as if frightened, but as I came
+nearer, I perceived he was fitting a bow and arrow to shoot at me; so I was
+then obliged to shoot at him first, which I did and killed him.</p>
+
+<p>The poor savage who fled was so frightened with the noise of my piece
+that he seemed inclined still to fly. I gave him all the signs of
+encouragement I could think of, and he came nearer, kneeling down every ten
+or twelve steps. I took him up and made much of him, and comforted him.
+Then, beckoning him to follow me, I took him to my cave on the farther part
+of the island. Here, having refreshed him, I made signs for him to lie down
+to sleep, which the poor creature did. After he had slumbered about half an
+hour, he came out of the cave, running to me, laying himself down and
+setting my foot upon his head to let me know he would serve me so long as
+he lived.</p>
+
+<p>In a little time I began to speak to him and teach him to speak to me;
+and, first, I let him know his name should be Friday, which was the day I
+saved his life. I likewise taught him to say "Master," and then let him
+know that was to be my name. I made a little tent for him, and took in my
+ladders at night, so that he could no way come at me.</p>
+
+<p>But I needed not this precaution, for never man had a more faithful,
+loving servant than Friday was to me. I made it my business to teach him
+everything that was proper to make him useful, especially to make him
+speak, and he was the aptest scholar that ever was. Indeed, this was the
+pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place. I began now to have
+some use for my tongue again, and, besides the pleasure of talking to
+Friday, I had a singular satisfaction in the fellow himself. His simple,
+unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and more every day, and I began
+really to love the creature; and I believe he loved me more than it was
+possible for him ever to love anything before.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The End of Captivity</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my captivity on the
+island. One morning I bade Friday go to the seashore and see if he could
+find a turtle. He had not been gone long when he came running back like one
+that felt not the ground, or the steps he set his feet on, and cries out to
+me, "O master! O sorrow! O bad!"</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Friday?" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"O yonder, there," says he; "one, two, three canoes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," says I, "do not be frightened."</p>
+
+<p>However, I saw the poor fellow was most terribly scared, for nothing ran
+in his head but that the savages were come back to look for him, and would
+cut him in pieces and eat him. I comforted him, and told him I was in as
+much danger as he. Then I went up the hill and found quickly by my glass
+that there were one-and-twenty savages, whose business seemed to be a
+triumphant banquet upon three human bodies. I came down again to Friday
+and, going towards the wretches, sent Friday a little ahead to see what
+they were doing. He came back and told me that they were eating the flesh
+of one of their prisoners, and that a bearded man lay bound, whom he said
+they would kill next.</p>
+
+<p>This fired the very soul within me, and, going to a little rising
+ground, I turned to Friday and said, "Now, Friday, do exactly as you see me
+do." So, with a musket, I took aim at the savages; Friday did the like, and
+we fired, killing three of them and wounding five more. They were in a
+dreadful consternation, and after we fired again among the amazed wretches,
+I made directly towards the poor victim who was lying upon the beach.
+Loosing him, I found he was a Spaniard. He took pistol and sword from me
+thankfully, and flew upon his murderers, and, Friday, pursuing the flying
+wretches, in the end but four of the twenty-one escaped in a canoe.</p>
+
+<p>I was minded to pursue them lest they should return with a greater force
+and devour us by mere multitude. So, running to a canoe, I bade Friday
+follow me, but was surprised to find another poor creature lying therein,
+bound hand and foot. I immediately cut his fastenings and bade Friday tell
+him of his deliverance. But when Friday came to hear him speak and to look
+in his face, it would have moved anyone to tears to have seen how Friday
+kissed him, embraced him, hugged him, cried, danced, sung, and then cried
+again. It was a good while before I could make him tell me what was the
+matter, but when he came a little to himself, he told me it was his father.
+He sat down by the old man a long while, and took his arms and ankles,
+which were numbed with the binding, and chafed and rubbed them with his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>My island was now peopled, and I thought myself rich in subjects. The
+Spaniard and the old savage had been with us about seven months, sharing in
+our labours, when, being unable to keep means of deliverance out of my
+thoughts, I gave them leave to go over in one of the canoes to the
+mainland, where some of the Spaniard's shipmates were cast away, giving
+them provisions sufficient for themselves and all the Spaniards, for eight
+days.</p>
+
+<p>It was no less than eight days I had waited for their return when Friday
+came to me and called aloud, "Master, master, they are come!" I jumped up
+and climbed to the top of the hill, and with my glass plainly made out an
+English ship, and its long-boat standing in for the shore. I cannot express
+the joy I was in at seeing a ship, and one that was manned by my own
+countrymen; but yet I had some secret doubts, bidding me keep on my guard.
+Presently the boat was run upon the beach, and in all eleven men landed,
+whereof three were unarmed and bound, whom I could perceive using
+passionate gestures of entreaty and despair. Presently the seamen were all
+gone straggling in the woods, leaving the three distressed men under a tree
+a little distance from me. I resolved to discover myself to them, and
+marched with Friday towards them, and called aloud in Spanish, "What are
+ye, gentlemen?" They started up at the noise, and I perceived them about to
+fly from me, when I spoke to them in English.</p>
+
+<p>"Gentlemen," says I, "do not be surprised at me; perhaps you may have a
+friend near, when you did not expect it. Can you not put a stranger in the
+way to help you?"</p>
+
+<p>One of them, looking like one astonished, returned, "Sir, I was captain
+of that ship; my men have mutinied against me, and have set me on shore in
+this desolate place with these two men--my mate and a passenger."</p>
+
+<p>He then told me that if two among the mutineers, who were desperate
+villains, were secured, he believed the rest on shore would return to their
+duty. He anticipated my proposals in venturing their deliverance by telling
+me that both he and the ship, if recovered, should be wholly directed by me
+in everything. Then I gave them muskets, and the mutineers returning, the
+two villains were killed, and the rest begged for mercy, and joined us.
+More of them coming ashore, we fell upon them at night, so that at the
+captain's call they laid down their arms, trusting to the mercy of the
+governor of the island, for such they supposed me to be.</p>
+
+<p>It now occurred to me that the time of my deliverance was come, and that
+it would be easy to bring these fellows in to be hearty in getting
+possession of the ship. And so it proved, for, the ship being boarded next
+morning, and the new rebel captain shot, the rest yielded without any more
+lives lost.</p>
+
+<p>When I saw my deliverance then put visibly into my hands, I was ready to
+sink down with the surprise, and it was a good while before I could speak a
+word to the captain, who was in as great an ecstasy as I. After some time,
+I came dressed in a new habit of the captain's, being still called
+governor. Being all met, and the captain with me, I caused the prisoners to
+be brought before me, told them I had got a full account of their
+villainous behaviour to the captain, and asked of them what they had to say
+why I should not execute them as pirates. I told them I had resolved to
+quit the island, but that they, if they went, could only go as prisoners in
+irons; so that I could not tell what was the best for them, unless they had
+a mind to take their fate in the island. They seemed thankful for this, and
+said they would much rather venture to stay than be carried to England to
+be hanged. So I left it on that issue. When the captain was gone I sent for
+the men up to me in my apartment and let them into the story of my living
+there; showed them my fortifications, the way I made my bread, planted my
+corn; and, in a word, all that was necessary to make them easy. I told them
+the story, also of the Spaniards that were to be expected, and made them
+promise to treat them in common with themselves.</p>
+
+<p>I left the next day and went on board the ship with Friday. And thus I
+left the island the 19th of December, in the year 1686, after eight and
+twenty years, and, after a long voyage, I arrived in England, the 11th of
+June, 1687, having been thirty-five years absent.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="defoe2">Captain Singleton</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Defoe was fifty-nine when he published this remarkable book,
+in 1720. "Robinson Crusoe" had appeared in the previous year, and "Moll
+Flanders" came out in 1722. Shrewdness and wit, the study of character,
+vividness of imagination, and, beyond these, the pure literary style, make
+"Captain Singleton" a classic in English literature. William the Quaker,
+the first Quaker in English fiction, has never been surpassed in any later
+novel, and remains an immortal creation. The clear common sense of this
+man, the combination of business ability and a real humaneness, the quiet
+humour which prevails over the stupid barbarity of his pirate
+companions--who but Defoe could have drawn such a character as the guide,
+philosopher, and friend of a crew of pirates? Bob Singleton himself, who
+tells the story with a frankness of extraordinary charm, confessing his
+willingness for evil courses as readily as his later repentance, is no less
+striking a personality. By sheer imagination the genius of Defoe makes
+Singleton's adventures, including the impossible journey across Central
+Africa, real and credible. The book is a model of fine narrative.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Sailing With the Devil</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>If I may believe the woman whom I was taught to call mother, I was a
+little boy about two years old, very well dressed, and had a nurse-maid to
+attend me, who took me out on a fine summer's evening into the fields
+towards Islington, to give the child some air; a little girl being with
+her, of twelve or fourteen years old, that lived in the neighbourhood.</p>
+
+<p>The maid meets with a fellow, her sweetheart; he carries her into a
+public-house, and while they are toying in there the girl plays about with
+me in her hand, sometimes in sight, sometimes out of sight, thinking no
+harm.</p>
+
+<p>Then comes by one of those sort of people who make it their business to
+spirit away little children, a trade chiefly practised where they found
+little children well dressed, and for bigger children, to sell them to the
+plantations.</p>
+
+<p>The woman, pretending to take me up in her arms and play with me, draws
+the girl a good way from the house, and then bids her go back to the maid,
+and tell her that a gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child. And so,
+while the girl went, she carries me quite away.</p>
+
+<p>From that time, it seems, I was disposed of to a beggar woman, and after
+that to a gipsy, till I was about six years old.</p>
+
+<p>And this gipsy, though I was continually dragged about with her from one
+part of the country to the other, never let me want for anything. I called
+her mother, but she told me at last she was not my mother, but that she
+bought me for twelve shillings, and that my name was Bob Singleton, not
+Robert, but plain Bob.</p>
+
+<p>Who my father and mother really were I have never learnt.</p>
+
+<p>When my gipsy mother happened in process of time to be hanged, I was
+sent to a parish school; and then I was moved from one parish to another,
+and at Bussleton, near Southampton, the master of a ship took a fancy to
+me, and though I was not above twelve years old, he carried me to sea with
+him on a voyage to Newfoundland.</p>
+
+<p>I went several voyages with him, when, coming home from Newfoundland
+about the year 1695, we were taken by an Algerine rover, which was in its
+turn taken by two great Portuguese men-of-war.</p>
+
+<p>We were carried into Lisbon, and there my master, the only friend I had
+in the world, dying of his wounds, I was left starving in a foreign country
+where I knew nobody, and could not speak a word of the language.</p>
+
+<p>However, an old pilot found me, and, speaking in broken English, asked
+me if I would go with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said I, "with all my heart."</p>
+
+<p>For two years I lived with him, and then he got to be master under Don
+Garcia de Carravallas, captain of a Portuguese galleon, which was bound to
+Goa in the East Indies. On this voyage I began to get a smattering of the
+Portuguese tongue and a superficial knowledge of navigation. I also learnt
+to be an arrant thief and a bad sailor.</p>
+
+<p>I was reputed as mighty diligent and faithful to my master, but I was
+very far from honest.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, I had no sense of virtue or religion in me, never having heard
+much of either, and was growing up apace to be as wicked as anybody could
+be.</p>
+
+<p>Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most abominable
+lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew; adding to it that,
+with the most insufferable boasts of their own courage, they were,
+generally speaking, the most complete cowards that I ever met with. And I
+was exactly fitted for their society.</p>
+
+<p>According to the English proverb, he that is shipped with the devil must
+sail with the devil; I was among them, and I managed myself as well as I
+could.</p>
+
+<p>When we came to anchor on the coast of Madagascar to repair some damage
+to the ship, there happened a most desperate mutiny among the men upon
+account of a deficiency in their allowance, and I, being full of mischief
+in my head, readily joined.</p>
+
+<p>Though I was but a boy, as they called me, yet I prompted the mischief
+all I could, and embarked in it so openly that I escaped very little being
+hanged in the first and most early part of my life.</p>
+
+<p>For the captain, getting wind of the plot, brought two fellows to
+confess the particulars, and presently no less than sixteen men were seized
+and put into irons, whereof I was one.</p>
+
+<p>The captain, who was made desperate by his danger, tried us all, and we
+were all condemned to die. The gunner and purser were hanged immediately,
+and I expected it with the rest. I do not remember any great concern I was
+under about it, only that I cried very much; for I knew little then of this
+world, and nothing at all of the next.</p>
+
+<p>However, the captain contented himself with executing these two, and
+some of the rest, upon their humble submission, were pardoned; but five
+were ordered to be set on shore on the island and left there, of which I
+was one.</p>
+
+<p>At our first coming into the island we were terrified exceedingly with
+the sight of the barbarous people; but when we came to converse with them
+awhile, we found they were not cannibals, as was reported, but they came
+and sat down by us, and wondered much at our clothes and arms. Nor did we
+suffer any harm from them during our whole stay on the island.</p>
+
+<p>Before the ship sailed twenty-three of the crew decided to join us, and
+the captain, not unwilling to lose them, sent us two barrels of powder, and
+shot and lead, as well as a great bag of bread.</p>
+
+<p>Being now a considerable number, and in condition to defend ourselves,
+the first thing we did was to give everyone his hand that we would not
+separate from one another, but that we would live and die together, that we
+would be in all things guided by the majority, that we would appoint a
+captain among us to be our leader, and that we would obey him on pain of
+death.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--A Mad Venture</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>For two years we remained on the island of Madagascar, for at the
+beginning we had no vessel large enough to pass the ocean.</p>
+
+<p>I never proposed to speak in the general consultations, but one day I
+told the company that our best plan was to cruise along the coast in
+canoes, and seize upon the first vessel we could get that was better than
+our own, and so from that to another, till perhaps we might at last get a
+good ship to carry us wherever we pleased to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent advice," says one of them. "Admirable advice," says another.
+"Yes, yes," says the third (which was a gunner), "the English dog has given
+excellent advice, but it is just the way to bring us all to the gallows. To
+go a-thieving, till from a little vessel we come to a great ship, and so
+shall we turn downright pirates, the end of which is to be hanged."</p>
+
+<p>"You may call us pirates," says another, "if you will, and if we fall
+into bad hands we may be used like pirates; but I care not for that. I'll
+be a pirate or anything, rather than starve here!"</p>
+
+<p>And so they cried all, "Let us have a canoe!"</p>
+
+<p>The gunner, overruled by the rest, submitted; but as we broke up the
+council, he came to me and very gravely. "My lad," says he, "thou art born
+to do a world of mischief; thou hast commenced pirate very young; but have
+a care of the gallows, young man; have a care, I say, for thou wilt be an
+eminent thief."</p>
+
+<p>I laughed at him, and told him I did not know what I might come to
+hereafter; but as our case was now, I should make no scruple to take the
+first ship I came at to get our liberty. I only wished we could see one,
+and come at her.</p>
+
+<p>When we had made three canoes of some size, we set out on as odd a
+voyage as ever man went. We were a little fleet of three ships, and an army
+of between twenty and thirty as dangerous fellows as ever lived. We were
+bound somewhere and nowhere, for though we knew what we intended to do, we
+really did not know what we were doing.</p>
+
+<p>We cruised up and down the coast, but no ship came in sight, and at
+last, with more courage than discretion, more resolution than judgment, we
+launched for the main coast of Africa.</p>
+
+<p>The voyage was much longer than we expected, and when we were landed
+upon the continent it seemed the most desolate, desert, and inhospitable
+country in the world.</p>
+
+<p>It was here that we took one of the rashest and wildest and most
+desperate resolutions that ever was taken by man; this was to travel
+overland through the heart of the country, from the coast of Mozambique to
+the coast of Angola or Guinea, a continent of land of at least 1,800 miles,
+in which journey we had excessive heats to support, impassable deserts to
+go over, no carriages, camels, or beasts of any kind to carry our baggage,
+innumerable wild and ravenous beasts to encounter, such as lions, leopards,
+tigers, lizards, and elephants; we had nations of savages to encounter,
+barbarous and brutish to the last degree; hunger and thirst to struggle
+with, and, in one word, terrors enough to have daunted the stoutest hearts
+that ever were placed in cases of flesh and blood.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, fearless of all these, we resolved to adventure, and not only did
+we accomplish our journey, but we came to a river where there were vast
+quantities of gold.</p>
+
+<p>The hardships and difficulties of our march were much mitigated by a
+method which I proposed and was found very convenient. This was to quarrel
+with some of the negro natives, take them as prisoners, and binding them,
+as slaves, cause them to travel with us and make them carry our
+baggage.</p>
+
+<p>Accordingly, we secured about sixty lusty young fellows as prisoners,
+for the natives stood in great awe of us because of our firearms, and they
+not only served us faithfully--the more so as we treated them without
+harshness--but were of great help in showing us the way, and in conversing
+with the savages we afterwards met.</p>
+
+<p>When we reached the country where the gold was, we at once agreed, in
+order that the good harmony and friendship of our company might be
+maintained, that however much gold was gotten, it should be brought into
+one common stock, and equally divided at last, the negroes sharing with the
+rest.</p>
+
+<p>This was done, and at the end of our long journey we found each man's
+share amounted to many pounds of gold. We also got a cargo of elephants'
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>We parted at the Gold Coast from our black companions on the best of
+terms. Then most of my comrades went off to the Portuguese factories near
+Gambia, and I went to Cape Coast Castle, and got passage for, England,
+where I arrived in September.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Quaker and Pirate</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I had neither friend nor relation in England, though it was my native
+country; I had not a person to trust with what I had, or to counsel me to
+secure or save it; but falling into ill company, and trusting the keeper of
+a public-house in Rotherhithe with a great part of my money, all that great
+sum, which I got with so much pains and hazard, was gone in little more
+than two years' time--spent in all kinds of folly and wickedness.</p>
+
+<p>Then I began to see it was time to think of further adventures, and I
+next shipped myself, in an evil hour to be sure, on a voyage to Cadiz.</p>
+
+<p>On the coast of Spain I fell in with some masters of mischief, and,
+among them, one, forwarder than the rest, named Harris, who began an
+intimate confidence with me, so that we called one another brothers.</p>
+
+<p>This Harris was afterwards captured by an English man-of-war, and, being
+laid in irons, died of grief and anger.</p>
+
+<p>When we were together, he asked me if I had a mind for an adventure that
+might make amends for all past misfortunes. I told him, yes, with all my
+heart; for I did not care where I went, having nothing to lose, and no one
+to leave behind me.</p>
+
+<p>He told me, then, there was a brave fellow, whose name was Wilmot, in
+another English ship which rode in the harbour, who had resolved to mutiny
+the next morning, and run away with the ship; and that if we could get
+strength enough among our ship's company, we might do the same.</p>
+
+<p>I liked the proposal very well, but we could not bring our part to
+perfection. For there were but eleven in our ship who were in the
+conspiracy, nor could we get any more that we could trust. So that when
+Wilmot began his work, and secured the ship, and gave the signal to us, we
+all took a boat and went off to join him.</p>
+
+<p>Being well prepared for all manner of roguery, without the least checks
+of conscience, I thus embarked with this crew, which at last brought me to
+consort with the most famous pirates of the age.</p>
+
+<p>I, that was an original thief, and a pirate even by inclination before,
+was now in my element, and never undertook anything in my life with more
+particular satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Wilmot--for so we now called him--at once stood out for sea,
+steering for the Canaries, and thence onward to the West Indies. Our ship
+had twenty-two guns, and we obtained plenty of ammunition from the
+Spaniards in exchange for bales of English cloth.</p>
+
+<p>We cruised near two years in those seas of the West Indies, chiefly upon
+the Spaniards--not that we made any difficulty of taking English ships, or
+Dutch, or French, if they came in our way. But the reason why we meddled as
+little with English vessels as we could was, first, because if they were
+ships of any force, we were sure of more resistance from them; and,
+secondly, because we found the English ships had less booty when taken; for
+the Spaniards generally had money on board, and that was what we best knew
+what to do with.</p>
+
+<p>We increased our stock considerably in these two years, having taken
+60,000 pieces of gold in one vessel, and 100,000 in another; and being thus
+first grown rich, we resolved to be strong, too, for we had taken a
+brigantine, an excellent sea-boat, able to carry twelve guns, and a large
+Spanish frigate-built ship, which afterwards, by the help of good
+carpenters, we fitted up to carry twenty-eight guns.</p>
+
+<p>We had also taken two or three sloops from New England and New York,
+laden with flour, peas, and barrelled beef and pork, going for Jamaica and
+Barbados, and for more beef we went on shore on the island of Cuba, where
+we killed as many black cattle as we pleased, though we had very little
+salt to cure them.</p>
+
+<p>Out of all the prizes we took here we took their powder and bullets,
+their small-arms and cutlasses; and as for their men, we always took the
+surgeon and the carpenter, as persons who were of particular use to us upon
+many occasions; nor were they always unwilling to go with us.</p>
+
+<p>We had one very merry fellow here, a Quaker, whose name was William
+Walters, whom we took out of a sloop bound from Pennsylvania to Barbados.
+He was a surgeon and they called him doctor, and we made him go with us,
+and take all his implements with him. He was a comic fellow indeed, a man
+of very good solid sense, and an excellent surgeon; but, what was worth
+all, very good-humoured and pleasant in his conversation, and a bold,
+stout, brave fellow too, as any we had among us.</p>
+
+<p>I found William not very averse to go along with us, and yet resolved to
+do it so that it might be apparent he was taken away by force. "Friend," he
+says, "thou sayest I must go with thee, and it is not in my power to resist
+thee if I would; but I desire thou wilt oblige the master of the sloop to
+certify under his hand that I was taken away by force, and against my
+will." So I drew up a certificate myself, wherein I wrote that he was taken
+away by main force, as a prisoner, by a pirate ship; and this was signed by
+the master and all his men.</p>
+
+<p>"Thou hast dealt friendly by me," says he, when we had brought him
+aboard, "and I will be plain with thee, whether I came willingly to thee or
+not. But thou knowest it is not my business to meddle when thou art to
+fight."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," says the captain, "but you may meddle a little when we share
+the money."</p>
+
+<p>"Those things are useful to furnish a surgeon's chest," says William,
+and smiled, "but I shall be moderate."</p>
+
+<p>In short, William was a most agreeable companion; but he had the better
+of us in this part, that if we were taken we were sure to be hanged, and he
+was sure to escape. But he was a sprightly fellow, and fitter to be captain
+than any of us.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--A Respectable Merchant</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>We cruised the seas for many years, and after a time William and I had a
+ship to ourselves with 400 men in authority under us. As for Captain
+Wilmot, we left him with a large company at Madagascar, while we went on to
+the East Indies.</p>
+
+<p>At last we had gotten so rich, for we traded in cloves and spices to the
+merchants, that William one day proposed to me that we should give up the
+kind of life we had been leading. We were then off the coast of Persia.</p>
+
+<p>"Most people," said William, "leave off trading when they are satisfied
+of getting, and are rich enough; for nobody trades for the sake of trading;
+much less do men rob for the sake of thieving. It is natural for men that
+are abroad to desire to come home again at last, especially when they are
+grown rich, and so rich as they would know not what to do with more if they
+had it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, William," said I, "but you have not explained what you mean by
+home. Why, man, I am at home; here is my habitation; I never had any other
+in my lifetime; I was a kind of charity school-boy; so that I can have no
+desire of going anywhere for being rich or poor; for I have nowhere to
+go."</p>
+
+<p>"Why," says William, looking a little confused, "hast thou no relatives
+or friends in England? No acquaintance; none that thou hast any kindness or
+any remains of respect for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not I, William," said I, "no more than I have in the court of the Great
+Mogul. Yet I do not say I like this roving, cruising life so well as never
+to give it over. Say anything to me, I will take it kindly." For I could
+see he was troubled, and I began to be moved by his gravity.</p>
+
+<p>"There is something to be thought of beyond this way of life," says
+William.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what is that," said I, "except it be death?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is repentance."</p>
+
+<p>"Why," says I, "did you ever know a pirate repent?"</p>
+
+<p>At this he was startled a little, and returned.</p>
+
+<p>"At the gallows I have known one, and I hope thou wilt be the
+second."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke this very affectionately, with an appearance of concern for
+me.</p>
+
+<p>"My proposal," William went on, "is for thy good as well as my own. We
+may put an end to this kind of life, and repent."</p>
+
+<p>"Look you, William," says I, "let me have your proposal for putting an
+end to our present way of living first, and you and I will talk of the
+other afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay," says William, "thou art in the right there; we must never talk of
+repenting while we continue pirates."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," says I, "William, that's what I meant; for if we must not
+reform, as well as be sorry for what is done, I have no notion what
+repentance means: the nature of the thing seems to tell me that the first
+step we have to take is to break off this wretched course. Dost thou think
+it practicable for us to put an end to our unhappy way of living, and get
+off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," says he, "I think it very practicable."</p>
+
+<p>We were then anchored off the city of Bassorah, and one night William
+and I went ashore, and sent a note to the boatswain telling him we were
+betrayed and bidding him make off with the ship.</p>
+
+<p>By this means we frighted the rogues our comrades; and we had nothing to
+do then but to consider how to convert our treasure into things proper to
+make us look like merchants, as we were now to be, and not like
+freebooters, as we really had been.</p>
+
+<p>Then we clothed ourselves like Armenian merchants, and after many days
+reached Venice; and at last we agreed to go to London. For William had a
+sister whom he was anxious to see once more.</p>
+
+<p>So we came to England, and some time later I married William's sister,
+with whom I am much more happy than I deserve.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="dickens">CHARLES DICKENS</a></h2>
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens1">Barnaby Rudge</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Charles Dickens, son of a clerk in the Navy Pay Office, was
+born at Landport on February 7, 1812. Soon afterwards the family removed to
+Chatham and then to London. With all their efforts, they failed to keep out
+of distress, and at the age of nine Dickens was employed at a blacking
+factory. With the coming of brighter days, he was sent back to school;
+afterwards a place was found for him in a solicitor's office. In the
+meantime, his father had obtained a position as reporter on the "Morning
+Herald," and Dickens, too, resolved to try his fortune in that direction.
+Teaching himself shorthand, and studying diligently at the British Museum,
+at the age of twenty-two he secured permanent employment on the staff of a
+London paper. "Barnaby Rudge," the fifth of Dickens's novels, appeared
+serially in "Master Humphrey's Clock" during 1841. It thus followed "The
+Old Curiosity Shop," the character of Master Humphrey being revived merely
+to introduce the new story, and on its conclusion "The Clock" was stopped
+for ever. In 1849 "Barnaby Rudge" was published in book form. Written
+primarily to express the author's abhorrence of capital punishment, from
+the use he made of the Gordon Riots of 1780, "Barnaby Rudge," like "A Tale
+of Two Cities," may be considered an historical work. It is more of a story
+than any of its predecessors. Lord George Gordon, the instigator of the
+riots, died a prisoner in the Tower of London, after making public
+renunciation of Christianity in favour of the Jewish religion. "The raven
+in this story," said Dickens, "is a compound of two originals, of whom I
+have been the proud possessor." Dickens died at Gad's Hill on June 9, 1870,
+having written fourteen novels and a great number of short stories and
+sketches. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Barnaby and the Robber</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the year 1775 there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, in the
+village of Chigwell, about twelve miles from London, a house of public
+entertainment called the Maypole, kept by John Willet, a large-headed man
+with a fat face, of profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension,
+combined with a very strong reliance upon his own merits.</p>
+
+<p>From this inn, Gabriel Varden, stout-hearted old locksmith of
+Clerkenwell, jogged steadily home on a chaise, half sleeping and half
+waking, on a certain rough evening in March.</p>
+
+<p>A loud cry roused him with a start, just where London begins, and he
+descried a man extended in an apparently lifeless state wounded upon the
+pathway, and, hovering round him, another person, with a torch in his hand,
+which he waved in the air with a wild impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"What's here to do?" said the old locksmith. "How's this? What, Barnaby!
+You know me, Barnaby?"</p>
+
+<p>The bearer of the torch nodded, not once or twice, but a score of times,
+with a fantastic exaggeration.</p>
+
+<p>"How came it here?" demanded Varden, pointing to the body.</p>
+
+<p>"Steel, steel, steel!" Barnaby replied fiercely, imitating the thrust of
+a sword.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he robbed?" said the blacksmith.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded "Yes," pointing towards the
+city.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said the old man. "The robber made off that way, did he? Now let's
+see what can be done."</p>
+
+<p>They covered the wounded man with Varden's greatcoat, and carried him to
+Mrs. Rudge's house hard by. On his way home Gabriel congratulated himself
+on having an adventure which would silence Mrs. Varden on the subject of
+the Maypole for that night, or there was no faith in woman.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Varden was a lady of uncertain temper, and she was on this
+occasion so ill-tempered, and put herself to so much anxiety and agitation,
+aided and abetted by her shrewish hand-maiden, Miggs, that next morning she
+was, she said, too much indisposed to rise. The disconsolate locksmith had,
+therefore, to deliver himself of his story of the night's experiences to
+his daughter, buxom, bewitching Dolly, the very pink and pattern of good
+looks, and the despair of the youth of the neighbourhood.</p>
+
+<p>Calling next day in the evening, Gabriel Varden learnt the wounded man
+was better, and would shortly be removed.</p>
+
+<p>Varden chatted as an old friend with Barnaby's mother. He knew the
+Maypole story of the widow Rudge--how her husband, employed at Chigwell,
+and his master had been murdered; and how her son, born upon the very day
+the deed was known, bore upon his wrist a smear of blood but half washed
+out.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what's that?" said the locksmith suddenly. "Is that Barnaby
+tapping at the door?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," returned the widow; "it was in the street, I think. Hark! 'Tis
+someone knocking softly at the shutter."</p>
+
+<p>"Some thief or ruffian," said the locksmith. "Give me a light."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," she returned hastily. "I would rather go myself, alone."</p>
+
+<p>She left the room, and Varden heard the sound of whispers without. Then
+the words "My God!" came, tittered in a voice dreadful to hear.</p>
+
+<p>Varden rushed out. A look of terror was on the woman's face, and before
+her stood a man, of sinister appearance, whom the locksmith had passed on
+the road from Chigwell the previous night.</p>
+
+<p>The man fled, but the locksmith was after him and would have held him
+but for the widow, who clutched his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"The other way--the other way!" she cried. "Do not touch him, on your
+life! He carries other lives besides his own. Don't ask what it means. He
+is not to be followed or stopped! Come back!"</p>
+
+<p>"The other way!" said the locksmith. "Why, there he goes!"</p>
+
+<p>The old man looked at her in wonder, and let her draw him into the
+house. Still that look of terror was on her face, as she implored him not
+to question her.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she withdrew, and left him in his perplexity alone, and
+Barnaby came in.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been asleep," said the idiot, with widely opened eyes. "There
+have been great faces coming and going--close to my face, and then a mile
+away. That's sleep, eh? I dreamed just now that something--it was in the
+shape of a man--followed me and wouldn't let me be. It came creeping on to
+worry me, nearer and nearer. I ran faster, leaped, sprang out of bed and to
+the window, and there in the street below--"</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Bow, wow, wow!" cried a hoarse voice. "What's
+the matter here? Halloa!"</p>
+
+<p>The locksmith started, and there was Grip, a large raven, Barnaby's
+close companion, perched on the top of a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Keep up your spirits! Never say die!" the bird
+went on, in a hoarse voice. "Bow, wow, wow!" And then he began to
+whistle.</p>
+
+<p>The locksmith said "Good-night," and went his way home, disturbed in
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>"In league with that ill-looking figure that might have fallen from a
+gibbet. He listening and hiding here. Barnaby first upon the spot last
+night. Can she, who has always borne so fair a name, be guilty of such
+crimes in secret?" said the locksmith, musing. "Heaven forgive me if I am
+wrong, and send me just thoughts."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II--Barnaby Is Enrolled</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It is seven in the forenoon, on June 2, 1780, and Barnaby and his
+mother, who had travelled to London to escape that unwelcome visitor whom
+Varden had noticed, were resting in one of the recesses of Westminster
+Bridge.</p>
+
+<p>A vast throng of persons were crossing the river to the Surrey shore in
+unusual haste and excitement, and nearly every man in this great concourse
+wore in his hat a blue cockade.</p>
+
+<p>When the bridge was clear, which was not till nearly two hours had
+elapsed, the widow inquired of an old man what was the meaning of the great
+assemblage.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, haven't you heard?" he returned. "This is the day Lord George
+Gordon presents the petition against the Catholics, and his lordship has
+declared he won't present it to the House of Commons at all unless it is
+attended to the door by forty thousand good men and true, at least. There's
+a crowd for you!"</p>
+
+<p>"A crowd, indeed!" said Barnaby. "Do you hear that, mother? That's a
+brave crowd he talks of. Come!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not to join it!" cried his mother. "You don't know what mischief they
+may do, or where they may lead you. Dear Barnaby, for my sake----"</p>
+
+<p>"For your sake!" he answered. "It <i>is</i> for your sake, mother.
+Here's a brave crowd! Come--or wait till I come back! Yes, yes, wait
+here!"</p>
+
+<p>A stranger gave Barnaby a blue cockade and bade him wear it, and while
+he was still fixing it in his hat Lord Gordon and his secretary, Gashford,
+passed, and then turned back.</p>
+
+<p>"You lag behind, friend, and are late," said Lord George. "It's past ten
+now. Didn't you know the hour of assemblage was ten o'clock?"</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby shook his head, and looked vacantly from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p>"He cannot tell you, sir," the widow interposed. "It's no use to ask
+him. We know nothing of these matters. This is my son--my poor, afflicted
+son, dearer to me than my own life. He is not in his right senses--he is
+not, indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"He has surely no appearance," said Lord George, whispering in his
+secretary's ear, "of being deranged. We must not construe any trifling
+peculiarity into madness. You desire to make one of this body?" he added,
+addressing Barnaby. "And intended to make one, did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. "To be sure, I did. I
+told her so myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Then follow me." replied Lord George, "and you shall have your
+wish."</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly, and telling her their fortunes were
+made now, did as he was desired.</p>
+
+<p>They hastened on to St. George's Fields, where the vast army of men was
+drawn up in sections. Doubtless there were honest zealots sprinkled here
+and there, but for the most part the throng was composed of the very scum
+and refuse of London.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby was acclaimed by a man in the ranks, Hugh, the rough hostler of
+the Maypole, whom Barnaby in his frequent wanderings had long known.</p>
+
+<p>"What! you wear the colour, do you? Fall in, Barnaby. You shall march
+between me and Dennis, and you shall carry," said Hugh, taking a flag from
+the hand of a tired man, "the gayest silken streamer in this valiant
+army."</p>
+
+<p>"In the name of God, no!" shrieked the widow, who had followed in
+pursuit and now darted forward. "Barnaby, my lord, he'll come
+back--Barnaby!"</p>
+
+<p>"Women in the field!" cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her
+off with his outstretched hand. "It's against all orders--ladies carrying
+off our gallant soldiers from their duty. Give the word of command,
+captain."</p>
+
+<p>The words, "Form! March!" rang out.</p>
+
+<p>She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was
+whirled away into the heart of a dense mass of men, and the widow saw him
+no more.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby himself, heedless of the weight of the great banner he carried,
+marched proud, happy, and elated past all telling. Hugh was at his side,
+and next to Hugh came a squat, thick-set personage called Dennis, who,
+unknown to his companions, was no other than the public hangman.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could see her somewhere," said Barnaby, looking anxiously
+around. "She would be proud to see me now, eh, Hugh? She'd cry with joy, I
+know she would."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what palaver's this?" asked Mr. Dennis, with supreme disdain. "We
+ain't got no sentimental members among us, I hope."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be uneasy, brother," cried Hugh, "he's only talking of his
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>"His mother!" growled Mr. Dennis, with a strong oath, and in tones of
+deep disgust. "And have I combined myself with this here section, and
+turned out on this here memorable day, to hear men talk about their
+mothers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Barnaby's right," cried Hugh, with a grin, "and I say it. Lookee, bold
+lad, if she's not here to see it's because I've provided for her, and sent
+half-a-dozen gentlemen, every one of 'em with a blue flag, to take her to a
+grand house all hung round with gold and silver banners, where she'll wait
+till you come and want for nothing. And we'll get money for her. Money,
+cocked hats, and gold lace will all belong to us if we are true to that
+noble gentleman, if we carry our flags and keep 'em safe. That's all we've
+got to do.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you see, man," Hugh whispered to Dennis, "that the lad's a
+natural, and can be got to do anything if you take him the right way? He's
+worth a dozen men in earnest, as you'd find if you tried a fall with him.
+You'll soon see whether he's of use or not."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dennis received this explanation with many nods and winks, and
+softened his behaviour towards Barnaby from that moment.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh was right. It was Barnaby who stood his ground, and grasped his
+pole more firmly when the Guards came out to clear the mob away from
+Westminster.</p>
+
+<p>One soldier came spurring on, cutting at the hands of those who would
+have forced his charger back, and still Barnaby, without retreating an
+inch, waited for his coming. Some called to him to fly, when the pole swept
+the air above the people's heads, and the man's saddle was empty in an
+instant.</p>
+
+<p>Then he and Hugh turned and fled, the crowd opening and closing so
+quickly that there was no clue to the course they had taken.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Storming of Newgate</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>For several days London was in the hands of the rioters. Catholic
+chapels were burned, the private residences of Catholics were sacked. From
+the moment of the first outbreak at Westminster every symptom of order
+vanished. Fifty resolute men might have turned the rioters; a single
+company of soldiers could have scattered them like dust; but no man
+interposed, no authority restrained them.</p>
+
+<p>But Barnaby, bold Barnaby, had been taken. Left behind at the resort of
+the rioters by Hugh, who led a body of men to Chigwell, he had been
+captured by the soldiers, a proclamation of the Privy Council having at
+last encouraged the magistrates to set the military in motion for the
+arrest of certain ringleaders.</p>
+
+<p>He was placed in Newgate and heavily ironed, and presently Grip, with
+drooping head and plumes rough and tumbled, was thrust into his cell.</p>
+
+<p>Another man was also taken and placed in Newgate on that day, and
+presently he and Barnaby stood staring at each other, face to face.
+Suddenly Barnaby laid hands upon him, and cried, "Ah, I know! You are the
+robber!"</p>
+
+<p>The other struggled with him silently, but finding the young man too
+strong for him, raised his eyes and said, "I am your father."</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby released his hold, fell back, and looked at him aghast. Then he
+sprang towards him, put his arms about his neck, and pressed his head
+against his cheek. He never learnt that his father, supposed to have been
+murdered, was himself a murderer. This was the widow's dreadful secret.</p>
+
+<p>And now Hugh, with a huge army, was at the gates of Newgate, bent on
+rescue. He had returned, to find Barnaby taken, and at once announced that
+the prison must be stormed. In vain the military commanders tried to rouse
+the magistrates, and in particular the Lord Mayor; no orders were given,
+and the soldiers could do nothing within the precincts of the city without
+the warrant of the civil authorities.</p>
+
+<p>In a dense mass the rioters halted before the prison-gate. All those who
+had already been conspicuous were there, and others who had friends or
+relatives within the jail hastened to the attack.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh had brought, by force, old Gabriel Varden to pick the lock of the
+great door, but this the sturdy locksmith resolutely refused to do.</p>
+
+<p>"You have got some friends of ours in your custody, master," Hugh called
+out to the head jailer, who had appeared on the roof. "Deliver up our
+friends, and you may keep the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"It's my duty to keep them all. I shall do my duty," replied the jailer,
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>A shower of stones compelled the keeper of the jail to retire.</p>
+
+<p>Gabriel Varden was urged by blows, by offers of reward, and by threats
+of instant death to do the office the rioters required of him, and all in
+vain. He was knocked down, was up again, buffeting with a score of them. He
+had never loved his life so well as then, but nothing could move him.</p>
+
+<p>The cry was raised, "You lose time. Remember the prisoners! Remember
+Barnaby!" And the crowd left the locksmith, to gather fuel, for an entrance
+was to be forced by fire. Furniture from the prison lodge was piled up in a
+monstrous heap and set blazing, oil was poured on, and at last the great
+gate yielded to the flames. It settled deeper in the red-hot cinders,
+tottered, and was down.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh leaped upon the blazing heap, and dashed into the jail. The hangman
+followed. And then so many rushed upon their track that the fire got
+trodden down. There was no need of it now, for, inside and out, the prison
+was soon in flames.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby and his father were quickly released, and passed from hand to
+hand into the street. Soon all the wretched inmates of the jail were free,
+except four condemned to die whom Dennis kept under guard. And these Hugh
+roughly insisted on liberating, to the sullen anger of the hangman.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't let these men alone, and leave 'em to me? You've no respect
+for nothing, haven't you?" said Dennis, and with a scowl he
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>Three hundred prisoners in all were released from Newgate, and many of
+these returned to haunt the place of their captivity, and were retaken. The
+day after the storming of Newgate, the mob having now had London at its
+mercy for a week, the authorities at last took serious action, and at
+nightfall the military held the streets.</p>
+
+<p>Hugh and Barnaby and old Rudge had taken refuge in a rough out-house in
+the outskirts of London, where they were wont to rest, when Dennis stood
+before them; he had not been seen since the storming of Newgate.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later, and the shed was filled with soldiers, while a body
+of horse galloping into the field drew op before it.</p>
+
+<p>"Here!" said Dennis, "it's them two young ones, gentlemen, that the
+proclamation puts a price on. This other's an escaped felon. I'm sorry for
+it, brother," he added, addressing himself to Hugh; "but you've brought it
+on yourself; you forced me to do it; you wouldn't respect the soundest
+constitutional principles, you know; you went and wiolated the wery
+framework of society."</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby and his father were carried off by one road in the centre of a
+body of foot-soldiers; Hugh, fast bound upon a horse, was taken by
+another.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Fate of the Rioters</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The riots had been stamped out, and once more the city was quiet.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby sat in his dungeon. Beside him, with his hand in hers, sat his
+mother; worn and altered, full of grief, and heavy-hearted, but the same to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," he said, "how long--how many days and nights--shall I be kept
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not many, dear. I hope not many."</p>
+
+<p>"If they kill me--they may; I heard it said--what will become of
+Grip?"</p>
+
+<p>The sound of the word suggested to the raven his old phrase, "Never say
+die!" But he stopped short in the middle of it as if he lacked the heart to
+get through the shortest sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"Will they take his life as well as mine?" said Barnaby. "I wish they
+would. If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to feel
+sorry, or to grieve for us. Don't you cry for me. They said that I am bold,
+and so I am, and so I will be."</p>
+
+<p>The turnkey came to close the cells for the night, the widow tore
+herself away, and Barnaby was alone.</p>
+
+<p>He was to die. There was no hope. They had tried to save him. The
+locksmith had carried petitions and memorials to the fountain-head with his
+own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and Barnaby was to die. From
+the first, his mother had never left him, save at night; and, with her
+beside him, he was contented.</p>
+
+<p>"They call me silly, mother. They shall see--to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. "No reprieve, no reprieve! Nobody
+comes near us. There's only the night left now!" moaned Dennis. "Do you
+think they'll reprieve me in the night, brother? I've known reprieves come
+in the night afore now. Don't you think there's a good chance yet? Don't
+you? Say you do."</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to be the best instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping
+before him. "Ha, ha, ha! See the hangman when it comes home to him."</p>
+
+<p>The clock struck. Barnaby looked in his mother's face, and saw that the
+time had come. After a long embrace he rushed away, and they carried her
+away, insensible.</p>
+
+<p>"See the hangman when it comes home to him!" cried Hugh, as Dennis,
+still moaning, fell down in a fit. "Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we? A
+man can die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily, and
+fall asleep again."</p>
+
+<p>The time wore on. Five o'clock had struck--six--seven--and eight. They
+were to die at noon, and in the crowd without it was said they could tell
+the hangman, when he came out, by his being the shorter one, and that the
+man who was to suffer with him was named Hugh; and that it was Barnaby
+Rudge who would be hanged in Bloomsbury Square.</p>
+
+<p>At the first stroke of twelve the prison bell began to toll, and the
+three were brought forth into the yard together.</p>
+
+<p>Barnaby was the only one who had washed or trimmed himself that morning.
+He still wore the broken peacock's feathers in his hat; and all his usual
+scraps of finery were carefully disposed about his person.</p>
+
+<p>"What cheer, Barnaby?", cried Hugh. "Don't be downcast, lad. Leave that
+to <i>him</i>," he added, with a nod in the direction of Dennis, held up
+between two men.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless you!" cried Barnaby, "I'm not frightened, Hugh. I'm quite happy.
+Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see <i>me</i> tremble?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd say this," said Hugh, wringing Barnaby by the hand, and looking
+round at the officers and functionaries gathered in the yard, "that if I
+had ten lives to lose I'd lay them all down to save this one. This one that
+will be lost through mine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not through you," said Barnaby mildly. "Don't say that. You were not to
+blame. You have always been very good to me. Hugh, we shall know what makes
+the stars shine <i>now</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Hugh spoke no more, but moved onward in his place with a careless air,
+listening as he went to the service for the dead. As soon as he had passed
+the door, his miserable associate was carried out; and the crowd beheld the
+rest. Barnaby would have mounted the steps at the same time, but he was
+restrained, as he was to undergo the sentence elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>It was only just when the cart was starting that the courier reached the
+jail with the reprieve. All night Gabriel Varden and his friends had been
+at work; they had gone to the young Prince of Wales, and even to the
+ante-chamber of the king himself. Successful, at last, in awakening an
+interest in his favour, they had an interview with the minister in his bed
+as late as eight o'clock that morning. The result of a searching inquiry
+was that, between eleven and twelve o'clock, a free pardon to Barnaby Rudge
+was made out and signed, and Gabriel Varden had the grateful task of
+bringing him home in triumph with an enthusiastic mob.</p>
+
+<p>"I needn't say," observed the locksmith, when his house in Clerkenwell
+was reached at last, and he and Barnaby were safe within, "that, except
+among ourselves, <i>I</i> didn't want to make a triumph of it. But directly
+we got into the street, we were known, and the hub-bub began. Of the two,
+and after experience of both, I think I'd rather be taken out of my house
+by a crowd of enemies than escorted home by a mob of friends!"</p>
+
+<p>At last the crowd dispersed. And Barnaby stretched himself on the ground
+beside his mother's couch, and fell into a deep sleep.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens2">Bleak House</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> "Bleak House," a story with a purpose, like most of Dickens's
+works, was published when the author was forty years old. The object of the
+story was to ventilate the monstrous injustice wrought by delays in the old
+Court of Chancery, which defeated all the purposes of a court of justice.
+Many of the characters, who, though famous, are not essential to the
+development of the story, were drawn from real life. Turveydrop was
+suggested by George IV., and Inspector Bucket was a friend of the author in
+the Metropolitan Police Force. Harold Skimpole was identified with Leigh
+Hunt. Dickens himself admitted the resemblance; but only in so far as none
+of Skimpole's vices could be attributed to his prototype. The original of
+Bleak House was a country mansion in Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, though
+it is usually said to be a summer residence of the novelist at Broadstairs.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--In Chancery</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>London. Implacable November weather. The Lord Chancellor sitting in
+Lincoln's Inn Hall. Fog everywhere, and at the very heart of the fog sits
+the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery. The case of
+Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on. No man alive knows what it means. It has
+passed into a joke. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in the
+profession.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenge (of Kenge and Carboy, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn) first
+mentioned Jarndyce and Jarndyce to me, and told me that the costs already
+amounted to from sixty to seventy thousand pounds.</p>
+
+<p>My godmother, who brought me up, was just dead, and Mr. Kenge came to
+tell me that Mr. Jarndyce proposed, knowing my desolate position, that I
+should go to a first-rate school, where my education should be completed
+and my comfort secured. What did I say to this? What could I say but accept
+the proposal thankfully?</p>
+
+<p>I passed at this school six happy, quiet years, and then one day came a
+note from Kenge and Carboy, mentioning that their client, Mr. Jarndyce,
+being in the house, desired my services as an eligible companion to this
+young lady.</p>
+
+<p>So I said good-bye to the school and went to London, and was driven to
+Mr. Kenge's office. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how
+altered I was, and appeared quite pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in
+the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it
+well that you should be in attendance also."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenge gave me his arm, and we went out of his office and into the
+court, and then into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a
+young gentleman were standing talking.</p>
+
+<p>They looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady a beautiful
+girl, with rich golden hair, and a bright, innocent, trusting face.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."</p>
+
+<p>She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but
+seemed to change her mind in a moment, and kissed me.</p>
+
+<p>The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
+Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth, and after she had called him up
+to where we sat, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted boy.
+He was very young, not more than nineteen then, but nearly two years older
+than she was. They were both orphans, and had never met before that day.
+Our all three coming together for the first time in such an unusual place
+was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it.</p>
+
+<p>Presently we heard a bustle, and Mr. Kenge said that the court had
+risen, and soon after we all followed him into the next room. There was the
+Lord Chancellor sitting in an armchair at the table, and his manner was
+both courtly and kind.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Clare," said his lordship. "Miss Ada Clare?" Mr. Kenge presented
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, turning over
+papers, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House--a dreary name."</p>
+
+<p>"But not a dreary place, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.</p>
+
+<p>"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.</p>
+
+<p>"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor.</p>
+
+<p>Richard bowed and stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed, "if I may
+venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for----"</p>
+
+<p>"For Mr. Richard Carstone!" I thought I heard his lordship say in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady, Miss Esther Summerson."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"No, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said his lordship, after taking Miss Ada aside and asking
+her if she thought she would be happy at Bleak House. "I shall make the
+order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge, a
+very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement seems the best
+of which the circumstances admit."</p>
+
+<p>He dismissed us pleasantly and we all went out. As we stood for a
+minute, waiting for Mr. Kenge, a curious little old woman, Miss Flite, in a
+squeezed bonnet, and carrying a reticule, came curtsying and smiling up to
+us, with an air of great ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said she, "The wards in Jarndyce. Very happy, I am sure, to have
+the honour. It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they
+find themselves in this place, and don't know what's to come of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.</p>
+
+<p>"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned quickly. "I was a ward
+myself. I was not mad at that time. I had youth and hope; I believe beauty.
+It matters very little now. Neither of the three served, or saved me. I
+have the honour to attend court regularly. I expect a judgment. On the Day
+of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal mentioned in the
+Revelations is the great seal. Pray accept my blessing."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenge coming up, the poor old lady went on. "I shall confer estates
+on both. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you.
+Accept my blessing."</p>
+
+<p>We left her at the bottom of the stairs. She was still saying, with a
+curtsy, and a smile between every little sentence, "Youth. And hope. And
+beauty. And Chancery."</p>
+
+<p>The morning after, walking out early, we met the old lady again, smiling
+and saying in her air of patronage, "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy, I
+am sure! Pray come and see my lodgings. It will be a good omen for me.
+Youth, and hope, and beauty, are very seldom there."</p>
+
+<p>She took my hand and beckoned Richard and Ada to come too, and in a few
+moments she was at home.</p>
+
+<p>She had stopped at a shop over which was written, "Krook, Rag and Bottle
+Warehouse." Inside was an old man in spectacles and a hair cap, and
+entering the shop the little old lady presented him to us.</p>
+
+<p>"My landlord, Krook," she said. "He is called among the neighbours the
+Lord Chancellor. His shop is called the Court of Chancery."</p>
+
+<p>She lived at the top of the house in a room from which she had a glimpse
+of the roof of Lincoln's Inn Hall, and this seemed to be her principal
+inducement for living there.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Bleak House</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>We drove down to Bleak House, in Hertfordshire, next day, and all three
+of us were anxious and nervous when the night closed in, and the driver,
+pointing to a light sparkling on the top of a hill, cried, "That's Bleak
+House!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. Rick, if I had a hand
+to spare at present I would give it you!"</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman who said these words in a clear, hospitable voice, kissed
+us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy little
+room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Rick!" said he, "I have a hand at liberty. A word in earnest is as
+good as a speech. I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm
+yourself!"</p>
+
+<p>While he spoke I glanced at his face. It was a handsome face, full of
+change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron grey. I took him to be
+nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust.</p>
+
+<p>So this was our coming to Bleak House.</p>
+
+<p>The very next morning I was installed as housekeeper and presented with
+two bunches of keys--a large bunch for the housekeeping and a little bunch
+for the cellars. I could not help trembling when I met Mr. Jarndyce, for I
+knew it was he who had done everything for me since my godmother's
+death.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" he said. "I hear of a good little orphan girl without a
+protector, and I take it into my head to be that protector. She grows up,
+and more than justifies my good opinion, and I remain her guardian and her
+friend. What is there in all this?"</p>
+
+<p>He soon began to talk to me confidentially as if I had been in the habit
+of conversing with him every morning for I don't know how long.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, Esther," he said, "you don't understand this Chancery
+business?"</p>
+
+<p>I shook my head.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know who does," he returned. "The lawyers have twisted it into
+such a state of bedevilment that the original merits of the case have long
+disappeared. Its about a will, and the trusts under a will--or it was once.
+It's about nothing but costs now. It was about a will when it was about
+anything. A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great fortune and
+made a great will. In the question how the trusts under that will are to be
+administered, the fortune left by the will is squandered away; the legatees
+under the will are reduced to such a miserable condition that they would be
+sufficiently punished if they had committed an enormous crime in having
+money left them, and the will itself is made a dead letter. All through the
+deplorable cause everybody must have copies, over and over again, of
+everything that has accumulated about it in the way of cartloads of papers,
+and must go down the middle and up again, through such an infernal
+country-dance of costs and fees and nonsense and corruption as was never
+dreamed of in the wildest visions of a witch's sabbath. And we can't get
+out of the suit on any terms, for we are made parties to it, and <i>must
+be</i> parties to it, whether we like it or not. But it won't do to think
+of it! Thinking of it drove my great-uncle, poor Tom Jarndyce, to blow his
+brains out."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope sir--" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you had better call me Guardian, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope, Guardian," said I, giving the housekeeping keys the least shake
+in the world, "that you may not be trusting too much to my discretion. I am
+not clever, and that's the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"You are clever enough to be the good little woman of our lives here, my
+dear," he returned playfully; "the little old woman of the rhyme, who
+sweeps the cobwebs of the sky, and you will sweep them out of <i>our</i>
+sky in the course of your housekeeping, Esther."</p>
+
+<p>This was the beginning of my being called Old Woman, and Mother Hubbard,
+and Dame Durden, and so many names of that sort, that my own soon became
+quite lost.</p>
+
+<p>One of the things I noticed from the first about my guardian was that,
+though he was always doing a thousand acts of kindness, he could not bear
+any acknowledgments.</p>
+
+<p>We had somehow got to see more of Miss Flite on our visits to London:
+for the Lord Chancellor always had to be consulted before Richard could
+settle in any profession, and as Richard first wanted to be a doctor and
+then tired of that in favour of the army, there were several consultations.
+I remember one visit because it was the first time we met Mr.
+Woodcourt.</p>
+
+<p>My guardian and Ada and I heard of Miss Flite having been ill, and when
+we called we found a medical gentleman attending her in her garret in
+Lincoln's Inn.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Flite dropped a general curtsy.</p>
+
+<p>"Honoured, indeed," she said, "by another visit from the wards in
+Jarndyce! Very happy to receive Jarndyce of Bleak House beneath my humble
+roof!"</p>
+
+<p>"Has she been very ill?" asked Mr. Jarndyce in a whisper of the
+doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, decidedly unwell!" she answered confidentially. "Not pain, you
+know--trouble. Only Mr. Woodcourt knows how much. My physician, Mr.
+Woodcourt"--with great stateliness--"The wards in Jarndyce; Jarndyce of
+Bleak House. The kindest physician in the college," she whispered to me. "I
+expect a judgment. On the Day of Judgment. And shall then confer
+estates."</p>
+
+<p>"She will be as well, in a day or two," said Mr. Woodcourt, with an
+observant smile, "as she ever will be. Have you heard of her good
+fortune?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most extraordinary!" said Miss Flite. "Every Saturday Kenge and Carboy
+place a paper of shillings in my hand. Always the same number. One for
+every day in the week. <i>I</i> think that the Lord Chancellor forwards
+them. Until the judgment I expect is given."</p>
+
+<p>My guardian was contemplating Miss Flite's birds, and I had no need to
+look beyond him.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--I Am Made Happy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I sometimes thought that Mr. Woodcourt loved me, and that, if he had
+been richer, he would perhaps have told me that he loved me before he went
+away. I had thought sometimes that if he had done so I should have been
+glad. As it was, he went to the East Indies, and later we read in the
+papers of a great shipwreck, that Allan Woodcourt had worked like a hero to
+save the drowning, and succour the survivors.</p>
+
+<p>I had been ill when my dear guardian asked me one day if I would care to
+read something he had written, and I said "Yes." There was estrangement at
+that time between Richard and Mr. Jarndyce, for the unhappy boy had taken
+it into his head that the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce would yet be
+settled, and would bring him fortune, and this kept him from devoting
+himself seriously to any profession. Of course, he and my darling Ada had
+fallen in love, and my guardian insisting on their waiting till Richard was
+earning some income before any engagement could be recognised, increased
+the estrangement. I knew, to my distress, that Richard suspected my
+guardian of having a conflicting claim in the horrible lawsuit and this
+made him think unjustly of Mr. Jarndyce.</p>
+
+<p>I read the letter. It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the
+unselfish caution it gave me, that my eyes were too often blinded to read
+much at a time. But I read it through three times before I laid it down. It
+asked me would I be the mistress of Bleak House. It was not a love-letter,
+though it expressed so much love, but was written just as he would at any
+time have spoken to me.</p>
+
+<p>I felt that to devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly
+for all he had done for me. Still I cried very much; not only in the
+fulness of my heart after reading the letter, but as if something for which
+there was no name or distinct idea were lost to me. I was very happy, very
+thankful, very hopeful, but I cried very much.</p>
+
+<p>On entering the breakfast-room next morning I found my guardian just as
+usual; quite as frank, as open, as free. I thought he might speak to me
+about the letter, but he never did.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of a week I went to him and said, rather hesitating and
+trembling, "Guardian, when would you like to have the answer to the
+letter?"</p>
+
+<p>"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's ready," said I, "and I have brought it myself."</p>
+
+<p>I put my two arms around his neck and kissed him, and he said was this
+the mistress of Bleak House? And I said "Yes," and it made no difference
+presently, and I said nothing to my pet, Ada, about it.</p>
+
+<p>It was a few days after this, when Mr. Vholes, the attorney whom Richard
+employed to watch his interests, called at Bleak House, and told us that
+his client was very embarrassed financially, and so thought of throwing up
+his commission in the army.</p>
+
+<p>To avert this I went down to Deal and found Richard alone in the
+barracks. He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes, tin
+cases, books, boots, and brushes strewn all about the floor. So worn and
+haggard he looked, even in the fulness of his handsome youth!</p>
+
+<p>My mission was quite fruitless.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid. The first is John Jarndyce. The
+second, you know what. Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it now,
+and can't be sane. But it is no such thing; it is the one object I have to
+pursue."</p>
+
+<p>He went on to tell me that it was impossible to remain a soldier; that,
+apart from debts and duns, he took no interest in his employment and was
+not fit for it. He showed me papers to prove that his retirement was
+arranged. Knowing I had done no good by coming down, I prepared to return
+to London on the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>There was some excitement in the town by reason of the arrival of a big
+Indiaman, and, as it happened, amongst those who came on shore from the
+ship was Mr. Allan Woodcourt. I met him in the hotel where I was staying,
+and he seemed quite pleased to see me. He was glad to meet Richard again,
+too, and promised, on my asking him, to befriend Richard in London.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--End of Jarndyce and Jarndyce</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Richard always declared that it was Ada he meant to see righted, no less
+than himself, and his anxiety on that point so impressed Mr. Woodcourt that
+he told me about it. It revived a fear I had had before, that my dear
+girl's little property might be absorbed by Mr. Vholes, and that Richard's
+justification to himself would be this.</p>
+
+<p>So I went up to London to see Richard, who now lived in Symond's Inn,
+and my darling Ada went with me. He was poring over a table covered with
+dusty papers, but he received us very affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>I noticed, as he passed his two hands over his head, how sunken and how
+large his eyes appeared, and how dry his lips were. He spoke of the case
+half-hopefully, half-despondently, "Either the suit must be ended, Esther,
+or the suitor. But it shall be the suit--the suit." Then he took a few
+turns up and down, and sank upon the sofa. "I get so tired," he said
+gloomily. "It is such weary, weary work."</p>
+
+<p>"Esther, dear," Ada said, very quietly, "I am not going home again.
+Never any more. I am going to stay with my dear husband. We have been
+married above two months. Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall never
+go home any more."</p>
+
+<p>I often came to Richard and his wife, and I often met Mr. Woodcourt
+there. Richard still suspected my guardian, and refused to see him, and
+when I said this was so unreasonable, my guardian only said, "What shall we
+find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce? Unreason and injustice from
+beginning to end, if it ever has an end. How should poor Rick, always
+hovering near it, pluck reason out of it?"</p>
+
+<p>It was some months after this when Mr. Woodcourt asked me to be his
+wife, and I had to tell him I was not free. But I had to tell him that I
+could never forget how proud and glad I was at having been beloved by
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He took my hand and kissed it, and was like himself again.</p>
+
+<p>All this time my guardian had never referred to his letter or my answer,
+so I said to him next morning I would be the mistress of Bleak House
+whenever he pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"Next month?" my guardian said gaily.</p>
+
+<p>"Next month, dear guardian."</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the month my guardian went away to Yorkshire, and asked me
+to follow him. I was very much surprised, and when the journey was over my
+guardian explained that he had asked me to come down to see a house he had
+bought for Mr. Woodcourt, with whom he was always very pleased.</p>
+
+<p>It was a beautiful summer morning when we went out to look at the house,
+and there over the porch was written. "Bleak House." He led me to a seat,
+and sitting down beside me, said:</p>
+
+<p>"When I wrote you the letter to which you brought the answer"--my
+guardian smiled as he referred to it--"I had my own happiness too much in
+view; but I had yours, too. Hear me, my love, but do not speak. When
+Woodcourt came home, I saw that there was other happiness for you; I saw
+with whom you would be happier. Well, I have long been in Allan Woodcourt's
+confidence, although he was not, until yesterday, in mine. One more last
+word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear, he spoke with my
+knowledge and consent. But I gave him no encouragement; not I, for these
+surprises were my great reward, and I was too miserly to part with a scrap
+of it. He was to come and tell me all that passed, and he did. I have no
+more to say. This is Bleak House. This day I give this house its little
+mistress, and before God it is the brightest day in all my life."</p>
+
+<p>He rose, and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My husband--I
+have called him by that name full seven happy years now--stood at my
+side.</p>
+
+<p>"Allan," said my guardian, "take from me the best wife that ever man
+had. What more can I say for you than that I know you deserve her?"</p>
+
+<p>He kissed me once again. And now the tears were in his eyes as he said,
+more softly, "Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind of
+parting in this too. I know that my mistake has caused you some distress.
+Forgive your old guardian in restoring him to his old place in your
+affections. Allan, take my dear."</p>
+
+<p>We all three went home together next day. We had an intimation from Mr.
+Kenge that the case would come on at Westminster in two days, and that a
+certain will had been found which might end the suit in Richard's
+favour.</p>
+
+<p>Allan took me down to Westminster, and when we came to Westminster Hall
+we found that the Court of Chancery was full, and that something unusual
+had occurred. We asked a gentleman by us if he knew what case was on. He
+told us Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and that, as well as he could make out, it
+was over. Over for the day? "No," he said; "over for good."</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes a crowd came streaming out, and we saw Mr. Kenge. He
+told us that Jarndyce and Jarndyce was a monument of Chancery practice,
+and--in a good many words--that the case was over because the whole estate
+was found to have been absorbed in costs.</p>
+
+<p>We hurried away, first to my guardian, and then to Ada and Richard.</p>
+
+<p>Richard was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed when I went in. When
+he opened them, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn he was. But he
+spoke cheerfully, and said how glad he was to think of our intended
+marriage.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening my guardian came in and laid his hand softly on
+Richard's.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir," said Richard, "you are a good man, a good man!" and burst
+into tears.</p>
+
+<p>My guardian sat down beside him, keeping his hand on Richard's.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Rick," he said, "the clouds have cleared away, and it is bright
+now. We can see now. And how are you, my dear boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am very weak, sir, but I hope I shall be stronger. I have to begin
+the world."</p>
+
+<p>He sought to raise himself a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Ada, my darling!" Allan raised him, so that she could hold him on her
+bosom. "I have done you many wrongs, my own. I have married you to poverty
+and trouble, I have scattered your means to the winds. You will forgive me
+all this, my Ada, before I begin the world?"</p>
+
+<p>A smile lit up his face as she bent to kiss him. He slowly laid his face
+upon her bosom, drew his arms closer round her neck, and with one parting
+sob began the world. Not this--oh, not this! The world that sets this
+right.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens3">David Copperfield</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "David Copperfield"--published in 1849-50--will always be
+acclaimed by many as the best of all Dickens's books. It was its author's
+favourite, and its universal and lasting popularity is entirely deserved.
+"David Copperfield" is especially remarkable for the autobiographical
+element, not only in the wretched days of childhood at the wine merchant's,
+but in the shorthand-reporting in the House of Commons. Dickens never
+forgot his early degradation, as it seemed to him, in the blacking
+warehouse at Hungerford Stairs, or quite forgave those who sent him to an
+occupation he so loathed. Much of "David Copperfield" is familiar in our
+mouths as household words, and Swinburne has maintained that Micawber ranks
+with Dick Swiveller as one of the greatest characters in all Dickens's
+novels. "Copperfield" comes midway in the great list of works by Charles
+Dickens. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--My Early Childhood</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve
+o'clock at night, at Blunderstone, in Suffolk. I was a posthumous child. My
+father's eyes had been closed upon the light of this world six months when
+mine opened upon it. Miss Betsey Trotwood, an aunt of my father's, and
+consequently a great-aunt of mine, arrived on the afternoon of the day I
+was born, and explained to my mother (who was very much afraid of her) that
+she meant to provide for her child, which was to be a girl.</p>
+
+<p>My aunt said never a word when she learnt that it was a boy, and not a
+girl, but took her bonnet by the strings in the manner of a sling, aimed a
+blow at the doctor's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, and never
+came back. She vanished like a discontented fairy.</p>
+
+<p>The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I look
+far back into the blank of my infancy, are my mother, with her pretty air
+and youthful shape, and Peggotty, my old nurse, with no shape at all, and
+with cheeks and arms so red and hard that I wondered the birds didn't peck
+her in preference to apples.</p>
+
+<p>I remember a few years later, a gentleman with beautiful black hair and
+whiskers walking home from church on Sunday with us; and, somehow, I didn't
+like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my
+mother's in touching me--which it did.</p>
+
+<p>It must have been about this time that, waking up from an uncomfortable
+doze one night, I found Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both
+talking.</p>
+
+<p>"Not such a one as this Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked," said
+Peggotty. "That I say, and that I swear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens!" cried my mother. "You'll drive me mad! How can you have
+the heart to say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that out
+of this place I haven't a single friend to turn to?" But the following
+Sunday I saw the gentleman with the black whiskers again, and he walked
+home from church with us, and gradually I became used to seeing him and
+knowing him as Mr. Murdstone. I liked him no better than at first, and had
+the same uneasy jealousy of him.</p>
+
+<p>It was on my return from a visit to Yarmouth, where I went with Peggotty
+to spend a fortnight at her brother's, that I found my mother married to
+Mr. Murdstone. They were sitting by the fire in the best parlour when I
+came in.</p>
+
+<p>I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my
+mother. I could not look at her, I could not look at him; I knew quite well
+he was looking at us both. As soon as I could creep away, I crept upstairs,
+and cried myself to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>A word of encouragement, of pity for my childish ignorance, of welcome
+home, of reassurance to me that it <i>was</i> home, might have made me
+dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my hypocritical
+outside, and might have made me respect instead of hating him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Murdstone arrived next day; she was dark, like her brother, and
+greatly resembled him in face and voice. Firmness was the grand quality on
+which both of them took their stand.</p>
+
+<p>I soon fell into disgrace over my lessons. I never could do them with my
+mother satisfactorily with the Murdstones sitting by; their influence upon
+me was like the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird.</p>
+
+<p>One dreadful morning, when the lessons had turned out even more badly
+than usual, Mr. Murdstone seized hold of me and twisted my head under his
+arm preparatory to beating me with a cane. At the first stroke I caught the
+hand with which he held me, in my mouth, between my teeth, and bit it
+through. He beat me then as if he would have beaten me to death. And when
+he had gone, I was kept a close prisoner in my room, and was not allowed to
+see my mother, and was only permitted to walk in the garden for half an
+hour every day. Miss Murdstone acted as gaoler, and after five days of this
+confinement, she told me I was to be sent away to school--to Salem House
+School, Blackheath.</p>
+
+<p>I saw my mother before I left. They had persuaded her I was a wicked
+fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--I Begin Life on My own Account</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was doing my second term at school when I was told that my mother was
+dead, and that I was to go home to the funeral.</p>
+
+<p>I never returned to Salem House. Mr. Murdstone and his sister left me to
+myself, and I could see that Mr. Murdstone liked me less than ever. At odd
+times I speculated on the possibility of not being taught any more or cared
+for any more, and growing up to be a shabby, moody man, lounging an idle
+life away about the village.</p>
+
+<p>Peggotty was under notice to quit, and thought of going to live with her
+brother at Yarmouth; but as it turned out, she didn't do this, but married
+the old carrier Barkis instead.</p>
+
+<p>"Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive, and have this house
+over my head," said Peggotty to me on the day she was married, "you shall
+find it as if I expected you here directly. I shall keep it every day, as I
+used to keep your old little room, my darling."</p>
+
+<p>The solitary condition I now fell into for some weeks was ended one day
+by Mr. Murdstone telling me that I was to be put into the business of
+Murdstone and Grinby.</p>
+
+<p>"You will earn enough to provide for your eating and drinking, and
+pocket money," said Mr. Murdstone. "Your lodging, which I have arranged
+for, will be paid by me. So will your washing, and your clothes will be
+looked after for you, too. You are now going to London, David, to begin the
+world on your own account."</p>
+
+<p>"In short, you are provided for," observed his sister, "and will please
+to do your duty."</p>
+
+<p>So I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hind in the service of
+Murdstone and Grinby.</p>
+
+<p>Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the waterside, down in
+Blackfriars, and an important branch of their trade was the supply of wines
+and spirits to certain packet ships. A great many empty bottles were one of
+the consequences of this traffic, and a certain number of men and boys, of
+whom I was one, were employed to rinse and wash them. When the empty
+bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full ones, or corks to
+be fitted to them, or finished bottles to be packed in casks.</p>
+
+<p>There were three or four boys, counting me. Mick Walker was the name of
+the oldest; he wore a ragged apron, and a paper cap. The next boy was
+introduced to me under the extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes, which had
+been bestowed upon him on account of his complexion, which was pale, or
+mealy.</p>
+
+<p>No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
+companionship, and compared these associates with those of my happier
+childhood, with the boys at Salem House. Often in the early morning, when I
+was alone, I mingled my tears with the water in which I was washing the
+bottles, and sobbed as if there were a flaw in my breast, and it were in
+danger of bursting.</p>
+
+<p>My salary was six or seven shillings a week--I think it was six at
+first, and seven afterwards--and I had to support myself on that money all
+the week. My breakfast was a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk, and I
+kept another small loaf and a modicum of cheese to make my supper on at
+night.</p>
+
+<p>I was so young and childish, and so little qualified to undertake the
+whole charge of my existence, that often of a morning I could not resist
+the stale pastry put out for sale at half price at the pastry-cooks' doors,
+and spent on that the money I should have kept for my dinner. On those days
+I either went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice of
+pudding.</p>
+
+<p>I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into the
+bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter to moisten what
+I had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me.</p>
+
+<p>I know I do not exaggerate the scantiness of my resources or the
+difficulties of my life. I know that if a shilling were given me at any
+time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know that I worked from morning
+until night, a shabby child, and that I lounged about the streets,
+insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for the mercy of
+God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, a little
+robber or a little vagabond.</p>
+
+<p>Arrangements had been made by Mr. Murdstone for my lodging with Mr.
+Micawber--who took orders on commission for Murdstone and Grinby--and Mr.
+Micawber himself escorted me to his house in Windsor Terrace, City
+Road.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Micawber was a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout,
+with no more hair upon his head than there is upon an egg, and with a very
+extensive face. His clothes were shabby, but he wore an imposing
+shirt-collar. He carried a jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of
+rusty tassels to it; and an eyeglass hung outside his coat--for ornament, I
+afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and couldn't see
+anything when he did.</p>
+
+<p>Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace--which, I noticed, was shabby,
+like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could--he
+presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all young.</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber, as she showed me my room at the
+top of the house at the back, "before I was married that I should ever find
+it necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all
+considerations of private feeling must give way."</p>
+
+<p>I said, "Yes, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,"
+said Mrs. Micawber, "and whether it is possible to bring him through them I
+don't know. If Mr. Micawber's creditors <i>will not</i> give him time, they
+must take the consequences."</p>
+
+<p>In my forlorn state, I soon became quite attached to this family, and
+when Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he was arrested and
+carried to the King's Bench Prison in the Borough, and Mrs. Micawber
+shortly afterwards followed him, I hired a little room in the neighbourhood
+of that institution.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Micawber was in due time released under the Insolvent Debtors' Act,
+and it was decided that he should go down to Plymouth, where Mrs. Micawber
+held that her family had influence.</p>
+
+<p>My own mind was now made up. I had resolved to run away--to go by some
+means or other down into the country, to the only relation I had in the
+world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. I knew from Peggotty that
+Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at Hythe,
+Sandgate, or Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men, however,
+informing me on my asking him about these places that they were all close
+together, I deemed this enough for my object; and after seeing the
+Micawbers off at the coach office, I set off.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--My Aunt Provides for Me</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was on the sixth day of my flight that I reached the wide downs near
+Dover and set foot in the town.</p>
+
+<p>I had walked every step of the way, sleeping under haystacks at night.
+Fortunately, it was summer weather, for I was obliged to part with coat and
+waistcoat to buy food. My shoes were in a woeful condition, and my
+hat--which had served me for a nightcap, too--was so crushed and bent that
+no old battered saucepan on the dunghill need have been ashamed to vie with
+it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and the Kentish
+soil on which I had slept, might have frightened the birds from my aunt's
+garden as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb or brush since I
+left London. In this plight I waited to introduce myself to my formidable
+aunt.</p>
+
+<p>As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over
+her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great
+knife. I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother had
+often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.</p>
+
+<p>"Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Go along! No boys
+here!"</p>
+
+<p>I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in
+desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, ma'am--if you please, aunt, I am your nephew."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.</p>
+
+<p>"I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came
+when I was born. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. I have been
+taught nothing and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to you,
+and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since I began
+the journey."</p>
+
+<p>Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of
+crying.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me
+into the parlour.</p>
+
+<p>The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles
+down my throat. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I am
+sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. Then she
+put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking,
+grey-headed gentleman, whom she called "Mr. Dick," heated a bath for me.
+After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick,
+tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of my aunt's adoption of me. She wrote to Mr.
+Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were routed
+by my aunt.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally,
+and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut against
+me henceforth.</p>
+
+<p>"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go,
+David?"</p>
+
+<p>I answered "No," and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed
+my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father's sake.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, "Have him
+measured for a suit of clothes directly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "give me your hand, for your commonsense is
+invaluable." She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, "You can
+go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy!"</p>
+
+<p>When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint
+guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood
+Copperfield.</p>
+
+<p>Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
+me.</p>
+
+<p>My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the
+school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer, Mr.
+Wickfield.</p>
+
+<p>My aunt was as happy as I was in this arrangement. For Mr. Wickfield's
+house was quiet and still; and Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper was his
+only daughter, Agnes, a child of about my own age, whose face, so bright
+and happy, was the child likeness of a woman's portrait that was on the
+staircase. There was a tranquility about the house, and about Agnes, a
+good, calm spirit, that I have never forgotten and never shall.</p>
+
+<p>The school I now went to was better in every way than Salem House. It
+seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among any companions of my
+own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt very strange at
+first. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me that when I was
+examined about what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put in the lowest form
+of the school.</p>
+
+<p>But I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school the
+next day, and a good deal the better the day after, and so shook it off, by
+degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy among
+my new companions.</p>
+
+<p>"Trot," said my aunt, when she left me at Mr. Wickfield's, "be a credit
+to yourself, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you! Never be mean in
+anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these vices, Trot, and I
+can always be hopeful of you. And now the pony's at the door, and I am
+off!"</p>
+
+<p>She embraced me hastily, and went out of the house, shutting the door
+after her. When I looked into the street I noticed how dejectedly she got
+into the chaise, and that she drove away without looking up.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Uriah Heep and Mr. Micawber</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I first saw Uriah Heep on the day my aunt introduced me to Mr.
+Wickfield's house. He was then a red-haired youth of fifteen, but looking
+much older, whose hair was cropped as close as the closest stubble; who had
+hardly any eyebrows and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown. He was
+high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black, with a white wisp of a
+neck-cloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a long, lank, skeleton
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>Heep was Mr. Wickfield's clerk, and I often saw him of an evening in the
+little round office reading, and from time to time strayed in to talk to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He told me, one night, he was not doing office work, but was improving
+his legal knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him
+for some time.</p>
+
+<p>"Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very 'umble person.
+I am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going, let the other be where
+he may. My mother is likewise a very 'umble person. We live in a 'umble
+abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My father's
+former calling was 'umble; he was a sexton."</p>
+
+<p>"What is he now?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah
+Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be thankful
+for in living with Mr. Wickfield!"</p>
+
+<p>I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been with him going on four years, Master Copperfield," said
+Uriah, "since a year after my father's death. How much I have to be
+thankful for in that! How much have I to be thankful for in Mr. Wickfield's
+kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise not lay within
+the 'umble means of mother and self!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps, when you're a regular lawyer, you'll be a partner in Mr.
+Wickfield's business, one of these days," I said to make myself agreeable;
+"and it will be Wickfield and Heep or Heep late Wickfield."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking his head, "I am
+much too 'umble for that!"</p>
+
+<p>It must have been five or six years later, when I was in London, that
+Uriah recalled my prophecy to me.</p>
+
+<p>Agnes had noticed as I had noticed, long before this, a gradual
+alteration in Mr. Wickfield. He sat longer and longer over his wine, and it
+was at such times, when his hands trembled, and his speech was not plain,
+that Uriah was most certain to want him on some business.</p>
+
+<p>So it came about that Agnes had to tell me that Uriah had made himself
+indispensable to her father.</p>
+
+<p>"He is subtle and watchful," she said. "He has mastered papa's
+weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until papa is
+afraid of him."</p>
+
+<p>If I was indignant to hear that Uriah had wormed himself into such
+promotion, I restrained my feelings when we met, for Agnes had bidden me
+not to repel him, for her father's sake, and for her own.</p>
+
+<p>"What a prophet you have shown yourself, Master Copperfield!" said
+Uriah, reminding me of my early words. "You may not recollect it; but when
+a person is 'umble, a person treasures such things up. But the 'umblest
+persons, Master Copperfield, may be instruments of good. I am glad to think
+I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more
+so. Oh, what a worthy man he is; but how imprudent he has been!"</p>
+
+<p>When the rascal went on to tell me confidentially that he "loved the
+ground his Agnes walked on," and that he thought she might come to be kind
+to him, knowing his usefulness to her father, I had a delirious idea of
+seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire and running him through with it.
+However, I thought of Agnes, and could say nothing. In the end all the evil
+machinations of Uriah Heep were frustrated by my old friend Mr. Micawber,
+who, visiting Canterbury on the chance of something suitable turning up,
+and meeting me in Heep's company, was subsequently engaged by Heep as a
+clerk at twenty-two and sixpence per week.</p>
+
+<p>It was only after Micawber had found that Uriah Heep had forged Mr.
+Wickfield's name to various documents, and had fraudulently speculated with
+moneys entrusted by my aunt, amongst others, to his partner, that he turned
+upon him and denounced him, and accomplished what he called "the final
+pulverisation of Keep."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Micawber being once more "in pecuniary shackles," my aunt, so
+grateful, as we all were, for the services he had rendered, suggested
+emigration to Australia to him; he at once responded to the idea.</p>
+
+<p>"The climate, I believe, is healthy," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then the
+question arises: Now, <i>are</i> the circumstances of the country such that
+a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities would have a fair chance of rising?--I
+will not say, at present, to be governor or anything of that sort; but
+would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to develop themselves?
+If so, it is evident to me that Australia is the legitimate sphere of
+action for Mr. Micawber."</p>
+
+<p>"I entertain the conviction," said Mr. Micawber, "that it is, under
+existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself and family; and
+that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up on that shore."</p>
+
+<p>But the defeat of Heep and Micawber's departure belong to the days of my
+manhood. Let me look back at intervening years.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--I Achieve Manhood</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
+unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth!</p>
+
+<p>Time has stolen on unobserved, and <i>I</i> am the head boy now in the
+school, and look down on the line of boys below me with a condescending
+interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself when I
+first came here. That little fellow seems to be no part of me; I remember
+him as something left behind upon the road of life, and almost think of him
+as of someone else.</p>
+
+<p>And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is
+she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture, a child
+likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet sister, as I
+call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend--the better angel of the
+lives of all who come within her calm, good, self-denying influence--is
+quite a woman.</p>
+
+<p>It is time for me to have a profession, and my aunt proposes that I
+should be a proctor in Doctors' Commons. I learn that the proctors are a
+sort of solicitors, and that the Doctors' Commons is a faded court held
+near St. Paul's Churchyard, where people's marriages and wills are disposed
+of and disputes about ships and boats are settled.</p>
+
+<p>So I am articled, and later, when my aunt has lost her money, through no
+fault of her own, but through the rascality of Uriah Heep, and I seek Mr.
+Spenlow to know if it is possible for my articles to be cancelled, it is, I
+am assured, Mr. Jorkins who is inexorable.</p>
+
+<p>"If it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered, if I had not a
+partner--Mr. Jorkins," says Mr. Spenlow. "But I know my partner,
+Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is <i>not</i> a man to respond to a proposition of
+this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten
+track."</p>
+
+<p>The years pass.</p>
+
+<p>I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the dignity of
+twenty-one. Let me think what I have achieved.</p>
+
+<p>Determined to do something to bring in money, I have mastered the savage
+mystery of shorthand, and make a respectable income by reporting the
+debates in Parliament for a morning newspaper. Night after night I record
+predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never fulfilled,
+explanations that are only meant to mystify.</p>
+
+<p>I have come out in another way. I have taken, with fear and trembling,
+to authorship. I wrote a little something in secret, and sent it to a
+magazine, and it was published. Since then I have taken heart to write a
+good many trifling pieces.</p>
+
+<p>My record is nearly finished.</p>
+
+<p>Peggotty, a widow, is with my aunt, and Mr. Dick is in the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness me!" said my aunt, "who's this you're bringing home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Agnes," said I.</p>
+
+<p>We were to be married within a fortnight. It was not till I had told
+Agnes of my love that I learnt from her, as she laid her gentle hands upon
+my shoulders and looked calmly in my face, that she had loved me all my
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Let me look back once more, for the last time, before I close these
+leaves.</p>
+
+<p>I have advanced in fame and fortune. I have been married ten years, and
+I see my children playing in the room.</p>
+
+<p>Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of fourscore years
+and more, but upright yet, and godmother to a real, living Betsey Trotwood.
+Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse, likewise in
+spectacles. A newspaper from Australia tells me that Mr. Micawber is now a
+magistrate and a rising townsman at Port Middlebay.</p>
+
+<p>One face is above all these and beyond them all. I turn my head and see
+it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me. So may thy face be by me, Agnes,
+when I close my life; and when realities are melting from me, may I still
+find thee near me, pointing upward!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens4">Dombey and Son</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> The publication of "Dombey and Son" began in October, 1846,
+and the story was completed in twenty monthly parts at one shilling each,
+the last number being issued in April, 1848. Its success was striking and
+immediate, the sale of its first number exceeding that of "Martin
+Chuzzlewit" by more than 12,000 copies--a remarkable thing considering the
+immense superiority of "Chuzzlewit." "Dombey and Son," indeed, is by no
+means one of Dickens's best books; though little Paul will always retain
+the sympathies of the reader, and the story of his short life for ever move
+us with its pathos. The popularity of "Dombey and Son" provoked an impudent
+publication called "Dombey and Daughter," which was started in January,
+1847, and was issued monthly at a penny. Two stage versions of "Dombey"
+appeared--in London in 1873, and in New York in 1888, but in neither case
+was the adaptation particularly successful. "What are the wild waves
+saying?" was made the subject of a song--a duet--which at one time was
+widely sung, but is now, happily forgotten. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Dombey and Son</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair by
+the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket-bedstead.</p>
+
+<p>Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age; Son about eight-and-forty
+minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome,
+well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be prepossessing. Son
+was very bald, and very red, and somewhat crushed and spotted in his
+general effect, as yet.</p>
+
+<p>"The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey," said Mr. Dombey, "be not only
+in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son; Dombey and Son! He will be christened
+Paul, Mrs. Dombey, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>The sick lady feebly echoed, "Of course," and closed her eyes again.</p>
+
+<p>"His father's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's! I wish his
+grandfather were alive this day." And again he said "Dombey and Son" in
+exactly the same tone as before, and then went downstairs to learn what
+that fashionable physician, Dr. Parker Peps, had to say, for Mrs. Dombey
+lay very weak and still.</p>
+
+<p>"Dombey and Son"--those three words conveyed the idea of Mr. Dombey's
+life. The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and
+moon were made to give them light.</p>
+
+<p>He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and
+death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the sole
+representative of the firm. Of those years he had been married
+ten--married, as some said, to a lady with no heart to give him. But such
+idle talk never reached the ears of Mr. Dombey. Dombey and Son often dealt
+in hides, never in hearts. Mr. Dombey would have reasoned that a
+matrimonial alliance with himself <i>must</i>, in the nature of things, be
+gratifying and honourable to any woman of commonsense.</p>
+
+<p>One drawback only could be admitted. Until the present day there had
+been no issue--to speak of. There had been a girl some six years before, a
+child who now crouched by her mother's bed, unobserved. But what was that
+girl to Dombey and Son?</p>
+
+<p>"Nature must be called upon to make a vigorous effort in this instance!"
+said Doctor Parker Peps, referring to Mrs. Dombey.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Chick, Mr. Dombey's married sister, emphasised this opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Now my dear Paul," said Mrs. Chick, "you may rest assured that there is
+nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part."</p>
+
+<p>They returned to the sick-room and its stillness. In vain Mrs. Chick
+exhorted her sister-in-law to make an effort; no sound came in answer but
+the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Pep's watch, which
+seemed in the silence to be running a race.</p>
+
+<p>"Fanny!" said Mrs. Chick, "Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show
+me that you hear and understand me."</p>
+
+<p>Still no answer. Mrs. Dombey lay motionless, clasping her little
+daughter to her breast.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma!" cried the child, sobbing aloud. "Oh, dear mamma!"</p>
+
+<p>Thus clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother
+drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round all the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dombey, in the days to come, could not forget that closing
+scene--that he had had no part in it; that he had stood a mere spectator
+while those two figures lay clasped in each other's arms. His previous
+feelings of indifference towards his little daughter Florence changed into
+an uneasiness of an extraordinary kind. He had never conceived an aversion
+to her; it had not been worth his while or in his humour. But now he was
+ill at ease about her. He read nothing in her glance, when he saw her later
+in the solemn house, of the passionate desire to run clinging to him, and
+the dread of a repulse; the pitiable need in which she stood of some
+assurance and encouragement. He saw nothing of this.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Mrs. Pipchin's</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In spite of his early promise, all the vigilance and care bestowed upon
+him could not make little Paul a thriving boy. There was something wan and
+wistful in his look, and he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way of
+sitting brooding in his miniature armchair.</p>
+
+<p>The medical practitioner recommended sea-air, and Mrs. Pipchin, who
+conducted an infantile boarding house of a very select description at
+Brighton, and whose scale of charges was high, was entrusted with the care
+of Paul's health when he was little more than five years old.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady,
+with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye. It
+was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was a woman of system with children,
+and no doubt she was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame enough, after
+sojourning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof.</p>
+
+<p>At this exemplary old lady Paul would sit staring in his little armchair
+by the fire for any length of time. He was not fond of her, he was not
+afraid of her.</p>
+
+<p>Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking
+about.</p>
+
+<p>"You," said Paul, without the least reserve. "I'm thinking how old you
+must be."</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the
+dame.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" asked Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Because it's not polite!" said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not polite?" said Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"No! And remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by
+a mad bull for asking questions!"</p>
+
+<p>"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did <i>he</i> know that the boy
+had asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I
+don't believe that story."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe it, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?"
+said Mrs. Pipchin.</p>
+
+<p>As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself
+to be put down for the present.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dombey came down to Brighton every Sunday, and Florence was her
+brother's constant companion.</p>
+
+<p>At first, Paul got no stronger, and a little carriage was procured for
+him, in which he could lie at his ease and be wheeled down to the sea-side;
+there he would sit or lie for hours together; never so distressed as by the
+company of children--Florence alone excepted, always.</p>
+
+<p>"Go away, if you please," he would say to any child who came up to him.
+"Thank you, but I don't want you. I think you had better go and play, if
+you please."</p>
+
+<p>His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers;
+and, with Florence sitting by his side, and the wind blowing on his face,
+and the water near the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to know what it says," he said once, looking steadily in her
+face. "The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying?"</p>
+
+<p>She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something.
+Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking
+eagerly at the horizon.</p>
+
+<p>She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he
+didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away!</p>
+
+<p>Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off,
+to try to understand what it was that the waves were always saying, and
+would rise up on his couch to look at that invisible region far away.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of twelve months at Mrs. Pipchin's, Paul had grown strong
+enough to dispense with his little carriage, though he still looked thin
+and delicate.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dombey therefore decided to remove him, not from Brighton, but to
+Doctor Blimber's educational establishment. "I fear," said Mr. Dombey,
+addressing Mrs. Pipchin, "that my son in his studies is behind many
+children of his age. Now instead of being behind his peers, my son ought to
+be before them--far before them. There is an eminence ready for him to
+mount upon. The education of my son must not be delayed. It must not be
+left imperfect."</p>
+
+<p>Doctor Blimber only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, and his
+establishment was a great hot-house, in which there was a forcing apparatus
+incessantly at work.</p>
+
+<p>Florence would remain at Mrs. Pipchin's, and for the first six months
+Paul would return there for the Sunday.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey exultingly, when they stood on the doctor's
+doorsteps, "This is the way, indeed, to be Dombey and Son, and have money.
+You are almost a man already."</p>
+
+<p>"Almost," returned the child.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Doctor Blimber's Academy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings at
+his knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly polished, a
+deep voice, and a chin so very double that it was a wonder how he ever
+managed to shave into the creases.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Blimber was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that
+did quite as well.</p>
+
+<p>As to Miss Blimber, there was no light nonsense about her. She was dry
+and sandy with working in the graves of dead languages.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Feeder, B.A., Dr. Blimber's assistant, was a kind of human
+barrel-organ, with a list of tunes at which he was continually working,
+over and over again, without any variation.</p>
+
+<p>Under the forcing system at Dr. Blimber's a young gentleman usually took
+leave of his spirits in three weeks; he had all the cares of the world on
+his head in three months, and he conceived bitter sentiments against his
+parents or guardians in four.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor was sitting in his study when Mr. Dombey and Paul arrived.
+"And how do you do, sir?" he said to Mr. Dombey. "And how is my little
+friend?" It seemed to Paul as if the great clock in the hall took this up,
+and went on saying, "how, is, my, lit-tle friend? how, is, my, lit-tle
+friend?" over and over again.</p>
+
+<p>Paul was handed over to Miss Blimber at once to be "brought on."</p>
+
+<p>"Cornelia," said the doctor. "Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring
+him on, Cornelia, bring him on."</p>
+
+<p>It was hard work, for no sooner had Paul mastered subject A than he was
+immediately provided with subject B, from which we passed to C, and even D.
+Often he felt giddy and confused, and drowsy and dull.</p>
+
+<p>But there were always the Saturdays when Florence came at noon to fetch
+him, and never would she, in any weather, stay away. Florence brought the
+school-books he was studying, and every Saturday night would patiently
+assist him through so much as they could anticipate together of his next
+week's work. And this saved him, possibly, from sinking underneath the
+burden which the fair Cornelia Blimber piled upon his back.</p>
+
+<p>It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Dr.
+Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general. But
+when Dr. Blimber said that Paul made great progress, and was naturally
+clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and
+crammed.</p>
+
+<p>Such spirits as he had at the outset Paul soon lost, of course. But he
+retained all that was strange, and odd, and thoughtful in his character;
+and Mrs. Blimber thought him "odd," and whispered that he was "old
+fashioned," and that was all.</p>
+
+<p>Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of
+Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed. Toots had "gone
+through" so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to pursue his
+own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters to himself
+from persons of distinction, addressed "P. Toots, Esquire, Brighton," to
+preserve them in his desk with great care.</p>
+
+<p>"How are you?" Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite well, sir, thank you," Paul would answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Shake hands," would be Toot's next advance. Which Paul, of course,
+would immediately do.</p>
+
+<p>"I say!" cried Toots one evening, finding Paul looking out of the
+window. "I say, what do you think about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I think about a great many things," replied Paul.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you, though?" said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself
+surprising.</p>
+
+<p>"If you had to die," said Paul, "don't you think you would rather die on
+a moonlight night, when the sky is quite clear, and the wind blowing, as it
+did last night?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Toots, looking doubtfully at Paul, said he didn't know about
+that.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a beautiful night," said Paul. "There was a boat over there, in
+the full light of the moon, a boat with a sail."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Toots, feeling called upon to say something, suggested "Smugglers,"
+and then added, "or Preventive."</p>
+
+<p>"A boat with a sail," repeated Paul. "It went away into the distance,
+and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pitch!" said Mr. Toots.</p>
+
+<p>"It seemed to beckon," said the child; "to beckon me to come."</p>
+
+<p>Certainly people found him an "old-fashioned" child. At the end of the
+term Dr. and Mrs. Blimber gave an early party to their pupils and their
+parents and guardians, and it was a day or two before this event when Paul
+was taken ill. This illness released him from his books, and made him think
+the more of Florence.</p>
+
+<p>They all loved "Dombey's sister" at that party, and Paul, sitting in a
+cushioned corner, heard her praises constantly. There was a
+half-intelligible sentiment, too, diffused around, referring to Florence
+and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched him.
+He did not know why, but it seemed to have something to do with his
+"old-fashioned" reputation.</p>
+
+<p>The time arrived for taking leave.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, my little friend," returned the doctor. "Dombey, Dombey, you
+have always been my favourite pupil."</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you!" said Cornelia, taking both Paul's hands in hers. And it
+showed, Paul thought, how easily one might do injustice to a person; for
+Miss Blimber meant it--though she <i>was</i> a Forcer--and felt it.</p>
+
+<p>There was a general move after Paul and Florence down the staircase, in
+which the whole Blimber family were included. Such a circumstance, Mr.
+Feeder said aloud, as has never happened in the case of any former young
+gentleman within his experience. The servants, with the butler--a stern
+man--at their head, had all an interest in seeing little Dombey go; while
+the young gentlemen pressed to shake hands with him, crying individually
+"Dombey, don't forget me!"</p>
+
+<p>Once for a last look, Paul turned and gazed upon the faces addressed to
+him, and from that time whenever he thought of Dr. Blimber's it came back
+as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be a real
+place, but always a dream, full of faces.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Paul Goes Out with the Stream</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>From the night they brought him home from Dr. Blimber's Paul had never
+risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the
+street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but watching
+it, and watching everywhere about him with observing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and
+quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was
+coming on.</p>
+
+<p>By little and little he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of
+the carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would fall
+asleep or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense of a rushing river.
+"Why will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It is bearing
+me away, I think!"</p>
+
+<p>But Floy could always soothe him.</p>
+
+<p>He was visited by as many as three grave doctors, and the room was so
+quiet, and Paul was so observant of them, that he even knew the difference
+in the sound of their watches. But his interest centred in Sir Parker Peps;
+for Paul had heard them say long ago that that gentleman had been with his
+mamma when she clasped Florence in her arms and died. And he could not
+forget it now. He liked him for it. He was not afraid.</p>
+
+<p>The people in the room were always changing, and in the night-time Paul
+began to wonder languidly who the figure was, with its head upon its hand,
+that returned so often and remained so long.</p>
+
+<p>"Floy," he said, "what is that--there at the bottom of the bed?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing there except papa."</p>
+
+<p>The figure lifted up its head and rose, and said, "My own boy! Don't you
+know me?"</p>
+
+<p>Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was that his father? The next
+time he observed the figure at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy."</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a
+great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.</p>
+
+<p>How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights
+the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea, Paul never counted, never
+sought to know.</p>
+
+<p>One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
+drawing-room downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Floy, did I ever see mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, darling."</p>
+
+<p>The river was running very fast now, and confusing his mind. Paul fell
+asleep, and when he awoke the sun was high.</p>
+
+<p>"Floy, come close to me, and let me see you."</p>
+
+<p>Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
+light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together.</p>
+
+<p>"How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy!
+But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so."</p>
+
+<p>Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
+lulling him to rest, now the boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly on.
+And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?</p>
+
+<p>He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He
+did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so behind her
+neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! The light about her
+head is shining on me as I go."</p>
+
+<p>The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred
+in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first
+parents, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the
+wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion--Death!</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--The End of Dombey and Son</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The stonemason to whom Mr. Dombey gave his order for a tablet in the
+church, in memory of little Paul, called his attention to the inscription
+"Beloved and only child," and said, "It should be 'son,' I think, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are right, of course. Make the correction."</p>
+
+<p>And there came a time when it was to Florence, and Florence only, that
+Mr. Dombey turned. For the great house of Dombey and Son fell, and in the
+crash its proud head became a ruined man, ruined beyond recovery.</p>
+
+<p>Bankrupt in purse, his personal pride was yet further humbled. For Mr.
+Dombey had married again, a loveless match, and his wife deserted him. In
+the hour when he discovered that desertion he had driven his daughter
+Florence from the house.</p>
+
+<p>He was fallen now never to be raised up any more. For the night of his
+worldly ruin there was no to-morrow's sun, for the stain of his domestic
+shame there was no purification.</p>
+
+<p>In his pride--for he was proud yet--he let the world go from him freely.
+As it fell away, he shook it off. He knew, now, what it was to be rejected
+and deserted. Dombey and Son was no more--his children no more.</p>
+
+<p>His daughter Florence had married--married a young sailor once a boy in
+the office of Dombey and Son--and thinking of her, Dombey, in the solitude
+of his dismantled home, remembered that she had never changed to him
+through all those years; and the mist through which he had seen her,
+cleared, and showed him her true self.</p>
+
+<p>He wandered through the rooms, and thought of suicide; a guilty hand was
+grasping what was in his breast.</p>
+
+<p>It was arrested by a cry--a wild, loud, loving, rapturous cry, and he
+saw his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Papa! Dearest papa!"</p>
+
+<p>Unchanged still. Of all the world unchanged.</p>
+
+<p>He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw his arms about her neck. He
+felt her kisses on his face, he felt--oh, how deeply!--all that he had
+done.</p>
+
+<p>She laid his face, now covered with his hands, against the heart that he
+had almost broken, and said, sobbing, "Papa, love, I am a mother. Papa,
+dear, oh, say God bless me and my little child!"</p>
+
+<p>His head, now grey, was encircled by her arm, and he groaned to think
+that never, never had it rested so before.</p>
+
+<p>"My little child was born at sea, papa. I prayed to God to spare me that
+I might come. The moment I could land I came to you. Never let us be parted
+any more, papa!"</p>
+
+<p>He kissed her on the lips, and lifting up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God,
+forgive me, for I need it very much!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens5">Great Expectations</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Great Expectations," first published as a serial in "All the
+Year Round," in 1861, is one of Dickens's finest works. It is rounded off
+so completely and the characters are so admirably drawn that, as a finished
+work of art, it is hard to say where the genius of its author has surpassed
+it. If there is less of the exuberance of "Pickwick," there is also less of
+the characteristic exaggeration of Dickens; and the pathos of the
+ex-convict's return is far deeper than the pathos of children's death-beds,
+so frequently exhibited by the author. "Great Expectations," for all its
+rare qualities, has never achieved the wide popularity of the novels of
+Charles Dickens that preceded it. We are not generally familiar with any
+name in the story, as we are with at least one name in all the other
+novels. Yet, Pip, as a study of child-life, youth, and early manhood, is as
+excellent as anything in the whole range of English fiction. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--In the Marshes</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I
+called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip.</p>
+
+<p>My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained
+on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh
+country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had wandered
+into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard.</p>
+
+<p>"Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
+among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little
+devil, or I'll cut your throat!"</p>
+
+<p>A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
+who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones; who
+limped and shivered, and glared and growled.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
+sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell us your name! quick!"</p>
+
+<p>"Pip, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye
+live with?"</p>
+
+<p>I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs.
+Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me
+by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"And you know what wittles is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or
+I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow
+morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at that
+old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word
+concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or
+you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your
+heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now what do you
+say?"</p>
+
+<p>I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken
+bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the darkness outside my little window was shot with grey, I
+got up and went downstairs. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese, about
+half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket handkerchief), some
+brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had used
+for Spanish liquorice water up in my room), a meat bone with very little on
+it, and a beautiful round pork pie.</p>
+
+<p>There was a door in the kitchen communicating with the forge; I unlocked
+and unbolted that door, got a file from among Joe's tools, put the
+fastenings as I had found them, and ran for the marshes.</p>
+
+<p>It was a rainy morning, and very damp. I knew my way to the Battery, for
+I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and had just scrambled up the
+mound beyond the ditch when I saw the man sitting before me--with his back
+toward me.</p>
+
+<p>I touched him on the shoulder, and he instantly jumped up, and it was
+not the same man, but another man--dressed in coarse grey, too, with a
+great iron on his leg.</p>
+
+<p>He aimed a blow at me, and then ran into the mist, stumbling as he went,
+and I lost him.</p>
+
+<p>I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man
+waiting for me. He was awfully cold. And his eyes looked awfully
+hungry.</p>
+
+<p>He devoured the food, mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie,
+all at once--more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent
+hurry, than a man who was eating it, only stopping from time to time to
+listen.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir! No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said he, "I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young hound
+indeed if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched varmint,
+hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched varmint is."</p>
+
+<p>While he was eating I mentioned that I had just seen another man dressed
+like him, and with a badly bruised face.</p>
+
+<p>"Not here?" he exclaimed, striking his left cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there!"</p>
+
+<p>He swore he would pull him down like a bloodhound, and then crammed what
+little food was left into the breast of his grey jacket, and began to file
+at his iron like a madman; so I thought the best thing that I could do was
+to slip off home.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--I Meet Estella</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I must have been about ten years old when I went to Miss Havisham's, and
+first met Estella.</p>
+
+<p>My uncle Pumblechook, who kept a cornchandler's shop in the high-street
+of the town, took me to the large old, dismal house, which had all its
+windows barred. For miles round everybody had heard of Miss Havisham as an
+immensely rich and grim lady who led a life of seclusion; and everybody
+soon knew that Mr. Pumblechook had been commissioned to bring her a
+boy.</p>
+
+<p>He left me at the courtyard, and a young lady, who was very pretty and
+seemed very proud, let me in, and I noticed that the passages were all
+dark, and that there was a candle burning. My guide, who called me "boy,"
+but was really about my own age, was as scornful of me as if she had been
+one-and-twenty, and a queen. She led me to Miss Havisham's room, and there,
+in an armchair, with her elbow resting on the table, sat the strangest lady
+I have ever seen, or shall ever see.</p>
+
+<p>She was dressed in rich materials--satins and lace and silks--all of
+white--or rather, which had been white, but, like all else in the room,
+were now faded yellow. Her shoes were white, and she had a long white veil
+dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair; but her hair was
+white. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the
+dress.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Pip, ma'am. Mr. Pumblechook's boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Come nearer; let me look at you; come close. You are not afraid of a
+woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon
+the other, on her left side.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am; your heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Broken!" She was silent for a little while, and then added, "I am
+tired; I want diversion. Play, play, play!"</p>
+
+<p>What was an unfortunate boy to do? I didn't know how to play.</p>
+
+<p>"Call Estella," said the lady. "Call Estella, at the door."</p>
+
+<p>It was a dreadful thing to be bawling "Estella" to a scornful young lady
+in a mysterious passage in an unknown house, but I had to do it. And
+Estella came, and I heard her say, in answer to Miss Havisham, "Play with
+this boy! Why, he is a common labouring boy!"</p>
+
+<p>I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer, "Well? You can break his
+heart."</p>
+
+<p>We played at beggar my neighbour, and before the game was out Estella
+said disdainfully, "He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy! And what coarse
+hands he has! And what thick boots!"</p>
+
+<p>I was very glad to get away. My coarse hands and my common boots had
+never troubled me before; but they troubled me now, and I determined to ask
+Joe why he had taught me to call those picture cards Jacks which ought to
+be called knaves.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time I went once a week to this strange, gloomy house--it was
+called Satis House--and once Estella told me I might kiss her.</p>
+
+<p>And then Miss Havisham decided I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and gave
+him &pound;25 for the purpose; and I left off going to see her, and helped
+Joe in the forge. But I didn't like Joe's trade, and I was afflicted by
+that most miserable thing--to feel ashamed of home.</p>
+
+<p>I couldn't resist paying Miss Havisham a visit; and, not seeing Estella,
+stammered that I hoped she was well.</p>
+
+<p>"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating for a lady; far out of reach;
+prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have
+lost her?"</p>
+
+<p>I was spared the trouble of answering by being dismissed, and went home
+dissatisfied and uncomfortable, thinking myself coarse and common, and
+wanting to be a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship when, one Saturday night,
+Joe and I were up at the Three Jolly Bargemen, according to our custom.</p>
+
+<p>A stranger, who did not recognise me, but whom I recognised as a
+gentleman I had met on the stairs at Miss Havisham's, was in the room; and
+on his asking for a blacksmith named Gargery and his apprentice named Pip,
+and, being answered, said he wanted to have a private conference with us
+two.</p>
+
+<p>Joe took him home, and the stranger told us his name was Jaggers, and
+that he was a lawyer in London.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this
+young fellow, your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his
+indentures at his request and for his good?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"The communication I have got to make to this young fellow is that he
+has great expectations."</p>
+
+<p>Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.</p>
+
+<p>"I am instructed to tell him," said Mr. Jaggers, "that he will come into
+a handsome property. Further, it is the desire of the present possessor of
+that property that he be immediately removed from his present sphere of
+life and be brought up as a gentleman, and that he always bear the name of
+Pip. Now, you are to understand that the name of the person who is your
+liberal benefactor remains a profound secret until the person chooses to
+reveal it, and you are most positively prohibited from making any inquiry
+on this head. If you have a suspicion, keep it in your own breast."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jaggers went on to say that if I accepted the expectations on these
+terms, there was already money in hand for my education and maintenance,
+and that one Mr. Matthew Pocket, in London (whom I knew to be a relation of
+Miss Havisham's), could be my tutor if I was willing to go to him, say in a
+week's time. Of course I accepted this wonderful good fortune, and had no
+doubt in my own mind that Miss Havisham was my benefactress.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Jaggers asked Joe whether he desired any compensation, Joe laid
+his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. "Pip is that hearty
+welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services, to honour and fortun',
+as no words can tell him. But if you think as money can make compensation
+to me for the loss of the little child--what come to the forge--and ever
+the best of friends!" He scooped his eyes with his disengaged hand, but
+said not another word.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--I Know My Benefactor</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I went to London, and studied with Mr. Matthew Pocket, and shared rooms
+with his son Herbert (who, knowing my earlier life, decided to call me
+Handel), first in Barnard's Inn and later in the Temple.</p>
+
+<p>On my twenty-first birthday I received &pound;500, and this (unknown to
+Herbert) I managed to make over to my friend in order to secure him a
+managership in a business house.</p>
+
+<p>My studies were not directed in any professional channel, but were
+pursued with a view to my being equal to any emergency when my
+expectations, which I had been told to look forward to, were fulfilled.</p>
+
+<p>Estella was often in London, and I met her at many houses, and was
+desperately in love with her. But though she treated me with friendship,
+she was proud and capricious as ever, and a few years later married a man
+whom I knew and detested--a Mr. Bentley Drummle, a bully and a
+scoundrel.</p>
+
+<p>When I was three-and-twenty I happened to be alone one night in our
+chambers reading, for I had a taste for books. Herbert was away at
+Marseilles on a business journey.</p>
+
+<p>The clocks had struck eleven, and I closed my books. I was still
+listening to the clocks, when I heard a footstep on the staircase, and
+started. The staircase lights were blown out by the wind, and I took my
+reading-lamp and went out to see who it was.</p>
+
+<p>"There is someone there, is there not?" I called out. "What floor do you
+want?"</p>
+
+<p>"The top--Mr. Pip."</p>
+
+<p>"That is my name. There is nothing the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing the matter," returned the voice. And the man came on.</p>
+
+<p>I made out that the man was roughly but substantially dressed; that he
+had iron-grey hair; that his age was about sixty; that he was a muscular
+man, hardened by exposure to weather. I saw nothing that in the least
+explained him, but I saw that he was holding out both his hands to me.</p>
+
+<p>I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him. No need to take a
+file from his pocket and show it to me. I knew my convict, in spite of the
+intervening years, as distinctly as I knew him in the churchyard when we
+first stood face to face.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his
+forehead with his large brown hands.</p>
+
+<p>"You acted nobly, my boy," said he.</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I hoped he had mended his way of life, and was doing
+well.</p>
+
+<p>"I've done wonderful well," he said. And then he asked me if I was doing
+well. And when I mentioned that I had been chosen to succeed to some
+property, he asked whose property? And, after that, if my lawyer-guardian's
+name began with "J."</p>
+
+<p>All the truth of my position came flashing on me, and quickly I
+understood that Miss Havisham's intentions towards me were all a mere
+dream.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Pip, dear boy, I've made a gentleman on you. It's me wot has done
+it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea should
+go to you. I swore afterwards, sure as ever I spec'lated and got rich, that
+you should get rich. Look 'ee here, Pip. I'm your second father. You're my
+son--more to me nor any son. I've put away money, only for you to spend.
+You ain't looked slowly forward to this as I have. You wasn't prepared for
+this as I wos. It warn't easy, Pip, for me to leave them parts, nor it
+wasn't safe. Look 'ee here, dear boy; caution is necessary."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you mean?" I said. "Caution?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was sent for life. It's death to come back. There's been overmuch
+coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if
+took."</p>
+
+<p>As Herbert was away, I put the man in the spare room, and gave out that
+he was my uncle.</p>
+
+<p>He told me something of his story next day, and when Herbert came back
+and we had found a bed-room for our visitor in Essex Street, he told us all
+of it. His name was Magwitch--Abel Magwitch--he called himself Provis
+now--and he had been left by a travelling tinker to grow up alone. "In jail
+and out of jail, in jail and out of jail--that's my life pretty much, down
+to such times as I got shipped off, arter Pip stood my friend." But there
+was a man who "set up fur a gentleman, named Compeyson," and this
+Compeyson's business was swindling, forging, and stolen banknote passing.
+Magwitch became his servant, and when both men were arrested, Compeyson
+turned round on the man whom he had employed, and got off with seven years
+to Magwitch's fourteen. Compeyson was the second convict of my
+childhood.</p>
+
+<p>On consideration of the case, and after consultation with Mr. Jaggers,
+who corroborated the statement that a colonist named Abel Magwitch, of New
+South Wales, was my benefactor, and admitted that a Mr. Provis had written
+to him on behalf of Magwitch, concerning my address, we decided that the
+best thing to be done was to take a lodging for Mr. Provis on the riverside
+below the Pool, at Mill Pond Bank. It was out of the way, and in case of
+danger it would be easy to get away by a packet steamer.</p>
+
+<p>The only danger was from Compeyson--for he had gone in terror of his
+life, and feared the vengeance of the man he had betrayed.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV--My Fortune</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>We were soon warned that Compeyson was aware of the return of his enemy,
+and that flight was necessary. Both Herbert and I noticed how quickly
+Provis had become softened, and on the night when we were to take him on
+board a Hamburg steamer he was very gentle.</p>
+
+<p>We were out in mid-stream in a small rowing boat, moving quietly with
+the tide, when, just as the Hamburg steamer came in sight, a four-oared
+galley ran aboard of us, and the man who held the lines in it called out,
+"You have a returned transport there. That's the man wrapped in the cloak.
+His name is Abel Magwitch--otherwise Provis. I call upon him to surrender,
+and you to assist."</p>
+
+<p>At once there was great confusion. The steamer was right upon us, and I
+heard the order given to stop the paddles. In the same moment I saw the
+steersman of the galley lay his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, and the
+prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the neck
+of a shrinking man in the galley. Still in the same moment I saw that the
+face disclosed was the face of the other convict of long ago, and white
+terror was on it. Then I heard a cry, and a loud splash in the water, and
+for an instant I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill weirs; the instant
+past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was there, but our boat was
+gone, and the two convicts were gone. Presently we saw a man swimming, but
+not swimming easily, and knew him to be Magwitch. He was taken on board,
+and instantly menacled at the wrists and ankles.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till we had pulled up, and had landed at the riverside, that
+I could get some comforts for Magwitch, who had received injury in the
+chest, and a deep cut in the head. He told me that he believed himself to
+have gone under the keel of the steamer, and to have been struck on the
+head in rising. The injury to his chest he thought he had received against
+the side of the galley. He added that Compeyson, in the moment of his
+laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, had staggered up, and back,
+and they had both gone overboard together, locked in each other's arms. He
+had disengaged himself under water, and swam away.</p>
+
+<p>He was taken to the police-court next day, and committed for trial at
+the, next session, which would come on in a month.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear boy," he said. "Look 'ee, here. It's best as a gentleman should
+not be knowed to belong to me now."</p>
+
+<p>"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be
+near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"</p>
+
+<p>When the sessions came round, the trial was very short and very clear,
+and the capital sentence was pronounced. But the prisoner was very ill. Two
+of his ribs had been broken, and one of his lungs seriously injured, and
+ten days before the date fixed for his execution death set him free.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed on that last day. "I
+thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that. You've never
+deserted me, dear boy."</p>
+
+<p>I pressed his hand in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been more comfortable
+along of me since I was under a dark cloud than when the sun shone. That's
+best of all."</p>
+
+<p>He had spoken his last words, and, holding my hand in his, passed
+away.</p>
+
+<p>And with his death ended my expectations, for the pocket-book containing
+his wealth went to the Crown.</p>
+
+<p>Herbert took me into his business, and I became a clerk, and afterwards
+went abroad to take charge of the eastern branch, and when many a year had
+gone round, became a partner.</p>
+
+<p>It was eleven years later when I was down in the marshes again. I had
+been to see Joe Gargery, who was as friendly as ever, and had strolled on
+to where Satis House once stood. I had been told of Miss Havisham's death,
+and also of the death of Estella's husband.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing was left of the old house but the garden wall, and as I stood
+looking along the desolate garden walk a solitary figure came up. I saw it
+stop, and half turn away, and then let me come up to it. It faltered as if
+much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out, "Estella!"</p>
+
+<p>I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the
+morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the
+evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil
+light they showed to me I saw no shadow of another parting from her.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens6">Hard Times</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Hard Times" is not one of the longest, but it is one of the
+most powerful of Dickens's works. John Ruskin went so far as to call it "in
+several respects the greatest" book Dickens had written. It is, of course,
+a fierce attack on the early Victorian school of political economists. The
+Bounderbys and Gradgrinds are typical of certain characters, and, though
+they change their form of speech, are still recognisable to-day. As a study
+of social and industrial life in England in the manufacturing districts
+fifty years ago, "Hard Times" will always be valuable, though allowance
+must be made here as elsewhere for the novelist's tendency to
+exaggeration--exaggeration of virtue no less than of vice or weakness. In
+Josiah Bounderby and Stephen Blackpool this characteristic is pronounced.
+The first, according to John Ruskin, being a dramatic monster, and the
+second a dramatic perfection. The story first appeared serially in
+"Household Words" between April 1 and August 12, 1854. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Thomas Gradgrind</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of facts and calculations. With a rule and
+a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir,
+ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly
+what it comes to."</p>
+
+<p>In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
+to his private circle of acquaintance or to the public in general. In such
+terms Thomas Gradgrind presented himself to the schoolmaster and children
+before him. It was his school, and he intended it to be a model.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, what I want is facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but
+facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. You can only form the minds of
+reasoning animals upon facts. This is the principle on which I bring up my
+own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children.
+Stick to facts, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind, having waited to hear a model lesson delivered by the
+school master, walked home in a considerable state of satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models every one. They
+had been lectured at from their tenderest years; coursed, like little
+hares, almost as soon as they could run, they had been made to run to the
+lecture-room.</p>
+
+<p>To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
+directed his steps. The house was situated on a moor, within a mile or two
+of a great town, called Coketown.</p>
+
+<p>On the outskirts of this town a travelling circus ("Sleary's
+Horse-riding") had pitched its tent, and, to his amazement, Mr. Gradgrind
+observed his two eldest children trying to obtain a peep, at the back of
+the booth, of the hidden glories within.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind laid his hand upon the shoulder of each erring child, and
+said, "Louisa! Thomas!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to see what it was like," said Louisa shortly. "I brought him,
+I was tired, father. I have been tired a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"Tired? Of what?" asked the astonished father.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know of what--of everything, I think."</p>
+
+<p>They walked on in silence for some half a mile before Mr. Gradgrind
+gravely broke out with, "What would your best friends say, Louisa? What
+would Mr. Bounderby say?"</p>
+
+<p>All the way to Stone Lodge he repeated at intervals, "What would Mr.
+Bounderby say?"</p>
+
+<p>At the first mention of the name his daughter, a child of fifteen or
+sixteen now, but at no distant day to become a woman, all at once, stole a
+look at him, remarkable for its intense and searching character. He saw
+nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again cast down her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby was at Stone Lodge when they arrived. He stood before the
+fire on the hearth rug, delivering some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind on
+the circumstance of its being his birthday. It was a commanding position
+from which to subdue Mrs. Gradgrind.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped in his harangue, which was entirely concerned with the story
+of his early disadvantages, at the entrance of his eminently practical
+friend and the two young culprits.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what's the matter? What is young
+Thomas in the dumps about?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>"We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa haughtily; "and father
+caught us."</p>
+
+<p>"And, Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband, in a lofty manner, "I should as
+soon have expected to find my children reading poetry."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. "How can you, Louisa and Thomas? I
+wonder at you. I declare you're enough to make one regret ever having had a
+family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. <i>Then</i> what
+would you have done, I should like to know? As if, with my head in its
+present throbbing state, you couldn't go and look at the shells and
+minerals and things provided for you, instead of circuses. I'm sure you
+have enough to do if that's what you want. With my head in its present
+state I couldn't remember the mere names of half the facts you have got to
+attend to."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the reason," pouted Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing of the
+sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. "Go and be something logical directly."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Gradgrind, not being a scientific character, usually dismissed her
+children to their studies with the general injunction that they were to
+choose their own pursuit.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Mr. Bounderby of Coketown</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Josiah Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend as a
+man perfectly devoid of sentiment can be to another man perfectly devoid of
+sentiment.</p>
+
+<p>He was a rich man--banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big,
+loud man, with a stare and a metallic laugh. A man who could never
+sufficiently vaunt himself--a self-made man. A man who was always
+proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his
+early ignorance and poverty. A man who was the bully of humility.</p>
+
+<p>He was fond of telling, was Mr. Bounderby, how he was born in a ditch,
+and, abandoned by his mother, how he ran away from his grandmother, who
+starved and ill-used him, and so became a vagabond. "I pulled through it,"
+he would say, "though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond, errand-boy,
+labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small partner--Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown."</p>
+
+<p>This myth of his early life was dissipated later; and it turned out that
+his mother, a respectable old woman, whom Bounderby pensioned off with
+thirty pounds a year on condition she never came near him, had pinched
+herself to help him out in life, and put him as apprentice to a trade. From
+this apprenticeship he had steadily risen to riches.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby held strong views about the people who worked for him, the
+"hands" he called them; and found, whenever they complained of anything,
+that they always expected to be set up in a coach and six, and to be fed on
+turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon.</p>
+
+<p>As time went on, and young Thomas Gradgrind became old enough to go into
+Bounderby's Bank, Bounderby decided that Louisa was old enough to be
+married.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind, now member of parliament for Coketown, mentioned the
+matter to his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage that has
+been made to me."</p>
+
+<p>He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something.
+Strange to relate Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this moment as his
+daughter was.</p>
+
+<p>"I have undertaken to let you know that--in short, that Mr. Bounderby
+has long hoped that the time might arrive when he should offer you his hand
+in marriage. That time has now come, and Mr. Bounderby has made his
+proposal to me, and has entreated me to make it known to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Father," said Louisa, "do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomforted by this unexpected question.
+"Well, my child," he returned, "I--really--cannot take upon myself to
+say."</p>
+
+<p>"Father," pursued Louisa, in exactly the same voice as before, "do you
+ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Louisa, no. No, I ask nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Father, does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Really, my dear, it is difficult to answer your question. Because the
+reply depends so materially, Louisa, on the sense in which we use the
+expression. Mr. Bounderby does not pretend to anything sentimental. Now, I
+should advise you to consider this question simply as one of fact. Now,
+what are the facts of this case? You are, we will say in round numbers,
+twenty years of age. Mr. Bounderby is, we will say in round numbers, fifty.
+There is some disparity in your respective years, but in your means and
+position there is none; on the contrary, there is a great suitability.
+Confining yourself rigidly to fact, the questions of fact are: 'Does Mr.
+Bounderby ask me to marry him?' 'Yes, he does.' And, 'Shall I marry
+him?'"</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I marry him?" repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.</p>
+
+<p>There was silence between the two before Louisa spoke again. She thought
+of the shortness of life, of how her brother Tom had said it would be a
+good thing for him if she made up her mind to do--she knew what.</p>
+
+<p>"While it lasts," she said aloud, "I would like to do the little I can,
+and the little I am fit for. What does it matter? Mr. Bounderby asks me to
+marry him. Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I am
+satisfied to accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you please,
+that this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can, because I
+should wish him to know what I said."</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite right, my dear," retorted her father approvingly, "to be
+exact I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in
+reference to the period of your marriage, my child?"</p>
+
+<p>"None, father. What does it matter?"</p>
+
+<p>They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Gradgrind presented Louisa to
+his wife as Mrs. Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Mrs. Gradgrind. "So you have settled it. I am sure I give you
+joy, my dear, and I hope you may turn all your ological studies to good
+account. And now, you see, I shall be worrying myself morning, noon, and
+night, to know what I am to call him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband solemnly, "what do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever am I to call him when he is married to Louisa? I must call him
+something. It's impossible to be constantly addressing him, and never
+giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is insupportable
+to me. You yourself wouldn't hear of Joe, you very well know. Am I to call
+my own son-in-law 'Mister?' I believe not, unless the time has arrived when
+I am to be trampled upon by my relations. Then, what am I to call him?"</p>
+
+<p>There being no answer to this conundrum, Mrs. Gradgrind retired to
+bed.</p>
+
+<p>The day of the marriage came, and after the wedding-breakfast the
+bridegroom addressed the company--an improving party, there was no nonsense
+about any of them--in the following terms.</p>
+
+<p>"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown. Since you
+have done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and
+happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same. If you want a speech, my
+friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a member of parliament, and you
+know where to get it. Now, you have mentioned that I am this day married to
+Tom Gradgrind's daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has long been my wish
+to be so. I have watched her bringing up, and I believe she is worthy of
+me. At the same time, I believe I am worthy of her. So I thank you for the
+goodwill you have shown towards us."</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to
+Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might see how the hands got on in those
+parts, and whether they, too, required to be fed with gold spoons, the
+happy pair departed for the railroad. As the bride passed downstairs her
+brother Tom whispered to her. "What a game girl you are, to be such a
+first-rate sister, too!"</p>
+
+<p>She clung to him as she would have clung to some far better nature that
+day, and was shaken in her composure for the first time.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Mr. James Harthouse</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Gradgrind party wanting assistance in the House of Commons, Mr.
+James Harthouse, who was of good family and appearance, and had tried most
+things and found them a bore, was sent down to Coketown to study the
+neighbourhood with a view to entering Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby at once pounced upon him, and James Harthouse was
+introduced to Mrs. Bounderby and her brother. Tom Gradgrind, junior,
+brought up under a continuous system of restraint, was a hypocrite, a
+thief, and, to Mr. James Harthouse, a whelp.</p>
+
+<p>Yet the visitor saw at once that the whelp was the only creature Mrs.
+Bounderby cared for, and it occurred to him, as time went on, that to win
+Mrs. Bounderby's affection (for he made no secret of his contempt for
+politics), he must devote himself to the whelp.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bounderby was proud to have Mr. James Harthouse under his roof,
+proud to show off his greatness and self-importance to this gentleman from
+London.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be one. You're a man of
+family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of rag, tag, and
+bobtail," said Mr. Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>At the same time Mr. Bounderby blustered at his wife and bullied his
+hands, so that Mr. Harthouse might understand his independence.</p>
+
+<p>One of these hands, Stephen Blackpool, an old, steady, faithful workman,
+who had been boycotted by his fellows for refusing to join a trade union,
+was summoned to Mr. Bounderby's presence in order that Harthouse might see
+a specimen of the people that had to be dealt with.</p>
+
+<p>Blackpool said he had nought to say about the trade union business; he
+had given a promise not to join, that was all.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to me, you know!" said Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no sir; not to you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a gentleman from London present," Mr. Bounderby said, pointing
+at Harthouse. "A Parliament gentleman. Now, what do you complain of?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ha' not come here, sir, to complain. I were sent for. Indeed, we are
+in a muddle, sir. Look round town--so rich as 'tis. Look how we live, and
+where we live, an' in what numbers; and look how the mills is always
+a-goin', and how they never works us no nigher to any distant object,
+'cepting always, death. Sir, I cannot, wi' my little learning, tell the
+gentleman what will better this; though some working men o' this town
+could. But the strong hand will never do't; nor yet lettin' alone will
+never do't. Ratin' us as so much power and reg'latin' us as if we was
+figures in a sum, will never do't."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, it's clear to me," said Mr. Bounderby, "that you are one of those
+chaps who have always got a grievance. And you are such a raspish,
+ill-conditioned chap that even your own union--the men who know you
+best--will have nothing to do with you. And I tell you what, I go so far
+along with them for a novelty, that I'll have nothing to do with you
+either. You can finish off what you're at, and then go elsewhere."</p>
+
+<p>Thus James Harthouse learnt how Mr. Bounderby dealt with hands.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Harthouse, however, only felt bored, and took the earliest
+opportunity to explain to Mrs. Bounderby that he really had no opinions,
+and that he was going in for her father's opinions, because he might as
+well back them as anything else.</p>
+
+<p>"The side that can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds,
+and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun and to
+give a man the best chance. I am quite ready to go in for it to the same
+extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do if I did
+believe it?".</p>
+
+<p>"You are a singular politician," said Louisa.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the
+state, I assure you, if we all fell out of our adopted ranks and were
+reviewed together."</p>
+
+<p>The more Mr. Harthouse's interest waned in politics the greater became
+his interest in Mrs. Bounderby. And he cultivated the whelp, cultivated him
+earnestly, and by so doing learnt from the graceless youth that "Loo never
+cared anything for old Bounderby," and had married him to please her
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually, bit by bit, James Harthouse established a confidence with the
+whelp's sister from which her husband was excluded. He established a
+confidence with her that absolutely turned upon her indifference towards
+her husband, and the absence at all times of any congeniality between them.
+He had artfully, but plainly, assured her that he knew her heart in its
+last most delicate recesses, and the barrier behind which she lived had
+melted away.</p>
+
+<p>And yet he had not, even now, any earnest wickedness of purpose in him.
+So drifting icebergs, setting with a current, wreck the ships.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Mr. Gradgrind and His Daughter</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mrs. Gradgrind died while her husband was up in London, and Louisa was
+with her mother when death came.</p>
+
+<p>"You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and so did your brother," said Mrs.
+Gradgrind, when she was dying. "Ologies of all kinds from morning to night.
+But there is something--not an ology at all--that your father has missed,
+or forgotten. I don't know what it is; I shall never get its name now. But
+your father may. It makes me restless. I want to write to him to find out,
+for God's sake, what it is."</p>
+
+<p>It was shortly after Mrs. Gradgrind's death that Mr. Bounderby was
+called away from home on business for a few days; and Mr. James Harthouse,
+still not sure at times of his purpose, found himself alone with Mrs.
+Bounderby.</p>
+
+<p>They were in the garden, and Harthouse implored her to accept him as her
+lover. She urged him to go away, she commanded him to go away; but she
+neither turned her face to him nor raised it, but sat as still as though
+she were a statue.</p>
+
+<p>Harthouse declared that she was the stake for which he ardently desired
+to play away all that he had in life; that the objects he had lately
+pursued turned worthless beside her; the success that was almost within his
+grasp he flung away from him, like the dirt it was, compared with her.</p>
+
+<p>All this, and more, he said, and pleaded for a further meeting.</p>
+
+<p>"Not here," Louisa said calmly.</p>
+
+<p>They parted at the beginning of a heavy shower of rain, and the fall
+James Harthouse had ridden for was averted.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bounderby left her husband's house, left it for good; not to share
+Mr. Harthouse's life, but to return to her father.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind, released from parliament for a time, was alone in his
+study, when his eldest daughter entered.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, Louisa?"</p>
+
+<p>"Father, I want to speak to you. You have trained me from my
+cradle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Louisa."</p>
+
+<p>"I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny. How could you
+give me life, and take from me all the things that raise it from the state
+of conscious death? Now, hear what I have come to say. With a hunger and a
+thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a moment appeased, in a
+condition where it seemed nothing could be worth the pain and trouble of a
+contest, you proposed my husband to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I never knew you were unhappy, my child!"</p>
+
+<p>"I took him. I never made a pretence to him or you that I loved him. I
+knew, and, father you knew, and he knew, that I never did. I was not wholly
+indifferent, for I had a hope of being pleasant and useful to Tom. But Tom
+had been the subject of all the little tenderness of my life, perhaps he
+became so because I knew so well how to pity him. It matters little now,
+except as it may dispose you to think more leniently of his errors."</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do, child? Ask me what you will."</p>
+
+<p>"I am coming to it. Father, chance has thrown into my way a new
+acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of--light, polished,
+easy. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for nothing
+else, to care so much for me. It matters little how he gained my
+confidence. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my
+marriage he soon knew just as well."</p>
+
+<p>Her father's face was ashy white.</p>
+
+<p>"I have done no worse; I have not disgraced you. This night, my husband
+being away, he has been with me. This minute he expects me, for I could
+release myself of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I am
+sorry or ashamed. All that I know is, your philosophy and your teaching
+will not save me. Father, you have brought me to this. Save me by some
+other means?"</p>
+
+<p>She fell insensible, and he saw the pride of his heart and the triumph
+of his system lying at his feet. And it came to Thomas Gradgrind that night
+and on the morrow when he sat beside his daughter's bed, that there was a
+wisdom of the heart no less than a wisdom of the head; and that in
+supposing the latter to be all sufficient, he had erred.</p>
+
+<p>But no such change of mind took place in Mr. Bounderby. Finding his wife
+absent, he went at once to Stone Lodge, and blustered in his usual way.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gradgrind tried to make him understand that the best thing to do was
+to leave things as they were for a time, and that Louisa, who had been so
+tried, should stay on a visit to her father, and be treated with tenderness
+and consideration. It was all wasted on Blunderby.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I don't want to quarrel with you, Tom Gradgrind!" he retorted. "If
+your daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by
+leaving Loo Gradgrind, don't come home at noon to-morrow, I shall
+understand that she prefers to stay away, and you'll take charge of her in
+future. What I shall say to people in general of the incompatibility that
+led to my so laying down the law will be this: I am Josiah Bounderby, she's
+the daughter of Tom Gradgrind; and the two horses wouldn't pull together. I
+am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon man, and most people will
+understand that it must be a woman rather out of the common who would come
+up to my mark. I have got no more to say. Good-night!"</p>
+
+<p>At five minutes past twelve next day, Mr. Bounderby directed his wife's
+property to be carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind's, and then
+resumed a bachelor's life.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. James Harthouse, learning from Louisa's maid--a young woman greatly
+attached to her mistress--that his attentions were altogether undesirable,
+and that he would never see Mrs. Bounderby again, decided to throw up
+politics and leave Coketown at once. Which he did.</p>
+
+<p>Into how much of futurity did Mr. Bounderby see as he sat alone? Had he
+any prescience of the day, five years to come, when Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown, was to die in a fit in the Coketown street? Could he foresee Mr.
+Gradgrind, a white-haired man, making his facts and figures subservient to
+Faith, Hope, and Charity, and no longer trying to grind that Heavenly trio
+in his dusty little mills? These things were to be.</p>
+
+<p>Could Louisa, sitting alone in her father's house and gazing into the
+fire, foresee the childless years before her? Could she picture a lonely
+brother, flying from England after robbery, and dying in a strange land,
+conscious of his want of love and penitent? These things were to be.
+Herself again a wife--a mother--lovingly watchful of her children, ever
+careful that they should have a childhood of the mind no less than a
+childhood of the body, as knowing it to be an even more beautiful thing,
+and a possession any hoarded scrap of which is a blessing and happiness to
+the wisest? Such a thing was never to be.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens7">Little Dorrit</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Little Dorrit" was written at a time when the author was
+busying himself not only with other literary work, but also with
+semi-private theatricals. John Forster, Charles Dickens's biographer and
+friend, even had some sort of fear at that time that Dickens was in danger
+of adopting the stage as a profession. Domestic troubles, culminating a
+year later in the separation from his wife, also explain the restlessness
+and general dissatisfaction which affected the great novelist in the years
+1855-57, when this story appeared. Hence there is no surprise that "Little
+Dorrit" added but little to its author's reputation. It is a very long
+book, but it will never take a front-rank place. The story, however, on its
+appearance in monthly parts, the first of which was published in January
+1856, and the completed work in 1857, was enormously successful, beating,
+in Dickens's own words, "'Bleak House' out of the field." Popular with the
+public, it has never won the critics. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Father of the Marshalsea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Thirty years ago there stood, a few doors short of the church of Saint
+George, in the Borough of Southwark, on the left-hand side of the way going
+southward, the Marshalsea Prison. It had stood there many years before, and
+it remained there some years afterwards; but it is gone now, and the world
+is none the worse without it.</p>
+
+<p>A debtor had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison, a very amiable and
+very helpless middle-aged gentleman who was perfectly clear--"like all the
+rest of them," the turnkey on the lock said--that he was going out again
+directly.</p>
+
+<p>The affairs of this debtor, a shy, retiring man, with a mild voice and
+irresolute hands, were perplexed by a partnership, of which he knew no more
+than that he had invested money in it.</p>
+
+<p>"Out?" said the turnkey. "He'll never get out unless his creditors take
+him by the shoulders and shove him out!"</p>
+
+<p>The next day the debtor's wife came to the Marshalsea, bringing with her
+a little boy of three, and a little girl of two.</p>
+
+<p>"Two children," the turnkey observed to himself. "And you another, which
+makes three; and your wife another, which makes four."</p>
+
+<p>Six months later a little girl was born to the debtor, and when this
+child was eight years old, her mother, who had long been languishing,
+died.</p>
+
+<p>The debtor had long grown accustomed to the place. Crushed at first by
+his imprisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. His elder children
+played regularly about the yard. If he had been a man with strength of
+purpose, he might have broken the net that held him, or broken his heart;
+but being what he was, he slipped easily into this smooth descent, and
+never more took one step upward.</p>
+
+<p>The shabby old debtor with the soft manners and the white hair became
+the Father of the Marshalsea. And he grew to be proud of the title. All
+newcomers were presented to him. He was punctilious in the exaction of this
+ceremony. They were welcome to the Marshalsea, he would tell them.</p>
+
+<p>It became a not unusual circumstance for letters to be put under his
+door at night enclosing half-a-crown, two half-crowns, now and then, at
+long intervals, even half a sovereign, for the Father of the Marshalsea,
+"With the compliments of a collegian taking leave." He received the gifts
+as tributes to a public character.</p>
+
+<p>Later he established the custom of attending collegians of a certain
+standing to the gate, and taking leave of them there. The collegian under
+treatment would often wrap up something in a paper and give it to him, "For
+the Father of the Marshalsea."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Child of the Marshalsea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The youngest child of the Father of the Marshalsea, born within the
+jail, was a very, very little creature indeed when she gained the knowledge
+that while her own light steps were free to pass beyond the prison gate,
+her father's feet must never cross that line.</p>
+
+<p>At thirteen she could read and keep accounts--that is, could put down in
+words and figures how much the bare necessaries they needed would cost, and
+how much less they had to buy them with. From the first she was inspired to
+be something which was not what the rest were, and to be that something for
+the sake of the rest. Recognised as useful, even indispensable, she took
+the place of eldest of the three in all but precedence; was the head of the
+fallen family, and bore, in her own heart, its anxieties and shames. She
+had been, by snatches of a few weeks at a time, to an evening school
+outside, and got her sister and brother sent to day schools by desultory
+starts, during three or four years. There was no instruction for any of
+them at home; but she knew well--no one better--that a man so broken as to
+be the Father of the Marshalsea could be no father to his own children.</p>
+
+<p>To these scanty means of improvement she added others. Her sister Fanny,
+having a great desire to learn dancing, the Child of the Marshalsea
+persuaded a dancing-master, detained for a short time, to teach her. And
+Fanny became a dancer.</p>
+
+<p>There was a ruined uncle in the family group, ruined by his brother, the
+Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than his ruiner did, on
+whom Fanny's protection devolved. Naturally a retired and simple man, he
+had shown no particular sense of being ruined, further than that he left
+off washing when the shock was announced, and never took to that luxury any
+more. Having been a very indifferent musical amateur in his better days,
+when he fell with his brother he resorted for support to playing a
+clarionet in a small theatre orchestra. It was the theatre in which his
+niece became a dancer, and he accepted the task of serving as her escort
+and guardian.</p>
+
+<p>To get her brother--christened Edward, but called Tip--out of the prison
+was a more difficult task. Every post she obtained for him he always gave
+up, returning with the announcement that he was tired of it, and had cut
+it.</p>
+
+<p>One day he came back, and said he was in for good, that he had been
+taken for forty pounds odd. For the first time in all those years, she sank
+under her cares. It was so hard to make Tip understand that the Father of
+the Marshalsea must not know the truth about his son.</p>
+
+<p>For, the Father of the Marshalsea, as he grew more dependent on the
+contributions of his changing family, made the greater stand by his forlorn
+gentility. So the pretence had to be kept up that neither of his daughters
+earned their bread.</p>
+
+<p>The Child of the Marshalsea learned needlework of an insolvent milliner,
+and went out daily to work for a Mrs. Clennam.</p>
+
+<p>This was the life and this the history of the Child of the Marshalsea at
+twenty-two. Worldly wise in hard and poor necessities, she was innocent in
+all things else. This was the life, and this the history of Little Dorrit,
+now going home upon a dull September evening, and observed at a distance by
+Arthur Clennam. Arthur Clennam had returned to his mother's house--a dark
+and gloomy place--from the Far East. He had noticed that Little Dorrit
+appeared at eight, and left at eight. She let herself out to do needlework,
+he was told. What became of her between the two eights was a mystery.</p>
+
+<p>It was not easy for Arthur Clennam to make out Little Dorrit's face; she
+plied her needle in such retired corners. But it seemed to be a pale,
+transparent face, quick in expression, though not beautiful in feature. A
+delicately bent head, a tiny form, a quick little pair of busy hands, and a
+shabby dress--shabby but very neat--were Little Dorrit as she sat at
+work.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam watched Little Dorrit disappear within the outer gate of
+the Marshalsea, and presently stopped an old man to ask what place it
+was.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the Marshalsea, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Can anyone go in here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Anyone can go in," replied the old man, plainly implying, "but it is
+not everyone who can go out."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me once more. I am not impertinently curious. But are you
+familiar with the place? Do you know the name of Dorrit here?"</p>
+
+<p>"My name, sir," replied the old man, "is Dorrit."</p>
+
+<p>Clennam explained that he had seen a young woman working at his
+mother's, spoken of as Little Dorrit, and had noticed her come in here, and
+that he was sincerely interested in her, and wanted to know something about
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"I know very little of the world, sir," replied the old man, "it would
+not be worth while to mislead me. The young woman whom you saw go in is my
+brother's child. You say you have seen her at your mother's, and have felt
+an interest in her, and wish to know what she does here. Come and see."</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam followed his guide to the room of the Father of the
+Marshalsea.</p>
+
+<p>"I found this gentleman," said the uncle--"Mr. Clennam, William, son of
+Amy's friend--at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going by, of paying his
+respects. This is my brother William, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Clennam," said William Dorrit, "you are welcome, sir; pray sit
+down. I have welcomed many visitors here."</p>
+
+<p>The Father of the Marshalsea went on to mention that he had been
+gratified by the testimonials of his visitors--the "very acceptable
+testimonials."</p>
+
+<p>When Clennam left he presented his testimonial, and the next morning
+found him there again. He went out with Little Dorrit alone; asked her if
+she had ever heard his mother's name before.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not asking from any reason that can cause you anxiety. You think
+that at no time of your father's life was my name of Clennam ever familiar
+to him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. And, oh, I hope you will not misunderstand my father! Don't
+judge him, sir, as you would judge others outside the gates. He has been
+there so long."</p>
+
+<p>They had walked some way before they returned. She was not working at
+Mrs. Clennam's that day.</p>
+
+<p>The courtyard received them at last, and there he said good-bye to
+Little Dorrit. Little as she had always looked, she looked less than ever
+when he saw her going into the Marshalsea Lodge passage.</p>
+
+<p>Aware that his mother might have once averted the ruin of the Dorrit
+family, Clennam returned more than once to the Marshalsea. No word of love
+crossed his lips; he told Little Dorrit to think of him as an old man, old
+enough to be her father, and he besought her only to let him know if at any
+time he could do her service. "I press for no confidence now. I only ask
+you to repose unhesitating trust in me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I do less than that when you are so good?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness or
+anxiety concealed from me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Almost none."</p>
+
+<p>But if Arthur Clennam kept silent, Little Dorrit was not without a
+lover. Years ago young John Chivery, the sentimental son of the turnkey,
+had eyed her with admiring wonder. There seemed to young John a fitness in
+the attachment. She, the Child of the Marshalsea; he, the lock-keeper.
+Every Sunday young John presented cigars to the Father of the
+Marshalsea--who was glad to get them--and one particular Sunday afternoon
+he mustered up courage to urge his suit.</p>
+
+<p>Little Dorrit was out, walking on the Iron Bridge, when young John found
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Amy," he stammered, "I have had for a long time--ages they seem to
+me--a heart-cherished wish to say something to you. May I say it? May I,
+Miss Amy? I but ask the question humbly--may I say it? I know very well
+your family is far above mine. It were vain to conceal it. I know very well
+that your high-souled brother, and likewise your spirited sister, spurn me
+from a height."</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, John Chivery," Little Dorrit answered, in a quiet way,
+"since you are so considerate as to ask me whether you shall say any
+more--if you please, no."</p>
+
+<p>"Never, Miss Amy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, if you please. Never."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Lord!" gasped young John.</p>
+
+<p>"When you think of us, John--I mean, my brother and sister and me--don't
+think of us as being any different from the rest; for whatever we once were
+we ceased to be long ago, and never can be any more. And, good-bye, John.
+And I hope you will have a good wife one day, and be a happy man. I am sure
+you will deserve to be happy, and you will be, John."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Miss Amy. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Marshalsea Becomes an Orphan</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It turned out that Mr. Dorrit, being of the Dorrits of Dorsetshire, was
+heir-at-law to a great fortune. Inquiries and investigations confirmed
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam broke the news to Little Dorrit, and together they went
+to the, Marshalsea. William Dorrit was sitting in his old grey gown and his
+old black cap in the sunlight by the window when they entered. "Father, Mr.
+Clennam has brought me such joyful and wonderful intelligence about
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>Her agitation was great, and the old man put his hand suddenly to his
+heart, and looked at Clennam.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Mr. Dorrit, what surprise would be the most unlocked for and
+the most acceptable to you. Do not be afraid to imagine it, or to say what
+it would be."</p>
+
+<p>He looked steadfastly at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to
+change into a very old, haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall
+beyond the window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out
+the hand that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone! And in its place are the means to
+possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr. Dorrit,
+there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will be free and
+highly prosperous."</p>
+
+<p>They had to fetch wine for the old man, and when he had swallowed a
+little he leaned back in his chair and cried. But he quickly recovered, and
+announced that everybody concerned should be nobly rewarded.</p>
+
+<p>"No one, my dear sir, shall say that he has an unsatisfied claim against
+me. Everybody shall be remembered. I will not go away from here in
+anybody's debt. I particularly wish to act munificently, Mr. Clennam."</p>
+
+<p>Clennam's offer of money for present contingencies was at once
+accepted.</p>
+
+<p>"I am obliged to you for the temporary accommodation, sir. Exceedingly
+temporary, but well timed--well timed. Be so kind, sir, as to add the
+amount to former advances."</p>
+
+<p>He grew more composed presently, and then when he seemed to be falling
+asleep unexpectedly sat up and said, "Mr. Clennam, am I to understand, my
+dear sir, that I could pass through the lodge at this moment, and take a
+walk?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain
+forms to be completed. It is but a few hours now."</p>
+
+<p>"A few hours, sir!" he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very
+easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to a
+man who is choking; for want of air?"</p>
+
+<p>It was his last demonstration for that time, but in the interval before
+the day of his departure he was very imperious with the lawyers concerned
+in his release, and a good deal of business was transacted.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Arthur Clennam received a cheque for &pound;24 93. 8d. from the
+solicitors of Edward Dorrit, Esq.--once "Tip"--with a note that the favour
+of the advance now repaid had not been asked of him.</p>
+
+<p>To the applications made by collegians within the so-soon-to-be-orphaned
+Marshalsea for small sums of money, Mr. Dorrit responded with the greatest
+liberality. He also invited the whole College to a comprehensive
+entertainment in the yard, and went about among the company on that
+occasion, and took notice of individuals, like a baron of the olden time,
+in a rare good humour.</p>
+
+<p>And now the final hour arrived when he and his family were to leave the
+prison for ever. The carriage was reported ready in the outer courtyard.
+Mr. Dorrit and his brother proceeded arm in arm, Edward Dorrit, Esq., and
+his sister Fanny followed, also arm in arm.</p>
+
+<p>There was not a collegian within doors, nor a turnkey absent, as they
+crossed the yard. Mr. Dorrit--whose meat and drink had many a time been
+bought with money presented by some of those who stood to watch him
+go--yielding to the vast speculation how the poor creatures were to get on
+without him, was great, and sad, but not absorbed. He patted children on
+the head like Sir Roger de Coverley going to church, spoke to people in the
+background by their Christian names, and condescended to all present.</p>
+
+<p>At last three honest cheers announced that he had passed the gate, and
+that the Marshalsea was an orphan.</p>
+
+<p>Only when the family had got into their carriage, and not before, Miss
+Fanny exclaimed, "Good gracious I Where's Amy?"</p>
+
+<p>Her father had thought she was with her sister. Her sister had thought
+she was somewhere or other. They had all trusted to find her, as they had
+always done, quietly in the right place at the right moment. This going
+away was, perhaps, the very first action of their joint lives that they had
+got through without her.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I do say, Pa," cried Miss Fanny, flushed and indignant, "that this
+is disgraceful! Here is that child, Amy, in her ugly old shabby dress.
+Disgracing us at the last moment by being carried out in that dress after
+all. And by that Mr. Clennam too!"</p>
+
+<p>Clennam appeared at the carriage-door, bearing the little insensible
+figure in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"She has been forgotten," he said. "I ran up to her room, and found the
+door open, and that she had fainted on the floor."</p>
+
+<p>They received her in the carriage, and the attendant, getting between
+Clennam and the carriage-door, with a sharp "By your leave, sir!" bundled
+up the steps, and drove away.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Another Prisoner in the Marshalsea</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Dorrit family travelled abroad in handsome style, and in due time
+Miss Fanny married.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden seizure carried off old Mr. Dorrit, and he died thinking
+himself back in the Marshalsea. His brother Frederick, stricken with grief,
+did not long survive him.</p>
+
+<p>Arthur Clennam, who had gone into partnership with a friend named Doyce,
+unfortunately invested his money in the financial schemes of Mr. Merdle,
+the greatest swindler of the day, and when the crash came and Merdle
+committed suicide, Clennam with hundreds of other innocent persons was
+involved in the general ruin.</p>
+
+<p>Doyce was working at the time in Germany, and it was some weeks before
+he could be found; in the meantime, Clennam, being insolvent, was taken to
+the Marshalsea.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chivery was on the lock and young John was in the lodge when the
+Marshalsea was reached. The elder Mr. Chivery shook hands with him in a
+shamefaced kind of way, and said, "I don't call to mind, sir, as I was ever
+less glad to see you."</p>
+
+<p>The prisoner followed young John up the old staircase into the old room.
+"I thought you'd like the room, and here it is for you," said young
+John.</p>
+
+<p>Young John waited upon him; and it was young John who explained that he
+did this not on the ground of the prisoner's merits, but because of the
+merits of another, of one who loved the prisoner. Clennam tried to argue to
+himself the improbability of Little Dorrit loving him, but he wasn't
+altogether successful.</p>
+
+<p>He fell ill, and it was Little Dorrit whose living presence first
+cheered him when he returned from the world of feverish dreams and
+shadows.</p>
+
+<p>He did his best to dissuade her from coming. He was a ruined man, and
+the time when Little Dorrit and the prison had anything in common had long
+gone by.</p>
+
+<p>But still she came and often read to him. And one day she told him that
+all her money had gone as his had gone, lost in the Merdle whirlpool, and
+that her sister Fanny's was lost, too, in the same way.</p>
+
+<p>"I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When
+papa came over to England, just before his death, he confided everything he
+had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. Oh, my dearest and best,
+are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me?"</p>
+
+<p>Locked in his arms, held to his heart, she drew the slight hand round
+his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, when Doyce, who was a thoroughly good fellow, and successful
+to boot, found out his partner's plight, he came back and put things right,
+and the business was soon set going again.</p>
+
+<p>And on the very day of his release, Arthur Clennam and Little Dorrit
+went into the neighbouring church of St. George, and were married, Doyce
+giving the bride away.</p>
+
+<p>Little Dorrit and her husband walked out of the church alone when the
+signing of the register was done.</p>
+
+<p>They paused for a moment on the steps of the portico, and then went down
+into the roaring streets, inseparable and blessed.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens8">Martin Chuzzlewit</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> On its monthly publication, in 1843-44, "Martin Chuzzlewit"
+was, pecuniarily, the least successful of Dickens's serials, though popular
+as a book. It was his first novel after his American tour, and the storm of
+resentment that had hailed the appearance of "American Notes," in 1842, was
+intensified by his merciless satire of American characteristics and
+institutions in "Martin Chuzzlewit." Despite all adverse criticism,
+however, "Chuzzlewit" is worthy to rank with anything that ever came from
+the pen of the great Victorian novelist. It is a very long story, and a
+very full one; the canvas is crowded with a gallery of typical Dickensian
+people. Through Mrs. Gamp, Dickens dealt a death-blow to the drunken nurse
+of the period. The name Pecksniff has become synonymous with a certain type
+of hypocrite, and the adjective Pecksniffian is in common use wherever the
+English language is spoken. Charged with exaggeration regarding Mr.
+Pecksniff, Dickens wrote in the preface to "Martin Chuzzlewit," "All the
+Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that no such
+character ever existed. I will not offer any plea on his behalf to so
+powerful and genteel a body." Mrs. Gamp, though one of the humorous types
+that have, perhaps, contributed most largely to the fame of Dickens, does
+not appear in this epitome, the character being a minor one in the
+development of the story. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Pecksniff's New Pupil</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff lived in a little Wiltshire village within an easy journey
+of Salisbury.</p>
+
+<p>The brazen plate upon his door bore the inscription, "Pecksniff,
+Architect," to which Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added, "and
+Land Surveyor." Of his architectural doings nothing was clearly known,
+except that he had never designed or built anything.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not
+entirely, confined to the reception of pupils. His genius lay in ensnaring
+parents and guardians and pocketing premiums.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. Perhaps there never was a more moral man
+than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence. Some
+people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the way to
+a place, and never goes there; but these were his enemies.</p>
+
+<p>Into Mr. Pecksniff's house came young Martin Chuzzlewit, a relation of
+the architect's. Tom Pinch, Mr. Pecksniff's assistant, had driven over to
+Salisbury for the new pupil, and had already discoursed to Martin on Mr.
+Pecksniff and his family (for Mr. Pecksniff had two daughters--Mercy, and
+Charity), in whose good qualities he had a profound and pathetic
+belief.</p>
+
+<p>Festive preparations on a rather extensive scale were already completed
+for Martin's benefit on the night of his arrival. There were two bottles of
+currant wine, white and red; a dish of sandwiches, very long, and very
+slim; another of apples; another of captain's biscuits; a plate of oranges
+cut up small and gritty with powdered sugar; and a highly geological
+home-made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite took away Tom
+Pinch's breath, for though the new pupils were usually let down softly,
+particularly in the wine department, still this was a banquet, a sort of
+lord mayor's feast in private life, a something to think of, and hold on by
+afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>To this entertainment Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do full
+justice.</p>
+
+<p>"Martin," he said, addressing his daughters, "will seat himself between
+you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by me. This is a mingling that
+repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry." Here he
+took a captain's biscuit. "It is a poor heart that never rejoices; and our
+hearts are not poor. No!"</p>
+
+<p>The following morning Mr. Pecksniff announced that he must go to London.
+"On professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional
+business; and I promised my girls long ago that they should accompany me.
+We shall go forth to-night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old, my
+dear Martin--and it will be a week before we again deposit, our
+olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive branches," observed Mr.
+Pecksniff, in explanation, "I mean our unpretending luggage."</p>
+
+<p>"And now let me see," said Mr. Pecksniff presently, "how can you best
+employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to give me
+your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London, or a tomb for a sheriff,
+or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a nobleman's park. A pump is
+a very chaste practice. I have found that a lamp-post is calculated to
+refine the mind and give it a classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike
+has a remarkable effect upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning
+with an ornamental turnpike?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Martin doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay," said that gentleman. "Come! as you're ambitious, and are a very
+neat draughtsman, you shall try your hand on these proposals for a
+grammar-school. When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of
+occupation, Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of surveying the
+back-garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the road between this
+house and the finger-post, or in any other practical and pleasing pursuit.
+There is a cart-load of loose bricks, and a score or two of old flower-pots
+in the back-yard. If you could pile them up, my dear Martin, into any form
+which would remind me on my return, say, of St. Peter's at Rome, or the
+Mosque of St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once improving to
+you and agreeable to my feelings."</p>
+
+<p>The coach having rolled away, with the olive-branches in the boot and
+the family of doves inside, Martin Chuzzlewit and Tom Pinch were left
+together. Now, there was something in the very simplicity of Pinch that
+invited confidences, and young Martin could not refrain from telling his
+story.</p>
+
+<p>"I must talk openly to somebody," he began, "I'll talk openly to you.
+You must know, then, that I have been bred up from childhood with great
+expectations, and have always been taught to believe that one day I should
+be very rich. Certain things, however, have led to my being
+disinherited."</p>
+
+<p>"By your father?" inquired Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. Now, my
+grandfather has a great many good points, but he has two very great faults,
+which are the staple of his bad side. He has the most confirmed obstinacy
+of character, and he is most abominably selfish; I have heard that these
+are failings of our family, and I have to be very thankful that they
+haven't descended to me. Now I come to the cream of my story, and the
+occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch. I am in love with one of
+the most beautiful girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is wholly and
+entirely dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and if he were to
+know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home and everything
+she possesses in the world. My grandfather, although I had conducted myself
+from the first with the utmost circumspection, is full of jealousy and
+mistrust, and suspected me of loving her. He said nothing to her, but
+attacked me in private, and charged me with designing to corrupt the
+fidelity to himself--observe his selfishness--of a young creature who was
+his only disinterested and faithful companion. The upshot of it was that I
+was to renounce her or be renounced by him. Of course, I was not going to
+yield to him, and here I am!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pinch, after staring at the fire, said, "Pecksniff, of course, you
+knew before?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only by name. My grandfather kept not only himself, but me, aloof from
+all his relations. But our separation took place in a town in the
+neighbouring county. I saw Pecksniff's advertisement in the paper when I
+was at Salisbury, and answered it, having always had some natural taste in
+the matters to which it referred. I was doubly bent on coming to him if
+possible, on account of his being--"</p>
+
+<p>"Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rubbing his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, not so much on that account," returned Martin, "as because my
+grandfather has an inveterate dislike to him, and after the old man's
+arbitrary treatment of me, I had a natural desire to run as directly
+counter to all his opinions as I could."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Mr. Pecksniff Discharges His Duty</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters took up their lodging in London at Mrs.
+Todgers's Commercial Boarding House, and it was at that favoured abode that
+old Martin Chuzzlewit, whose grandson had just entered Mr. Pecksniff's
+house, sought him out.</p>
+
+<p>"I very much regret," said old Martin, "that you and I held such a
+conversation as we did when we met awhile since. The intentions that I bear
+towards you now are of another kind. Deserted by all in whom I have ever
+trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who should help and sustain me, I fly
+to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my ally; to attach yourself to me
+by ties of interest and expectations. I regret having been severed from you
+so long."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in
+rapture.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you don't know what an old man's humours are," resumed old
+Martin. "You don't know what it is to be required to court his likings and
+dislikings; to do his bidding, be it what it may. You have a new inmate in
+your house. He must quit it."</p>
+
+<p>"For--for yours?" asked Mr. Pecksniff.</p>
+
+<p>"For any shelter he can find. He has deceived you."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not," said Mr. Pecksniff eagerly, "I trust not. I have been
+extremely well disposed towards that young man. Deceit--deceit, my dear Mr.
+Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of deceit,
+to renounce him instantly."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation, my dear
+sir?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Don't tell me that. For the honour of human
+nature say you're not about to tell me that!"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought he had suppressed it."</p>
+
+<p>The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure was
+only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What, had they
+taken to their hearth and home a secretely contracted serpent?
+Horrible!</p>
+
+<p>Old Martin then went on to inquire when they would be returning home;
+and, after relieving Mr. Pecksniff's unexpressed anxiety by mentioning that
+Mary Graham, the young lady whom the old man had adopted, would receive
+nothing at his death, announced that they might expect to see him before
+long.</p>
+
+<p>With a hasty farewell, the old man left the house, followed to the door
+by Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters. A few days later the Pecksniffs set out
+for home.</p>
+
+<p>Tom Pinch and Martin were both out in the lane to meet the coach, but
+Mr. Pecksniff pointedly ignored Martin's presence, even when the house had
+been reached; and it was not till Martin sharply demanded an explanation
+that he addressed him.</p>
+
+<p>"You have deceived me," said Mr. Pecksniff. "You have imposed upon a
+nature which you knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. This lowly roof,
+sir, must not be contaminated by the presence of one who has, further,
+deceived--and cruelly deceived--an honourable and venerable gentleman, and
+who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my protection. I
+weep for your depravity. I mourn over your corruption, but I cannot have a
+leper and a serpent for an inmate! Go forth," said Mr. Pecksniff,
+stretching out his hand, "go forth, young man! Like all who know you, I
+renounce you!"</p>
+
+<p>Martin made a stride forward at these words, and Mr. Pecksniff stepped
+back so hastily that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell
+in a sitting posture on the ground, where he remained, perhaps considering
+it the safest place.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at him, Pinch," said Martin, "as he lies there--a cloth for dirty
+hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning, servile hound! And, mark me,
+Pinch, the day will come when even you will find him out!"</p>
+
+<p>He pointed at him as he spoke with unutterable contempt, and flinging
+his hat upon his head, walked from the house. He went on so rapidly that he
+was clear of the village before Tom Pinch overtook him.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going?" cried Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he answered sternly, "I am."</p>
+
+<p>"Where?" asked Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Yes, I do--to America."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--New Eden</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Martin did not go to America alone, for Mark Tapley, formerly of the
+Blue Dragon, an inn in the village where Mr. Pecksniff resided, insisted on
+accompanying him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sir, here am I, without a sitiwation," Mr. Tapley put it, "without
+any want of wages for a year to come--for I saved up (I didn't mean to do
+it, but I couldn't help it) at the Dragon; here am I with a liking for
+what's wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out strong
+under circumstances as would keep other men down--and will you take me, or
+will you leave me?"</p>
+
+<p>Once landed in the United States, the question of what to do arose, and
+Martin decided to invest his savings in buying land in the rising township
+of New Eden.</p>
+
+<p>"Mark, you shall be a partner in the business," said Martin (Mark having
+invested &pound;37 to Martin's &pound;8); "an equal partner with myself. We
+are no longer master and servant. I will put in, as my additional capital,
+my professional knowledge, and half the annual profits, as long as it is
+carried on, shall be yours. Our business shall be commenced, as soon as we
+get to New Eden, under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley."</p>
+
+<p>"Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, "don't have my name in it! I must be
+'Co.,' I must."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have your own way, Mark."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank 'ee sir! If any country gentleman thereabouts in the public way
+wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I could take that part of the
+bis'ness, sir."</p>
+
+<p>It was a long steamboat journey, but at last they stopped at Eden. The
+waters of the Deluge might have left it but a week ago, so choked with
+slime and matted growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.</p>
+
+<p>A man advanced towards them when they landed, walking slowly, leaning on
+a stick.</p>
+
+<p>"Strangers!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"The very same," said Mark. "How are you, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. "I haven't stood
+upright these many weeks. My eldest son has a chill upon him. My youngest
+died last week."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart!" said Mark. "The goods
+is safe enough," he added, turning to Martin, and pointing to their boxes.
+"There ain't many people about to make away with 'em. What a comfort that
+is!"</p>
+
+<p>"No," cried the man; "we've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away.
+Them that we have here don't come out at night."</p>
+
+<p>"The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?" said Mark.</p>
+
+<p>"It's deadly poison," was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him as
+ambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explained the
+nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his own
+log-house, he said.</p>
+
+<p>It was a miserable cabin, rudely constructed of the trunks of trees, the
+door of which had either fallen down or been carried away. When they had
+brought up their chest, Martin gave way, and lay down on the ground, and
+wept aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord love you, sir," cried Mr. Tapley. "Don't do that. Anything but
+that! It never helped man, woman, or child over the lowest fence yet, sir,
+and it never will."</p>
+
+<p>Mark stole out gently in the morning while his companion slept, and took
+a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of cabins in
+the whole, and half of these appeared untenanted. Their own land was mere
+forest. He went down to the landing-place, where they had left their goods,
+and there he found some half a dozen men, wan and forlorn, who helped him
+to carry them to the log-house.</p>
+
+<p>Martin was by this time stirring, but he had greatly changed, even in
+one night. He was very pale and languid, and spoke of pains and
+weakness.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. "Why, you must be ill. Wait half
+a minute, till I run up to one of our neighbours and find out what's best
+to be took."</p>
+
+<p>Martin was soon dangerously ill, very near his death. Mark, fatigued in
+mind and body, working all the day and sitting up at night, worn by hard
+living, surrounded by dismal and discouraging circumstances, never
+complained or yielded in the least degree. And then, when Martin was
+better, Mark was taken ill. He fought against it; but the malady fought
+harder, and his efforts were vain.</p>
+
+<p>"Floored for the present, sir," he said one morning, sinking back upon
+his bed, "but jolly."</p>
+
+<p>And now it was Martin's turn to work and sit beside the bed and watch,
+and listen through the long, long nights to every sound in the gloomy
+wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>Martin's reflections in those days slowly showed him his own
+selfishness, and when Mark Tapley recovered, he found a singular alteration
+in his companion.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what to make of him," he thought one night. "He don't
+think of himself half as much as he did. It's a swindle. There'll be no
+credit in being jolly with <i>him</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>The settlement was deserted. The only thing to be done was to return to
+England.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Downfall of Pecksniff</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Old Martin Chuzzlewit had for some time taken up his residence at Mr.
+Pecksniff's, and Martin and Mark Tapley went to the Blue Dragon on their
+return.</p>
+
+<p>Martin at once sought out his grandfather, and marched into the house
+resolved on reconciliation. The old man listened to his appeal in silence;
+but Mr. Pecksniff spoke for him, and bade the young man begone.</p>
+
+<p>But old Martin was awake to Pecksniff's character, and resolved to set
+Mr. Pecksniff right, and Mr. Pecksniff's victims, too.</p>
+
+<p>Mark Tapley was the first person old Martin invited to see him. The old
+man had gone to London, and his grandson, Mary Graham, and Tom Pinch were
+all summoned to wait on him at a certain hour.</p>
+
+<p>From Mark, old Martin learnt that his grandson was an altered man.</p>
+
+<p>"There was always a deal of good in him," said Mr. Tapley, "but a little
+of it got crusted over somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that
+'ere paste, but--well, I think it may have been you, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"So you think," said Martin, "that his old faults are in some degree of
+my creation?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I'm very sorry, but I can't unsay it. I don't believe that
+neither of you ever gave the other a fair chance."</p>
+
+<p>Presently came a knock at the door, and young Martin entered. The old
+man pointed to a distant chair. Then came Tom Pinch and his sister, Ruth;
+and Mary Graham; and Mrs. Lupin, the landlady of the Blue Dragon; and John
+Westlock, an old friend of Tom Pinch's.</p>
+
+<p>"Set the door open, Mark!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit.</p>
+
+<p>The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all knew
+it. It was Mr. Pecksniff's; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry, too, for he
+came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he stumbled once or
+twice.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is my venerable friend?" he cried upon the upper landing. And
+then, darting in and catching sight of old Martin, "My venerable friend is
+well?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pecksniff looked round upon the assembled group, and shook his head
+reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, vermin!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Oh bloodsuckers! Horde of unnatural
+plunderers and robbers! Leave him! Leave him, I say! Begone! Abscond! You
+had better be off! Wander over the face of the earth, young sirs, and do
+not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the grey hairs of the
+patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have the honour to act as
+an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff."</p>
+
+<p>He advanced, with outstretched arms, to take the old man's hand; but he
+had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its grasp.
+As he came smiling on, and got within his reach, old Martin, burning with
+indignation, rose up and struck him to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!" said Martin. And Mr. Tapley
+actually did drag him away, and struck him upon the floor with his back
+against the opposite wall.</p>
+
+<p>"Hear me, rascal!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. "I have summoned you here to
+witness your own work. Come hither, my dear Martin! Why did we ever part?
+How could we ever part? How could you fly from me to him? The fault was
+mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so, and I have known it long.
+Mary, my love, come here."</p>
+
+<p>She trembled, and was very pale; but he sat her in his own chair, and
+stood beside it holding her hand, Martin standing by him.</p>
+
+<p>"The curse of our house," said the old man, looking kindly down upon
+her, "has been the love of self--has ever been the love of self." He drew
+one hand through Martin's arm, and standing so, between them, proceeded,
+"What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can hold it."</p>
+
+<p>Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist--well,
+well!</p>
+
+<p>But it was good in him that even then, in high fortune and happiness, he
+had still a hand left to stretch out to Tom Pinch.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens9">Nicholas Nickleby</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Writing in 1848, Charles Dickens declared that when "Nicholas
+Nickleby" was begun in 1838 "there were then a good many-cheap Yorkshire
+schools in existence. There are very few now." In the preface to the
+completed book the author mentioned that more than one Yorkshire
+schoolmaster laid claim to be the original of Squeers, and he had reason to
+believe "one worthy has actually consulted authorities learned in the law
+as to his having good grounds on which to rest an action for libel." But
+Squeers, as Dickens insisted, was the representative of a class, and not an
+individual. The Brothers Cheeryble were "no creations of the author's
+brain" Dickens also wrote; and in consequence of this statement "hundreds
+upon hundreds of letters from all sorts of people" poured in upon him to be
+forwarded "to the originals of the Brothers Cheeryble." They were the
+Brothers Grant, cotton-spinners, near Manchester. "Nicholas Nickleby" was
+completed in October, 1839. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--A Yorkshire Schoolmaster</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Nickleby, a country gentleman of small estate, having endeavoured to
+increase his scanty fortune by speculation, found himself ruined; he took
+to his bed (apparently resolved to keep that, at all events), and, after
+embracing his wife and children, very soon departed this life. So Mrs.
+Nickleby went to London to wait upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph
+Nickleby, and with her two children, Nicholas, then nineteen, and Kate, a
+year or two younger, took lodgings in the Strand.</p>
+
+<p>It was to these apartments that Ralph Nickleby, a hard, unscrupulous,
+cunning money-lender, came on receipt of the widow's note.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you willing to work, sir?" said Ralph, frowning at his nephew.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>"Then see here," said his uncle. "This caught my eyes this morning, and
+you may thank your stars for it."</p>
+
+<p>With that Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his pocket and read
+the following advertisement.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Education</i>.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers' Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at
+the delightful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, youths are boarded,
+clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, instructed in all languages
+living or dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry, trigonometry, the use
+of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if required), writing, arithmetic,
+fortification, and every other branch of classic literature. Terms, twenty
+guineas per annum. No extras, no vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr.
+Squeers is in town, and attends daily from one till four, at the Saracen's
+Head, Snow Hill. N.B.--An able assistant wanted. Annual salary, &pound;5, A
+Master of Arts would be preferred."</p>
+
+<p>"There!" said Ralph, folding the paper again. "Let him get that
+situation and his fortune's made. If he don't like that, let him get one
+for himself."</p>
+
+<p>"I am ready to do anything you wish me," said Nicholas, starting gaily
+up. "Let us try our fortune with Mr. Squeers at once; he can but
+refuse."</p>
+
+<p>"He won't do that," said Ralph. "He will be glad to have you on my
+recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be a
+partner in the establishment in no time."</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas, having taken down the address of Mr. Wackford Squeers, the
+uncle and nephew at once went forth in quest of that accomplished
+gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you recollect me?" said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
+schoolmaster, as the Saracen's Head.</p>
+
+<p>"You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town
+for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a boy
+who, unfortunately----"</p>
+
+<p>"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
+sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
+assistant. Do you really want one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," answered Squeers.</p>
+
+<p>"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
+the man you want."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
+youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
+being a Master of Arts?"</p>
+
+<p>"The absence of the college degree <i>is</i> an objection." replied
+Squeers, considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
+nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
+apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
+Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
+assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.</p>
+
+<p>"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
+coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
+with us."</p>
+
+<p>"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
+to do but keep yourself warm."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--At Dotheboys Hall</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
+arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the pump's
+froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be content with
+giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the well, and can get
+a bucketful out for the boys."</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
+the school-room.</p>
+
+<p>"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
+our shop."</p>
+
+<p>It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
+copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
+desks and forms.</p>
+
+<p>But the pupils!</p>
+
+<p>Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
+and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
+bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
+horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
+been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
+yet, painful as the scene was, it had its grotesque features.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
+nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of brimstone
+and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in succession,
+using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.</p>
+
+<p>"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
+the operation was over.</p>
+
+<p>A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
+desk, and called up the first class.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
+said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
+the first boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."</p>
+
+<p>"So he is, to be sure," replied Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode
+of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean, verb
+active, to make bright. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When the boy
+knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the second boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."</p>
+
+<p>"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
+bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned that
+bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's our
+system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"</p>
+
+<p>"A beast, sir," replied the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
+for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
+perfect in that, go and look after <i>my</i> horse, and rub him down well,
+or I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till
+somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and they
+want the coppers filled."</p>
+
+<p>The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
+lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
+see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and know
+that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.</p>
+
+<p>In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
+Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
+slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.</p>
+
+<p>It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
+displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a proud,
+haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that "she'd bring his
+pride down"), and the petty indignities this lady could inflict upon him.
+He bore with the bad food, dirty lodging, and daily round of squalid misery
+in the school.</p>
+
+<p>But there came a day when Smike, unable to face his tormentors any
+longer, ran away. He was taken within four-and-twenty hours, and brought
+back, bedabbled with mud and rain, haggard and worn--to all appearance more
+dead than alive.</p>
+
+<p>The work this unhappy drudge performed would have cost the establishment
+some ten or twelve shillings a week in the way of wages, and Squeers, who,
+as a matter of policy, made severe examples of all runaways from Dotheboys
+Hall, prepared to take full vengeance on Smike.</p>
+
+<p>At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby
+started up from his desk, and cried "Stop!" in a furious voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Touch that boy at your peril. I will not stand by and see it done."</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
+spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.</p>
+
+<p>All Nicholas's feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were
+concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon
+the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the
+throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her
+partner's coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary. With
+the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining strength
+into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from him with all
+the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated over an adjacent
+form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his descent, lay at full
+length on the ground, stunned and motionless.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the
+room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched boldly
+out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Brighter Days for Nicholas</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned
+all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry
+office in London. And as he stood there looking at the various placards in
+the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted blue
+coat, happened to stop too.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas caught the old gentleman's eye, and began to wonder whether the
+stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.</p>
+
+<p>As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to
+speak, and good-naturedly stood still.</p>
+
+<p>"I was only going to say," said Nicholas, "that I hoped you had some
+object in consulting those advertisements in the window."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay; what object now?" returned the old gentleman. "Did you think I
+wanted a situation now, eh? I thought the same of you, at first, upon my
+word I did."</p>
+
+<p>"If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
+from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. "The kindness of your face and
+manner--both so unlike any I have ever seen--tempt me to speak in a way I
+should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of
+London."</p>
+
+<p>"Wilderness! Yes, it is; it is. It was a wilderness to me once. I came
+here barefoot--I have never forgotten it. What's the matter, how did it all
+come about?" said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas,
+and walking him up the street. "In mourning, too, eh?" laying his finger on
+the sleeve of his black coat.</p>
+
+<p>"My father," replied Nicholas.</p>
+
+<p>"Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother,
+perhaps?"</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Brothers and sisters, too, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"One sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor thing, poor thing! You're a scholar too, I dare say. Education's a
+great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very fine
+thing. Tell me more of your history, all of it. No impertinent
+curiosity--no, no!"</p>
+
+<p>There was something so earnest and guileless in the way this was said
+that Nicholas could not resist it. So he told his story, and, at the end,
+the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they emerged
+in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into some business
+premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers," on the doorpost,
+and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk in the
+counting-house.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he is, sir," said the clerk.</p>
+
+<p>What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor took him into a
+room and presented him to another old gentleman, the very type and model of
+himself--the same face and figure, the same clothes. Nobody could have
+doubted their being twin brothers.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, "here is a young friend of mine
+that we must assist." Then brother Charles related what Nicholas had told
+him. And, after that, and some conversation between the brothers, Tim
+Linkinwater was called in, and brother Ned whispered a few words in his
+ear.</p>
+
+<p>"Tim," said brother Charles, "you understand that we have an intention
+of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house."</p>
+
+<p>Brother Ned remarked that Tim quite approved of it, and Tim, having
+nodded, said, with resolution, "But I'm not coming an hour later in the
+morning, you know. I'm not going to the country either. It's forty-four
+years since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I've opened the
+safe all that time every morning at nine, and I've never slept out of the
+back attic one single night. This ain't the first time you've talked about
+superannuating me, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles; but, if you please, we'll
+make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore."</p>
+
+<p>With which words Tim Linkinwater stalked out, with the air of a man who
+was thoroughly resolved not to be put down.</p>
+
+<p>The brothers coughed.</p>
+
+<p>"He must be done something with, brother Ned. We must, disregard his
+scruples; he must be made a partner."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right, quite right, brother Charles. If he won't listen to
+reason, we must do it against his will. But, in the meantime, we are
+keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be
+anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present." And at
+that the brothers hurried Nicholas out of the office, shaking hands with
+him all the way.</p>
+
+<p>That was the beginning of brighter days for Nicholas and for Mrs.
+Nickleby and Kate. The brothers Cheeryble not only took Nicholas into their
+office, but a small cottage at Bow, then quite out in the country, was
+found for the widow and her children.</p>
+
+<p>There never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first
+week at that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new
+had been found. One day it was a grape-vine, and another day it was a
+boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlour cupboard at the
+bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items.</p>
+
+<p>As for Nicholas's work in the counting-house, Tim Linkinwater was
+satisfied with the young man the very first day.</p>
+
+<p>Tim turned pale and stood watching with breathless anxiety when Nicholas
+made his first entry in the books of Cheeryble Brothers, while the two
+brothers looked on with smiling faces.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the old clerk nodded his head, signifying "He'll do." But when
+Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, Tim Linkinwater, unable to
+restrain his satisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and caught
+him rapturously by the hand.</p>
+
+<p>"He has done it!" said Tim, looking round triumphantly at his employers.
+"His capital 'B's' and 'D's' are exactly like mine; he dots his small 'i's'
+and crosses every 't.' There ain't such a young man in all London. The City
+can't produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it!"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Brothers Cheeryble</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In course of time the brothers Cheeryble, in their frequent visits to
+the cottage at Bow, often took with them their nephew Frank; and it also
+happened that Miss Madeline Bray, a ward of the brothers, was taken to the
+cottage to recover from a serious illness.</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas, from the first time he had seen Madeline in the office of
+Cheeryble Brothers, had fallen in love with her; but he decided that as an
+honourable man no word of love must pass his lips. While Kate Nickleby had
+been equally firm in declining to listen to any proposal from Frank.</p>
+
+<p>It was some time after Madeline had left the cottage, and Nicholas and
+Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own regrets, and to
+live for each other and for their mother, when there came one evening, per
+Mr. Linkinwater, an invitation from the brothers to dinner on the next day
+but one.</p>
+
+<p>"You may depend on it that this means something besides dinner," said
+Mrs. Nickleby solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>When the great day arrived who should be there at the house of the
+brothers but Frank and Madeline.</p>
+
+<p>"Young men," said brother Charles, "shake hands."</p>
+
+<p>"I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I," rejoined Frank, and the two young men clasped hands
+heartily.</p>
+
+<p>The old gentleman took them aside.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to see you friends--close and firm friends. Frank, look here!
+Mrs. Nickleby, will you come on the other side? This is a copy of the will
+of Madeline's grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of &pound;12,000. Now,
+Frank, you were largely instrumental in recovering this document. The
+fortune is but a small one, but we love Madeline. Will you become a suitor
+for her hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument,
+believing that her hand was already pledged elsewhere. In this, it seems, I
+judged hastily."</p>
+
+<p>"As you always do, sir!" cried brother Charles. "How dare you think,
+Frank, that we could have you marry for money? How dare you go and make
+love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without telling us first, and letting us
+speak for you. Mr. Nickleby, sir, Frank judged hastily, but he judged, for
+once, correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied--give me your hand--it is
+occupied by you and worthily. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby, as we, her
+dearest friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would have
+<i>him</i> choose. He should have your sister's little hand, sir, if she
+had refused it a score of times--ay, he should, and he shall! What? You are
+the children of a worthy gentleman. The time was, sir, when my brother Ned
+and I were two poor, simple-hearted boys, wandering almost barefoot to seek
+bur fortunes. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, what a happy day this is for you and me!
+If our poor mother had only lived to see us now, Ned, how proud it would
+have made her dear heart at last!"</p>
+
+<p>So Madeline gave her heart and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day,
+and at the same time, Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. Madeline's money
+was invested in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Nicholas had
+become a partner, and before many years elapsed the business was carried on
+in the names of "Cheeryble and Nickleby."</p>
+
+<p>Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreating and brow-beating, to
+accept a share in the house; but he could never be prevailed upon to suffer
+the publication of his name as partner, and always persisted in the
+punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties.</p>
+
+<p>The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were
+happy?</p>
+
+<p>The first act of Nicholas, when he became a rich and prosperous
+merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and there
+came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was altered and
+enlarged; but no tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any
+association of bygone times was ever removed or changed. Mr. Squeers,
+having come within the meshes of the law over some nefarious scheme of
+Ralph Nickleby's, suffered transportation beyond the seas, and with his
+disappearance Dotheboys Hall was broken up for good.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens10">Oliver Twist</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Adventures of Oliver Twist," published serially in
+"Bentley's Miscellany," 1837-39, and in book form in 1838, was the second
+of Dickens's novels. It lacks the exuberance of "Pickwick," and is more
+limited in its scenes and characters than any other novel he wrote,
+excepting "Hard Times" and "Great Expectations." But the description of the
+workhouse, its inmates and governors, is done in Dickens's best style, and
+was a frontal attack on the Poor Law administration of the time. Bumble,
+indeed, has passed into common use as the typical workhouse official of the
+least satisfactory sort. No less powerful than the picture of Oliver's
+wretched childhood is the description of the thieves' kitchen, presided
+over by Fagin. Bill Sikes and the Artful Dodger are household words for
+criminals, and the character of Fagin is drawn with wonderful skill in this
+terrible view of the underworld of London. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Parish Boy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Oliver was born in the workhouse, and his mother died the same night.
+Not even a promised reward of &pound;10 could produce any information as to
+the boy's father or the mother's name. The woman was young, frail, and
+delicate--a stranger to the parish.</p>
+
+<p>"How comes he to have any name at all, then?" said Mrs. Mann (who was
+responsible for the early bringing up of the workhouse children) to Mr.
+Bumble, the parish beadle.</p>
+
+<p>The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I invented it.
+We name our foundings in alphabetical order. The last was a S; Swubble I
+named him. This was a T; Twist I named <i>him</i>. I have got names ready
+made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we
+come to Z."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver, being now nine years old, was removed from the tender mercies of
+Mrs. Mann, in whose wretched home not one kind word or look had ever
+lighted the gloom of his infant years, and was taken into the
+workhouse.</p>
+
+<p>Now the members of the board, who were long-headed men, had just
+established the rule that all poor people should have the alternative (for
+they would compel nobody, not they) of being starved by a gradual process
+in the house, or by a quick one out of it. All relief was inseparable from
+the workhouse, and the thin gruel issued three times a day to its
+inmates.</p>
+
+<p>The system was in full operation for the first six months after Oliver
+Twist's admission, and boys having generally excellent appetites, Oliver
+Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation. Each boy
+had one porringer of gruel, and no more. At last the boys got so voracious
+and wild with hunger, that one, who was tall for his age and hadn't been
+used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small cook's shop),
+hinted darkly to his companions that unless he had another basin of gruel
+<i>per diem</i> he was afraid he might some night happen to eat the boy who
+slept next him, a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye,
+and they implicitly believed him. A council was held, lots were cast who
+should walk up to the master after supper that evening and ask for more,
+and it fell to Oliver Twist.</p>
+
+<p>The evening arrived, the boys took their places. The master, in his
+cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper to ladle out the gruel; his
+pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him, the gruel was served out,
+and a long grace was said over the short commons.</p>
+
+<p>The gruel disappeared, the boys whispered to each other, and winked at
+Oliver, while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was
+desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table,
+and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat
+alarmed at his own temerity, "Please, sir, I want some more."</p>
+
+<p>The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in
+stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then said,
+"What!"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."</p>
+
+<p>The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in
+his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.</p>
+
+<p>The board were sitting in solemn conclave when Mr. Bumble rushed into
+the room in great excitement, and addressing a gentleman in a high chair,
+said, "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has asked for
+more!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.</p>
+
+<p>"For <i>more</i>?" said the chairman. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and
+answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had
+eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did, sir," replied Bumble.</p>
+
+<p>"That boy will be hung," said a gentleman in a white waistcoat. "I know
+that boy will be hung."</p>
+
+<p>Nobody disputed the opinion. Oliver was ordered into instant
+confinement, and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
+workhouse gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take
+Oliver Twist off their hands. In other words, five pounds and Oliver Twist
+were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any trade,
+business, or calling.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep, was the first to respond to this
+offer.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a nasty trade," said the chairman of the board.</p>
+
+<p>"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now," said another
+member.</p>
+
+<p>"That's because they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley
+to make 'em come down again," said Gamfield. "That's all smoke, and no
+blaze; vereas smoke only sinds him to sleep, and that ain't no use in
+making a boy come down. Boys is wery obstinite and wery lazy, gen'l'men,
+and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down with a run.
+It's humane, too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the chimbley,
+roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate theirselves."</p>
+
+<p>The board consented to hand over Oliver to the chimney-sweep (the
+premium being reduced to &pound;3 10s.), but the magistrates declined to
+sanction the indentures, and it was Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, who
+finally relieved the board of their responsibility.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sowerberry's ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight. He left the
+house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across
+fields, and gained the high road outside the town. A milestone intimated
+that it was seventy miles to London. In London he would be beyond the reach
+of Mr. Bumble; to London he would trudge.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Artful Dodger</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was on the seventh morning after he had left his native place that
+Oliver limped slowly into the town of Barnet. Tired and hungry he sat down
+on a doorstep, and presently was roused by the question "Hallo, my covey,
+what's the row?"</p>
+
+<p>The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer was about his
+own age, but one of the queerest-looking boys that Oliver had ever seen. He
+was short for his age, and dirty, and he had about him all the airs and
+manners of a man. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his heels,
+and he had turned the cuffs back half-way up his arm to get his hands out
+of the sleeves. Altogether he was as roystering and swaggering a young
+gentleman as ever stood four feet six in his bluchers.</p>
+
+<p>"You want grub," said this strange boy, helping Oliver to rise; "and you
+shall have it. I'm at low-watermark myself, only one bob and a magpie; but
+as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump."</p>
+
+<p>"Going to London?" said the strange boy, while they sat and finished a
+meal in a small public-house.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Got any lodgings?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Money?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>The strange boy whistled.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you? Well,
+I've got to be in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman as
+lives there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the
+change--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you."</p>
+
+<p>This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, and on
+the way to London, where they arrived at nightfall, Oliver learnt that his
+friend's name was Jack Dawkins, but that he was known among his intimates
+as "The Artful Dodger."</p>
+
+<p>In Field Lane, in the slums of Saffron Hill, the Dodger pushed open the
+door of a house, and drew Oliver within.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, then," cried a voice, in reply to his whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"Plummy and slam," said the Dodger.</p>
+
+<p>This seemed to be a watchword, for a man at once appeared with a
+candle.</p>
+
+<p>"There's two on you," said the man. "Who's the t'other one, and where
+does he come from?"</p>
+
+<p>"A new pal from Greenland," replied Jack Dawkins. "Is Fagin
+upstairs?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he's sortin the wipes. Up with you."</p>
+
+<p>The room that Oliver was taken into was black with age and dirt. Several
+rough beds, made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor.
+Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the Dodger,
+smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of middle-aged
+men. An old shrivelled Jew, of repulsive face, was standing over the fire,
+dividing his attention between a frying-pan and a clothes-horse full of
+silk handkerchiefs.</p>
+
+<p>The Dodger whispered a few words to the Jew, and then said aloud, "This
+is him, Fagin, my friend Oliver Twist."</p>
+
+<p>The Jew grinned. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very."</p>
+
+<p>A good supper Oliver had that night, and a heavy sleep, and a hearty
+breakfast next morning.</p>
+
+<p>When the breakfast was cleared away, Fagin, who was quite a merry old
+gentleman, and the Dodger and another boy named Charley Bates, played at a
+very curious game. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one
+pocket of his trousers, a note-book in the other, and a watch in his
+waistcoat, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, and spectacle-case
+and handkerchief in his coat-pocket, trotted up and down the room in
+imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about the streets;
+while the Dodger and Charley Bates had to get all these things out of his
+pockets without being observed. It was so very funny that Oliver laughed
+till the tears ran down his face.</p>
+
+<p>A few days later, and he understood the full meaning of the game.</p>
+
+<p>The Dodger and Charley Bates had taken Oliver out for a walk, and after
+sauntering along, they suddenly pulled up short on Clerkenwell Green, at
+the sight of an old gentleman reading at a bookstall. So intent was he over
+his book that he might have been sitting in an easy chair in his study.</p>
+
+<p>To Oliver's horror, the Dodger plunged his hand into the gentleman's
+pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and handed it to Bates. Then both boys ran
+away round the corner at full speed. Oliver, frightened at what he had
+seen, ran off, too; the old gentleman, at the same moment missing his
+handkerchief, and seeing Oliver scudding off, concluded he was the thief,
+and gave chase, still holding his book in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The cry of "Stop thief!" was raised. Oliver was knocked down, captured,
+and taken to the police-station by a constable.</p>
+
+<p>The magistrate was still sitting, and Oliver would have been convicted
+there and then but for the arrival of the bookseller.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop, stop! Don't take him away! I saw it all! I keep the bookstall,"
+cried the man. "I saw three boys, two others, and the prisoner here. The
+robbery was committed by another boy. I saw that this one was amazed by
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was acquitted. But he had fainted. Mr. Brownlow, for that was the
+name of the old gentleman, shocked and moved at the boy's deathly
+whiteness, straightway carried the boy off in a cab to his own house in a
+quiet, shady street near Pentonville.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Back in Fagin's Den</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>For many days Oliver remained insensible to the goodness of his new
+friends. But all that careful nursing could do was done, and he slowly and
+surely recovered. Mr. Brownlow, a kind-hearted old bachelor, took the
+greatest interest in his <i>prot&eacute;g&eacute;</i>, and Oliver implored
+him not to turn him out of doors to wander in the streets.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear child," said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver's
+appeal, "you need not be afraid of my deserting you. I have been deceived
+before in people I have endeavored to benefit, but I feel strongly disposed
+to trust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested in your behalf than I
+can well account for. Let me hear your story; speak the truth to me, and
+you shall not be friendless while I am alive."</p>
+
+<p>A certain unmistakable likeness in Oliver to a lady's portrait that was
+on the wall of the room struck Mr. Brownlow. What connection could there be
+between the original of the portrait, and this poor child?</p>
+
+<p>But before Mr. Brownlow had heard Oliver's story he had lost the boy.
+For Fagin, horribly uneasy lest Oliver should be the means of betraying his
+late companions, resolved to get him back as quickly as possible. To
+accomplish his evil purpose, Nancy, a young woman who belonged to Fagin's
+gang, and who had seen Oliver, was prevailed upon to undertake the
+commission.</p>
+
+<p>Now, the very evening before Oliver was to tell his story to Mr.
+Brownlow, the boy, anxious to prove his honesty, had set out with some
+books on an errand to the bookseller at Clerkenwell Green.</p>
+
+<p>"You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, "that you have brought these books
+back, and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This is a
+five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten shillings
+change."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied Oliver eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>He was walking briskly along, thinking how happy and contented he ought
+to feel, when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud,
+"Oh, my dear brother!" He had hardly looked up when he was stopped by
+having a pair of arms thrown tight round his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me. Who is it? What are
+you stopping me for?"</p>
+
+<p>The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the
+young woman who had embraced him.</p>
+
+<p>"I've found him! Oh, Oliver, Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy to make me
+suffer such distress on your account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've found
+him! Thank gracious goodness heavens, I've found him!"</p>
+
+<p>The young woman burst out crying, and a couple of women standing by
+asked what was the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, "he ran away from his parents, and
+went and joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke his
+mother's heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Young wretch!" said one woman.</p>
+
+<p>"Go home, do, you little brute," said the other.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't know her. I haven't
+any sister or father or mother. I'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out," cried the young woman. "Make
+him come home, or he'll kill his dear mother and father, and break my
+heart!"</p>
+
+<p>"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a
+white dog at his heels. "Young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother, you
+young dog!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't belong to them. I don't know them! Help, help!" cried Oliver,
+struggling in the man's powerful grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes, I'll help you, you young rascal! What
+books are these? You've been a-stealin' 'em, have you? Give 'em here!"</p>
+
+<p>With these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him
+on the head.</p>
+
+<p>Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of
+the attack, terrified by the brutality of the man--who was none other than
+Bill Sikes, the roughest of all Fagin's pupils--what could one poor child
+do? Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; resistance was
+useless. Sikes and Nancy hurried the boy on between them through courts and
+alleys till, once more, he was within the dreadful house where the Dodger
+had first brought him. Long after the gas-lamps were lighted, Mr. Brownlow
+sat waiting in his parlour. The servant had run up the street twenty times
+to see if there were any traces of Oliver. The housekeeper had waited
+anxiously at the open door. But no Oliver returned.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Oliver Falls among Friends</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Bill Sikes having an important house-breaking engagement with his
+fellow-robber, Mr. Toby Crackit, at Shepperton, decided that Oliver must
+accompany him.</p>
+
+<p>It was a detached house, and the night was dark as pitch when Sikes and
+Crackit, dragging Oliver along, climbed the wall and approached a narrow,
+shuttered window. In vain Oliver implored them to let him go.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, you young limb," whispered Sikes, when a crowbar had overcome
+the shutter, and the lattice had been opened. "I'm going to put you through
+there." Drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, he added, "Take this light;
+go softly up the steps straight afore you, and along the hall to the street
+door; unfasten it, and let us in."</p>
+
+<p>The boy was put through the window, and Sikes, pointing to the door with
+his pistol, told him if he faltered he would shoot him.</p>
+
+<p>Hardly had Oliver advanced a few yards before Sikes called out, "Back!
+back!"</p>
+
+<p>Startled, the boy dropped the lantern, uncertain whether to advance or
+fly.</p>
+
+<p>The cry was repeated--a light appeared--a vision of two terrified,
+half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes--a flash--a
+loud noise--and he staggered back.</p>
+
+<p>Sikes got him out of the window before the smoke cleared away, and fired
+his pistol after the men, who were already in retreat.</p>
+
+<p>"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes. "Give me a shawl here. They've hit
+him. Quick! The boy is bleeding."</p>
+
+<p>Then came the loud ringing of a bell, and the shouts of men, and the
+sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then the
+noises grew confused in the distance, and Oliver saw and heard no more.</p>
+
+<p>Sikes, finding the chase too hot, was compelled to leave Oliver in a
+ditch and make his escape with his friend Crackit.</p>
+
+<p>It was morning when Oliver awoke. His left arm was rudely bandaged in a
+shawl, and the bandage was saturated with blood. Weak and dizzy, he yet
+felt that if he remained where he was he would surely die, and so he
+staggered to his feet. The only house in sight was the one he had entered a
+few hours earlier, and he bent his steps towards it. He pushed against the
+garden-gate--it was unlocked. He tottered across the lawn, climbed the
+steps, knocked faintly at the door, and, his whole strength failing him,
+sank down against the little portico.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Giles, the butler and general steward of the house, who had fired
+the shot and led the pursuit, was just explaining the exciting events of
+the night to his fellow-servants of the kitchen when Oliver's knock was
+heard. With considerable reluctance the door was opened, and then the
+group, peeping timorously over each other's shoulders, beheld no more
+formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and
+exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>"Here he is!" bawled Giles. "Here's one of the, thieves, ma'am! Wounded,
+miss! I shot him!"</p>
+
+<p>They lugged the fainting boy into the hall, and then in the midst of all
+the noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet and gentle voice, which
+quelled it in an instant.</p>
+
+<p>"Giles!" whispered the voice from the stairhead. "Hush! You frighten my
+aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles.</p>
+
+<p>After a hasty consultation with her aunt, the same gentle speaker bade
+them carry the wounded person upstairs, and send to Chertsey at all speed
+for a constable and a doctor. The latter arrived when the young lady and
+her aunt, Mrs. Maylie, were at breakfast, and his visit to the sick-room
+changed the state of affairs. On his return he begged Mrs. Maylie and her
+niece to accompany him upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>In lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they had expected to see,
+there lay a mere child, sunk in a deep sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The ladies could not believe this delicate boy was a criminal, and when,
+on waking up, he told them his simple history, they were determined to
+prevent his arrest.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor undertook to save the boy, and to that end entered the
+kitchen where Mr. Giles, Brittles, his assistant, and the constable were
+regaling themselves with ale.</p>
+
+<p>"How is the patient, sir?" asked Giles.</p>
+
+<p>"So-so," returned the doctor. "I'm afraid you've got yourself into a
+scrape there, Mr. Giles. Are you a Protestant? And what are <i>you</i>?"
+turning sharply on Brittles.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, turning very pale, for the
+doctor spoke with strange severity.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir," said Brittles, starting violently.</p>
+
+<p>"Then tell me this, both of you," said the doctor. "Are you going to
+take upon yourselves to swear that that boy upstairs is the boy that was
+put through the little window last night? Come, out with it! Pay attention
+to the reply, constable. Here's a house broken into, and a couple of men
+catch a moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of gunpowder-smoke, and in
+all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here's a boy comes to that very
+same house next morning, and because he happens to have his arm tied up,
+these men lay violent hands upon him, place his life in danger, and swear
+he is the thief. I ask you again," thundered the doctor, "are you, on your
+solemn oaths, able to identify that boy?"</p>
+
+<p>Of course, under these circumstances, as Mr. Giles and Brittles couldn't
+identify the boy, the constable retired, and the attempted robbery was
+followed by no arrests.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Twist grew up in the peaceful and happy home of Mrs. Maylie,
+under the tender affection of two good women. Later on, Mr. Brownlow was
+found, and Oliver's character restored. It was proved, too, that the
+portrait Mr. Brownlow possessed was that of Oliver's mother, whom its owner
+had once esteemed dearly. Betrayed by fate, the unhappy woman had sought
+refuge in the workhouse, only to die in giving birth to her son.</p>
+
+<p>In that same workhouse, where his authority had formerly been so
+considerable, Mr. Bumble came--as a pauper--to die.</p>
+
+<p>Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting
+against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage
+housebreaker murdered her.</p>
+
+<p>But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.</p>
+
+<p>For the Jew was taken and condemned to death, and in the condemned cell
+came the recollection to him of all the men he had known who had died upon
+the scaffold, some of them through his means.</p>
+
+<p>Sikes, when the news of Nancy's murder got abroad, was hunted by a
+furious crowd. He had taken refuge in an old, disreputable uninhabited
+house, known to his accomplices, which stood right over the Thames, in
+Jacob's Island, not far from Dockhead; but the pursuit was hot, and the
+only chance of safety lay in getting to the river.</p>
+
+<p>At the very moment when the crowd was forcing its way into the house,
+Sikes made a running noose to slip beneath his arm-pits, and so lower
+himself to a ditch beneath. He was out on the roof, and then, when the loop
+was over his head, the face of the murdered girl seemed to stare at
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"The eyes again!" he cried, in an unearthly screech, and threw up his
+arms in horror.</p>
+
+<p>Staggering, as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled
+over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight,
+tight as a bowstring. He fell for five-and-thirty feet, and then, after a
+sudden jerk, and a terrible convulsion of the limbs, swung lifeless against
+the wall.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens11">Old Curiosity Shop</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Old Curiosity Shop" was begun by Dickens in his new
+weekly publication called "Master Humphrey's Clock," in 1840, and its early
+chapters were written in the first person. But its author soon got rid of
+the impediments that pertained to "Master Humphrey," and "when the story
+was finished," Dickens wrote, "I caused the few sheets of 'Master
+Humphrey's Clock,' which had been printed in connection with it, to be
+cancelled." "The Old Curiosity Shop" won a host of friends for the author;
+A.C. Swinburne even declared Little Nell equal to any character in fiction.
+The lonely figure of the child with grotesque and wild, but not impossible,
+companions, took the hearts of all readers by storm, and the death of
+Little Nell moved thousands to tears. While the story was appearing, Tom
+Hood, then unknown to Dickens, wrote an essay "tenderly appreciative" of
+Little Nell, "and of all her shadowy kith and kin." The immense and
+deserved popularity of the book is shown by the universal acquaintance with
+Mrs. Jarley, and the common use of the phrase "Codlin's the friend--not
+Short." </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Little Nell and Her Grandfather</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The shop was one of those receptacles for old and curious things which
+seem to crouch in odd corners of London. There were suits of mail standing
+like ghosts in armour, rusty weapons of various kinds, tapestry, and
+strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.</p>
+
+<p>The haggard aspect of a little old man, with long grey hair, who stood
+within, was wonderfully suited to the place. Nothing in the whole
+collection looked older or more worn than he.</p>
+
+<p>Confronting the old man was a young man of dissipated appearance, and
+high words were taking place.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you again I want to see my sister," said the younger man. "You
+can't change the relationship, you know. If you could, you'd have done it
+long ago. But as I may have to wait some time I'll call in a friend of
+mine, with your leave."</p>
+
+<p>At this he brought in a companion of even more dissolute appearance than
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"There, it's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in.</p>
+
+<p>"But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone.
+"What is the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of
+conviviality, and the wing of friendship never moults a feather! But, only
+one little whisper, Fred--<i>is</i> the old min friendly?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Swiveller then leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silence;
+only to break it by observing, "Gentlemen, how does the case stand? Here is
+a jolly old grandfather, and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly old
+grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up and
+educated you, Fred; you have bolted a little out of the course, and you
+shall never have another chance.' The wild young grandson makes answer,
+'You're as rich as can be, why can't you stand a trifle for your grown up
+relation?' Then the plain question is, ain't it a pity this state of things
+should continue, and how much better it would be for the old gentleman to
+hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all right and
+comfortable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you persecute me?" said the old man, turning to his grandson.
+"Why do you bring your profligate companions here? I am poor. You have
+chosen your own path, follow it. Leave Nell and me to toil and work."</p>
+
+<p>"Nell will be a woman soon," returned the other; "She'll forget her
+brother unless he shows himself sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, and the child herself appeared, followed by an elderly
+man so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face were
+large enough for the body of a giant.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Swiveller turned to the dwarf and, stooping down, whispered audibly
+in his ear. "The watchword to the old min is--fork."</p>
+
+<p>"Is what?" demanded Quilp, for that--Daniel Quilp--was the dwarf's
+name.</p>
+
+<p>"Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slapping his pocket. "You
+are awake, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The dwarf nodded; the grandson, having announced his intention of
+repeating his visit, left the house accompanied by his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"So much for dear relations," said Quilp, with a sour look. He put his
+hand into his breast, and pulled out a bag. "Here, I brought it myself, as,
+being in gold, it was too large and heavy for Nell to carry. I would I knew
+in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are a deep
+man, and keep your secret close."</p>
+
+<p>"My secret!" said the old man, with a haggard look. "Yes, you're
+right--I keep it close--very close."</p>
+
+<p>He said no more, but, taking the money, locked it in an iron safe.</p>
+
+<p>That night, as on many a night previous, Nell's grandfather went out,
+leaving the child in the strange house alone, to return in the early
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>Quilp, to whom the old man had again applied for money, learnt of these
+nocturnal expeditions, and sent no answer, but came in person to the old
+curiosity shop.</p>
+
+<p>The old man was feverish and excited as he impatiently addressed the
+dwarf.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you brought me any money?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," returned Quilp.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands, "the child and I are
+lost. No recompense for the time and money lost!"</p>
+
+<p>"Neighbour," said Quilp, "you have no secret from me now. I know that
+all those sums of money you have had from me have found their way to the
+gamingtable."</p>
+
+<p>"I never played for gain of mine, or love of play," cried the old man
+fiercely. "My winnings would have been bestowed to the last farthing on a
+young sinless child, whose life they would have sweetened and made happy.
+But I never won."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" said Quilp. "The last advance was &pound;70, and it went in
+one night. And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you could
+scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the stock and property."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, he nodded, deaf to all entreaties for further loans, and took
+his leave.</p>
+
+<p>The house was no longer theirs. Mr. Quilp encamped on the premises, and
+the goods were sold. A day was fixed for their removal.</p>
+
+<p>"Grandfather, let us begone from this place," said little Nell; "let us
+wander barefoot through the world, rather than linger here."</p>
+
+<p>"We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the
+fields and woods, and by the side of rivers and trust ourselves to God.
+Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to
+forget this time, as if it had never been."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Messrs. Codlin and Short</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The sun was setting when little Nell and her grandfather, who had been
+wandering many days, reached the wicket gate of a country churchyard.</p>
+
+<p>Two men were seated in easy attitudes on the grass by the church--two
+men of the class of itinerant showmen, exhibitors of the freaks of
+Punch--and they had come there to make needful repairs in the stage
+arrangements, for one was engaged in binding together a small gallows with
+thread, while the other was fixing a new black wig upon the head of a
+puppet.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to show 'em to-night? Are you?" said the old man.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the intention, governor, and unless I'm much mistaken, my
+partner, Tommy Codlin, is a-calculating at this minute what we've lost
+through your coming upon us. Cheer up, Tommy, it can't be much."</p>
+
+<p>To this Mr. Codlin replied in a surly, grumbling manner, "I don't care
+if we haven't lost a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front of
+the curtain, and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human natur'
+better."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! it's been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your taking to that branch,"
+rejoined his companion. "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama in
+the fairs, you believed in everything--except ghosts. But now you're a
+universal mistruster."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind," said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a discontented
+philosopher; "I know better now; p'r'aps I'm sorry for it. Look here,
+here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again."</p>
+
+<p>The child, seeing they were at a loss for a needle and thread, timidly
+proposed to mend it for them, and even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge
+against a proposal so reasonable.</p>
+
+<p>"If you're wanting a place to stop at," said Short, "I should advise you
+to take up at the same house with us. That's it, the long, low, white house
+there. It's very cheap."</p>
+
+<p>The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady, who made
+no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty, and
+were at once prepossessed in her behalf.</p>
+
+<p>"We're going on to the races," said Short next morning to the
+travellers. "If that's your way, and you'd like to have us for company, let
+us go together. If you prefer going alone, only say the word, and we shan't
+trouble you."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll go with you," said the old man. "Nell--with them, with them."</p>
+
+<p>They stopped that night at an ancient roadside inn called the Jolly
+Sandboys, and supper being in preparation, Nelly and her grandfather had
+not long taken their seats by the kitchen fire before they fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.</p>
+
+<p>"No-good, I suppose," said Mr. Codlin.</p>
+
+<p>"They're no harm," said Short, "depend upon that. It's very plain,
+besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell me that
+handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about as she's done these
+last two or three days. I know better. The old man ain't in his right mind.
+Haven't you noticed how anxious he is always to get on--furder away--furder
+away? Mind what I say, he has given his friends the slip, and persuaded
+this delicate young creatur all along of her fondness for him to be his
+guide--where to, he knows no more than the man in the moon. I'm not a-going
+to stand that!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're not a-going to stand that!" cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the
+clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.</p>
+
+<p>"I," repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, "am not a-going to stand
+it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad hands.
+Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from us, I
+shall take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to their
+friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up on every
+wall in London by this time."</p>
+
+<p>"Short," said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, "it's possible
+there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there should be a
+reward, Short, remember that we're partners in everything!"</p>
+
+<p>Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled
+by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing's the matter, my dear; only I'm your friend. Perhaps you
+haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him. I'm the real,
+open-hearted man. Short's very well, and seems kind, but he overdoes it.
+Now, I don't."</p>
+
+<p>The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you
+can. Recollect the friend. Codlin's the friend, not Short. Short's very
+well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin--not Short."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Jarley's Waxwork</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the
+child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr. Thomas
+Codlin. The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and once more
+the travellers were alone.</p>
+
+<p>It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they
+came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside. It was a smart little house
+upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a Christian
+lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum covered with a
+white napkin.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child
+walking slowly by. "Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes! And
+very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low, practical,
+wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at."</p>
+
+<p>"I was not there by choice," returned the child. "We don't know our way,
+and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do you
+know them, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"Know 'em, child! Know <i>them</i>! But you're young and inexperienced.
+Do I look as if I knowed 'em? Does the caravan look as if <i>it</i> knowed
+'em?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am, no. I beg your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>It was granted immediately. And then the lady of the caravan, finding
+the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter
+and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the
+caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.</p>
+
+<p>As the caravan moved slowly along, its owner began to talk to Nell, and
+presently pulled out a large roll of canvas. "There child," she said, "read
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>Nell read aloud the inscription, "Jarley's Waxwork."</p>
+
+<p>"That's me," said the lady complacently.</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw any waxwork, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than
+Punch?"</p>
+
+<p>"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all.
+It's calm and--what's that word again--critical? No--classical, that's
+it--it's calm and classical."</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the journey Mrs. Jarley was so taken with the child
+that she proposed to engage her, and as Nell would not be separated from
+her grandfather, he was included in the agreement.</p>
+
+<p>"What I want your granddaughter for," said Mrs. Jarley, "is to point 'em
+out to the company, for she has a way with her that people wouldn't think
+unpleasant. It's not a common offer, bear in mind; it's Jarley's Waxwork.
+The duty's very light and genteel, the exhibition takes place in assembly
+rooms or town halls. There is none of your open-air wagrancy at Jarley's,
+remember. And the price of admission is only sixpence."</p>
+
+<p>"We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Nell, speaking for her
+grandfather, "and thankfully accept your offer."</p>
+
+<p>"And you'll never be sorry for it," returned Mrs. Jarley. "So, as that's
+all settled, let us have a bit of supper."</p>
+
+<p>The next morning, the caravan having arrived at the town, and the
+waxworks having been unpacked in the town hall, Mrs. Jarley sat down in an
+armchair in the centre of the room, and began to instruct Nell in her
+duty.</p>
+
+<p>"That," said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, "is an unfortunate maid
+of honour in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger
+in consequence of working on a Sunday. Observe the blood which is trickling
+from her finger, also the gold-eyed needle of the period, with which she is
+at work."</p>
+
+<p>Nell found in the lady of the caravan a kind and considerate person, who
+had not only a peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, but for
+making everybody about her comfortable also.</p>
+
+<p>But the child noticed that her grandfather grew more and more listless
+and vacant, and soon a greater sorrow was to come. The passion for gambling
+revived in the old man one evening, when he and Nell, out walking in the
+country, took passing shelter from a storm in a small public-house. He saw
+men playing cards, and, allowed to join them, lost. The next night he went
+off alone, and Nell, finding him gone, followed. Her grandfather was with
+the card-players near an encampment of gypsies, and, to her horror, he
+promised to bring more money.</p>
+
+<p>Flight was now the only thing possible, before her grandfather should
+steal. How else could he get the money?</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Beyond the Pale</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Flight by water! For two days they travelled on a barge, Nell sitting
+with her grandfather in the boat. Rugged and noisy fellows were the
+bargemen, and quite brutal among themselves, though civil enough to their
+passengers. The barge floated into the wharf to which it belonged, and now
+came flight by land through a strange, unfriendly town. The travellers were
+penniless, and at nightfall took refuge in a deep doorway.</p>
+
+<p>A man, miserably clad and begrimed with smoke, found them here, and,
+learning they were homeless, promised them shelter by the fire of a great
+furnace.</p>
+
+<p>A dark and blackened region was this they were in. On every side tall
+chimneys poured out their plague of smoke, and at night the smoke was
+changed to fire, and chimneys spurted flame. Struggling vegetation sickened
+and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace. The people--men, women,
+and children--wan in their looks and ragged in their attire, tended the
+engines, or scowled, half naked, from the doorless houses.</p>
+
+<p>That night Nell and her grandfather lay down with nothing between them
+and the sky. A penny loaf was all they had had that day, and very weak and
+spent the child felt.</p>
+
+<p>With morning she was weaker still, and a loathing of food prevented her
+sharing the loaf bought with their last penny. Still she dragged her weary
+feet on, and only at the very end of the town fell senseless to the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>Once in their earlier wanderings they had made friends with a village
+schoolmaster, and now, when all hope seemed gone, it was this schoolmaster
+who brought the travellers into a peaceful haven. For it was he who passed
+along when little Nell fell fainting to the ground, and it was he who
+carried her into a small inn hard by. A day's rest brought some recovery to
+the child, and in the evening she was able to sit up.</p>
+
+<p>"I have made my fortune since I saw you last," said the schoolmaster. "I
+have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village a long way from
+here at five-and-thirty pounds a year."</p>
+
+<p>Then the schoolmaster insisted they must come with him, and make the
+journey by waggons, and that when they reached the village some occupation
+should be found by which they could subsist.</p>
+
+<p>They agreed to go, and when the village was reached the efforts of the
+good schoolmaster procured a post for Nell. Someone was wanted to keep the
+keys of the church and show it to strangers, and the old clergyman yielded
+to the schoolmaster's petition.</p>
+
+<p>"But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you,
+my child," said the old clergyman, laying his hand upon her head and
+smiling sadly, "I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights than
+have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches."</p>
+
+<p>It was very peaceful in the old church, and the village children soon
+grew to love little Nell. At last Nell and her grandfather were beyond the
+need of flight.</p>
+
+<p>But the child's strength was failing, and in the winter came her death.
+Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. The traces of her early cares,
+her sufferings, and fatigues were gone. She had died with her arms round
+her grandfather's neck and "God bless you!" on her lips.</p>
+
+<p>The old man never realised that she was dead. "She is asleep," he said.
+"She will come to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>And thenceforth every day, and all day long he waited at her grave. And
+people would hear him whisper, "Lord, let her come to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the
+usual hour, and they went to seek him, and found him lying dead upon the
+stone.</p>
+
+<p>They laid by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and in the
+church where they had often lingered hand in hand the child and the old man
+slept together.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens12">Our Mutual Friend</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Our Mutual Friend" was the last long complete novel Dickens
+wrote, and, like all his books, it first appeared in monthly parts. It was
+so published in 1864-65. After three numbers had appeared, the author
+wrote: "I have grown hard to satisfy, and write very slowly. Although I
+have not been wanting in industry, I have been wanting in imagination." In
+his "Postscript in Lieu of Preface," the author points out--in answer to
+those who had disputed the probability of Harmon's will--"that there are
+hundreds of will cases far more remarkable than that fancied in this book."
+In this same postscript Dickens also renewed his attack on Poor Law
+administration, begun in "Oliver Twist." Though "Our Mutual Friend" is not
+one of the greatest or most famous of Dickens's works, for it is somewhat
+loosely constructed as a story, and shows signs of laboured composition, it
+abounds in scenes of real Dickensian character, and is not without touches
+of the genius which had made its author the foremost novelist of his time,
+and one of the greatest writers of all ages. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Man from Somewhere</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was at a dinner-party that Mortimer Lightwood, solicitor, at the
+request of Lady Tippins, told the story of the Man from Somewhere.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my life," says Mortimer languidly, "I can't fix him with a local
+habitation; but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me,
+where they make the wine.</p>
+
+<p>"The man," Mortimer goes on, "whose name is Harmon, was the only son of
+a tremendous old rascal, who made his money by dust, as a dust contractor.
+This venerable parent, displeased with his son, turns him out of doors. The
+boy takes flight, gets aboard ship, turns up on dry land among the Cape
+wine; small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you like to call it.
+Venerable parent dies. His will is found. It leaves the lowest of a range
+of dust mountains, with a dwelling-house, to an old servant, who is sole
+executor. And that's all, except that the son's inheritance is made
+conditional on his marrying a girl, at the date of the will a child four or
+five years old, who is now a marriageable young woman. Advertisement and
+inquiry discovered the son in the Man from Somewhere, and he is now on his
+way home, after fourteen years' absence, to succeed to a very large
+fortune, and to take a wife."</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer, being asked what would become of the fortune in the event of
+the marriage condition not being fulfilled, replies that by a clause in the
+will it would then go to the old servant above-mentioned, passing over and
+excluding the son; also, that if the son had not been living, the same old
+servant would have been sole residuary legatee.</p>
+
+<p>It is just when the ladies are retiring that Mortimer receives a note
+from the butler.</p>
+
+<p>"This really arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner," says
+Mortimer, after reading the paper presented to him. "This is the conclusion
+of the story of the identical man. Man's drowned!"</p>
+
+<p>The dinner being over, Mortimer Lightwood and his friend Eugene Wrayburn
+interviewed the boy who had brought the note, and then set out in a cab to
+the riverside quarter of Wapping.</p>
+
+<p>The cab dismissed, a little winding through some muddy alleys brings
+then to the bright lamp of a police-station, where they find the
+night-inspector. He takes a bull's-eye, and Mortimer and Eugene follow him
+to a cool grot at the end of the yard. They quickly come out again.</p>
+
+<p>"No clue, gentlemen," says the inspector, "as to how the body came into
+river. Very often no clue. Steward of ship, in which gentleman came home
+passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity. Likewise
+could swear to clothes. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict."</p>
+
+<p>A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn
+attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."</p>
+
+<p>"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't
+have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who was
+it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down your
+name and address?"</p>
+
+<p>The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford,
+Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."</p>
+
+<p>At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the
+proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr.
+Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to
+appear.</p>
+
+<p>Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had
+come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act there
+was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of one
+hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time public
+interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Golden Dustman</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning,
+dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves
+like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg
+sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice
+collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and assuredly
+it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little stalls in
+London.</p>
+
+<p>"Morning, morning!" said the old fellow.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-morning to <i>you</i>, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.</p>
+
+<p>The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question,
+"How did you get your wooden leg?"</p>
+
+<p>"In an accident."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered
+desperately.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."</p>
+
+<p>"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another
+chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick or
+Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I
+could wish anyone to call <i>me</i> by, but there may be persons that would
+not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't know
+why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, "I came by here one morning and heard you
+reading through your ballads to a butcher-boy. I thought to myself, 'Here's
+a literary man <i>with</i> a wooden leg, and all print is open to him! And
+here am I without a wooden leg, and all print is shut to me.'"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print that I
+wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing," Mr. Wegg admitted
+modestly.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I want some reading, and I must pay a man so much an hour to come
+and do it for me. Say two hours a night at twopence-halfpenny. Half-a-crown
+a week. What do you think of the terms, Wegg?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Boffin, I never did 'aggle, and I never will 'aggle. I meet you at
+once, free and fair, with----Done, for double the money!"</p>
+
+<p>From that night Silas Wegg came to read at Boffin's Bower--or Harmony
+Jail, as the house was formerly called--and he soon learnt that his
+employer was no other than the inheritor of old Harmon's property, and that
+he was known as the Golden Dustman.</p>
+
+<p>It was not long after Silas Wegg's appointment that Mr. Boffin was
+accosted by a strange gentleman, who gave his name as John Rokesmith, and
+proposed his services as private secretary. Mr. Rokesmith mentioned that he
+lodged at one Mr. Wilfer's, in Holloway. Mr. Boffin stared.</p>
+
+<p>"Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?"</p>
+
+<p>"My landlord has a daughter named Bella."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to say," said Mr.
+Boffin; "but call at the Bower, though I don't know that I shall ever be in
+want of a secretary."</p>
+
+<p>So to the Bower came Mr. John Rokesmith, but not before the Boffins had
+called at the Wilfers' and seen the young lady destined by old Harmon for
+his son's bride.</p>
+
+<p>"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin, "I have been thinking early and late of that
+girl, Bella Wilfer, who was so cruelly disappointed both of her husband and
+his riches. Don't you think we might do something for her? Have her to live
+with us? And, Noddy, I tell you what I want--I want society. We have come
+into a great fortune, and we must act up to it. It's never been acted up
+to, and consequently no good has come of it."</p>
+
+<p>It was agreed that they should move into a good house in a good
+neighbourhood, and that a visit should be paid to Mr. Wilfer at once. Mrs.
+Wilfer received them with a tragic air.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Boffin and me, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, "are plain people, and we
+make this call to say we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure of
+your daughter's acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your
+daughter will come to consider our house in the light of her home equally
+with this."</p>
+
+<p>"I am much obliged to you--I am sure," said Miss Bella, coldly shaking
+her curls, "but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Bella," Mrs. Wilfer admonished her solemnly, "you must conquer
+this!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do what your ma says, and conquer it, my dear," urged Mrs. Boffin,
+"because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too
+pretty to keep yourself shut up."</p>
+
+<p>With that Mrs. Boffin gave her a kiss, which Bella frankly returned; and
+it was settled that Bella should be sent for as soon as they were ready to
+receive her.</p>
+
+<p>"By the bye, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, as he was leaving, "you have a
+lodger?"</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman," Mrs. Wilfer answered, "undoubtedly occupies our first
+floor."</p>
+
+<p>"I may call him our mutual friend," said Mr. Boffin. "What sort of
+fellow <i>is</i> our mutual friend, now? Do you like him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet--a very eligible
+inmate."</p>
+
+<p>The Boffins drove away, and Mr. Rokesmith, coming to the Bower,
+extricated Mr. Boffin from a mass of disordered papers, and gave such
+satisfaction that his services were accepted, and he took up the
+secretaryship.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Golden Dustman Deteriorates</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Miss Bella Wilfer was conscious that she was growing mercenary. She
+admitted as much to her father. There were several other secrets she had to
+impart beyond her own lack of improvement.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rokesmith has made an offer to me, pa, and I told him I thought it
+a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me. Mrs. Boffin has
+herself told me, with her own kind lips, that they wish to see me well
+married; and that when I marry, with their consent, they will portion me
+most handsomely. That is another secret. And now there is only one more,
+and it is very hard to tell it. But Mr. Boffin is being spoilt by
+prosperity, and is changing for the worse every day. Not to me--he is
+always the same to me--but to others about him. He grows suspicious, hard,
+and unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is my
+benefactor."</p>
+
+<p>Bella parted from her father, and returned to the Boffins, to find fresh
+proofs of the deterioration of the Golden Dustman.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Rokesmith," Mr. Boffin was saying, "it's time to settle about your
+wages. A man of property like me is bound to consider the market price. If
+I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a
+secretary, I buy <i>him</i> out and out. It's convenient to have you at all
+times ready on the premises."</p>
+
+<p>The secretary bowed and withdrew. Bella's eyes followed him to the door.
+She felt that Mrs. Boffin was uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin thoughtfully, "haven't you been a little
+strict with Mr. Rokesmith to-night? Haven't you been just a little not
+quite like your own old self?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, old woman, I hope so," said Mr. Boffin cheerfully. "Our old selves
+wouldn't do here, old lady. Our old selves would be fit for nothing but to
+be imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new selves
+are. It's a great difference."</p>
+
+<p>Very uncomfortable was Bella that night, and very uneasy was she as the
+days went by, for Mr. Boffin made a point of hunting up old books that gave
+the lives of misers, and the more enjoyment he seemed to get out of this
+literature, the harder he became to the secretary. Somehow, the worse Mr.
+Boffin treated his secretary, the more Bella felt drawn to the man whose
+offer of marriage she had refused. The crisis came one morning when the
+Golden Dustman's bearing towards Rokesmith was even more arrogant and
+offensive than it had been before. Mrs. Boffin was seated on a sofa, and
+Mr. Boffin had Bella on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said gently. "I'm going to see you
+righted."</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned to his secretary.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sir, look at this young lady. How dare you come out of your
+station to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses? This young
+lady, who was far above <i>you</i>. This young lady was looking about for
+money, and you had no money."</p>
+
+<p>Bella hung her head, and Mrs. Boffin broke out crying.</p>
+
+<p>"This Rokesmith is a needy young man," Mr. Boffin went on unmoved. "He
+gets acquainted with my affairs and gets to know that I mean to settle a
+sum of money upon this young lady."</p>
+
+<p>"I indignantly deny it!" said the secretary quietly. "But our connection
+being at an end, it matters little what I say."</p>
+
+<p>"I discharge you," Mr. Boffin retorted. "There's your money."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Boffin," said Rokesmith, "for your unvarying kindness I thank you
+with the warmest gratitude. Miss Wilfer, good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Rokesmith," said Bella in her tears, "hear one word from me
+before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my
+account. Out of the depths of my heart I beg your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>She gave him her hand, and he put it to his lips and said, "God bless
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>"There was a time when I deserved to be 'righted,' as Mr. Boffin has
+done," Bella went on, "but I hope that I shall never deserve it again."</p>
+
+<p>Once more John Rokesmith put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished
+it, and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>Bella threw her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most
+shamefully abused and driven away, and I am the cause of it. I must go
+home; I am very grateful for all you have done for me, but I can't stay
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Bella," said Mr. Boffin, "look before you leap. Go away, and you
+can never come back. And you mustn't expect that I'm a-going to settle
+money on you if you leave me like this, because I'm not. Not one brass
+farthing."</p>
+
+<p>"No power on earth could make me take it now," said Bella haughtily.</p>
+
+<p>Then she broke into sobs over saying good-bye to Mrs. Boffin, said a
+last word to Mr. Boffin, and ran upstairs. A few minutes later she went out
+of the house.</p>
+
+<p>"That was well done," said Bella when she was in the street, "and now
+I'll go and see my dear, darling pa in the city."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Runaway Marriage</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Bella found her way to her father's office in the city. It was after
+hours, and the little man was alone, having tea on a small cottage loaf and
+a pennyworth of milk, for R. Wilfer was but a clerk on a small income. He
+immediately fetched another loaf and another pennyworth of milk, and then,
+before she could tell him she had left the Boffins, who should come along
+but John Rokesmith. And John Rokesmith not only came in, but he caught
+Bella in his arms, and she was content to leave her head on his breast as
+if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting place.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rokesmith. "You
+<i>are</i> mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am yours if you think me worth taking," Bella responded.</p>
+
+<p>Then Bella's father had to hear what had happened, and said his daughter
+had done well.</p>
+
+<p>"To think," said Wilfer, looking round the office, "that anything of a
+tender nature should come off here is what tickles me."</p>
+
+<p>A few weeks later and Bella and her father went out early one morning
+and took the steamer to Greenwich. And at Greenwich there was John
+Rokesmith, and presently in a church John and Bella were joined together in
+wedlock.</p>
+
+<p>They had been married a year, and lived in a little house at Blackheath.
+John Rokesmith went up to the city every day, and explained that he was "in
+a China house." From time to time he would ask her, "Would you like to be
+rich <i>now</i>, my darling?" and got for answer, "Dear John, am I not
+rich?"</p>
+
+<p>But for all that a change came in their affairs. For Mortimer Lightwood,
+who had met Bella at the Boffins', seeing her walking with her husband,
+recognised him as Julius Handford; and as Mr. Inspector had never
+discovered what became of Mr. Julius Handford, he must needs pay Mr.
+Rokesmith a visit. And then it turned out that John Rokesmith was not only
+Julius Handford, but John Harmon himself, much to Mr. Inspector's
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>More surprises were to follow, for when John came home next day he told
+Bella that he had left the China house, and was better off.</p>
+
+<p>"We must have our headquarters in London now, my dear, and there's a
+house ready for us."</p>
+
+<p>And the house which John and Bella visited next day was none other than
+the Boffins', and when they arrived, there were Mr. and Mrs. Boffin beaming
+at them. Mrs. Boffin told Bella that John Rokesmith was John Harmon, and
+how, remembering him as a small boy, she had guessed it quite early. Then
+Mrs. Boffin admitted that John, despairing of winning Bella's heart, and
+determined that there should be no question of money in the marriage, he
+was for going away, and that Noddy said he would prove that she loved him.
+"We was all of us in it, my beauty," Mrs. Boffin concluded, "and when you
+was married there was we hid up in the church organ by this husband of
+yours, for he wouldn't let us out with it then, as was first meant. But it
+was Noddy who said that he would prove you had a true heart of gold. 'If
+she was to stand up for you when you was slighted,' he said to John, 'and
+if she was to do that against her own interest, how would that do?' 'Do?'
+says John, 'it would raise me to the skies.' 'Then,' says my Noddy, 'get
+ready for the ascent, John, for up you go. Look out for being slighted and
+oppressed.' And then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"It looks as if old Harmon's spirit had found rest at last, and as if
+his money had turned bright again after a long rust in the dark," said Mrs.
+Boffin to her husband that night.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, old lady."</p>
+
+<p>The mystery of the Harmon murder is yet to be explained. John Harmon,
+going on shore with a fellow passenger, who greatly resembled him, was
+drugged and robbed of his money in a house near the river by this man. But
+the robber, who had taken Harmon's clothes, was himself robbed and thrown
+into the water, and Harmon recovered consciousness and made his escape just
+at the time when the body of his assailant was recovered. In this state of
+strange excitement he turned up at the police station, and, unwilling to
+reveal his identity at the moment, passed himself off as Julius
+Handford.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens13">Pickwick Papers</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> Dickens first became known to the public through the famous
+"Sketches by Boz," which appeared in the "Monthly Magazine" in December,
+1833, the complete series being collected and published in volume form
+three years later. This was followed by the immortal "Posthumous Papers of
+the Pickwick Club" in 1836, which soon placed Dickens in the front rank of
+English novelists. Frankly humorous as "Pickwick" is, Dickens, in a preface
+to a later edition, recorded with satisfaction that "legal reforms had
+pared the claws of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg," that the laws relating to
+imprisonment for debt had been altered, and the Fleet Prison pulled down.
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mr. Pickwick Engages Sam Weller</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell Street were of a very neat and
+comfortable description, peculiarly adapted for a man of his genius and
+observation, and importance as General Chairman of the world-famed Pickwick
+Club.</p>
+
+<p>His landlady, Mrs. Bardell, was a comely woman of bustling manners and
+agreeable appearance, with a natural gift for cooking. Cleanliness and
+quiet reigned throughout the house, and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was
+law.</p>
+
+<p>To anyone acquainted with these things and with Mr. Pickwick's admirably
+regulated mind, his conduct on the morning previous to his setting out for
+Eatanswill seemed most mysterious and unaccountable. He paced the room,
+popped his head out of the window, and constantly referred to his watch. It
+was evident to Mrs. Bardell, who was dusting the apartment, that something
+of importance was in contemplation.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick at last, "your little boy is a very
+long time gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's a good long way to the Borough, sir!" remonstrated Mrs.
+Bardell.</p>
+
+<p>"Very true; so it is. Mrs. Bardell do you think it's a much greater
+expense to keep two people than to keep one?"</p>
+
+<p>"La, Mr. Pickwick!" said Mrs. Bardell, colouring, as she fancied she
+observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger. "La,
+Mr. Pickwick, what a question!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but <i>do</i> you?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, "a good deal upon the person, you
+know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it's a saving and careful person, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick; "but the person I have in my eye
+(here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these
+qualities. To tell you the truth, I have made up my mind. You'll think it
+very strange now that I never consulted you about this matter till I sent
+your little boy out this morning, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bardell had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, and now she
+thought he was going to propose. A deliberate plan, too--sent her little
+boy to the Borough to get him out of the way! How thoughtful! How
+considerate!</p>
+
+<p>"It'll save you a good deal of trouble, won't it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
+"And when I am in town you'll always have somebody to sit with you." Mr.
+Pickwick smiled placidly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. Bardell,
+trembling with agitation. "Oh, you kind, good, playful dear!" And, without
+more ado, she flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless my soul!" cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick. "Mrs. Bardell, my
+good woman! Dear me, what a situation! Pray consider if anybody should
+come!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, let them come!" exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically. "I'll never
+leave you, dear, kind soul!" And she clung the tighter.</p>
+
+<p>"Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling; "I hear somebody coming
+upstairs! Don't, there's a good creature, don't!" But Mrs. Bardell had
+fainted in his arms, and before he could gain time to deposit her on a
+chair, Master Bardell entered the room, followed by Mr. Pickwick's friends
+Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" said the three Pickwickians.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know!" replied Mr. Pickwick; while the ever gallant Mr. Tupman
+led Mrs. Bardell, who said she was better, downstairs. "I cannot conceive
+what has been the matter with the woman. I merely told her of my intention
+of keeping a manservant, when she fell into an extraordinary paroxysm. Very
+remarkable thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Very," said his three friends.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a man in the passage now," said Mr. Tupman.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the man I've sent for from the Borough," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have
+the goodness to call him up."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Samuel Weller forthwith presented himself, having previously
+deposited his old white hat on the landing outside.</p>
+
+<p>"Ta'nt a wery good 'un to look at," said Sam, "but it's an astonishin'
+'un to wear. And afore the brim went it was a wery handsome tile."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, with regard to the matter on which I sent for you," said Mr.
+Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the pint, sir; out vith it, as the father said to the child ven
+he swallowed a farden."</p>
+
+<p>"We want to know, in the first place," said Mr. Pickwick, "whether you
+are discontented with your present situation?"</p>
+
+<p>"Afore I answers that 'ere question," replied Mr. Weller, "<i>I</i>
+should like to know whether you're a-goin' to purwide me vith a
+better."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick smiled benevolently as he said: "I have half made up my
+mind to engage you myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you though?" said Sam. "Wages?"</p>
+
+<p>"Twelve pounds a year."</p>
+
+<p>"Clothes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Two suits."</p>
+
+<p>"Work?"</p>
+
+<p>"To attend upon me, and travel about with me and these gentlemen
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Take the bill down," said Sam emphatically. "I'm let to a single
+gentleman, and the terms is agreed upon. If the clothes fit me half as well
+as the place, they'll do."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Bardell vs. Pickwick</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Acting on the advice of Messrs. Dodson &amp; Fogg, solicitors, Mrs.
+Bardell brought an action for breach of promise of marriage against Mr.
+Pickwick, and the damages were laid at &pound;1,500. February 14 was the
+day fixed for the memorable trial.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Pickwick and his friends reached the court, and the judge--Mr.
+Justice Stareleigh--had taken his place, it was found that only ten of the
+special jury were present, and a greengrocer and a chemist were caught from
+the common jury to make up the number.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, "but I hope this court
+will excuse my attendance. I have no assistant, and I can't afford to hire
+one."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you ought to be able to afford it," said the judge, a most
+particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and
+waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, my lord," replied the chemist, "then there'll be murder
+before this trial's over, that's all. I've left nobody, but an errand-boy
+in my shop, and I know that he thinks Epsom salts means oxalic acid, and
+syrup of senna, laudanum; that's all, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest
+horror when Mrs. Bardell, supported by her friend, Mrs. Cluppins, was led
+into court.</p>
+
+<p>Then Sergeant Buzfuz opened the case for the plaintiff, and when he had
+finished Elizabeth Cluppins was called.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you
+recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back room on one particular morning last
+July, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord and jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.</p>
+
+<p>"What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?" inquired the little
+judge.</p>
+
+<p>"My lord and jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, "I will not deceive you."</p>
+
+<p>"You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.</p>
+
+<p>"I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
+been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red kidney
+pertaties, which was tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's
+street-door on the jar."</p>
+
+<p>"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.</p>
+
+<p>"Partly open, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"She <i>said</i> on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning
+look.</p>
+
+<p>"I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin', and went in a
+permiscuous manner upstairs, and into the back room. There was a sound of
+voices in the front room, very loud, and forced themselves upon my
+ear."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cluppins then related the conversation we have already heard
+between Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell.</p>
+
+<p>The next witness was Mr. Winkle, and after him came Mr. Tupman, and Mr.
+Snodgrass, all of whom appeared on subpoena by the plaintiff's lawyers.</p>
+
+<p>Sergeant Buzfuz then rose and said, with considerable importance, "Call
+Samuel Weller."</p>
+
+<p>It was quite unnecessary to call him, for Samuel Weller stepped briskly
+into the box the instant his name was pronounced.</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name, sir?" inquired the judge.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam Weller, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you spell it with a 'V or a 'W?" inquired the judge.</p>
+
+<p>"That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord," replied
+Sam, "but I spells it with a 'V.'"</p>
+
+<p>Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, "Quite right, too, Samuel;
+quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is that that dares to address the court?" said the little judge,
+looking up.</p>
+
+<p>"I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," replied Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you see him here now?" said the judge.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't my lord," replied Sam, staring right up in the roof of the
+court.</p>
+
+<p>"If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him
+instantly," said the judge.</p>
+
+<p>Sam bowed his acknowledgments.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "I believe you are in the
+service of Mr. Pickwick; speak up, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam. "I am in the service o' that
+'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?" said Sergeant Buzfuz.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him
+three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"You must not tell us what the soldier said," interposed the judge,
+"it's not evidence."</p>
+
+<p>"Wery good, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you recollect anything
+particular happening on the morning when you were first engaged by the
+defendant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do, sir. I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin',
+and that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith me in those
+days."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of the
+fainting of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not; I was in the passage till they called me up, and then
+the old lady wasn't there."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that's just it," replied Sam. "If they was a pair o' patent double
+million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps I might be able
+to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door, but bein' only eyes, you
+see, my wision's limited."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night last
+November? I suppose you went to have a little talk about this trial, eh,
+Mr. Weller?" said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly at the jury.</p>
+
+<p>"I went up to pay the rent," said Sam; "but the ladies gets into a wery
+great state of admiration at the honourable conduct o' Mr. Dodson and Fogg,
+and said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken up the
+case on spec., and to have charged nothin' at all for costs, unless they
+got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick."</p>
+
+<p>At this very unexpected reply the spectators tittered, and Mr. Sergeant
+Buzfuz said curtly, "Stand down, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant, and
+after that Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of a quarter of an hour the jury brought in a verdict for the
+plaintiff with &pound;750 damages.</p>
+
+<p>In the court-room Mr. Pickwick encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,
+rubbing their hands with satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"Not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get out of me, if I
+spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison," said Mr.
+Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall see about that," said Mr. Fogg grinning.</p>
+
+<p>Outside Mr. Pickwick and his friends made their way to a hackney coach,
+and Sam Weller was just preparing to jump upon the box when his father
+stood before him. The old gentleman shook his head gravely and said in
+warning accents, "I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin'
+bisness. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi?"</p>
+
+<p>"But surely, my dear sir," said Perker to his client the following
+morning, "you don't really mean, seriously now, that you won't pay these
+costs and damages?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
+renew the bill," observed Mr. Samuel Weller.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--In the Fleet Prison</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Two months later Mr. Pickwick was arrested for the non-payment of costs
+and damages and taken to the Fleet Prison. And so, for the first time in
+his life, Mr. Pickwick found himself within the walls of a debtor's
+prison.</p>
+
+<p>"Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr. Pickwick of the turnkey,
+and after some discussion it was discovered there was a bed to let.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't a large 'un, but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,
+sir," said the turnkey.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick, accompanied by Sam Weller, followed his guide up a
+staircase and along a gallery; at the end of this was an apartment
+containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable when he was left
+alone, and he went slowly to bed. He was awakened from his slumbers by the
+noise of his bed-fellows, one of whom, wearing grey cotton stockings, was
+performing a hornpipe; while another, evidently very drunk, was warbling as
+much as he could recollect of a comic song; the third, a man with thick,
+bushy whiskers, was applauding both performers.</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Smangle, sir," said the man with the whiskers to Mr.
+Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"Mine is Mivins," said the man in the stockings.</p>
+
+<p>"Well; but come," said Mr. Smangle, after assuring Mr. Pickwick a great
+many times that he entertained a very high respect for the feelings of a
+gentleman, "this is but dry work. Let's rinse our mouths with a drop of
+burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and
+I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and gentleman-like division of labour,
+anyhow."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick, unwilling to hazard a quarrel, gladly assented to the
+proposition.</p>
+
+<p>When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object upon
+which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small black
+portmanteau.</p>
+
+<p>He soon learnt that money was in the Fleet just what money was out of
+it; and that if he wished it he could have a room to himself, if he was
+willing to pay for it.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a
+Chancery prisoner," said the turnkey. "It'll stand you in a pound a week.
+Lord! Why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come down
+handsome?"</p>
+
+<p>The matter was soon arranged, and in a short time the room was
+furnished.</p>
+
+<p>"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when his servant had done his best to make the
+apartment comfortable, and was now inspecting the arrangements, "I have
+felt from the first that this is not the place to bring a young man
+to."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor an old 'un neither, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You're quite right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But old men may come here
+through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion. Do you understand me,
+Sam?"</p>
+
+<p>"Vell, sir," rejoined Sam, after a pause, "I think I see your drift, and
+it's my 'pinion that you're a-comin' it a great deal too strong, as the
+mail-coachman said to the snowstorm ven it overtook him."</p>
+
+<p>"For the time that I remain here," said Mr. Pickwick, "you must leave
+me, Sam."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I tell you vot it is," said Mr. Weller, in a grave and solemn
+voice. "This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't let's hear no
+more about it."</p>
+
+<p>"I am serious, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"You air, air you, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller. "Wery good, sir. Then so
+am I."</p>
+
+<p>With that Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great precision and
+left the room. Having found his father, Sam explained to the elder Mr.
+Weller that Mr. Pickwick must not be left alone in the Fleet.</p>
+
+<p>"Vy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy!" exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller.
+"Stop there by himself, poor creetur, without nobody to take his part! It
+can't be done, Samivel, it can't be done!"</p>
+
+<p>"O' course it can't," asserted Sam. "Well, then, I tell you wot it is.
+I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-twenty pound. P'raps you may ask
+for it five minits artervards, p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut up
+rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and sendin'
+him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?"</p>
+
+<p>The elder Mr. Weller, having grasped the idea, laughed till he was
+purple.</p>
+
+<p>In the course of the day Sam was duly arrested at the suit of his
+father, and Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's custody,
+passed at once into the prison, and went straight to his master's room.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a pris'ner, sir," said Sam. "I was arrested this here wery
+arternoon for debt, and the man as put me in 'ull never let me out till you
+go yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you
+mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall be
+a pris'ner, and I'm very glad on it. He's a malicious, bad-disposed,
+vorldly-minded, windictive creetur wot's put me in, with a hard heart as
+there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman remarked of the old
+gen'l'm'n with a dropsy, ven he said that upon the whole he thought he'd
+rather leave his property to his vife than build a chapel with it."</p>
+
+<p>In vain Mr. Pickwick remonstrated.</p>
+
+<p>"I takes my determination on principle, sir," remarked Sam, "and you
+takes yours on the same ground; vich puts me in mind o' the man as killed
+hisself on principle."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Mr. Pickwick Leaves the Fleet</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Those enterprising lawyers, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having obtained no
+money from Mr. Pickwick, proceeded in July to arrest Mrs. Bardell, who, as
+a matter of form, had given them a <i>cognovit</i> for the amount of their
+costs.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Pickwick was taking his evening walk in the grounds of the Fleet
+when Mrs. Bardell was brought in, and Sam Weller, seeing the lady, took off
+his hat in mock reverence. Mr. Pickwick turned indignantly away.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't bother the woman," said the turnkey to Weller; "she's just come
+in."</p>
+
+<p>"A pris'ner!" said Sam. "Who's the plaintives? What for? Speak up, old
+feller!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dodson and Fogg," replied the man.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, Job, Job!" shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, and calling for
+a man who went errands for the prisoners. "Run to Mr. Perker's, Job; I want
+him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game! Hooray!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Perker was in Mr. Pickwick's room betimes next morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, my dear sir," said Perker, "the first question I have to ask
+is whether this woman is to remain here? It rests solely and wholly and
+entirely with you."</p>
+
+<p>"With me!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, to which
+no man, and still more no woman, should ever be consigned if I had my
+will," resumed Mr. Perker. "I have seen the woman this morning. By paying
+the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages;
+and, further, a voluntary statement, under her hand, that this business was
+from the very first fomented and encouraged by these men, Dodson and Fogg.
+She entreats me to intercede with you, and implores your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, there was a low murmuring of voices
+outside, and a hesitating knock at the door; and Mr. Winkle, Mr. Tupman,
+and Mr. Snodgrass entering most opportunely, at last, by their united
+pleadings, Mr. Pickwick was fairly argued out of his resolutions. At three
+o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little room,
+and made his way as well as he could through the throng of debtors who
+pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached the
+lodge steps. He turned here to look about him, and his eye brightened as he
+did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he saw not one which was
+not the happier for his sympathy and charity.</p>
+
+<p>As for Sam Weller, having dispatched Job Trotter to procure his formal
+discharge, his next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready money
+in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which he himself
+dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake of it. This
+done, he hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he lost his voice,
+and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical
+condition, and followed his master out of the prison.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dickens14">Tale of Two Cities</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> The French Revolution has been the subject of more books than
+any secular event that ever occurred, and two books by English writers have
+brought the passion, the cruelty, and the horror of it for all time within
+the shuddering comprehension of English-speaking people. One is a history
+that is more than a history; the other a tale that is more than a tale.
+Dickens, no doubt, owed much of his inspiration to Carlyle's tremendous
+prose epic. But the genius that depicted a moving and tragic story upon the
+red background of the Terror was Dickens's own, and the "Tale of Two
+Cities" was final proof that its author could handle a great theme in a
+manner that was worthy of its greatness. The work was one of the novelist's
+later writings--it was published in 1859--and is in many respects distinct
+from all his others. It stands by itself among Dickens's masterpieces, in
+sombre and splendid loneliness--a detached glory to its author, and to his
+country's literature. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Recalled to Life</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken in the street. All the
+people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to run
+to the spot and drink the wine. Some kneeled down, made scoops of their two
+hands joined, and tried to sip before the wine had all run out between
+their fingers. Others dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated
+earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads. A shrill sound
+of laughter resounded in the street while this wine game lasted.</p>
+
+<p>The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street
+in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had
+stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many
+wooden shoes. One tall joker so besmirched scrawled upon a wall, with his
+finger dipped in muddy wine lees, "Blood!"</p>
+
+<p>And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam
+had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--cold,
+dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want were the lords in waiting on the
+saintly presence. The children had ancient faces and grave voices; and upon
+them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow of age, and
+coming up afresh, was the sign--Hunger.</p>
+
+<p>The master of the wine-shop outside of which the cask had been broken
+turned back to his shop when the struggle for the wine was ended. Monsieur
+Defarge was a dark, bull-necked man, good-humoured-looking on the whole,
+but implacable-looking, too. Three men who had been drinking at the counter
+paid for their wine, and left. An elderly gentleman, who had been sitting
+in a corner with a young lady, advanced, introduced himself as Mr. Jarvis
+Lorry, of Tellson's Bank, London, and begged the favour of a word.</p>
+
+<p>The conference was very short, but very decided. It had not lasted a
+minute, when Monsieur Defarge nodded and went out, followed by Mr. Lorry
+and the young lady.</p>
+
+<p>He led them through a stinking little black courtyard, and up a
+staircase to a dim garret, where a white-haired man sat on a low bench,
+stooping and very busy, making shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"You are still hard at work, I see," said Monsieur Defarge.</p>
+
+<p>A pair of haggard eyes looked at the questioner, and a very faint voice
+replied, "Yes, I am working."</p>
+
+<p>"Here is a visitor. Show him that shoe and tell him the maker's
+name."</p>
+
+<p>There was a long pause, and the shoemaker asked, "What did you say?"</p>
+
+<p>Defarge repeated his words.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a lady's shoe," answered the shoemaker.</p>
+
+<p>"And the maker's name?"</p>
+
+<p>"One Hundred and Five, North Tower."</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Manette," said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him, "do you
+remember nothing of me? Do you remember nothing of Defarge--your old
+servant?"</p>
+
+<p>As the Bastille captive of many years gazed at them, marks of
+intelligence forced themselves through the mist that had fallen on him.
+They were fainter; they were gone, but they had been there. The young lady
+moved forward, with tears streaming from her eyes, and kissed him. He took
+up her golden hair, and looked at it; then drew from his breast a folded
+rag, and opened it carefully. It contained a little quantity of hair. He
+took the girl's hair into his hand again.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the same! How can it be? She had a fear of my going that night.
+<i>Was it you?</i>" He turned upon her with frightful suddenness. But his
+vigour swiftly died out, and he gloomily shook his head. "No, no, no! It
+can't be!"</p>
+
+<p>She fell on her knees and clasped his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"If you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that was once sweet
+music to your ears, weep for it--weep for it! Thank God!" she cried. "I
+feel his sacred tears upon my face! Leave us here," she said. And, as the
+darkness closed in, they left father and daughter together.</p>
+
+<p>They came back at night. A coach stood outside the courtyard, and the
+lately released prisoner, in scared, blank wonder, began the journey that
+was to end in England and rest.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Jackal</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the dimly-lighted passages of the Old Bailey, Dr. Manette, his
+daughter, and Mr. Lorry stood by Mr. Charles Darnay--just acquitted on a
+charge of high treason--congratulating him on his escape from death.</p>
+
+<p>It was not difficult to recognise in Dr. Manette, intellectual of face
+and upright in bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. He and his
+daughter had been unwilling witnesses for the prosecution, called to give
+evidence that might be distorted into corroboration of a paid spy's
+falsehoods as to Darnay's dealings with the French king.</p>
+
+<p>Darnay kissed Lucie Manette's hand fervently and gratefully, and warmly
+thanked his counsel, Mr. Stryver. As he watched them go, a person who had
+been leaning against the wall stepped up to him. It was Mr. Carton, a
+barrister, who had sat throughout the trial with his whole attention
+seemingly concentrated upon the ceiling of the court. Everybody had been
+struck with the extraordinary resemblance, cleverly used by the defending
+counsel to confound a witness, between Mr. Carton and Mr. Darnay. Mr.
+Carton was shabbily dressed, and did not appear to be quite sober.</p>
+
+<p>"This must be a strange sight to you," said Carton, with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly seem yet," returned Darnay, "to belong to this world
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why the devil don't you dine?"</p>
+
+<p>He led him to a tavern, where Darnay recruited his strength with a good,
+plain dinner. Carton drank, but ate nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you give
+your toast?"</p>
+
+<p>"What toast?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Manette, then!"</p>
+
+<p>Carton drank the toast, and flung his glass over his shoulder against
+the wall, where it shivered in pieces.</p>
+
+<p>After Darnay had gone, Carton drank and slept till ten o'clock, and then
+walked to the chambers of Mr. Stryver. Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and an
+unscrupulous, and a bold, and was fast shouldering his way to a lucrative
+practice; but it had been noted that he had not the striking and necessary
+faculty of extracting evidence from a heap of statements. A remarkable
+improvement, however, came upon him as to this. Sydney Carton, idlest and
+most unpromising of men, was his great ally. What the two drank together
+would have floated a king's ship.</p>
+
+<p>Stryver never had a case in hand but what Carton was there, with his
+hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. At last it began to get about
+that, although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly
+good jackal, and that he rendered service to Stryver in that humble
+capacity. Folding wet towels on his head in a manner hideous to behold, the
+jackal began the "boiling down" of cases, while Stryver reclined before the
+fire. Each had bottles and glasses ready to his hand. The work was not done
+until the clocks were striking three.</p>
+
+<p>Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, Carton threw himself
+down in his clothes on a neglected bed. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It rose
+upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions,
+incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight
+upon him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Loadstone Rock</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Dear Dr. Manette," said Charles Darnay, "I love your daughter fondly,
+devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her!"</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Manette turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him or
+raise his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you spoken to Lucie?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle
+with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark doubt
+and dread.</p>
+
+<p>"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her
+perfect happiness, I will give her to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be
+returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like yourself,
+a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is not my own. I
+wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!"</p>
+
+<p>The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"</p>
+
+<p>On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her
+work alone, Sydney Carton entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.</p>
+
+<p>"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is too late for that." He covered her eyes with his hand. "Will you
+hear me?" he continued. "Since I have known you, I have been troubled by a
+remorse that I thought would never reproach me again. A dream, all a dream,
+that ends in nothing; but let me carry through the rest of my misdirected
+life the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the
+world."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "I promise to
+respect your secret."</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you! My last application is this, that you will believe that
+for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. Oh, Miss Manette,
+think now and then that there is a man who would give his life to keep a
+life you love beside you!"</p>
+
+<p>He said "farewell!" and left her.</p>
+
+<p>A wonderful corner for echoes was the quiet street-corner near Soho
+Square, where Dr. Manette lived with his daughter and her husband. But
+Lucie heard in the echoes none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her
+husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm and
+equal. The time came when a little Lucie lay on her bosom. But there were
+other echoes that rumbled menacingly in the distance, with a sound as of a
+great storm in France, with a dreadful sea rising.</p>
+
+<p>It was August of the year 1792. Charles Darnay talked in a low voice
+with Mr. Lorry in Tellson's Bank. The bank had a branch in Paris, and the
+London establishment was the headquarters of the aristocratic emigrants who
+had fled from France.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you really go to Paris to-night?" asked Darnay.</p>
+
+<p>"I do. You can have no conception of the peril in which our books and
+papers over yonder are involved, and the getting them out of harm's way is
+in the power of scarcely anyone but myself."</p>
+
+<p>As Mr. Lorry spoke a letter was laid before him. Darnay saw the
+direction--it was to himself. "To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St.
+Evr&eacute;monde." Horrified at the oppression and cruelty of his family
+towards the people, Darnay had left his native country and had never used
+the title that had, some years before, fallen to him by inheritance. He had
+told his secret to Dr. Manette on the wedding morning, and to none
+other.</p>
+
+<p>"I know the man," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you take charge of the letter and deliver it?" asked Mr.
+Lorry.</p>
+
+<p>"I will."</p>
+
+<p>When alone, Darnay opened the letter. It was from the steward of his
+French estate. The man had been charged with acting for an emigrant against
+the people. It was in vain he had urged that by the marquis's instructions
+he had acted for the people--had remitted all rents and imposts. The only
+response was that he had acted for an emigrant. Nothing but the marquis's
+personal testimony could save him from execution.</p>
+
+<p>Could he resist his old servant's appeal? He knew the peril of it, but
+his honour was at stake; he must go. That evening he wrote two letters
+explaining his purpose, one to Lucie, one to the doctor. On the next night
+he went out, pretending he would be back by-and-by. The two letters he left
+with the trusty porter to be delivered before midnight; and, with a heavy
+heart, leaving all that was dear on earth behind him, he journeyed
+on--drawn, like the mariner in the old story, to the Loadstone Rock.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Track of a Storm</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the buildings of Tellson's Bank in Paris, Mr. Lorry sat by a wood
+fire (it was early September, but the blighted year was prematurely cold),
+and on his honest face there was a deeper shade than the pendant lamp could
+throw--a shade of horror. By him sat Dr. Manette; Lucie and her child were
+in an inner room. They had hastened after Darnay to Paris. Dr. Manette knew
+that as a Bastille prisoner he bore a charmed life in revolutionary France,
+and that if Darnay was in danger he could help him. Darnay was indeed in
+danger. He had been arrested as an aristocrat and an enemy of the
+Republic.</p>
+
+<p>From the streets there came the usual night hum of the city, with now
+and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some
+unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.</p>
+
+<p>A loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the courtyard. Mr.
+Lorry put his hand on the doctor's arm, and they looked out.</p>
+
+<p>A throng of men and women crowded round a grindstone. Turning madly at
+its double handle were two men, whose faces were more horrible and cruel
+than the visages of the wildest savages. The eye could not detect one
+creature in the surrounding group free from the smear of blood. Shouldering
+one another to get next at the sharpening-stone were men with the stain all
+over their limbs and bodies; hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all were
+red with it.</p>
+
+<p>"They are murdering the prisoners," whispered Mr. Lorry.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Manette hastened out of the room, and down into the courtyard. There
+was a pause, a murmur, and the sound of his voice. Then Mr. Lorry saw him,
+surrounded by all, hurried out with cries of "Live the Bastille prisoner!
+Help for the Bastille prisoner's kindred in La Force!"</p>
+
+<p>It was long ere he returned. He had presented himself at the prison
+before the self-appointed tribunal that was consigning the prisoners to
+massacre, and had announced himself as a victim of the Bastille. One member
+of the tribunal had identified him; the member was Defarge. He had pleaded
+hard for his son-in-law's life, and had been informed that the prisoner
+must remain in custody; but should, for the doctor's sake, be held in safe
+custody.</p>
+
+<p>For fifteen months Charles Darnay remained in prison. During all that
+time Lucie was never sure but that her husband's head would be struck off
+next day. When at length arraigned as an emigrant whose life was forfeit to
+the Republic, he pleaded that he had come back to save a citizen's life.
+That night he sat by the fire with his family, a free man. Lucie at last
+was at ease.</p>
+
+<p>"What is that?" she cried suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>There was a knock at the door; four armed men in red caps entered the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>"Evr&eacute;monde," said the first, "you are again the prisoner of the
+Republic!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" he asked, with his wife and child clinging to him.</p>
+
+<p>"You will know to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"One word," entreated the doctor, "who has denounced him?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Citizen Defarge, and another."</p>
+
+<p>"What other?"</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen," said the man, with a strange look, "you will be answered
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--Condemned</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The news that Darnay had been again arrested was brought to Mr. Lorry
+later in the evening, and the man who brought it was Sydney Carton. He had
+come to Paris, he said, on business; his business was now completed, he was
+about to return, and he had obtained his leave to pass.</p>
+
+<p>"Darnay," he said, "cannot escape condemnation this time."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear not," answered Mr. Lorry.</p>
+
+<p>"I have found," continued Carton, "that the Old Bailey spy who charged
+Darnay with high treason years ago is now in the service of the Republic
+and is a turnkey at the prison of the Conciergerie where Darnay is
+confined. By threatening to denounce him as a spy of Pitt, I have secured
+that I shall gain access to Darnay in the prison if the trial should go
+against him."</p>
+
+<p>"But access to him," said Mr. Lorry, "will not save him."</p>
+
+<p>"I never said it would."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Lorry looked at him mystified, and once more noted his strange
+resemblance to the man whose fate was to be decided on the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>Carton stood next day in an obscure corner among the crowd when Charles
+Evr&eacute;monde, called Darnay, appeared again before the judges.</p>
+
+<p>"Who denounces the accused?" asked the president.</p>
+
+<p>"Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor."</p>
+
+<p>"Good."</p>
+
+<p>"Alexandre Manette, physician."</p>
+
+<p>"President," cried the doctor, pale and trembling, "I indignantly
+protest to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen Manette, be silent! Call Citizen Defarge."</p>
+
+<p>Rapidly Defarge told his story. He had been among the leaders in the
+taking of the Bastille. When the citadel had fallen, he had gone to the
+cell One Hundred and Five, North Tower, and had searched it. In a hole in
+the chimney he had found a paper in the handwriting of Dr. Manette.</p>
+
+<p>"Let it be read," said the president.</p>
+
+<p>In this paper Dr. Manette had written the history of his imprisonment.
+In the year 1757 he had been taken secretly by two nobles to visit two poor
+people who were on the point of death. One was a woman whom one of the
+nobles had forcibly carried off from her husband; the other, her brother,
+whom the seducer had mortally wounded. The doctor had come too late; both
+the woman and her brother died. The doctor refused a fee, and, to relieve
+his mind, wrote privately to the government stating the circumstances of
+the crime. One night he was called out of his home on a false pretext, and
+taken to the Bastille.</p>
+
+<p>The nobles were the Marquis de St. Evr&eacute;monde and his brother; and
+the Marquis was the father of Charles Darnay. A terrible sound arose in the
+court when the reading was done. The voting of the jury was unanimous, and
+at every vote there was a roar. Death in twenty-four hours!</p>
+
+<p>That night Carton again came to Mr. Lorry. Between the two men, as they
+spoke, a figure on a chair rocked itself to and fro, moaning. It was Dr.
+Manette.</p>
+
+<p>"He and Lucie and her child must leave Paris to-morrow," said Carton.
+"They are in danger of being denounced. It is a capital crime to mourn for,
+or sympathise with, a victim of the guillotine. Be ready to start at two
+o'clock to-morrow afternoon. See them into their seats; take your own seat.
+The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.</p>
+
+<p>"It shall be done."</p>
+
+<p>Carton turned to the couch where Lucie lay unconscious, prostrated with
+utter grief.</p>
+
+<p>He bent down, touched her face with his lips, and murmured some words.
+Little Lucie told them afterwards that she heard him say, "A life you
+love."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VI.--The Guillotine</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited
+their fate. Fifty-two persons were to roll that afternoon on the life-tide
+of the city to the boundless, everlasting sea.</p>
+
+<p>The hours went on as Darnay walked to and fro in his cell, and the
+clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. The final hour, he
+knew, was three, and he expected to be summoned at two. The clocks struck
+one. "There is but another now," he thought.</p>
+
+<p>He heard footsteps. The door was opened, and there stood before him,
+quiet, intent, and smiling, Sydney Carton.</p>
+
+<p>"Darnay," he said, "I bring you a request from your wife."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no time--you must comply. Take off your boots and coat, and
+put on mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Carton, there is no escaping from this place. It is madness."</p>
+
+<p>"Do I ask you to escape?" said Carton, forcing the changes upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now sit at the table and write what I dictate."</p>
+
+<p>"To whom do I address it?"</p>
+
+<p>"To no one."</p>
+
+<p>"If you remember," said Carton, dictating, "the words that passed
+between us long ago, you will comprehend this when you see it. I am
+thankful that the time has come when I can prove them." Carton's hand was
+withdrawn from his breast, and slowly and softly moved down the writer's
+face. For a few seconds Darnay struggled faintly, Carton's hand held firmly
+at his nostrils; then he fell senseless to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Carton called quietly to the turnkey, who looked in and went again as
+Carton was putting the paper in Darnay's breast. He came back with two men.
+They raised the unconscious figure and carried it away.</p>
+
+<p>The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of
+listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote
+suspicion or alarm. There was none. Presently his door opened, and a gaoler
+looked in, merely saying: "Follow me," whereupon Carton followed him into a
+dark room. As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, a young woman, with a
+slight, girlish figure, came to speak to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Citizen Evr&eacute;monde," she said, "I am a poor little seamstress,
+who was with you in La Force."</p>
+
+<p>He murmured an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard you were released."</p>
+
+<p>"I was, and was taken again and condemned."</p>
+
+<p>"If I may ride with you, will you let me hold your hand?"</p>
+
+<p>As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "Oh, you will let me hold your
+hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! Yes, my poor sister, to the last."</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon a coach going out of Paris drove up to the Barrier.
+"Papers!" demanded the guard. The papers are handed out and read.</p>
+
+<p>"Alexandre Manette, Lucie Manette, her child. Jarvis Lorry, banker,
+English. Sydney Carton, advocate, English. Which is he?"</p>
+
+<p>He lies here, in a corner, apparently in a swoon. He is in bad
+health.</p>
+
+<p>"Behold your papers, countersigned."</p>
+
+<p>"One can depart, citizen?"</p>
+
+<p>"One can depart."</p>
+
+<p>The ministers of Sainte Guillotin are robed and ready. Crash!--and the
+women who sit with their knitting in front of the guillotine count one.
+Crash!--and the women count two.</p>
+
+<p>The supposed Evr&eacute;monde descends with the seamstress from the
+tumbril, and joins the fast-thinning throng of victims before the crashing
+engine that constantly whirrs up and falls. The spare hand does not tremble
+as he grasps it. She goes next before him--is gone. The knitting women
+count twenty-two.</p>
+
+<p>The murmuring of many voices, the pressing on of many footsteps in the
+outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward like one great heave of
+water, all flashes away. Twenty-three.</p>
+
+<p>They said of him about the city that night that it was the peacefulest
+man's face ever beheld there. Had he given utterance to his thoughts at the
+foot of the scaffold, they would have been these:</p>
+
+<p>"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
+prosperous, and happy in that England which I shall see no more. I see her
+with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see that I hold a
+sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants,
+generations hence.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a
+far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="disraeli">BENJAMIN DISRAELI</a></h2>
+
+
+<h3><a name="disraeli1">Coningsby</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was not only a great
+figure in English politics in the nineteenth century; he was also a
+novelist of brilliant powers. Born in London on December 21, 1804, the son
+of Isaac D'Israeli, the future Prime Minister of England was first articled
+to a solicitor; but he quickly turned from this to politics. Disraeli was
+leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Commons in 1847; he was
+twice Prime Minister. In 1876 he was created Earl of Beaconsfield.
+Disraeli's novels--especially the famous trilogy of "Coningsby," 1844,
+"Sybil," 1845, and "Tancred," 1846--are remarkable chiefly for the view
+they give of contemporary political life, and for the definite political
+philosophy of their author. Neither the earlier novels--"Vivian Grey",
+1826, "Contarini Fleming," "Alroy," 1832, "Henrietta Temple" and "Venetia,"
+1837--nor the later ones--"Lothair," 1870, and "Endymion," 1874--are to be
+ranked with "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Many characters in "Coningsby" are
+well-known men. Lord Monmouth is Lord Hertford, whom Thackeray depicted as
+the Marquess of Steyne, Rigby is John Wilson Croker, Oswald Millbank is Mr.
+Gladstone, Lord H. Sydney is Lord John Manners, Sidonia is Baron Alfred de
+Rothschild, and Coningsby is Lord Lyttelton. Lord Beaconsfield died in
+London on April 19, 1881. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Hero of Eton</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Coningsby was the orphan child of the younger of the two sons of Lord
+Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds. The elder son hated his
+father, and lived at Naples, maintaining no connection either with his
+parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated his
+younger son, who had married against his consent a woman to whom that son
+was devoted. Persecuted by his father, he died abroad, and his widow
+returned to England. Not having a relation, and scarcely an acquaintance,
+in the world, she made an appeal to her husband's father, the wealthiest
+noble in England, and a man who was often prodigal, and occasionally
+generous, who respected law, and despised opinion. Lord Monmouth decided
+that, provided she gave up her child, and permanently resided in one of the
+remotest counties, he would make her a yearly allowance of three hundred
+pounds. Necessity made the victim yield; and three years later, Mrs.
+Coningsby died, the same day that her father-in-law was made a
+marquess.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby was then not more than nine years of age; and when he attained
+his twelfth year an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at Rome,
+that he should go at once to Eton.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby had never seen his grandfather. It was Mr. Rigby who made
+arrangements for his education. This Mr. Rigby was the manager of Lord
+Monmouth's parliamentary influence and the auditor of his vast estates. He
+was a member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs, and, in fact, a great
+personage. Lord Monmouth had bought him, and it was a good purchase.</p>
+
+<p>In the spring of 1832, when the country was in the throes of agitation
+over the Reform Bill, Lord Monmouth returned to England, accompanied by the
+Prince and Princess Colonna and the Princess Lucretia, the prince's
+daughter by his first wife. Coningsby was summoned from Eton to Monmouth
+House, and returned to school in the full favour of the marquess.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby was the hero of Eton; everybody was proud of him, talked of
+him, quoted him, imitated him. But the ties of friendship bound Coningsby
+to Henry Sydney and Oswald Millbank above all companions. Lord Henry Sydney
+was the son of a duke, and Millbank was the son of one of the wealthiest
+manufacturers in Lancashire. Once, on the river, Coningsby saved Millbank's
+life; and this was the beginning of a close and ardent friendship.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby liked very much to talk politics with Millbank. He heard
+things from Millbank which were new to him. Politics had, as yet, appeared
+to him a struggle whether the country was to be governed by Whig nobles or
+Tory nobles; and Coningsby, a high Tory as he supposed himself to be,
+thought it very unfortunate that he should probably have to enter life with
+his friends out of power and his family boroughs destroyed. But, in
+conversing with Millbank, he heard for the first time of influential
+classes in the country who were not noble, and were yet determined to
+acquire power.</p>
+
+<p>Generally, at that time, among the upper boys at Eton there was a
+reigning inclination for political discussion, and a feeling in favour of
+"Conservative principles." A year later, and in 1836, gradually the inquiry
+fell upon attentive ears as to what these Conservative principles were.
+Before Coningsby and his friends left Eton--Coningsby for Cambridge, and
+Millbank for Oxford--they were resolved to contend for political faith
+rather than for mere partisan success or personal ambition.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--A Portrait of a Lady</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On his way to Coningsby Castle, in Lancashire, where the Marquess of
+Monmouth was living in state--feasting the county, patronising the borough,
+and diffusing confidence in the Conservative party in order that the
+electors of Dartford might return his man, Mr. Rigby, once more for
+parliament--our hero halted for the night at Manchester. In the coffee-room
+at the hotel a stranger, loud in praise of the commercial enterprise of the
+neighbourhood, advised Coningsby, if he wanted to see something tip-top in
+the way of cotton works, to visit Millbank of Millbank's; and thus it came
+about that Coningsby first met Edith Millbank. Oswald was abroad; and Mr.
+Millbank, when he heard the name of his visitor, was only distressed that
+the sudden arrival left no time for adequate welcome.</p>
+
+<p>"My visit to Manchester, which led to this, was quite accidental," said
+Coningsby. "I am bound for the other division of the county, to pay a visit
+to my grandfather, Lord Monmouth, but an irresistible desire came over me
+during my journey to view this famous district of industry."</p>
+
+<p>A cloud passed over the countenance of Millbank as the name of Lord
+Monmouth was mentioned; but he said nothing, only turning towards
+Coningsby, with an air of kindness, to beg him, since to stay longer was
+impossible, to dine with him. Coningsby gladly agreed to this and the
+village clock was striking five when Mr. Millbank and his guest entered the
+gardens of his mansion and proceeded to the house.</p>
+
+<p>The hall was capacious and classic; and as they approached the staircase
+the sweetest and the clearest voice exclaimed from above: "Papa, papa!" and
+instantly a young girl came bounding down the stairs; but suddenly, seeing
+a stranger with her father, she stopped upon the landing-place. Mr.
+Millbank beckoned her, and she came down slowly; at the foot of the stairs
+her father said briefly: "A friend you have often heard of, Edith--this is
+Mr. Coningsby."</p>
+
+<p>She started, blushed very much, and then put forth her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"How often have we all wished to see and to thank you!" Miss Edith
+Millbank remarked in tones of sensibility.</p>
+
+<p>Opposite Coningsby at dinner that night was a portrait which greatly
+attracted his attention. It represented a woman extremely young and of a
+rare beauty. The face was looking out of the canvas, and the gaze of this
+picture disturbed the serenity of Coningsby. On rising to leave the table
+he said to Mr. Millbank, "By whom is that portrait, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The countenance of Millbank became disturbed; his expression was
+agitated, almost angry. "Oh! that is by a country artist," he said, "of
+whom you never heard."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Course of True Love</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The Princess Colonna resolved that an alliance should take place between
+Coningsby and her step-daughter. But the plans of the princess, imparted to
+Mr. Rigby that she might gain his assistance in achieving them, were doomed
+to frustration. Coningsby fell deeply in love with Miss Millbank; and Lord
+Monmouth himself decided to marry Lucretia.</p>
+
+<p>It was in Paris that Coningsby, on a visit to his grandfather, woke to
+the knowledge of his love for Edith Millbank. They met at a brilliant
+party, Miss Millbank in the care of her aunt, Lady Wallinger.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Millbank says that you have quite forgotten her," said a mutual
+friend.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby started, advanced, coloured a little, could not conceal his
+surprise. The lady, too, though more prepared, was not without confusion.
+Coningsby recalled at that moment the beautiful, bashful countenance that
+had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had effected a wonderful
+change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed girl into a woman of
+surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith Millbank was the last
+thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated slumber. In the morning
+his first thought was of her of whom he had dreamed. The light had dawned
+on his soul. Coningsby loved.</p>
+
+<p>The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
+few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to Sidonia,
+a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord Monmouth.
+Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of Sidonia;
+against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering courage to
+speak, left hastily for England.</p>
+
+<p>But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
+once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
+Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.</p>
+
+<p>Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
+the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
+accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
+Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
+between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old, implacable
+hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and Coningsby left the
+castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again, and still more the
+beautiful sister of his old friend.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
+Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
+Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom met
+in a scene more fresh and fair.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
+head, and met his glance.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
+Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
+Edith! I love you!"</p>
+
+<p>She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
+impending twilight.</p>
+
+<p>The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
+home.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
+he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
+inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but without harshness. "You are
+the grandson of Lord Monmouth; at present enjoying his favour, but
+dependent on his bounty. You may be the heir of his wealth to-morrow and
+to-morrow you may be the object of his hatred and persecution. Your
+grandfather and myself are foes--to the death. It is idle to mince phrases.
+I do not vindicate our mutual feelings; I may regret that they have ever
+arisen, especially at this exigency. Lord Monmouth would crush me, had he
+the power, like a worm; and I have curbed his proud fortunes often. These
+feelings of hatred may be deplored, but they do not exist; and now you are
+to go to this man, and ask his sanction to marry my daughter!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would appease these hatreds," retorted Coningsby, "the origin of
+which I know not. I would appeal to my grandfather. I would show him
+Edith."</p>
+
+<p>"He has looked upon as fair even as Edith," said Mr. Millbank. "And did
+that melt his heart? My daughter and yourself can meet no more."</p>
+
+<p>In vain Coningsby pleaded his suit. It was not till Mr. Millbank told
+that he, too, had suffered--that he had loved Coningsby's own mother, and
+that she gave her heart to another, to die afterwards solitary and
+forsaken, tortured by Lord Monmouth--that Coningsby was silent. It was his
+mother's portrait he had looked upon that night at Millbank; and he
+understood the cause of the hatred.</p>
+
+<p>He wrung Mr. Millbank's hand, and left Hellingsley in despair. But
+Oswald overtook him in the park; and, leaning on his friend's arm,
+Coningsby poured forth a hurried, impassioned, and incoherent strain--all
+that had occurred, all that he had dreamed, his baffled bliss, his actual
+despair, his hopeless outlook.</p>
+
+<p>A thunderstorm overtook them; and Oswald took refuge from the elements
+at the castle. There, as they sat together, pledging their faithful
+friendship, the door opened, and Mr. Rigby appeared.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Coningsby's Political Faith</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Lord Monmouth banished the Princess Colonna from his presence, and
+married Lucretia. Coningsby returned to Cambridge, and continued to enjoy
+his grandfather's hospitality whenever Lord Monmouth was in London.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Millbank had, in the meantime, become a member of parliament, having
+defeated Mr. Rigby in the contest for the representation of Dartford.</p>
+
+<p>In the year 1840 a general election was imminent, and Lord Monmouth
+returned to London. He was weary of Paris; every day he found it more
+difficult to be amused. Lucretia had lost her charm: they had been married
+nearly three years. The marquess, from whom nothing could be concealed,
+perceived that often, while she elaborately attempted to divert him, her
+mind was wandering elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>He fell into the easy habit of dining in his private rooms, sometimes
+<i>t&ecirc;te-à-t&ecirc;te</i> with Villebecque, his private secretary, a
+cosmopolitan theatrical manager, whose tales and adventures about a kind of
+society which Lord Monmouth had always preferred to the polished and
+somewhat insipid circles in which he was born, had rendered him the prime
+favourite of his great patron. Villebecque's step-daughter Flora, a modest
+and retiring maiden, waited on Lucretia.</p>
+
+<p>Back in London, Lord Monmouth, on the day of his arrival, welcomed
+Coningsby to his room, and at a sign from his master Villebecque left the
+apartment.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, Harry," said Lord Monmouth, "that I am much occupied to-day,
+yet the business on which I wish to communicate with you is so pressing
+that it could not be postponed. These are not times when young men should
+be out of sight. Your public career will commence immediately. The
+government have resolved on a dissolution. My information is from the
+highest quarter. The Whigs are going to dissolve their own House of
+Commons. Notwithstanding this, we can beat them, but the race requires the
+finest jockeying. We can't give a point. Now, if we had a good candidate,
+we could win Dartford. But Rigby won't do. He is too much of the old clique
+used up a hack; besides, a beaten horse. We are assured the name of
+Coningsby would be a host; there is a considerable section who support the
+present fellow who will not vote against a Coningsby. They have thought of
+you as a fit person; and I have approved of the suggestion. You will,
+therefore, be the candidate for Dartford with my entire sanction and
+support; and I have no doubt you will be successful."</p>
+
+<p>To Coningsby the idea was appalling. To be the rival of Mr. Millbank on
+the hustings of Dartford! Vanquished or victorious, equally a catastrophe.
+He saw Edith canvassing for her father and against him. Besides, to enter
+the House of Commons a slave and a tool of party! Strongly anti-Whig,
+Coningsby distrusted the Conservative party, and looked for a new party of
+men who shared his youthful convictions and high political principles.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Monmouth, however, brushed aside his grandson's objections.</p>
+
+<p>"You are certainly still young; but I was younger by nearly two years
+when I first went in, and I found no difficulty. As for your opinions, you
+have no business to have any other than those I uphold. I want to see you
+in parliament. I tell you what it is, Harry," Lord Monmouth concluded, very
+emphatically, "members of this family may think as they like, but they must
+act as I please. You must go down on Friday to Dartford and declare
+yourself a candidate for the town, or I shall reconsider our mutual
+positions."</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby left Monmouth House in dejection, but to his solemn resolution
+of political faith he remained firm. He would not stand for Dartford
+against Mr. Millbank as the nominee of a party he could not follow. In
+terms of tenderness and humility he wrote to his grandfather that he
+positively declined to enter parliament except as the master of his own
+conduct.</p>
+
+<p>In the same hour of his distress Coningsby overheard in his club two men
+discussing the engagement of Miss Millbank to the Marquess of Beaumanoir,
+the elder brother of his school friend, Henry Sydney.</p>
+
+<p>Edith Millbank, too, had heard news at a London assembly of wealth and
+fashion that Coningsby was engaged to be married to Lady Theresa
+Sydney.</p>
+
+<p>So easily does rumour spin her stories and smite her victims with
+sadness.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--Lady Monmouth's Departure</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was Flora, to whom Coningsby had been always kind and courteous, who
+told Lucretia that Lord Monmouth was displeased with his grandson.</p>
+
+<p>"My lord is very angry with Mr. Coningsby," she said, shaking her head
+mournfully. "My lord told M. Villebecque that perhaps Mr. Coningsby would
+never enter the house again."</p>
+
+<p>Lucretia immediately dispatched a note to Mr. Rigby, and, on the arrival
+of that gentleman, told him all she had learnt of the contention between
+Harry Coningsby and her husband.</p>
+
+<p>"I told you to beware of him long ago," said Lady Monmouth. "He has ever
+been in the way of both of us."</p>
+
+<p>"He is in my power," said Rigby. "We can crush him. He is in love with
+the daughter of Millbank, the man who bought Hellingsley. I found the
+younger Millbank quite domiciliated at the castle, a fact which of itself,
+if known to Lord Monmouth, would ensure the lad's annihilation."</p>
+
+<p>"The time is now most mature for this. Let us not conceal it from
+ourselves that since this grandson's first visit to Coningsby Castle we
+have neither of us really been in the same position with my lord which we
+then occupied, or believed we should occupy. Go now; the game is before
+you! Rid me of this Coningsby, and I will secure all that you want."</p>
+
+<p>"It shall be done," said Rigby, "it must be done."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Monmouth bade Mr. Rigby hasten at once to the marquess and bring
+her news of the interview. She awaited with some excitement his return. Her
+original prejudice against Coningsby and jealousy of his influence had been
+aggravated by the knowledge that, although after her marriage Lord Monmouth
+had made a will which secured to her a very large portion of his great
+wealth, the energies and resources of the marquess had of late been
+directed to establish Coningsby in a barony.</p>
+
+<p>Two hours elapsed before Mr. Rigby returned. There was a churlish and
+unusual look about him.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord Monmouth suggests that, as you were tired of Paris, your ladyship
+might find the German baths at Kissingen agreeable. A paragraph in the
+'Morning Post' would announce that his lordship was about to join you; and
+even if his lordship did not ultimately reach you, an amicable separation
+would be effected."</p>
+
+<p>In vain Lucretia stormed. Mr. Rigby mentioned that Lord Monmouth had
+already left the house and would not return, and finally announced that
+Lucretia's letters to a certain Prince Trautsmandorff were in his
+lordship's possession.</p>
+
+<p>A few days later, and Coningsby read in the papers of Lady Monmouth's
+departure to Kissingen. He called at Monmouth House, to find the place
+empty, and to learn from the porter that Lord Monmouth was about to occupy
+a villa at Richmond.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the
+exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced nothing
+but kindness from Lord Monmouth. He determined to pay him a visit at
+Richmond.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Monmouth, who was entertaining two French ladies at his villa,
+recoiled from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds; but Coningsby
+so pleasantly impressed his fair visitors that Lord Monmouth decided to ask
+him to dinner. Thus, in spite of the combinations of Lucretia and Mr.
+Rigby, and his grandfather's resentment, within a month of the memorable
+interview at Monmouth House, Coningsby found himself once more a welcome
+guest at Lord Monmouth's table.</p>
+
+<p>In that same month other important circumstances also occurred.</p>
+
+<p>At a f&ecirc;te in some beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames,
+Coningsby and Edith Millbank were both present. The announcement was made
+of the forthcoming marriage of Lady Theresa Sydney to Mr. Eustace Lyle, a
+friend of Mr. Coningsby; and later, from the lips of Lady Wallinger
+herself, Miss Millbank's aunt, Coningsby learnt how really groundless was
+the report of Lord Beaumanoir's engagement.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord Beaumanoir admires her--has always admired her," Lady Wallinger
+explained to Coningsby; "but Edith has given him no encouragement
+whatever."</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the terrace Edith and Coningsby met. He seized the
+occasion to walk some distance by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"How could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby, after some time.</p>
+
+<p>"I was unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>"And now we are to each other as before."</p>
+
+<p>"And will be, come what may," said Edith.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VI.--Lord Monmouth's Money</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the midst of Christmas-revels at the country house of Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, surrounded by the duke and duchess and their children--the
+Sydneys--Coningsby was called away by a messenger, who brought news of the
+sudden death of Lord Monmouth. The marquess had died at supper at his
+Richmond villa, with no persons near him but those who were very
+amusing.</p>
+
+<p>The body had been removed to Monmouth House; and after the funeral, in
+the principal saloon of Monmouth House, the will was eventually read.</p>
+
+<p>The date of the will was 1829; and by this document the sum of
+&pound;10,000 was left to Coningsby, who at that time was unknown to his
+grandfather.</p>
+
+<p>But there were many codicils. In 1832, the &pound;10,000 was increased
+to &pound;50,000. In 1836, after Coningsby's visit to the castle,
+&pound;50,000 was left to the Princess Lucretia, and Coningsby was left
+sole residuary legatee.</p>
+
+<p>After the marriage, an estate of &pound;9,000 a year was left to
+Coningsby, &pound;20,000 to Mr. Rigby, and the whole of the residue went to
+issue by Lady Monmouth.</p>
+
+<p>In the event of there being no issue, the whole of the estate was to be
+divided equally between Lady Monmouth and Coningsby. In 1839, Mr. Rigby was
+reduced to &pound;10,000, Lady Monmouth was to receive &pound;3,000 per
+annum, and the rest, without reserve, went absolutely to Coningsby.</p>
+
+<p>The last codicil was dated immediately after the separation with Lady
+Monmouth.</p>
+
+<p>All dispositions in favour of Coningsby were revoked, and he was left
+with the interest of the original &pound;10,000, the executors to invest
+the money as they thought best for his advancement, provided it were not
+placed in any manufactory.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Rigby received &pound;5,000, M. Villebecque &pound;30,000, and all
+the rest, residue and remainder, to Flora, commonly called Flora
+Villebecque, step-child of Armand Villebecque, "but who is my natural
+daughter by an actress at the Th&eacute;âtre Fran&ccedil;ais in the years
+1811-15, by the name of Stella."</p>
+
+<p>Sidonia lightened the blow for Coningsby as far as philosophy could be
+of use.</p>
+
+<p>"I ask you," he said, "which would you have rather lost--your
+grandfather's inheritance or your right leg?"</p>
+
+<p>"Most certainly my inheritance."</p>
+
+<p>"Or your left arm?"</p>
+
+<p>"Still the inheritance."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you have given up a year of your life for that fortune
+trebled?"</p>
+
+<p>"Even at twenty-three I would have refused the terms."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, then, Coningsby, the calamity cannot be very great. You have
+health, youth, good looks, great abilities, considerable knowledge, a fine
+courage, and no contemptible experience. You can live on &pound;300 a year.
+Read for the Bar."</p>
+
+<p>"I have resolved," said Coningsby. "I will try for the Great Seal!"</p>
+
+<p>Next morning came a note from Flora, begging Mr. Coningsby to call upon
+her. It was an interview he would rather have avoided. But Flora had not
+injured him, and she was, after all, his kin. She was alone when Coningsby
+entered the room.</p>
+
+<p>"I have robbed you of your inheritance."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not mine by any right, legal or moral. The fortune is yours,
+dear Flora, by every right; and there is no one who wishes more fervently
+that it may contribute to your happiness than I do."</p>
+
+<p>"It is killing me," said Flora mournfully. "I must tell you what I feel.
+This fortune is yours. I never thought to be so happy as I shall be if you
+will generously accept it."</p>
+
+<p>"You are, as I have ever thought you, the kindest and most
+tender-hearted of beings," said Coningsby, much moved; "but the custom of
+the world does not permit such acts to either of us as you contemplate.
+Have confidence in yourself. You will be happy."</p>
+
+<p>"When I die, these riches will be yours; that, at all events, you cannot
+prevent," were Flora's last generous words.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VII.--On Life's Threshold</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Coningsby established himself in the Temple to read law; and Lord Henry
+Sydney, Oswald Millbank, and other old Eton friends rallied round their
+early leader.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel quite convinced that Coningsby will become Lord Chancellor,"
+Henry Sydney said gravely, after leaving the Temple.</p>
+
+<p>The General Election of 1841, which Lord Monmouth had expected a year
+before, found Coningsby a solitary student in his lonely chambers in the
+Temple. All his friends and early companions were candidates, and with
+sanguine prospects. They sent their addresses to Coningsby, who, deeply
+interested, traced in them the influence of his own mind.</p>
+
+<p>Then, in the midst of the election, one evening in July, Coningsby,
+catching up a third edition of the "Sun," was startled by the word
+"Dartford" in large type. Below it were the headlines:</p>
+
+<p>"Extraordinary Affair! Withdrawal of the Liberal Candidate! Two Tory
+Candidates in the Field!"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Millbank, at the last moment, had retired, and had persuaded his
+supporters to nominate Harry Coningsby in his place. The fight was between
+Coningsby and Rigby.</p>
+
+<p>Oswald Millbank, who had just been returned to parliament, came up to
+London; and from him, as they travelled to Dartford, Coningsby grasped the
+change of events. Sidonia had explained to Lady Wallinger the cause of
+Coningsby's disinheritance. Lady Wallinger had told Oswald and Edith; and
+Oswald had urged on his father the recognition of his friend's affection
+for his sister.</p>
+
+<p>On his own impulse Mr. Millbank decided that Coningsby should contest
+Dartford.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Rigby was beaten; and Coningsby arrived at Dartford in time to
+receive the cheers of thousands. From the hustings he gave his first
+address to a public assembly; and by general agreement no such speech had
+ever been heard in the borough before.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the autumn Harry and Edith were married at Millbank, and they
+passed their first moon at Hellingsley.</p>
+
+<p>The death of Flora, who had bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the
+husband of Edith, took place before the end of the year, hastened by the
+fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days,
+haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the instrument
+of injuring the only being whom she loved.</p>
+
+<p>Coningsby passed his next Christmas in his own hall, with his beautiful
+and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart and
+his youth.</p>
+
+<p>The young couple stand now on the threshold of public life. What will be
+their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the
+great truths, which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? Or will
+vanity confound their fortunes, and jealousy wither their sympathies?</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="disraeli2">Sybil, or the Two Nations</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Sybil, or the Two Nations" was published in 1845, a year
+after "Coningsby," and in it the novelist "considered the condition of the
+people." The author himself, writing in 1870 of this novel, said: "At that
+time the Chartist agitation was still fresh in the public memory, and its
+repetition was far from improbable. I had visited and observed with care
+all the localities introduced, and as an accurate and never exaggerated
+picture of a remarkable period in our domestic history, and of a popular
+organisation which in its extent and completeness has perhaps never been
+equalled, the pages of "Sybil" may, I venture to believe, be consulted with
+confidence." "Sybil," indeed, is not only an extremely interesting novel;
+but as a study of social life in England it is of very definite historical
+value. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Hard Times for the Poor</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>It was Derby Day, 1837. Charles Egremont was in the ring at Epsom with a
+band of young patricians. Groups surrounded the betting post, and the odds
+were shouted lustily by a host of horsemen. Egremont had backed Caravan to
+win, and Caravan lost by half a length. Charles Egremont was the younger
+brother of the Earl of Marney; he had received &pound;15,000 on the death
+of his father, and had spent it. Disappointed in love at the age of
+twenty-four, Egremont left England, to return after eighteen months'
+absence a much wiser man. He was now conscious that he wanted an object,
+and, musing over action, was ignorant how to act.</p>
+
+<p>The morning after the Derby, Egremont, breakfasting with his mother,
+learnt that King William IV. was dying, and that a dissolution of
+parliament was at hand. Lady Marney was a great stateswoman, a leader in
+fashionable politics.</p>
+
+<p>"Charles," said Lady Marney, "you must stand for the old borough, for
+Marbury. No doubt the contest will be very expensive, but it will be a
+happy day for me to see you in parliament, and Marney will, of course,
+supply the funds. I shall write to him, and perhaps you will do so
+yourself."</p>
+
+<p>The election took place, and Egremont was returned. Then he paid a visit
+to his brother at Marney Abbey, and an old estrangement between the two was
+ended.</p>
+
+<p>Marney Abbey was as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of
+accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. It had been a
+religious house. The founder of the Marney family, a confidential domestic
+of one of the favourites of Henry VIII., had contrived by unscrupulous zeal
+to obtain the grant of the abbey lands, and in the reign of Elizabeth came
+a peerage.</p>
+
+<p>The present Lord Marney upheld the workhouse, hated allotments and
+infant schools, and declared the labourers on his estate to be happy and
+contented with a wage of seven shillings a week.</p>
+
+<p>The burning of hayricks on the Abbey Farm at the time of Egremont's
+visit showed that the torch of the incendiary had been introduced and that
+a beacon had been kindled in the agitated neighbourhood. For misery lurked
+in the wretched tenements of the town of Marney, and fever was rife. The
+miserable hovels of the people had neither windows nor doors, and were
+unpaved, and looked as if they could scarcely hold together. There were few
+districts in the kingdom where the rate of wages was more depressed.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of this fire?" said Egremont to a labourer at the
+Abbey Farm.</p>
+
+<p>"I think 'tis hard times for the poor, sir," was the reply, given with a
+shake of the head.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Old Tradition</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"Why was England not the same land as in the days of his light-hearted
+youth?" Charles Egremont mused, as he wandered among the ruins of the
+ancient abbey. "Why were these hard times for the poor?" Brooding over
+these questions, he observed two men hard by in the old cloister garden,
+one of lofty stature, nearer forty than fifty years of age, the other
+younger and shorter, with a pale face redeemed from ugliness by its
+intellectual brow. Egremont joined the strangers, and talked.</p>
+
+<p>"Our queen reigns over two nations, between whom there is no intercourse
+and no sympathy--the rich and the poor," said the younger stranger.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, from the lady chapel rose the evening hymn to the Virgin in
+tones of almost supernatural tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>The melody ceased; and Egremont beheld a female form, a countenance
+youthful, and of a beauty as rare as it was choice.</p>
+
+<p>The two men joined the beautiful maiden; and the three quitted the abbey
+grounds together without another word, and pursued their way to the railway
+station.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen the tomb of the last abbot of Marney, and I marked your
+name on the stone, my father," said the maiden. "You must regain our lands
+for us, Stephen," she added to the younger man.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand why you lost sight of those papers, Walter," said
+Stephen Morley.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, friend, they were never in my possession; they were not mine
+when I saw them. They were my father's. He was a small yeoman, well-to-do
+in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition that the lands
+were ours. This Hatton got hold of him; he did his work well, I have heard.
+It is twenty-five years since my father brought his writ of right, and
+though baffled, he was not beaten. Then he died; his affairs were in great
+confusion; he had mortgaged his land for his writ. There were debts that
+could not be paid. I had no capital. I would not sink to be a labourer. I
+had heard much of the high wages of this new industry; I left the
+land."</p>
+
+<p>"And the papers?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought of them, or thought of them with disgust, as the cause
+of my ruin. Of Hatton, I have not heard since my father's death. He had
+quitted Mowbray, and none could give me tidings of him. When you came and
+showed me in a book that the last abbot of Marney was a Walter Gerard, the
+old feeling stirred again, and though I am but the overlooker at Mr.
+Trafford's mill, I could not help telling you that my fathers fought at
+Agincourt."</p>
+
+<p>They approached the station, entered the train, and two hours later
+arrived at Mowbray. Gerard and Morley left their companion at a convent
+gate in the suburbs of the manufacturing town.</p>
+
+<p>The two men made their way through the streets and entered a prominent
+public house. Here they sought an interview with the landlord, and from him
+got information of Hatton's brother.</p>
+
+<p>"You have heard of a place called Hell-house Yard?" said the publican.
+"Well, he lives there, and his name is Simon, and that's all I know about
+him."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Gulf Impassable</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>When it came to the point, Lord Marney very much objected to paying
+Egremont's election expenses, and proposed instead that he should accompany
+him to Mowbray Castle, and marry Earl Mowbray's daughter, Lady Joan
+Fitz-Warene.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Mowbray was the grandson of a waiter, who had gone out to India a
+gentleman's valet, and returned a nabob. Lord Mowbray's two daughters--he
+had no sons--were great heiresses. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud
+inquisitive. Egremont fell in love with neither, and the visit was a
+failure. Lord Marney declined to pay the election expenses.</p>
+
+<p>The brothers parted in anger; and Egremont took up his abode in a
+cottage in Mowedale, a few miles outside the town of Mowbray. He was drawn
+to this by the knowledge that Walter Gerard and his daughter Sybil, and
+their friend Stephen Morley, lived close by. Of Egremont's rank these three
+were ignorant. Sybil had met him with Mr. St. Lys, the good vicar of
+Mowbray, relieving the misery of a poor weaver's family in the town, and at
+Mowedale he passed as Mr. Franklin, a journalist.</p>
+
+<p>For some weeks Egremont enjoyed the peace of rural life, and the
+intercourse with the Gerards ripened into friendship. When the time came
+for parting, for Egremont had to take his seat in parliament, it was a
+tender farewell on both sides.</p>
+
+<p>Egremont, embarrassed by his deception, could not only speak vaguely of
+their meeting again soon. The thought of parting from Sybil nearly
+overwhelmed him.</p>
+
+<p>When he met Gerard and Morley again it was in London, and disguise was
+no longer possible. Gerard and Morley came as delegates to the Chartist
+National Convention in 1839, and, deputed by their fellows to interview
+Charles Egremont, M.P., came face to face with "Mr. Franklin."</p>
+
+<p>The general misery in the country at that time was appalling. Weavers
+and miners were starving, agricultural labourers were driven into the new
+workhouses, and riots were of common occurrence. The Chartists believed
+their proposals would improve matters, other working-class leaders believed
+that a general stoppage of work would be more effective.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, in London with her father, ardently supported the popular
+movement. Meeting Egremont near Westminster Abbey on the very day after
+Gerard and Morley had waited upon him, she allowed him to escort her home.
+Then, for the first time, she learnt that her friend "Mr. Franklin" was the
+brother of Lord Marney.</p>
+
+<p>It was in vain Egremont urged that they might still be friends, that the
+gulf between rich and poor was not impassable.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir," said Sybil haughtily, "I am one of those who believe the gulf
+is impassable--yes, utterly impassable!"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Plotting Against Lord De Mowbray</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Stephen Morley was the editor of the "Mowbray Phoenix," a teetotaler, a
+vegetarian, a believer in moral force. The friend of Gerard, and in love
+with Sybil, Stephen looked with no favour on Egremont. Although a delegate
+to the Chartist Convention, Stephen had not forgotten the claims of Gerard
+to landed estate, and had pursued his inquiries as to the whereabouts of
+Hatton with some success.</p>
+
+<p>First Stephen had journeyed to Woodgate, commonly known as Hell-house
+Yard, a wild and savage place, the abode of a lawless race of men who
+fashioned locks and instruments of iron. Here he had found Simon Hatton,
+who knew nothing of his brother's residence.</p>
+
+<p>By accident Stephen discovered that the man he sought lived in the
+Temple. Baptist Hatton at that time was the most famous of heraldic
+antiquaries. Not a pedigree in dispute, not a peerage in abeyance, but it
+was submitted to his consideration. A solitary man was Baptist Hatton,
+wealthy and absorbed in his pursuits. The meeting with Morley excited him,
+and he turned over the matter anxiously in his mind as he sat alone.</p>
+
+<p>"The son of Walter Gerard, a Chartist delegate! The best blood in
+England! Those infernal papers! They made my fortune; and yet the deed has
+cost me many a pang. It seemed innoxious; the old man dead, insolvent;
+myself starving; his son ignorant of all--to whom could they be of use, for
+it required thousands to work them? And yet with all my wealth and power
+what memory shall I leave? Not a relative in the world, except a barbarian.
+Ah! had I a child like the beautiful daughter of Gerard. I have seen her.
+He must be a fiend who could injure her. I am that fiend. Let me see what
+can be done. What if I married her?"</p>
+
+<p>But Hatton did not offer marriage to Sybil. He did much to make her stay
+in London pleasant; but there was something about the maiden that awed
+while it fascinated him. A Catholic himself, Hatton was not surprised to
+hear from Gerard of Sybil's wish to enter a convent. "And to my mind she is
+right. My daughter cannot look to marriage; no man that she could marry
+would be worthy of her."</p>
+
+<p>This did not deter Hatton from considering how the papers relating to
+Gerard's lost estates could be recovered.</p>
+
+<p>The first move was an action entered against Lord de Mowbray, and this
+brought that distinguished peer to Mr. Hatton's chambers in the Temple, for
+Hatton was at that time advising Lord de Mowbray in the matter of reviving
+an ancient barony. Hatton easily quieted his client.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Walter Gerard can do nothing without the deed of '77. Your
+documents you say are all secure?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are at this moment in the muniment room of the tower of Mowbray
+Castle."</p>
+
+<p>"Keep them; this action is a feint."</p>
+
+<p>As for Mr. Baptist Hatton, the next time we see him a few months had
+elapsed. He is at the principal hotel in Mowbray in consultation with
+Stephen Morley.</p>
+
+<p>A great labour demonstration had taken place the previous night on the
+moors outside the town, and Gerard had been acclaimed as a popular
+hero.</p>
+
+<p>"Documents are in existence," said Hatton, "which prove the title of
+Walter Gerard to the proprietorship of this great district. Two hundred
+thousand human beings yesterday acknowledged the supremacy of Gerard.
+Suppose they had known that within the walls of Mowbray Castle were
+contained the proofs that Walter Gerard was the lawful possessor of the
+lands on which they live? Moral force is a fine thing, friend Morley, but
+the public spirit is inflamed here. You are a leader of the people. Let us
+have another meeting on the Moor! you can put your fingers in a trice on
+the man who will do our work. Mowbray Castle in their possession, a certain
+iron chest, painted blue, and blazoned with the shield of Valence, would be
+delivered to you. You shall have &pound;10,000 down and I will take you
+back to London besides."</p>
+
+<p>"The effort would fail," said Stephen Morley. "Wages must drop still
+more, and the discontent here be deeper. But I will keep the secret; I will
+treasure it up."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>V.--Liberty--At a Price</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>While Mr. Baptist Hatton and Stephen Morley discussed the possible
+recovery of the papers, much happened in London. Gerard became a marked man
+in the Chartist Convention, a member of a small but resolute committee.
+Egremont, now deeply in love with Sybil, declared his suit.</p>
+
+<p>"From the first moment I beheld you in the starlit arch of Marney, your
+image has never been absent from my consciousness. Do not reject my love;
+it is deep as your nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those prejudices
+that have embittered your existence. If I be a noble, I have none of the
+accidents of nobility. I cannot offer you wealth, splendour, and power; but
+I can offer you the devotion of an entranced being, aspirations that you
+shall guide, an ambition that you shall govern."</p>
+
+<p>"These words are mystical and wild," said Sybil in amazement. "You are
+Lord Marney's brother; I learnt it but yesterday. Retain your hand, and
+share your life and fortunes! You forget what I am. No, no, kind
+friend--for such I'll call you--your opinion of me touches me deeply. I am
+not used to such passages in life. A union between the child and brother of
+nobles and a daughter of the people is impossible. It would mean
+estrangement from your family, their hopes destroyed, their pride outraged.
+Believe me, the gulf is impassable."</p>
+
+<p>The Chartist petition was rejected by the House of Commons
+contemptuously. Riots took place in Birmingham. Sybil grew anxious for her
+father's safety.</p>
+
+<p>Egremont's speech in parliament on the presentation of the national
+petition created some perplexity among his aristocratic relatives and
+acquaintances. It was free from the slang of faction--the voice of a noble
+who had upheld the popular cause, who had pronounced that the rights of
+labour were as sacred as those of property, that the social happiness of
+the millions should be the statesman's first object.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, enjoying the calm of St. James's Park on a summer morning, read
+the speech with emotion, and while she still held the paper the orator
+himself stood before her. She smiled without distress, and presently
+confided to Egremont that she was unhappy, about her father.</p>
+
+<p>"I honour your father," said Egremont "Counsel him to return to Mowbray.
+Exert every energy to get him to leave London at once--to-night if
+possible. After this business at Birmingham the government will strike at
+the convention. If your father returns to Mowbray and is quiet, he has a
+chance of not being disturbed."</p>
+
+<p>Sybil returned and warned her father. "You are in danger," she cried,
+"great and immediate. Let us quit this city to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow, my child," Walter Gerard assured her, "we will return to
+Mowbray. To-night our council meets, and we have work of utmost importance.
+We must discountenance scenes of violence. The moment our council is over I
+will come back to you."</p>
+
+<p>But Walter Gerard did not return. While Sybil sat and waited, Stephen
+Morley entered the room. His manner was strange and unusual.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father is in danger; time is precious. I can endure no longer the
+anguish of my life. I love you, and if you will not be mine, I care for no
+one's fate. I can save your father. If I see him before eight o'clock, I
+can convince him that the government knows of his intentions, and will
+arrest him to-night. I am ready to do this service--to save the father from
+death and the daughter from despair, if she would but only say to me: 'I
+have but one reward, and it is yours.'"</p>
+
+<p>"It is bitter, this," said Sybil, "bitter for me and mine; but for you
+pollution, this bargaining of blood. In the name of the Holy Virgin I
+answer you--no!"</p>
+
+<p>Morley rushed frantically from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, in despair, made her way to a coffee-house near Charing Cross,
+which she knew had been much frequented by members of the Chartist
+Convention. Here, after some delay, she was given the fatal address in Hunt
+Street, Seven Dials.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil arrived at the meeting a few minutes before the police raided the
+premises. She was found with her father, and taken with him and six other
+men to Bow Street Police Station. A note to Egremont procured her release
+in the early hours of the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Walter Gerard in due time was sent to trial, convicted and sentenced to
+eighteen month's confinement in York Castle.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>VI.--Within the Castle Walls</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In 1842 came the great stoppage of work. The mills ceased; the miners
+went "to play," despairing of a fair day's wage for a fair day's work; and
+the inhabitants of Woodgate--the Hell-cats, as they were called--stirred up
+by a Chartist delegate, sallied forth with Simon Hatton, named the
+"liberator," at their head to deal ruthlessly with all "oppressors of the
+people."</p>
+
+<p>They sacked houses, plundered cellars, ravaged provision shops,
+destroyed gas-works and stormed workhouses. In time they came to Mowbray.
+There the liberator came face to face with Baptist Hatton without
+recognising his brother.</p>
+
+<p>Stephen Morley and Baptist Hatton were in close conference.</p>
+
+<p>"The times are critical," said Hatton.</p>
+
+<p>"Mowbray may be burnt to the ground before the troops arrive," Morley
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>"And the castle, too," said Hatton quietly. "I was thinking only
+yesterday of a certain box of papers. To business, friend Morley. This
+savage relative of mine cannot be quiet. If he does not destroy Trafford's
+Mill it will be the castle. Why not the castle instead of the mill?"</p>
+
+<p>Trafford's Mill was saved by the direct intervention of Walter Gerard.
+All the people of Mowbray knew the good reputation of the Traffords, and
+Gerard's eloquence turned the mob from the attack.</p>
+
+<p>While the liberator and the Hell-cats hesitated, a man named Dandy Mick,
+prompted by Morley, urged that a walk should be taken in Lord de Mowbray's
+park.</p>
+
+<p>The proposition was received with shouts of approbation. Gerard
+succeeded in detaching a number of Mowbray men, but the Hell-cats, armed
+with bludgeons, poured into the park and on to the castle.</p>
+
+<p>Lady de Mowbray and her friends made their escape, taking Sybil, who had
+sought refuge from the mob, with them.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. St. Lys gathered a body of men in defence of the castle, but came
+too late to prevent the entrance of the Hell-cats. Singularly enough,
+Morley and one or two of his followers entered with the liberator.</p>
+
+<p>The first great rush was to the cellars, and the invaders were quickly
+at work knocking off the heads of bottles, and brandishing torches. Morley
+and his lads traced their way down a corridor to the winding steps of the
+Round Tower, and forced their way into the muniment room of the castle. It
+was not till his search had nearly been abandoned in despair that he found
+the small blue box blazoned with the arms of Valence. He passed it hastily
+to a trusted companion, Dandy Mick, and bade him deliver it to Sybil Gerard
+at the convent.</p>
+
+<p>At this moment the noise of musketry was heard; the yeomanry were on the
+scene.</p>
+
+<p>Morley, cut off from flight by the military, was shot, pistol in hand,
+with the name of Sybil on his lips. "The world will misjudge me," he
+thought--"they will call me hypocrite, but the world is wrong."</p>
+
+<p>The man with the box escaped through the window, and in spite of the
+fire, troopers, and mob, reached the convent in safety.</p>
+
+<p>The castle was burnt to the ground by the torches of the Hell-cats.</p>
+
+<p>Sybil, separated from her friends, found herself surrounded by a band of
+drunken ruffians. She was rescued by a yeomanry officer, who pressed her to
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Never to part again," said Egremont.</p>
+
+<p>Under Egremont's protection, Sybil returned to the convent, and there in
+the courtyard they found Dandy Mick, who had refused to deliver his charge,
+and was lying down with the blue box for his pillow. He had fulfilled his
+mission. Sybil, too agitated to perceive all its import, delivered the box
+into the custody of Egremont, who, bidding farewell to Sybil, bade Mick
+follow him to his hotel.</p>
+
+<p>While these events were happening, Lord Marney, hearing an alarmed and
+exaggerated report of the insurrection, and believing that Egremont's
+forces were by no means equal to the occasion, had set out for Mowbray with
+his own troop of yeomanry.</p>
+
+<p>Crossing the moor, he encountered Walter Gerard with a great multitude,
+whom Gerard headed for purposes of peace.</p>
+
+<p>His mind inflamed, and hating at all times any popular demonstration,
+Lord Marney hastily read the Riot Act, and the people were fired on and
+sabred. The indignant spirit of Gerard resisted, and the father of Sybil
+was shot dead. Instantly arose a groan, and a feeling of frenzy came over
+the people. Armed only with stones and bludgeons they defied the troopers,
+and rushed at the horsemen; a shower of stones rattled without ceasing on
+the helmet of Lord Marney, nor did the people rest till Lord Marney fell
+lifeless on Mowbray Moor, stoned to death.</p>
+
+<p>The writ of right against Lord de Mowbray proved successful in the
+courts, and his lordship died of the blow.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time after the death of her father Sybil remained in helpless
+woe. The widowed Lady Marney, however, came over one day, and carried her
+back to Marney Abbey, never again to quit it until the bridal day, when the
+Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italy.</p>
+
+<p>Though the result was not what Mr. Hatton had once anticipated, the idea
+that he had deprived Sybil of her inheritance had, ever since he had become
+acquainted with her, been the plague-spot of Hatton's life, and there was
+nothing he desired more than to see her restored to those rights, and to be
+instrumental in that restoration.</p>
+
+<p>Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had encountered in the
+service of Sybil, and was set up in business by Lord Marney. A year after
+the burning of Mowbray Castle, on the return of the Earl and Countess of
+Marney to England, the romantic marriage and the enormous wealth of Lord
+and Lady Marney were still the talk in fashionable circles.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="disraeli3">Tancred, or the New Crusade</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "Tancred," published in 1847, completes the trilogy, which
+began with "Coningsby" in 1844, and had its second volume in "Sybil" in
+1845. In these three novels Disraeli gave to the world his political,
+social, and religious philosophy. "Coningsby" was mainly political, "Sybil"
+mainly social, and in "Tancred," as the author tells us, Disraeli dealt
+with the origin of the Christian Church of England and its relation to the
+Hebrew race whence Christianity sprang. "Public opinion recognized the
+truth and sincerity of these views," although their general spirit ran
+counter to current Liberal utilitarianism. Although "Tancred" lacks the
+vigour of "Sibyl" and the wit of "Coningsby," it is full of the colour of
+the East, and the satire and irony in the part relating to Tancred's life
+in England are vastly entertaining. As in others of Disraeli's novels, many
+of the characters here are portraits of real personages. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Tancred Goes Forth on His Quest</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Tancred, the Marquis of Montacute, was certainly strangely distracted on
+his twenty-first birthday. He stood beside his father, the Duke of
+Bellamont, in the famous Crusaders' gallery in the Castle of Montacute,
+listening to the congratulations which the mayor and corporation of
+Montacute town were addressing to him; but all the time he kept his eyes
+fixed on the magnificent tapestries from which the name of the gallery was
+derived. His namesake, Tancred of Montacute, had distinguished himself in
+the Third Crusade by saving the life of King Richard at the siege of
+Ascalon, and his exploits were depicted on the fine Gobelins work hanging
+on the walls of the great hall. Oblivious of the gorgeous ceremony in which
+he was playing the principal part, the young Marquis of Montacute stared at
+the pictures of the Crusader, and a wild, fantastical idea took hold of
+him.</p>
+
+<p>He was the only child of the Duke of Bellamont, and all the high
+nobility of England were assembled to celebrate his coming of age.
+Everything that fortune could bestow seemed to have been given to him. He
+was the heir of the greatest and richest of English dukes, and his life was
+made smooth and easy. His father had got a seat in parliament waiting for
+him, and his mother had already selected a noble and beautiful young lady
+for his wife. Neither of them had yet consulted their son, but Tancred was
+so sweet and gentle a boy that they did not dream he would oppose their
+wishes. They had planned out his life for him ever since he was born, with
+the view to educating him for the position which he was to occupy in the
+English aristocracy, and he had always taken the path which they had chosen
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening, the duke summoned his son into his library.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Tancred," he said, "I have a piece of good news for you on your
+birthday. Hungerford feels that he cannot represent our constituency now
+that you have come of age, and, with great kindness, he is resigning his
+seat in your favour. He says that the Marquis of Montacute ought to stand
+for the town of Montacute, so you will be able to enter parliament at
+once."</p>
+
+<p>"But I do not wish to enter parliament," said Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>The duke leant back from his desk with a look of painful surprise on his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"Not enter parliament?" he exclaimed. "Every Lord Montacute has gone
+into the House of Commons before taking his seat in the House of Lords. It
+is an excellent training."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not anxious to enter the House of Lords either," said Tancred.
+"And I hope, my dear father," he added, with a smile that lit up his young,
+grave, beautiful face, "that it will be very, very long before I succeed to
+your place there."</p>
+
+<p>"What, then, do you intend to do, my boy?" said Bellamont, in intense
+perplexity. "You are the heir to one of the greatest positions in the
+state, and you have duties to perform. How are you going to fit yourself
+for them?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I have been thinking of for years," said Tancred. "Oh, my
+dear father, if you knew how long and earnestly I have prayed for guidance!
+Yes, I have duties to perform! But in this wild, confused, and aimless age
+of ours, what man can see what his duties are? For my part, I cannot find
+that it is my duty to maintain the present order of things. In nothing in
+our religion, our government, our manners, do I find faith. And if there is
+no faith, how can there be any duty? We have ceased to be a nation. We are
+a mere crowd, kept from utter anarchy by the remains of an old system which
+we are daily destroying."</p>
+
+<p>"But what would you do, my dear boy?" said the duke, pale with anxiety.
+"Have you found any remedy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Tancred mournfully. "There is no remedy to be found in
+England. Oh, let me save myself, father! Let me save our people from the
+corruption and ruin that threaten us!"</p>
+
+<p>"But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?" said the
+duke.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to go to God!" cried the young nobleman, his blue eyes flaming
+with a strange light "How is it that the Almighty Power does not send down
+His angels to enlighten us in our perplexities? Where is the Paraclete, the
+Comforter Who was promised us? I must go and seek him."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a visionary, my boy," said the duke, gazing at him in blank
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Was the Montacute that fought by the side of King Richard in the Holy
+Land a visionary?" said Tancred. "All I ask is to be allowed to follow in
+his footsteps. For three days and three nights he knelt in prayer at the
+tomb of his Redeemer. Six centuries and more have gone by since then. It is
+high time that we renewed our intercourse with the Most High in the country
+of His chosen people. I, too, would kneel at that tomb. I, too, surrounded
+by the holy hills and groves of Jerusalem, would lift my voice to Heaven,
+and ask for inspiration."</p>
+
+<p>"But surely God will hear your prayers in England as well as in
+Palestine?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said his son. "He has never raised up a prophet or a great saint
+in this country. If we want Him to speak to us as He spoke to the men of
+old, we must go, like the Crusaders, to the Holy Land."</p>
+
+<p>Finding that he could not turn his son from the strange course on which
+he was bent, the duke got a great prelate to try and persuade him that all
+was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.</p>
+
+<p>"We live in an age of progress," reasoned the philosophic bishop.
+"Religion is spreading with the spread of civilisation. How all our towns
+are growing! We shall soon see a bishop in Manchester."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to see an angel in Manchester," replied Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>It was no use arguing with a man who talked in this way, and the duke
+gave Tancred permission to set out on his new crusade.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Vigil by the Tomb</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The moon sank behind the Mount of Olives, leaving the towers, minarets,
+and domes of Jerusalem in deep shadow; the lamps in the city went out, and
+every outline was lost in gloom; but the Church of the Holy Sepulchre still
+shone in the darkness like a beacon light. There, while every soul in
+Jerusalem slumbered, Tancred knelt in prayer by the tomb of Christ, under
+the lighted dome, waiting for the fire from heaven to strike into his
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>His strange vigil was the talk of Syria. It is remarkable how quickly
+news travels in the East.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know," said Besso, Rothschild's agent, to his foster-son
+Fakredeen, an emir of Lebanon, as they sat talking in a house near the gate
+of Sion, "the young Englishman has brought me such a letter that if he were
+to tell me to rebuild Solomon's temple, I must do it!"</p>
+
+<p>"He must be fabulously rich!" said Fakredeen, with a sigh. "What has he
+come here for? The English do not come on pilgrimages. They are all
+infidels."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he has come on a pilgrimage," said Besso, "and he is the greatest
+of English princes. He kneels all night and day in the church over
+there."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, after a week of solitude, fasting, and prayer, Tancred was keeping
+vigil before the empty Sepulchre, where Tancred of Montacute had knelt six
+hundred years before. Day after day, night after night, he prayed for
+inspiration, but no divine voice broke in upon his impassioned reveries. It
+was for him that Alonzo Lara, the prior of Terra Santa, kept the light
+burning all night long at the Holy Sepulchre, for the Spaniard had been
+moved by the deep faith of the young English nobleman. And one day he said
+to him:</p>
+
+<p>"Sinai led to Calvary. I think it would be wise for you to trace the
+path backward from Calvary to Sinai."</p>
+
+<p>It was extremely perilous at that time to adventure into the great
+desert, for the wild Bedouin tribes were encamped there. But, in spite of
+this, Tancred made arrangements with an Arabian chief, Sheikh Hassan, and
+set out for Sinai at the head of a well-armed band of Arabs.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said the sheikh, as they entered the mountainous country, after a
+three days' march across the wilderness. "Look at these tracks of horses
+and camels in the defile. The marks are fresh. See that your guns are
+primed!" he cried to his men.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke a troop of wild horsemen galloped down the ravine.</p>
+
+<p>"Hassan," one of them shouted, "is that the brother of the Queen of the
+English with you? Let him ride with us, and you may return in peace."</p>
+
+<p>"He is my brother, too," said Hassan. "Stand aside, you sons of Eblis,
+or you shall bite the earth."</p>
+
+<p>A wild shout from every height of the defile was the answer. Tancred
+looked up. The crest on either side was lined with Bedouins, each with his
+musket levelled.</p>
+
+<p>"There is only one thing for us to do," said Tancred to Hassan. "Let us
+charge through the defile, and die like men!"</p>
+
+<p>Seizing his pistols, he shot the first horseman through the head, and
+disabled another. Then he charged down the ravine, and Hassan and his men
+followed, and scattered the horsemen before them. The Bedouins fired down
+on them from the crests, and, in a few moments, the place was filled with
+smoke, and Tancred could not see a yard around him. Still he galloped on,
+and the smoke suddenly drifted, and he found himself at the mouth of the
+defile, with a few followers behind him. A crowd of Bedouins were waiting
+for him.</p>
+
+<p>"Die fighting! Die fighting!" he shouted. Then his horse stumbled,
+stabbed from beneath by a Bedouin dagger, and fell in the sand. Before he
+could get his feet out of the stirrups, he was overpowered and bound.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't hurt him," said the Bedouin chief. "Every drop of his blood is
+worth ten thousand piastres."</p>
+
+<p>Late that night, as Amalek, the great Rechabite Bedouin sheikh, was
+sitting before his tent, a horseman rode up to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Salaam," he cried. "Sheikh of sheikhs, it is done! The brother of the
+Queen of England is your slave!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Amalek. "May your mother eat the hump of a young camel! Is
+the brother of the queen with Sheikh Salem?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the horseman, "Sheikh Salem is in paradise, and many of our
+men are with him. The brother of the Queen of the English is a mighty
+warrior. He fought like a lion, but we brought his horse down at last and
+took him alive."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Amalek. "Camels shall be given to all the widows of the men
+he has killed, and I will find them new husbands. Go and tell Fakredeen the
+good news!"</p>
+
+<p>Amalek and Fakredeen would not have cared had they lost a hundred men in
+the affair. The Bedouin chief and the emir of Lebanon could bring into the
+field more than twenty thousand lances, and the capture of Tancred was part
+of a political scheme which they were engineering for the conquest of
+Syria. They knew from Besso that the young English prince was fabulously
+rich, and, as they wanted arms, they meant to hold him to the extraordinary
+ransom of two million piastres.</p>
+
+<p>"My foster father will pay it," said Fakredeen. "He told me that he
+would have to rebuild Solomon's temple if the English prince asked him to.
+We will get him to help us rebuild Solomon's empire."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Vision on the Mount</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On the wild granite scarp of Mount Sinai, about seven thousand feet
+above the blue seas that lave its base, is a small plain hemmed in by
+pinnacles of rock. In the centre of the plain are a cypress tree and a
+fountain. This is the traditional scene of the greatest event in the
+history of mankind. It was here that Moses received the divine laws on
+which the civilisation of the world is based.</p>
+
+<p>Tancred of Montacute knelt down on the sacred soil, and bowed his head
+in prayer. Far below him, in one of the green-valleys sloping down to the
+sea, Fakredeen and a band of Bedouins pitched their tents for the night,
+and talked in awed tones of their strange companion. Wonderful is the power
+of soul with which a great idea endues a man. The young emir of Lebanon and
+his men were no longer the captors of Tancred, but his followers. He had
+preached to them with the eyes of flame and the words of fire of a prophet;
+and they now asked of him, not a ransom, but a revelation. They wanted him
+to bring down from Sinai the new word of power, which would bind their
+scattered tribes into a mighty nation, with a divine mission for all the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>What was this word to be? Tancred did not know any more than his
+followers, and he knelt all day long under the Arabian sun, waiting for the
+divine revelation. The sunlight faded, and the shadows fell around him, and
+he still remained bowed in a strange, quiet ecstasy of expectation. But at
+last, lifting up his eyes to the clear, starry sky of Arabia, he
+prayed:</p>
+
+<p>"O Lord God of Israel, I come to Thine ancient dwelling-place to pour
+forth the heart of tortured Europe. Why does no impulse from Thy renovating
+will strike again into the soul of man? Faith fades and duty dies, and a
+profound melancholy falls upon the world. Our kings cannot rule, our
+priests doubt, and our multitudes toil and moan, and call in their madness
+upon unknown gods. If this transfigured mount may not again behold Thee, if
+Thou wilt not again descend to teach and console us, send, oh send, one of
+the starry messengers that guard Thy throne, to save Thy creatures from
+their terrible despair!"</p>
+
+<p>As he prayed all the stars of Arabia grew strangely dim. The wild peaks
+of Sinai, standing sharp and black in the lucid, purple air, melted into
+shadowy, changing masses. The huge branches of the cypress-tree moved
+mysteriously above his head, and he fell upon the earth senseless and in a
+trance.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Tancred that a mighty form was bending over him with a
+countenance like an oriental night, dark yet lustrous, mystical yet clear.
+The solemn eyes of the shadowy apparition were full of the brightness and
+energy of youth and the calm wisdom of the ages.</p>
+
+<p>"I am the Angel of Arabia," said the spectral figure, waving a sceptre
+fashioned like a palm-tree, "the guardian spirit of the land which governs
+the world; for its power lies neither in the sword nor in the shield, for
+these pass away, but in ideas which are divine. All the thoughts of every
+nation come from a higher power than man, but the thoughts of Arabia come
+directly from the Most High. You want a new revelation to Christendom?
+Listen to the ancient message of Arabia!</p>
+
+<p>"Your people now hanker after other gods than the God of Sinai and
+Calvary. But the eternal principles of that Arabian faith, which moulded
+them from savages into civilised men when they descended from their
+northern forests fifteen hundred years ago, and spread all over the world,
+can alone breathe new vigour into them, now that they are decaying in the
+dust and fever of their great cities. Tell them that they must cease from
+seeking in their vain philosophies for the solution of their social
+problems. Their, longing for the brotherhood of mankind can only be
+satisfied when they acknowledge the sway of a common father. Tell them that
+they are the children of God. Announce the sublime and solacing doctrine of
+theocratic equality. Fear not, falter not. Obey the impulse of thine own
+spirit, and find a ready instrument in every human being."</p>
+
+<p>A sound as of thunder roused Tancred from his trance. Above him the
+mountains rose sharp and black in the clear purple air, and the Arabian
+stars shone with undimmed brightness; but the voice of the angel still
+lingered in his ear. He went down the mountain; at its base he found his
+followers sleeping amid their camels. He aroused Fakredeen, and told him
+that he had received the word which would bind together the warring nations
+of Arabia and Palestine, and reshape the earth.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Mystic Queen</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>"It has been a great day," said Tancred to Fakredeen, as they were
+sitting some months afterwards in the castle of the young emir of Lebanon,
+where all the princes of Syria had assembled to discuss the foundation of
+the new empire. "If your friends will only work together as they promise,
+Syria is ours."</p>
+
+<p>"Even Lebanon," said Fakredeen, "can send forth more than fifty thousand
+well-armed footmen, and Amalek is gathering all the horsemen of the desert,
+from Petraea to Yemen, under our banner. If we can only win over the
+Ansarey," he continued, "we shall have all Syria and Arabia as a base for
+our operations."</p>
+
+<p>"The Ansarey?" exclaimed Tancred. "They hold the mountains around
+Antioch, which are the key of Palestine, don't they? What is their
+religion? Do you think that the doctrine of theocratic equality would
+appeal to them as it did to the Arabians?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said the emir. "They never allow strangers to enter
+their country. They are a very ancient people, and they fight so well in
+their mountains that even the Turks have not been able to conquer
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"But can't we make overtures?" said Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I have done," said Fakredeen. "The Queen of the Ansarey
+has heard about you, and I have arranged that we should go and see her as
+soon as the Syrian assembly was over. Everything is ready for our journey,
+so, if you like, we will start at once."</p>
+
+<p>It was a difficult expedition, as the Queen of the Ansarey was then
+waging war on the Turkish pasha of Aleppo. Happily, the travellers came
+upon a band of Ansareys who were raiding the Turkish province, and were led
+by them through their black ravines to the fortress palace of the
+queen.</p>
+
+<p>She received them, sitting on her divan, clothed in a purple robe, and
+shrouded in a long veil. This she took off when Tancred came towards her,
+and he marvelled at the strangeness of her beauty. There was nothing
+oriental about her. She was a Greek girl of the ancient type, with violet
+eyes, fair cheeks, and dark hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Prince," she said, "we are a people who wish neither to see nor to be
+seen. We do not care what goes on in the world around. Our mountains are
+wild and barren, but while Apollo dwells among us, we do not care for gold,
+or silk, or jewels."</p>
+
+<p>"Apollo!" cried Tancred. "Are the gods of Olympus still worshipped on
+earth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Apollo still lives among us, and another greater than Apollo,"
+said the young queen, looking at Tancred long and earnestly. "Follow me,
+and you shall now behold the secret of the Ansarey."</p>
+
+<p>Her maidens adorned her with a garland of roses, and put a garland on
+the head of Tancred, and she led him through a portal of bronze, down an
+underground passage, into an Ionic temple, filled with the white and lovely
+forms of the gods of ancient Greece.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know this?" said the queen to Tancred, looking at a statue in
+golden ivory, and then at the young Englishman, whose clear-cut features
+and hyacinthine locks curiously resembled those of the carven image.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Phoebus Apollo," said Tancred, and, moved by admiration at the
+beauty of the figure, he murmured some lines of Homer.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you know all!" cried the queen. "You know our secret language. Yes,
+this is Phoebus Apollo. He used to stand in Antioch in the ancient days
+before the Christians drove us into the mountains. And look," she said,
+pointing to the statue beside Apollo, "here is the Syrian goddess before
+whom the pilgrims of the world once knelt. She is named Astarte, and I am
+called after her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, angels watch over me!" said Tancred to himself as Queen Astarte
+fixed her violet eyes upon him with a glance of love that could not be
+mistaken, and led him back into the hall of audience.</p>
+
+<p>There he saw Fakredeen bending over a maiden with a flower-like face,
+and large, dark, lustrous eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She is my foster-sister, Eva," said Fakredeen. "The Ansareys captured
+her on the plain of Aleppo."</p>
+
+<p>Tancred had met Eva at the house of Besso in Jerusalem, but she did not
+then exercise over him the strange charm which now drew him to her side. It
+seemed to him that the beautiful Jewish girl had been sent to help him in
+his struggle against the heathen spells of Astarte. As he was meditating
+how he could rescue her, a messenger came in, and announced that the pasha
+of Aleppo had invaded the mountains at the head of 5,000 troops.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" cried Astarte. "Few of them will ever see Aleppo again. I have
+25,000 men under arms, and you, my prince," she said, turning to Tancred,
+"shall command them."</p>
+
+<p>Tancred had learnt something of the arts of mountain warfare from Sheikh
+Amalek. He allowed the Turkish troops to penetrate into the heart of the
+wild hills, and then, as they were marching down a long defile, he attacked
+them from the crests above, shooting them down like sheep and burying them
+in avalanches of rolling rock. Instead of returning to the fortress palace,
+he sent his men on ahead, and rode out alone into the desert, and went
+through the Syrian wilderness back to Jerusalem.</p>
+
+<p>Riding up to the door of Besso's house by Sion gate, he asked if there
+were any news of Eva. A negro led him into a garden, and there, sitting by
+the side of a fountain, was the lovely Jewish maiden.</p>
+
+<p>"So Fakredeen brought you safely away, Eva," he said tenderly. "I was
+afraid that Astarte meant to harm you."</p>
+
+<p>"She would have killed me," said Eva, "if she could. I am afraid that
+your faith in your idea of theocratic equality has been destroyed by the
+Ansareys. How can you build up an empire in a land divided by so many
+jarring creeds? Do you still believe in Arabia?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe in Arabia," cried Tancred, kneeling down at her feet,
+"because I believe in you. You are the angel of Arabia, and the angel of my
+life. You cannot guess what influence you have had on my fate. You came
+into my life like another messenger from God. Thanks to you, my faith has
+never faltered. Will you not share it, dearest?"</p>
+
+<p>He clasped her hand, and gazed with passionate adoration into her face.
+As her head fell upon his shoulder, the negro came running to the
+fountain.</p>
+
+<p>"The Duke of Bellamont!" he said to Tancred.</p>
+
+<p>Tancred looked up, and saw the Duke of Bellamont coming through the
+pomegranate trees of the garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Father," he said, advancing towards the duke, "I have found my mission
+in life, and I am going to marry this lady."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h2><a name="dumas">ALEXANDRE DUMAS</a></h2>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas1">Marguerite de Valois</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> Alexandre Dumas, <i>p&egrave;re</i> (to distinguish him from
+his son of the same name), early became known as a talented writer, and
+especially as a poet and dramatist. His first published work appeared in
+1823; then came volumes of poems in 1825, 1826, and the drama of "Henry
+III." in 1828. In "Marguerite de Valois," published in 1845, the first of
+the "Valois" series of historical romances, Dumas takes us back from the
+days of Richelieu and the "Three Musketeers" to the preceding century and
+the early struggles of Catholic and Huguenot. It was a stirring time in
+France, full of horrors and bloodshed, plots and intrigues, when Marguerite
+de Valois married Henry of Navarre, and Alexandre Dumas gives us, in his
+wonderfully, vivid and attractive style, a great picture of the French
+court in the time of Charles IX. Little affection existed between Henry and
+his bride, but strong ties of interest and ambition bound them together,
+and for a long time they both adhered loyally to the treaty of political
+alliance they had drawn up for their mutual advantage. Dumas died on
+December 5, 1870, after experiencing many changes of fortune. His son also
+won considerable reputation as a dramatist and novelist. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Henry of Navarre and Marguerite</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On Monday, August 18, 1572, a great festival was held in the palace of
+the Louvre. It was to celebrate the marriage of Henry of Navarre and
+Marguerite de Valois, a marriage that perplexed a good many people, and
+alarmed others.</p>
+
+<p>For Henry de Bourbon, King of Navarre, was the leader of the Huguenot
+party, and Marguerite was the daughter of Catherine de Medici, and the
+sister of the king, Charles IX., and this alliance between a Protestant and
+a Catholic, it seemed, was to end the strife that rent the nation. The
+king, too, had set his heart on this marriage, and the Huguenots were
+somewhat reassured by the king's declaration that Catholic and Huguenot
+alike were now his subjects, and were equally beloved by him. Still, there
+were many on both sides who feared and distrusted the alliance.</p>
+
+<p>At midnight, six days later, on August 24, the tocsin sounded, and the
+massacre of St. Bartholomew began.</p>
+
+<p>The marriage, indeed, was in no sense a love match; but Henry succeeded
+at once in making Marguerite his friend, for he was alive to the dangers
+that surrounded him.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, presenting himself at Marguerite's rooms on the night
+of the wedding festival, "whatever many persons may have said, I think our
+marriage is a good marriage. I stand well with you--you stand well with me.
+Therefore, we ought to act towards each other like good allies, since
+to-day we have been allied in the sight of God! Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Without question, sir!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know, madame, that the ground at court is full of dangerous abysses;
+and I know that, though I am young and have never injured any person, I
+have many enemies. The king hates me, his brothers, the Duke of Anjou and
+the Duke D'Alen&ccedil;on, hate me. Catherine de Medici hated my mother too
+much not to hate me. Well, against these menaces, which must soon become
+attacks, I can only defend myself by your aid, for you are beloved by all
+those who hate me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I?" said Marguerite.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you!" replied Henry. "And if you will--I do not say love me--but
+if you will be my ally I can brave anything; while, if you become my enemy,
+I am lost."</p>
+
+<p>"Your enemy! Never, sir!" exclaimed Marguerite.</p>
+
+<p>"And my ally."</p>
+
+<p>"Most decidedly!"</p>
+
+<p>And Marguerite turned round and presented her hand to the king. "It is
+agreed," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Political alliance, frank and loyal?" asked Henry.</p>
+
+<p>"Frank and loyal," was the answer.</p>
+
+<p>At the door Henry turned and said softly, "Thanks, Marguerite; thanks!
+You are a true daughter of France. Lacking your love, your friendship will
+not fail me. I rely on you, as you, for your part, may rely on me. Adieu,
+madame."</p>
+
+<p>He kissed his wife's hand; and then, with a quick step, the king went
+down the corridor to his own apartment. "I have more need of fidelity in
+politics than in love," he said to himself.</p>
+
+<p>If on both sides there was little attempt at fidelity in love, there was
+an honourable alliance, which was maintained unbroken and saved the life of
+Henry of Navarre from his enemies on more than one occasion.</p>
+
+<p>On the day of the St. Bartholomew massacre, while the Huguenots were
+being murdered throughout Paris, Charles IX., instigated by his mother,
+summoned Henry of Navarre to the royal armoury, and called upon him to turn
+Catholic or die.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kill me, sire--me, your brother-in-law?" exclaimed Henry.</p>
+
+<p>Charles IX. turned away to the open window. "I must kill someone," he
+cried, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.</p>
+
+<p>Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loaded and fired his
+arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim was
+successful.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all over with me!" said Henry to himself. "When he sees no one
+else to kill, he will kill me!"</p>
+
+<p>Catherine de Medici entered as the king fired his last shot. "Is it
+done?" she said, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. "No; the
+obstinate blockhead will not consent!"</p>
+
+<p>Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and
+which said, "Why, then, is he alive?"</p>
+
+<p>"He lives," said the king, "because he is my relative."</p>
+
+<p>Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, addressing her, "I can see quite clearly that all
+this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles. It was you who
+planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us
+all. It was you who made your daughter the bait. It has been you who have
+separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed before her
+eyes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but that shall not be!" cried another voice; and Marguerite,
+breathless and impassioned, burst into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir," said Marguerite to Henry, "your last words were an accusation,
+and were both right and wrong. They have made me the means for attempting
+to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you were going to
+destruction. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very night they all
+but killed me in seeking you. Directly I knew of your danger I sought you.
+If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if they imprison you they
+shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will also die!"</p>
+
+<p>She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother," cried Marguerite to Charles IX., "remember, you made him my
+husband!"</p>
+
+<p>"Faith, Margot is right, and Henry is my brother-in-law," said the
+king.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Boar Hunt</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>As time went on, if Catherine's hatred of Henry of Navarre did not
+diminish, Charles IX. certainly became more friendly.</p>
+
+<p>Catherine was for ever intriguing and plotting for the fortune of her
+sons and the downfall of her son-in-law, but Henry always managed to evade
+the webs she wove. At a certain boar-hunt Charles was indebted to Henry for
+his life.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the time when the king's brother D'Anjou had accepted the
+crown of Poland, and the second brother, D'Alen&ccedil;on, a weak-minded,
+ambitious man, was secretly hoping for a crown somewhere, that Henry paid
+his debt for the king's mercy to him on the night of St. Bartholomew.</p>
+
+<p>Charles was an intrepid hunter, but the boar had swerved as the king's
+spear was aimed at him, and, maddened with rage, the animal had rushed at
+him. Charles tried to draw his hunting-knife but the sheath was so tight it
+was impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"The boar! the boar!" shouted the king. "Help, D'Alen&ccedil;on,
+help!"</p>
+
+<p>D'Alen&ccedil;on was ghastly white as he placed his arquebuse to his
+shoulder and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, felled the
+king's horse.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," D'Alen&ccedil;on murmured to himself, "that D'Anjou is King
+of France, and I King of Poland."</p>
+
+<p>The boar's tusk had indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an
+iron glove dashed itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife was
+plunged into its shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Charles rose with difficulty, and seemed for a moment as if about to
+fall by the dead boar. Then he looked at Henry of Navarre, and for the
+first time in four-and-twenty years his heart was touched.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, Harry!" he said. "D'Alen&ccedil;on, for a first-rate marksman
+you made a most curious shot."</p>
+
+<p>On Marguerite coming up to congratulate the king and thank her husband,
+Charles added, "Margot, you may well thank him. But for him Henry III.
+would be King of France."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas, madame," returned Henry, "M. D'Anjou, who is always my enemy,
+will now hate me more than ever; but everyone has to do what he can."</p>
+
+<p>Had Charles IX. been killed, the Duke d'Anjou would have been King of
+France, and D'Alen&ccedil;on most probably King of Poland. Henry of Navarre
+would have gained nothing by this change of affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have had the Duke
+d'Anjou on the throne, who, being absolutely at one with his mother,
+Catherine, had sworn his death, and would have kept his oath.</p>
+
+<p>These ideas were in his brain when the wild boar rushed on Charles, and
+like lightning he saw that his own existence was bound up with the life of
+Charles IX. But the king knew nothing of the spring and motive of the
+devotion which had saved his life, and on the following day he showed his
+gratitude to Henry by carrying him off from his apartments, and out of the
+Louvre. Catherine, in her fear lest Henry of Navarre should be some day
+King of France, had arranged the assassination of her son-in-law; and
+Charles, getting wind of this, warned him that the air of the Louvre was
+not good for him that night, and kept him in his company. Instead of Henry,
+it was one of his followers who was killed.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Poisoned Book</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Once more Catherine resolved to destroy Henry. The Huguenots had plotted
+with D'Alen&ccedil;on that he should be King of Navarre, since Henry not
+only abjured Protestantism but remained in Paris, being kept there indeed
+by the will of Charles IX.</p>
+
+<p>Catherine, aware of D'Alen&ccedil;on's scheme, assured her son that
+Henry was suffering from an incurable disease, and must be taken away from
+Paris when D'Alen&ccedil;on started for Navarre.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure that Henry will die?" asked D'Alen&ccedil;on.</p>
+
+<p>"The physician who gave me a certain book assured me of it."</p>
+
+<p>"And where is this book? What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>Catherine brought the book from her cabinet.</p>
+
+<p>"Here it is. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons
+by an Italian. Give it to Henry, who is going hawking with the king to-day,
+and will not fail to read it."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare not!" said D'Alen&ccedil;on, shuddering.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" replied Catherine. "It is a book like any other, only the
+leaves have a way of sticking together. Don't attempt to read it yourself,
+for you will have to wet the finger in turning over each leaf, which takes
+up so much time."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said D'Alen&ccedil;on, "Henry is with the court! Give me the book,
+and while he is away I will put it in his room."</p>
+
+<p>D'Alen&ccedil;on's hand was trembling as he took the book from the
+queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear he entered Henry's
+apartment and placed the volume, open at the title-page.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who found
+the book and carried it off to his own room. D'Alen&ccedil;on found the
+king reading.</p>
+
+<p>"By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cried Charles. "Only it seems
+as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the wonders
+it contains."</p>
+
+<p>D'Alen&ccedil;on's first thought was to snatch the book from his
+brother, but he hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>The king again moistened his finger and turned over a page. "Let me
+finish this chapter," he said, "and then tell me what you please. I have
+already read fifty pages."</p>
+
+<p>"He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thought
+D'Alen&ccedil;on. "He is a dead man!"</p>
+
+<p>The poison did its deadly work. Charles was taken ill while out hunting,
+and returned to find his dog dead, and in its mouth pieces of paper from
+the precious book on falconry. The king turned pale. The book was poisoned!
+Many things flashed across his memory, and he knew his life was doomed.</p>
+
+<p>Charles summoned Ren&egrave;, a Florentine, the court perfumer to
+Catherine de Medici, to his presence, and bade him examine the dog.</p>
+
+<p>"Sire," said Ren&egrave;, after a close investigation, "the dog has been
+poisoned by arsenic."</p>
+
+<p>"He has eaten a leaf of this book," said Charles; "and if you do not
+tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by
+red-hot pincers."</p>
+
+<p>"Sire," stammered the Florentine, "this book belongs to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"And how did it leave your hands?"</p>
+
+<p>"Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did she do that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked
+for a book on hawking."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room.
+It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to
+Ren&egrave;, "this poison does not always kill at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there no remedy?"</p>
+
+<p>"None, sire, unless it be instantly administered."</p>
+
+<p>Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This
+book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de
+Medici.--Ren&egrave;," and then dismissed him.</p>
+
+<p>Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in
+the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the
+physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his
+disease.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An
+enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible
+conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it, perhaps,
+but I know it for a certainty."</p>
+
+<p>"I never doubt what you tell me," replied the king sarcastically. "I am
+curious to know how they have sought to kill me."</p>
+
+<p>"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of
+yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden stars,
+and over this a royal mantle.</p>
+
+<p>"See, it has on its head a crown," said Catherine, "and there is a
+needle in its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in your royal robes, with the crown on your head."</p>
+
+<p>"And who made this figure?" asked-the king, weary of the wretched farce.
+"The King of Navarre, of course!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sire; he did not actually make it, but it was found in the rooms of
+M. de la Mole, who serves the King of Navarre."</p>
+
+<p>"So, then, the person who seeks to kill me is M. de la Mole?" said
+Charles.</p>
+
+<p>"He is only the instrument, and behind the instrument is the hand that
+directs it," replied Catherine.</p>
+
+<p>"This, then, is the cause of my illness. And now what must I do--for I
+know nothing of sorcery?"</p>
+
+<p>"The death of the conspirator destroys the charm. Its power ends with
+his life. You are convinced now, are you not, of the cause of your
+illness?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly," Charles answered ironically. "And I am to punish M. de
+la Mole, as you say he is the guilty party?"</p>
+
+<p>"I say he is the instrument, and," muttered Catherine, "we have
+infallible means for making him confess the name of his principal."</p>
+
+<p>Catherine left hurriedly without understanding the sardonic laughter of
+the king, and as she went out Marguerite appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sire--sire," cried Marguerite, "you know what <i>she</i> says is
+false. It is terrible to accuse anyone's own mother, but she only lives to
+persecute the man who is devoted to you, Henry--your Henry--and I swear to
+you that what she says is false!"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so, too, Margot. But Henry is safe. Safer in disgrace in
+Vincennes than in favour at the Louvre."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, thanks, thanks! But there is another person in whose welfare I am
+interested, whom I hardly dare mention to my brother, much less to my
+king."</p>
+
+<p>"M. de la Mole, is it not? But do you know that a figure dressed in
+royal robes and pierced to the heart was found in his rooms?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it; but it was the figure of a woman, not of a man."</p>
+
+<p>"And the needle?"</p>
+
+<p>"Was a charm not to kill a man, but to make a woman love him."</p>
+
+<p>"What was the name of this woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"Marguerite!" cried the queen, throwing herself down and bathing the
+king's hand in her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Margot, what if I know the real author of the crime? For a crime has
+been committed, and I have not three months to live. I am poisoned, but it
+must be thought I die by magic."</p>
+
+<p>"You know who is guilty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but it must be kept from the world, and so it must be believed I
+die of magic, and by the agency of him they accuse."</p>
+
+<p>"But it is monstrous!" exclaimed Marguerite. "You know he is innocent.
+Pardon him--pardon him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, but the world must believe him guilty. Let your friend die.
+His death alone can save the honour of our family. I am dying that the
+secret may be preserved."</p>
+
+<p>M. de la Mole, after enduring excruciating tortures at the hand of
+Catherine, without making any admissions, died on the scaffold.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV--"The Bourbon Shall Not Reign</i>!"</h4>
+
+
+<p>Before he died Charles showed Catherine the poisoned book, which he had
+kept under lock and key.</p>
+
+<p>"And now burn it, madame. I read this book too much, so fond was I of
+the chase. And the world must not know the weaknesses of kings. When it is
+burnt, please summon my brother Henry. I wish to speak to him about the
+regency."</p>
+
+<p>Catherine brought Henry of Navarre to the king, and warned him that if
+he accepted the regency he was a dead man.</p>
+
+<p>Charles, however, though on his death-bed, declared Henry should be
+regent.</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," he said, addressing his mother, "if I had a son he would be
+king, and you would be regent. In your stead, did you decline, the King of
+Poland would be regent; and in his stead, D'Alen&ccedil;on. But I have no
+son, and therefore the throne belongs to D'Anjou, who is absent. To make
+D'Alen&ccedil;on regent is to invite civil war. I have therefore chosen the
+fittest person for regent Salute him, madame; salute him, D'Alen&ccedil;on.
+It is the King of Navarre!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never," cried Catherine, "shall my race yield to a foreign one! Never
+shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives!"</p>
+
+<p>She left the room, followed by D'Alen&ccedil;on.</p>
+
+<p>"Henry," said Charles, "after my death you will be great and powerful.
+D'Anjou will not leave Poland--they will not let him. D'Alen&ccedil;on is a
+traitor. You alone are capable of governing. It is not the regency only,
+but the throne I give you."</p>
+
+<p>A stream of blood choked his speech.</p>
+
+<p>"The fatal moment is come," said Henry. "Am I to reign, or to live?"</p>
+
+<p>"Live, sire!" a voice answered, and Ren&egrave; appeared. "The queen has
+sent me to ruin you, but I have faith in your star. It is foretold that you
+shall be king. Do you know that the King of Poland will be here very soon?
+He has been summoned by the queen. A messenger has come from Warsaw. You
+shall be king, but not yet."</p>
+
+<p>"What shall I do, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fly instantly to where your friends wait for you."</p>
+
+<p>Henry stooped and kissed his brother's forehead, then disappeared down a
+secret passage, passed through the postern, and, springing on his horse,
+galloped off.</p>
+
+<p>"He flies! The King of Navarre flies!" cried the sentinels.</p>
+
+<p>"Fire on him! Fire!" said the queen.</p>
+
+<p>The sentinels levelled their pieces, but the king was out of reach.</p>
+
+<p>"He flies!" muttered D'Alen&ccedil;on. "I am king, then!"</p>
+
+<p>At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, and Henry d'Anjou
+galloped into the court, followed by four knights, crying, "France!
+France!"</p>
+
+<p>"My son!" cried Catherine joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I too late?" said D'Anjou.</p>
+
+<p>"No. You are just in time. Listen!"</p>
+
+<p>The captain of the king's guards appeared at the balcony of the king's
+apartment. He broke the wand he held in two places, and holding a piece in
+either hand, called out three times, "King Charles the Ninth is dead!"</p>
+
+<p>King Charles the Ninth is dead! King Charles the Ninth is dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"Charles the Ninth is dead!" said Catherine, crossing herself. "God save
+Henry the Third!"</p>
+
+<p>All repeated the cry.</p>
+
+<p>"I have conquered," said Catherine, "and the odious Bourbon shall not
+reign!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas2">The Black Tulip</a></h3>
+
+<blockquote> "The Black Tulip," published in 1850, was the last of
+Alexandre Dumas' more famous stories, and ranks deservedly high among the
+short novels of its prolific author. Dumas visited Holland in May, 1849, in
+order to be present at the coronation of William III. at Amsterdam, and
+according to Flotow, the composer, it was the king himself who told Dumas
+the story of "The Black Tulip," and mentioned that none of the author's
+romances were concerned with the Dutch. Dumas, however, never gave any
+credit to this anecdote, and others have alleged that Paul Lacroix, the
+bibliophile, who was assisting Dumas with his novels at that time, is
+responsible for the plot. The question can never be answered, for who can
+disentangle the work of Dumas from that of his army of helpers? A feature
+of "The Black Tulip" is that in it is the bulb, and not a human being, that
+is the real centre of interest. The fate of the bulb is made of first
+importance, and the fortunes of Cornelius van Baerle, the tulip fancier, of
+Boxtel, and of Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, exciting though they are, take
+second place. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--Mob Vengeance</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of The Hague was crowded in every
+street with a mob of people, all armed with knives, muskets, or sticks, and
+all hurrying towards the Buytenhof.</p>
+
+<p>Within that terrible prison was Cornelius de Witt, brother of John de
+Witt, the ex-Grand Pensionary of Holland.</p>
+
+<p>These brothers De Witt had long served the United Provinces of the Dutch
+Republic, and the people had grown tired of the Republic, and wanted
+William, Prince of Orange, for Stadtholder. John de Witt had signed the Act
+re-establishing the Stadtholderate, but Cornelius had only signed it under
+the compulsion of an Orange mob that attacked his house at Dordrecht.</p>
+
+<p>This was the first count against the De Witts--their objection to a
+Stadtholder. The second count was that the De Witts had always done their
+best to keep at peace with France. They knew that war with France meant
+ruin to Holland, but the more violent Orangists still believed that such a
+war would bring honour to the Dutch.</p>
+
+<p>Hence the popular hatred against the De Witts. A miscreant named
+Tyckelaer fanned the flame against Cornelius by declaring that he had
+bribed him to assassinate William, the newly-elected Stadtholder.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius was arrested, brought to trial, and tortured on the rack, but
+no confession of guilt could be wrung from the innocent, high-souled man.
+Then the judges acquitted Tyckelaer, deprived Cornelius of all his offices,
+and passed sentence of banishment. John de Witt had already resigned the
+office of Grand Pensionary.</p>
+
+<p>On the 20th of August, Cornelius was to leave his prison for exile, and
+a fierce Orangist populace, incited to violence by the harangues of
+Tyckelaer, was rushing to the Buytenhof prepared to do murder, and fearful
+lest the prisoner should escape alive. "To the gaol! To the gaol!" yelled
+the mob. But outside the prison was a line of cavalry drawn up under the
+command of Captain Tilly with orders to guard the Buytenhof, and while the
+populace stood in hesitation, not daring to attack the soldiers, John de
+Witt had quietly driven up to the prison, and had been admitted by the
+gaoler.</p>
+
+<p>The shouts and clamour of the people could be heard within the prison as
+John de Witt, accompanied by Gryphus the gaoler, made his way to his
+brother's cell.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius learnt there was no time to be lost, but there was a question
+of certain correspondence between John de Witt and M. de Louvois of France
+to be discussed. These letters, entirely creditable though they were to the
+statesmanship of the Grand Pensionary, would have been accepted as evidence
+of treason by the maddened Orangists, and Cornelius, instead of burning
+them, had left them in the keeping of his godson, Van Baerle, a quiet,
+scholarly young man of Dordrecht, who was utterly unaware of the nature of
+the packet.</p>
+
+<p>"They will kill us if these papers are found," said John de Witt, and
+opening the window, they heard the mob shouting, "Death to traitors!"</p>
+
+<p>In spite of fingers and wrists broken by the rack, Cornelius managed to
+write a note.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>DEAR GODSON: Burn the packet I gave you, burn without opening
+or looking at it, so that you may not know the contents. The secrets it
+contains bring death. Burn it, and you will have saved both John and
+Cornelius.</p>
+
+<p>Farewell, from your affectionate</p>
+
+<p>CORNELIUS DE WITT.</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Then a letter was given to Craeke, John de Witt's faithful servant, who
+at once set off for Dordrecht, and within a few minutes the two brothers
+were driving away to the city gate. Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, unknown to
+her father, had opened the postern, and had herself bidden De Witt's
+coachman drive round to the rear of the prison, and by this means the fury
+of the mob was, for the moment, evaded.</p>
+
+<p>And now the clamour of the Orangists was at the prison door, for Tilly's
+horse had withdrawn on an order signed by the deputies in the town hall,
+and the people were raging to get within the Buytenhof.</p>
+
+<p>The mob burst open the great gate, and yelling, "Death to the traitors!
+To the gallows with Cornelius de Witt!" poured in, only to find the
+prisoner had escaped. But the escape was but from the prison, for the city
+gate was locked when the carriage of the De Witts drove up, locked by order
+of the deputies of the Town Hall, and a certain young man--who was none
+other than William, Prince of Orange--held the key.</p>
+
+<p>Before another gate could be reached the mob, streaming from the
+Buytenhof, had overtaken the carriage, and the De Witts were at its
+mercy.</p>
+
+<p>The two men, whose lives had been spent in the welfare of their country,
+were massacred with unspeakable savagery, and their bodies, stripped, and
+hacked almost beyond recognition, were then strung up on a hastily erected
+gibbet in the market-place.</p>
+
+<p>When the worst had been done, the young man, who had secretly watched
+the proceedings from the window of a neighbouring house, returned the key
+to the gatekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>Then the prince mounted a horse which an equerry held in waiting for
+him, and galloped off to camp to await the message of the States. He
+galloped proudly, for the burghers of The Hague had made of the corpses of
+the De Witts a stepping stone to power for William of Orange.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--Betrayed for his Bulbs</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Doctor Cornelius van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius de Witt, was in his
+twenty-eighth year, an orphan, but nevertheless, a really happy man. His
+father had amassed a fortune of 400,000 guilders in trade with the Indies,
+and an estate brought him in 10,000 guilders a year. He was blessed with
+the love of a peaceful life with good nerves, ample wealth, and a
+philosophic mind.</p>
+
+<p>Left alone in the big house at Dordrecht, he steadily resisted all
+temptations to public life. He took up the study of botany, and then, not
+knowing what to do with his time and money, decided to go in for one of the
+most extravagant hobbies of the time--the cultivation of his favourite
+flower, the tulip. The fame of Mynheer van Baerle's tulips soon spread in
+the district, and while Cornelius de Witt had roused deadly hatred by
+sowing the seeds of political passion, Van Baerle with his tulips won
+general goodwill. Yet, all unknowingly, Van Baerle had made an enemy, an
+implacable, relentless enemy. This was his neighbour, Isaac Boxtel, who
+lived next door to him in Dordrecht.</p>
+
+<p>Boxtel, from childhood, had been a passionate tulip-grower. He had even
+produced a tulip of his own, and the Boxtel had won wide admiration. One
+day, to his horror, Boxtel discovered that his next-door neighbour, the
+wealthy Mynheer van Baerle, was also a tulip-grower. In bitter anguish
+Boxtel foresaw that he had a rival who, with all the resources at his
+command, might equal and possibly surpass the famous Boxtel creations. He
+almost choked with envy, and from the moment of his discovery lived under
+continual fear. The healthy pastime of tulip growing became, under these
+conditions, a morbid and evil occupation for Boxtel, while Van Baerle, on
+the other hand, totally unaware of the enmity brewing, threw himself into
+the business with the keenest zest, taking for his motto the old aphorism,
+"To despise flowers is to insult God."</p>
+
+<p>So fierce was the envy that seized Boxtel that though he would have
+shrunk from the infamy of destroying a tulip, he would have killed the man
+who grew them. His own plants were neglected; it was useless and hopeless
+to contend against so wealthy a rival. Then Boxtel, fascinated by his evil
+passion, bought a telescope, and, perched on a ladder, studied Van Baerle's
+tulip beds and the drying-room, the tulip-grower's sacred place.</p>
+
+<p>One night he lost all moral control, and tying the hind legs of two cats
+together with a piece of string, he flung the animals into Van Baerle's
+garden. To Boxtel's bitter mortification the cats, though they made havoc
+of many precious plants before they broke the string, left the four finest
+tulips untouched.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly afterwards the Haarlem Tulip Society offered a prize of 100,000
+guilders to whomsoever should produce a large black tulip, without spot or
+blemish. Van Baerle at once thought out the idea of the black tulip. He had
+already achieved a dark brown one, while Boxtel, who had only managed to
+produce a light brown one, gave up the quest as impossible, and could do
+nothing but spy on his neighbour's activities.</p>
+
+<p>One evening in January 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to see his grandson,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and went with him alone into the sacred drying-room,
+the laboratory of the tulip-grower. Boxtel, with his telescope, recognised
+the well-known features of the statesman, and presently he saw him hand his
+godson a packet, which the latter put carefully away in a cabinet. This
+packet contained the correspondence of John de Witt and M. de Louvois.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius drove away, and Boxtel wondered what the packet contained. It
+could hardly be bulbs; it must be secret papers.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till August, as we know, that Craeke was despatched to Van
+Baerle with the note bidding him destroy the packet.</p>
+
+<p>Craeke arrived just when Van Baerle was nursing his precious bulbs--the
+bulbs of the black tulip--and his sudden entrance rudely disturbed the
+tulip-grower. He had not time to read the note; indeed, he was too much
+concerned with the welfare of his three particular bulbs to trouble about
+it, before a magistrate and some soldiers entered to arrest him. Van Baerle
+wrapped up the bulbs in the note from his godfather, and was sent off under
+close custody to The Hague. The magistrate carried off the packet from the
+cabinet.</p>
+
+<p>All this was Boxtel's work. It was he who had reported to the magistrate
+the visit of De Witt and the placing of the packet in a cabinet. And now,
+with Van Baerle out of the house as a prisoner, Boxtel in the dead of night
+broke into his neighbour's house, to secure the priceless bulbs of the
+black tulip. He had made out where they were growing, and he plunged his
+hands into the soft soil--only to find nothing. Then the wretched man
+guessed that the bulbs had gone with the prisoner to The Hague, and decided
+to go in pursuit. Van Baerle could only keep them while he was alive, and
+then--they should be his, Isaac Boxtel's.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Theft of the Tulip</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Van Baerle was placed in the cell occupied by Cornelius de Witt in the
+Buytenhof. Outside, in the market-place, the bodies of the De Witts were
+hanging, and Van Baerle read with horror the inscription, "Here hang that
+great rascal John de Witt and the little rascal Cornelius de Witt, enemies
+of their country."</p>
+
+<p>Gryphus laughed when the prisoner asked him what it meant, and replied,
+"That's what happens to those that write secret letters to the enemies of
+the Prince of Orange."</p>
+
+<p>A terrible despair fell on Van Baerle, but he refused to escape when
+Rosa, the gaoler's beautiful daughter, suggested it to him. He was brought
+to trial, and though he denied all knowledge of the correspondence, his
+goods were confiscated, and he was condemned to death. He bequeathed his
+three tulip bulbs to Rosa, explained how she must get a certain soil from
+Dordrecht, and went out calmly to die. On the scaffold Van Baerle was
+reprieved and sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, for the Prince of Orange
+shrank from further bloodshed.</p>
+
+<p>One spectator in the crowd was bitterly disappointed. This was Boxtel,
+who had bribed the headsman to let him have Van Baerle's clothes, believing
+that he would thus obtain the priceless bulbs.</p>
+
+<p>Van Baerle was sent to the prison of Loewenstein, and in February 1673,
+when he was thinking his tulips lost for ever, he heard Rosa's voice.
+Gryphus had applied for the gaolership of Loewenstein, and had been
+appointed.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing could persuade him that if Van Baerle was not a traitor he was
+certainly in league with the devil, like all learned men, and he did all he
+could to mortify and annoy his prisoner. But Rosa would come every night
+when her father, stupefied by gin, was asleep, and talk to Cornelius
+through the barred grating of his cell door.</p>
+
+<p>He taught her to read, and together they planned how the tulip bulbs
+should be brought to flower. One bulb Rosa was to plant, the second Van
+Baerle would cultivate in his cell with soil placed in an old water jug,
+and the third was to be kept in reserve.</p>
+
+<p>Once more hope revived in Baerle's mind, but Rosa often suffered
+vexation because Cornelius thought more of his black tulip than of her.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime Boxtel, under the assumed name of Jacob Gisels, had made
+his way to Loewenstein in pursuit of the bulbs, and had ingratiated himself
+with Gryphus, offering to marry his daughter. Rosa's tulip had to be
+guarded from Gisels, who was always spying on her movements. She kept it in
+her room for safety, but Boxtel had a key made, and the day the tulip
+flowered, and arose a spotless black, he resolved to take it at once, and
+rush to Haarlem and claim the prize.</p>
+
+<p>The day came. Rosa described to Cornelius the wonderful black tulip, and
+they drew up a letter to the president of the Horticultural Society at
+Haarlem, begging him to come and fetch the wonderful flower.</p>
+
+<p>That very night while Cornelius and Rosa rejoiced as lovers--for now
+even Rosa was convinced of the prisoner's love for her--over the happiness
+of the flowering tulip, Boxtel crept into her room, and carried off the
+black tulip to Haarlem.</p>
+
+<p>As for Van Baerle, he was beside himself with the rage of desperation
+when Rosa told him that the black tulip had been stolen. Rosa, bent on
+recovering the tulip, and certain in her own mind as to the thief, hastened
+away from Loewenstein the next day without a word, Gryphus was mad when he
+learnt his daughter was nowhere to be found, and put down the mysterious
+disappearance of Jacob Gisels and Rosa to the work of the devil, and was
+convinced that Van Baerle was the devil's agent.</p>
+
+<p>The third day after the theft Gryphus, armed with a stick and a knife,
+attacked Cornelius, calling out, "Give me back my daughter." Cornelius got
+hold of the stick, forced Gryphus to drop the knife, and then proceeded to
+give the gaoler a thrashing. The noise brought in turnkeys and guards, who
+speedily carried off the wounded gaoler and arrested Van Baerle. To comfort
+the prisoner they assured him he would certainly be shot within twelve
+hours.</p>
+
+<p>Then an officer, an aide-de-camp of the Prince of Orange, entered,
+escorted Van Baerle to the prison gate, and bade him enter a carriage.
+Believing himself about to die, he thought sadly of Rosa and of the tulip
+he was never to see again. The carriage rolled off, and they travelled all
+that day and night until the journey ended at Haarlem.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Triumph of the Tulip</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Rosa reached Haarlem just four hours after Boxtel's arrival, and she
+went at once to seek an interview with Mynheer van Systens, the President
+of the Horticultural Society. Immediate admittance was granted on her
+mentioning the magic words "black tulip."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, the black tulip has been stolen from me," said Rosa.</p>
+
+<p>"But I only saw it two hours ago!" replied the president.</p>
+
+<p>"You saw it--where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, at your master's! Are you not in the service of Mynheer Isaac
+Boxtel?"</p>
+
+<p>"I, sir? Certainly not! But this Isaac Boxtel, is he a thin,
+bald-headed, bow-legged, crook-backed, haggard-looking man?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have described him exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"He is the thief; he stole the black tulip from me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, go and find Mynheer Boxtel--he is at the White Swan Inn, and
+settle it with him." And with that the president took up his pen and went
+on writing, for he was busy over his report.</p>
+
+<p>But Rosa still implored him, and while she was speaking the Prince of
+Orange entered the building. Rosa told everything, how she had received the
+bulb from the prisoner at Loewenstein, and how she had first seen the
+prisoner at The Hague. Then Boxtel was sent for. He was ready with his
+tale. The girl had plotted with her lover, the state prisoner, Cornelius
+van Baerle, and had stolen his--Boxtel's--black tulip, which he had
+unwisely mentioned. However, he had recovered it.</p>
+
+<p>A thought struck Rosa.</p>
+
+<p>"There were three bulbs. What has become of the others?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"One failed, the second produced the black tulip, and the third is at
+home at Dordrecht," said Boxtel uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>"You lie; it is here!" cried Rosa. And she drew from her bosom the third
+bulb, still wrapped in the same paper Van Baerle had so hastily put round
+the bulbs on his flight. "Take it, my lord," she said, handing it to the
+prince. And then, glancing at the paper for the first time, she added, "Oh,
+my lord, read this!"</p>
+
+<p>William passed the third bulb to the president, and read the paper
+carefully. It was Cornelius de Witt's letter to his godson, exhorting him
+to burn the packet without opening it. It was the proof of Van Baerle's
+innocence and of his ownership of the bulbs.</p>
+
+<p>"Go, Mynheer Boxtel; you shall have justice. And you, Mynheer van
+Systens, take care of this maiden and of the tulip," said the prince.</p>
+
+<p>That same evening the prince summoned Rosa to the town hall, and talked
+to her. Rosa did not deny her love for Cornelius.</p>
+
+<p>"But what is the good of loving a man condemned to live and die in
+prison?" the prince asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I can help him to live and die," came the answer.</p>
+
+<p>The prince sealed a letter, and sent it off to Loewenstein by Colonel
+van Deken. Then he turned to Rosa, and said, "The day after to-morrow is
+Sunday, and it will be the festival of the tulip. Take these 500 guilders,
+and dress yourself in the costume of a Friesland bride, for I want it to be
+a grand festival for you."</p>
+
+<p>Sunday came, May 15, 1673, and all Haarlem gathered to do honour to the
+black tulip. Boxtel was in the crowd, feasting his eyes on the sacred
+flower, which was born aloft in a litter. The procession stopped, and the
+flower was placed on a pedestal, while the people cheered with wild
+enthusiasm. At the solemn moment when the Prince of Orange was to acclaim
+the triumphant owner of the black tulip and present the prize of 100,000
+guilders, the coach with the unhappy prisoner Cornelius van Baerle drew up
+in the market-place.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius, hearing that the celebration of the black tulip was actually
+proceeding, besought his guard to let him have one glimpse of the flower;
+and the petition was granted by the Prince of Orange.</p>
+
+<p>From a distance of six paces Van Baerle gazed at the black tulip, and
+then he, with the multitude, turned his eyes towards the prince. In dead
+silence the prince declared the occasion of the festival, the discovery of
+the wonderful black tulip, and concluded, "Let the owner of the black tulip
+approach."</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius made an involuntary movement. Boxtel and Rosa rushed forward
+from the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>The prince turned to Rosa. "This tulip is yours, is it not?" he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord," she answered softly. And general applause came from the
+crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"This tulip will henceforth bear the name of its producer, and will be
+called <i>Tulipa nigra Rosa Baerttensis</i>, because Van Baerle is to be
+the married name of this damsel," the prince announced; and at the same
+time he took Rosa's hand and placed it within the hand of the prisoner, who
+had rushed forward at the words he had heard.</p>
+
+<p>Boxtel fell down in a fit, and when they raised him up he was dead.</p>
+
+<p>The procession returned to the town hall, the prince declared Rosa the
+prizewinner, and informed Cornelius that, having been wrongfully condemned,
+his property was restored to him. Then he entered his coach, and was driven
+away.</p>
+
+<p>Cornelius and Rosa departed for Dordrecht, and Van Baerle remained ever
+faithful to his wife and his tulips.</p>
+
+<p>As for old Gryphus, after being the roughest gaoler of men, he lived to
+be the fiercest guardian of tulips at Dordrecht.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas3">The Corsican Brothers</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Corsican Brothers" is one of the most famous of Dumas'
+shorter stories. It was published in 1845, when the author was at the
+height of his powers, and is remarkable not only for its strong dramatic
+interest, but for its famous account of old Corsican manners and customs,
+being inspired by a visit to Corsica in 1834. The scenery of the island,
+and the life of the inhabitants, the survival of the vendetta, and the
+fierce family feuds, all made strong appeal to his imaginative mind.
+Several versions of the story have been dramatised for the English stage,
+and as a play "The Corsican Brothers" has enjoyed a long popularity; but
+Dumas himself, who was fond of adapting his works to the stage, never
+dramatised this story. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Twins</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was travelling in Corsica early in March 1841. Corsica is a French
+department, but it is by no means French, and Italian is the language
+commonly spoken. It is free from robbers, but it is still the land of the
+vendetta, and the province of Sartene, wherein I was travelling, is the
+home of family feuds, which last for years and are always accompanied by
+loss of life.</p>
+
+<p>I was travelling alone across the island, but I had been obliged to take
+a guide; and when at five o'clock we halted on a hill overlooking the
+village of Sullacro, my guide asked me where I would like to stay for the
+night. There were, perhaps, one hundred and twenty houses in Sullacro for
+me to choose from, so after looking out carefully for the one that promised
+the most comfort, I decided in favour of a strong, fortified,
+squarely-built house.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," said my guide. "That is the house of Madame Savilia de
+Franchi. Your honour has chosen wisely."</p>
+
+<p>I was a little uncertain whether it was quite the right thing for me to
+seek hospitality at a house belonging to a lady, for, being only
+thirty-six, I considered myself a young man. But I found it quite
+impossible to make my guide understand my feelings. The notion that my
+staying a night could give occasion for gossip concerning my hostess, or
+that it made any difference whether I was old or young, was unintelligible
+to a Corsican.</p>
+
+<p>Madame Savilia, I learnt from the guide, was about forty, and had two
+sons--twins--twenty-one years old. One lived with his mother, and was a
+Corsican; the other was in Paris, preparing to be a lawyer.</p>
+
+<p>We soon arrived at the house we sought. My guide knocked vigorously at
+the door, which was promptly opened by a man in velvet waistcoat and
+breeches and leather gaiters. I explained that I sought hospitality, and
+was answered in return that the house was honoured by my request. My
+luggage was carried off, and I entered.</p>
+
+<p>In the corridor a beautiful woman, tall, and dressed in black, met me.
+She bade me welcome, and promised me that of her son, telling me that the
+house was at my service.</p>
+
+<p>A maid-servant was called to conduct me to the room of M. Louis, and as
+supper would be served in an hour, I went upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>My room was evidently that of the absent son, and the most comfortable
+in the house. Its furniture was all modern, and there was a well-filled
+bookcase. I hastily looked at the volumes; they denoted a student of
+liberal mind.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later, and my host, M. Lucien de Franchi, entered. I
+observed that he was young, of sunburnt complexion, well made, and fearless
+and resolute in his bearing.</p>
+
+<p>"I am anxious to see that you have all you need," he said, "for we
+Corsicans are still savages, and this old hospitality, which is almost the
+only tradition of our forefathers left, has its shortcomings for the
+French."</p>
+
+<p>I assured him that the apartment was far from suggesting savagery.</p>
+
+<p>"My brother Louis likes to live after the French fashion," Lucien
+answered. He went on to speak of his brother, for whom he had a profound
+affection. They had already been parted for ten months, and it was three or
+four years before Louis was expected home.</p>
+
+<p>As for Lucien, nothing, he said, would make him leave Corsica. He
+belonged to the island, and could not live without its torrents, its rocks,
+and its forests. The physical resemblance between himself and his brother,
+he told me, was very great; but there was considerable difference of
+temperament.</p>
+
+<p>Having completed my own change of dress, I went into Lucien's room, at
+his suggestion. It was a regular armoury, and all the furniture was at
+least 300 years old.</p>
+
+<p>While my host put on the dress of a mountaineer, for he mentioned to me
+that he had to attend a meeting after supper, he told me the history of
+some of the carbines and daggers that hung round the room. Of a truth, he
+came of an utterly fearless stock, to whom death was of small account by
+the side of courage and honour.</p>
+
+<p>At supper, Madame de Franchi could not help expressing her anxiety for
+her absent son. No letter had been received, but Lucien for days had been
+feeling wretched and depressed.</p>
+
+<p>"We are twins," he said simply, "and however greatly we are separated,
+we have one and the same body, as we had at our birth. When anything
+happens to one of us, be it physical or mental, it at once affects the
+other. I know that Louis is not dead, for I should have seen him again in
+that case."</p>
+
+<p>"You would have told me if he had come?" said Madame de Franchi
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"At the very moment, mother."</p>
+
+<p>I was amazed. Neither of them seemed to express the slightest doubt or
+surprise at this extraordinary statement.</p>
+
+<p>Lucien went on to regret the passing of the old customs of Corsica. His
+very brother had succumbed to the French spirit, and on his return would
+settle down as an advocate at Ajaccio, and probably prosecute men who
+killed their enemies in a vendetta. "And I, too, am engaged in affairs
+unworthy of a De Franchi," he concluded. "You have come to Corsica with
+curiosity about its inhabitants. If you care to set out with me after
+supper, I will show you a real bandit."</p>
+
+<p>I accepted the invitation with pleasure.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--M. Luden de Franchi</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Lucien explained to me the object of our expedition. For ten years the
+village of Sullacro had been divided over the quarrel of two families, the
+Orlandi and the Colona--a quarrel that had originated in the seizure of a
+paltry hen belonging to the Orlandi, which had flown into the poultry-yard
+of the Colonas. Nine people had already been killed in this feud, and now
+Lucien, as arbitrator, was to bring it to an end. The local prefect had
+written to Paris that one word from De Franchi would end the dispute, and
+Louis had appealed to him.</p>
+
+<p>To-night Lucien was to arrange matters with Orlandi, as he had already
+done with Colona, and the meeting-place was at the ruins of the Castle of
+Vicentello d'Istria. It was a steep ascent, but we arrived in good time,
+and while we sat and waited, Lucien told me terrible stories of feuds and
+vengeance. Orlandi made his appearance exactly at nine o'clock, and after
+some discussion agreed to Lucien's terms. I found that I was expected to
+act as surety for Orlandi, and accepted the responsibility.</p>
+
+<p>"You will now be able to tell my brother, on your return to Paris, that
+it's all been settled as he wished," said Lucien.</p>
+
+<p>On our way home Lucien showed wonderful marksmanship with his gun, and
+admitted he was equally skillful with the pistol. His brother Louis, on the
+other hand, had never touched either gun or pistol.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning came the grand reconciliation of Orlandi and Colona, in the
+market square in the presence of the mayor and the notary. The mayor
+compelled the belligerents to shake hands, a document was signed declaring
+the vendetta at an end, and everybody went to mass.</p>
+
+<p>Later in the day I was compelled to bid good-bye to Madame de Franchi
+and her son, and set out for Paris; but before I left Lucien told me how in
+his family his father had appeared to him on his death-bed, and that, not
+only at death, but at any great crisis in life, an apparition appeared. He
+was certain by his own depression that his brother Louis was suffering.</p>
+
+<p>Lucien told me his brother's address, 7, Rue du Helder, and gave me a
+letter which I undertook to deliver personally.</p>
+
+<p>We parted with great cordiality, and a week later I was back in
+Paris.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Fate of Louis</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>I was startled by the extraordinary resemblance of M. Louis de Franchi,
+whom I had at once called upon, to his brother.</p>
+
+<p>I was relieved to find that he was not suffering from illness, and I
+told him of the anxiety of his family concerning his health. M. de Franchi
+replied that he had not been ill, but that he had been suffering from a
+very bitter disappointment, aggravated by the knowledge that his own
+suffering caused his brother to suffer, too. He hoped, however, that time
+would heal the wound in his heart.</p>
+
+<p>We agreed to meet the following night at the opera ball at midnight, on
+the young lawyer's suggestion. I rallied him on his recovery from his
+sorrow, but Louis only said mournfully that he was driven by fate, dragged
+against his will.</p>
+
+<p>"I am quite sure," he said, "that it would be better for me not to go,
+but nevertheless I am going."</p>
+
+<p>Louis was too pre-occupied to talk when we met at the masked ball, and
+he suddenly left me for a lady carrying violets. Later he rejoined me, and
+together we set off to supper at three o'clock in the morning. It was my
+friend D----'s supper party, and he had included Louis in the
+invitation.</p>
+
+<p>We found our friends waiting supper, and D---- announced that the only
+person who had not arrived was Château-Renard. It seemed there was a wager
+on that M. de Château-Renard would not arrive with a certain lady whom he
+had undertaken to bring to supper.</p>
+
+<p>Louis, who was as pale as death, implored D---- not to mention the
+lady's name, and our host acceded to the request.</p>
+
+<p>"Only as her husband is at Smyrna, or in India or Mexico or somewhere,
+and in such a case it's the same as if the lady wasn't married," D----
+observed.</p>
+
+<p>"I assure you her husband is coming back soon, and he is such a good
+fellow he would be horribly mortified to hear his wife had done anything
+silly in his absence."</p>
+
+<p>Château-Renard had till four o'clock to save his bet. At five minutes to
+four he had not arrived, and Louis smiled at me over his wine. At that very
+moment the bell rang. D---- went to the door, and we could hear some
+argument going on in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>Then a lady entered with obvious reluctance, escorted by D---- and
+Château-Renard.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not yet four," said Château-Renard to D----.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right, my boy," the other answered. "You've won your bet."</p>
+
+<p>"No, hardly yet, sir," said the unknown lady. "Now I know why you were
+so persistent. You have wagered to bring me here to supper, and I supposed
+you were taking me to sup with one of my own friends."</p>
+
+<p>Both Château-Renard and D---- besought the lady to stay, but the fair
+unknown, after expressing her thanks to D---- for his welcome, turned to M.
+Louis de Franchi, and asked him to escort her home. Louis at once sprang
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>Château-Renard, furious, insisted that he would know whom to hold
+accountable.</p>
+
+<p>"If I am the person meant," said Louis, with great dignity, "you will
+find me at home at 7, Rue du Helder all day to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Louis departed with his fair companion, and though Château-Renard was
+ostentatiously cheerful, the end of the supper-party was not at all a
+festive business.</p>
+
+<p>At ten o'clock the same morning I arrived at the rooms of M. Louis de
+Franchi. The seconds of Château-Renard had already called, and I passed
+them on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>Louis had written me a note; with another friend, Baron Giordano
+Martelli, the affair was to be arranged with Baron de Châteaugrand, and M.
+de Boissy, the gentleman I had met on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the cards of these two men, and asked Louis if the matter
+was of any great seriousness.</p>
+
+<p>Louis replied by telling the story of the quarrel. A friend of his, a
+sea captain, had married a beautiful woman, so beautiful and so young that
+Louis could not help falling in love with her. As an honourable man he had
+kept away from the house, and then on being reproached by his friend, had
+frankly told him the reason.</p>
+
+<p>In return, his friend, who was just setting off for Mexico, commended
+his wife, Emilie, whom he adored and trusted absolutely, to his care, and
+asked his wife to consider Louis de Franchi as her brother. For six months
+the captain had been away, and Emilie had been living at her mother's. To
+this house, among other visitors, had come M. de Château-Renard, and from
+the first, this typical man of the world had been an object of dislike to
+Louis. Emilie's flirtations with Château-Renard at last provoked a
+remonstrance from Louis, and in return the lady told him that he was in
+love with her himself, and that he was absurd in his notions. After that
+Louis had left off calling on Emilie, but gossip was soon busy with the
+lady's name.</p>
+
+<p>An anonymous letter had made an appointment for Louis with the lady of
+the violets at the masked ball, and from this person he was informed again
+not only of Emilie's infidelity, but further, that M. de Château-Renard had
+wagered he would bring her to supper at D----'s.</p>
+
+<p>The rest I knew, and I could only assent mournfully that things must go
+on, and that the proposals of Château-Renard's seconds could not be
+declined.</p>
+
+<p>But M. Louis de Franchi had never touched sword or pistol in his life!
+However, there was nothing for it but to return M. de Châteaugrand's
+call.</p>
+
+<p>Martelli and I found that Château-Renard's two supporters were both
+polite men of the world. They were as indifferent as Louis was to the
+choice of weapons, and by a spin of a coin it was decided that pistols were
+to be used.</p>
+
+<p>The place agreed upon for the duel was the Bois de Vincennes, and the
+time nine o'clock the following morning.</p>
+
+<p>I called in the evening on Louis to ask him if he had any instructions
+for me; but his only reply was "Counsel comes with the night," so I waited
+on him next morning.</p>
+
+<p>He was just finishing a letter when I entered, and he bade his servant
+Joseph leave us undisturbed for ten minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"I am anxious," said Louis, "that my friend Giordano Martelli, who is a
+Corsican, should not know of this letter. But you must promise to carry out
+my wishes, and then my family may be saved a second misfortune. Now, please
+read the letter."</p>
+
+<p>I read the letter Louis had written. It was to his mother, and it said
+that he was dying of brain fever. Her son, writing in a lucid interval, was
+beyond hope of recovery. It would be posted to her a quarter of an hour
+after his death. There was an affectionate postscript to Lucien.</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean? I don't understand it," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"It means that at ten minutes past nine I shall be dead. I have been
+forewarned, that is all. My father appeared to me last night and announced
+my death."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke so simply of this visit, that if it was an illusion it was as
+terribly convincing as the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thing more," said Louis. "If my brother was to hear that I
+had been killed in a duel, he would at once leave Sullacro to come and
+fight the man who had killed me. And then if he were killed in his turn my
+mother would be thrice widowed. To prevent that I have written this letter.
+If it is believed that I have died of brain fever no one can be blamed." He
+paused. "Unless, unless--but no, that must not be."</p>
+
+<p>I knew that my own strange fear was his.</p>
+
+<p>On the way to Vincennes Baron Giordano stopped to get a case of pistols,
+powder, and balls, and we arrived at our destination just as M. de
+Château-Renard's carriage drove up. At M. de Châteaugrand's suggestion we
+all made our way to a certain glade away from the public pathway.</p>
+
+<p>Martelli and Châteaugrand measured, the distance together, while Louis
+bade me farewell, asking me to accept his watch, and begging me to keep the
+duel out of the papers, and to prevail upon Giordano not to let any word of
+the matter reach Sullacro.</p>
+
+<p>M. Château-Renard was at his post. Baron Giordano gave Louis his
+pistol.</p>
+
+<p>Châteaugrand called out, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then he clapped his
+hands "One, two, three."</p>
+
+<p>Two shots went off at the same moment, and Louis de Franchi fell. His
+opponent was unhurt. I rushed to Louis and raised him up. Blood came to his
+lips. It was useless to send for a surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>Château-Renard had withdrawn, but his seconds hastened to express their
+horror at the fatal ending of the combat.</p>
+
+<p>Châteaugrand added that he hoped M. de Franchi bore no malice against
+his opponent.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, I forgive him!" said Louis. "But tell him to leave Paris. He
+must go."</p>
+
+<p>The dying man spoke with difficulty. He reminded me of my promise, and
+asked me, as he fell back, to look at my watch.</p>
+
+<p>It was exactly ten minutes past nine, and Louis was dead.</p>
+
+<p>We carried the body back to the house, and Giordano made the required
+statement to the District Commissioner of Police. Then the house was sealed
+by the police, and Louis de Franchi was laid to rest in
+P&egrave;re-La-chaise. But M. de Château-Renard could not be persuaded to
+leave Paris, though MM. de Boissy and de Châteaugrand both did their best
+to induce him to go.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Lucien Takes Vengeance</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>One night, five days after the funeral, I was working late at my
+writing-table, when my servant entered, and told me in a frightened tone
+that M. de Franchi wanted to speak to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Who?" I said, in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"M. de Franchi, sir, your friend--the gentleman who has been here once
+or twice to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"You must be out of your senses, Victor! Don't you know that he died
+five days ago?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; and that's why I am so upset. I heard a ring at the bell, and
+when I opened the door, he walked in, asked if you were at home, and told
+me to tell you that M. de Franchi desired to speak with you."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you out of your mind, my good man? I suppose the hall is badly lit,
+and you were half-asleep and heard the name wrong. Go back and ask the name
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, I will swear that I'm not mistaken. I'm sure I heard and saw
+perfectly."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, then, show him in."</p>
+
+<p>Victor went back to the door, trembling all the time, and said, "Please
+step in, sir."</p>
+
+<p>My hasty sensation of terror was quickly dispelled. It was Lucien who
+was apologising to me for disturbing me at such an hour.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is," he said, "I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will
+understand how impossible it was not to come and see you at once."</p>
+
+<p>I at once thought of the letter I had sent. In five days it could not
+have reached Sullacro.</p>
+
+<p>"Good heaven!" I cried. "Nothing is known to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everything is known," he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Lucien mentioned that on going to his brother's house, the people were
+so panic-stricken that they refused the door to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," I said, when we were alone. "You must have been on your way
+here when you heard the fatal news?"</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary, I was at Sullacro. Have you for-forgotten what I told
+you about the apparitions in my family?"</p>
+
+<p>"Has your brother appeared to you?" I cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He told me he had been killed in a duel by M. de Château-Renard. I
+saw my brother in his room the day he was killed," Lucien went on, "and
+that night in a dream I saw the place where the duel was fought, and heard
+the name of M. de Château-Renard. And I have come to Paris to kill the man
+who killed my brother. My brother had never touched a pistol in his life,
+and it was as easy to kill him as to kill a tame stag. My mother knows why
+I have come. She is a true Corsican, and she kissed me on the forehead and
+said 'Go!'"</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Lucien wrote to Giordano and sent a challenge to
+Château-Renard. Then he went with me to Vincennes, and, though he had never
+been there in his life before, Lucien walked straight to the spot where his
+brother had fallen. He turned round, walked twenty paces, and said, "This
+is where the villain stood, and to-morrow he will lie here."</p>
+
+<p>Lucien predicted with absolute confidence the death of Château-Renard.
+The challenge was accepted, the same seconds acted, and on the morrow we
+assembled in the fatal glade. Château-Renard was obviously uneasy. The
+signal was given, both men fired, and, sure enough, Château-Renard fell,
+shot through the temple as Lucien had foretold.</p>
+
+<p>Then, for the first time since Louis' death, Lucien burst into tears. He
+dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms. "My brother, my dear
+brother!" he cried.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas4">The Count of Monte Cristo</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> "The Count of Monte Cristo" appeared in 1844, when Dumas had
+been writing plays and stories for twenty years, and at a period when he
+was most extraordinarily prolific. In that year, assisted by his staff of
+compilers and transcribers, he is said to have turned out something like
+forty volumes! "Monte Cristo" first gave Dumas' novels a world-wide
+audience. Its unflagging spirit, the endless surprises, and the air of
+reality which was cast over the most extravagant situations made the work
+worthy of the popularity it enjoyed in almost every country in the world.
+The island from which it takes its name is a barren rock rising 2,000 feet
+out of the sea a few miles south of Elba. Dumas attempted to emulate Scott,
+and built a château near St. Germain, which he called Monte Cristo,
+costing over $125,000. It was afterwards sold for a tenth of that sum to
+pay his debts. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Conspiracy of Envy</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>On February 28, 1815, the three-masted Pharaon arrived at Marseilles
+from Smyrna, commanded by the first mate, young Edmond Dant&egrave;s, the
+captain having died on the voyage. He had left a package for the
+Mar&eacute;chal Bertrand on the Isle of Elba, which Dant&egrave;s had duly
+delivered, conversing with the exiled Emperor Napoleon himself.</p>
+
+<p>The shipowner, M. Morrel, confirmed young Dant&egrave;s in the command,
+and, overjoyed, he hastened to his father, and then to the village of the
+Catalans, near Marseilles, where the dark-eyed Merc&eacute;d&egrave;s, his
+betrothed, impatiently awaited him.</p>
+
+<p>But his good fortune excited envy. Danglars, the supercargo of the
+Pharaon, wanted the command for himself, and Fernand, the Catalan cousin of
+Merc&eacute;d&egrave;s, hated Dant&egrave;s because he had won her heart.
+Fernand's jealousy so took possession of him that he fell in willingly with
+a scheme which the envious Danglars proposed. Making use of Dant&egrave;s'
+compromising visit to Elba, they addressed an anonymous denunciation to the
+<i>procureur du roi</i>, which, in this period of Bonapartist plots, was
+indeed a formidable matter. Caderousse, a boon companion, was at first
+taken into their confidence, but as he came to think it a dangerous trick
+to play the young captain, he refused to take part in it.</p>
+
+<p>On the morrow the wedding-feast took place, and at two o'clock
+Dant&egrave;s, radiant with joy and happiness, prepared to accompany his
+bride to the hotel de ville for the civil ceremony. But at that moment the
+measured tread of soldiery was heard on the stairs, and a magistrate
+presented himself, bearing an order for the arrest of Edmond Dant&egrave;s.
+Resistance or remonstrance was useless, and Dant&egrave;s suffered himself
+to be taken to Marseilles, where he was examined by the deputy <i>procureur
+du roi,</i> M. de Villefort. To him, on demand, he recounted the story of
+his visit to Elba.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Villefort, "if you have been culpable it was imprudence. Give
+up this letter you have brought from Elba, and go and rejoin your
+friends."</p>
+
+<p>"You have it already," cried Dant&egrave;s.</p>
+
+<p>Villefort glanced at it, and sank into his seat, stupefied. It was
+addressed to M. Noirtier, a staunch Bonapartist.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if he knew the contents of this," murmured he, "and that Noirtier
+is father of Villefort, I am lost!" He approached the fire, and cast the
+fatal letter in.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir," said he, "I shall detail you till this evening in the Palais de
+Justice. Should anyone else interrogate you do not breathe a word of this
+letter."</p>
+
+<p>"I promise."</p>
+
+<p>It was Villefort who seemed to entreat, and the prisoner to reassure
+him.</p>
+
+<p>But the doom of Edmond Dant&egrave;s was cast. Sacrificed to Villefort's
+ambition, he was lodged the same night in a dungeon of the gloomy
+fortress-prison of the Château d'If, while Villefort posted to Paris to
+warn the king that the usurper Bonaparte was meditating a landing in
+France.</p>
+
+<p>Napoleon returned. There followed the Hundred Days, and Louis XVIII.
+again mounted the throne. M. Morrel's intercessions during Napoleon's brief
+triumph for the release of Dant&egrave;s but served, on the restoration of
+Louis, to compromise further the unhappy prisoner, who languished in a foul
+prison in the depths of the Château d'If.</p>
+
+<p>In the cell next to Dant&egrave;s was another political prisoner, the
+Abb&eacute; Faria. He had been in the château four years when Dant&egrave;s
+was immured, and, with marvellously contrived tools and incredible toil,
+had burrowed a tunnel through the rock fifty feet long, only to find that,
+instead of leading to the outer wall of the château, whence he could have
+flung himself into the sea, it led to the cell of another
+prisoner--Dant&egrave;s. He penetrated it after Dant&egrave;s had been
+solitary six years.</p>
+
+<p>The prisoners met every day between the visits of their gaolers. Faria
+showed Dant&egrave;s the products of his industry and ingenuity--his books,
+written on the linen of shirts, his fish-bone pens and needles, knives, and
+matches, all accomplished secretly; and beguiled much of the weariness of
+confinement by educating Dant&egrave;s in the sciences, history, and
+languages. Dant&egrave;s possessed a prodigious memory, combined with
+readiness of conception, and his studies progressed rapidly. Soon
+Dant&egrave;s told the abb&eacute; his story, and the abb&eacute; had
+little difficulty in opening the eyes of the astonished Dant&egrave;s to
+the villainy of his supposed friends and the deputy <i>procurer</i>. Thus
+was instilled into his heart a new passion--vengeance.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Cemetery of the Château d'If</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>More than seven years passed thus when coming into the abb&eacute;'s
+dungeon one night, Dant&egrave;s found him stricken with paralysis. His
+right arm and leg remained paralysed after the seizure. When Dant&egrave;s
+next visited him the abb&eacute; showed him a paper, half-burnt, and rolled
+in a cylinder.</p>
+
+<p>"This paper," said Faria, "is my treasure; and if I have not been
+allowed to possess it, you will. Who knows if another attack may not come,
+and all be finished?"</p>
+
+<p>The abb&eacute; had been secretary to the last of the Counts of Spada,
+one of the most powerful families of mediaeval Italy, and he, dying in
+poverty, had left Faria an old breviary, which had been in the family since
+the days of the Borgias. In this, by chance, Faria found a piece of
+yellowed paper, on which, when put in the fire, writing began to appear.
+From the remains of the paper he made out during the early days of his
+imprisonment, that a Cardinal Spada, at the end of the fifteenth century,
+fearing poisoning at the hands of Pope Alexander VI., had buried in the
+Island of Monte Cristo, a rock between Corsica and Elba, all his ingots,
+gold, money, and jewels, amounting then to nearly two million Roman
+crowns.</p>
+
+<p>"The last Count of Spada made me his heir," said the abb&eacute;. "The
+treasure now amounts to nearly thirteen millions of money!"</p>
+
+<p>The abb&eacute; remained paralysed, and had given up all hope of
+enjoying the treasure himself; and presently another seizure took him, and
+one night Dant&egrave;s was alone with the corpse.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning the preparations for burying the dead man were made, the
+body being placed in a sack and left in the cell till the evening.
+Dant&egrave;s came into the cell again.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he muttered. "Since the dead leave this dungeon, let me assume the
+place of the dead!"</p>
+
+<p>Opening the sack, he took out the dead body of his friend, and dragged
+it through the tunnel to his own cell. Placing it on his own bed, he
+covered it with the rags he wore himself. Then he sewed himself in the sack
+with one of the abb&eacute;'s needles. In his hand he held the dead man's
+knife, and with palpitating heart awaited events.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly the hours dragged on, until at length he heard the heavy
+footsteps of the gaolers descending to the cell. They lifted the sack, and
+carried him on a bier through the castle passages, until they came to a
+door, which was opened. On passing through this, the noise of the waves was
+heard as they dashed on the rocks below.</p>
+
+<p>Then Dant&egrave;s felt that they took him by the head and by the heels,
+and flung him into the sea, into whose depths he was dragged by a
+thirty-six-pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the cemetery of Château
+d'If!</p>
+
+<p>Although giddy, and almost suffocated, he had yet sufficient presence of
+mind to hold his breath; and as his right hand held his knife, he rapidly
+ripped up the sack, extricated his arm, and then, by a desperate effort,
+severed the cord that bound his legs at the moment he was suffocating. With
+a vigorous spring he rose to the surface, paused to breathe, and then dived
+again, in order to avoid being seen. When he rose again, he struck boldly
+out to sea, and, fortunately, was picked up by a sailing-vessel.</p>
+
+<p>Now at liberty, fourteen years after his arrest, he renewed an oath of
+implacable vengeance against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort. Nor was it
+long before he had discovered the secret cave in the island of Monte
+Cristo, with all its dazzling wealth, as the Abbe Faria had truly foretold.
+He now stood possessed of such means of vengeance as never in his wildest
+dreams had any innocent prisoner hoped to be able to command.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--Vengeance Begins</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Some two years later Caspar Caderousse, the keeper of an inn near
+Beaucaire, was lounging listlessly at his door, when a traveller on
+horseback dismounted at his door and entered. The visitor--Monte
+Cristo--gave the name of Abbe Busoni, and astonished Caderousse by showing
+a minute knowledge of his earlier history. The abb&eacute; explained that
+he had been present at the death of Edmond Dant&egrave;s in prison, and
+said that even in his dying moments the prisoner had protested he was
+utterly ignorant of the cause of his imprisonment.</p>
+
+<p>"And so he was!" exclaimed Caderousse. "How should he have been
+otherwise?"</p>
+
+<p>The abb&egrave; had heard of the death of Edmond's aged father, and now
+he was told the old man had died of starvation.</p>
+
+<p>"Thus Heaven recompenses virtue," said Caderousse. "I am in destitution
+and shall die of hunger, as old Dant&egrave;s did, whilst Fernand and
+Danglars roll in wealth. All their malpractices have turned to luck.
+Danglars speculated and made a fortune. He is a millionaire, and now Count
+Danglars. Fernand played traitor at the battle of Ligny, and that served
+for his recommendation to the Bourbons. Afterwards he became Count de
+Morcerf, and got a considerable sum by the betrayal of Ali Pasha in the
+Greek war of independence."</p>
+
+<p>The abb&eacute;, making an effort, said, "And
+Merc&eacute;d&egrave;s--she disappeared?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, as the sun, to rise next day with more splendour. She is rich, the
+Countess de Morcerf--she waited two hopeless years for Dant&egrave;s--and
+yet I am sure she is not happy."</p>
+
+<p>"And M. de Villefort?" asked the abb&eacute;.</p>
+
+<p>"Some time after having arrested Dant&egrave;s, he married and left
+Marseilles; no doubt but he has been as lucky as the rest."</p>
+
+<p>"God may seem sometimes to forget for a time," said the abb&eacute;,
+"while His justice reposes, but there always comes a moment when He
+remembers."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Early in 1838 a certain Count of Monte Cristo became a great figure in
+the life of Paris. His name awakened thoughts of romance and dazzling
+wealth in the minds of all. It was Albert, the son of the Count de Morcerf,
+who first introduced the Count of Monte Cristo to the high society of
+Paris. They had become acquainted at Rome, where Monte Cristo had been able
+to render a great service to the Viscount Albert de Morcerf and his friend,
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay.</p>
+
+<p>All sorts of stories were afloat in Paris as to the history of this
+Count of Monte Cristo. When he went to the opera he was accompanied by a
+beautiful Greek girl, named Haid&eacute;e, whose guardian he was.</p>
+
+<p>But nothing ruffled Monte Cristo. Calmness and deliberation marked all
+his movements; in some respects he was more like a machine than a human
+being. Everything he said he would do was done precisely. And now the
+schemes he had long studied in secret he had begun to carry through as
+certainly and relentlessly as Fate.</p>
+
+<p>M. de Villefort, now <i>procureur du roi,</i> had a daughter by his
+first wife, for he had married a second time. Her name was Valentine, and
+at the command of her father, but not by her own wish, she was engaged to
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay. She loved a young military officer named
+Maximilian Morrel, a son of the Marseilles shipowner. But neither of them
+had dared to avow their affection for each other to Valentine's father.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the tide of fortune seemed to have turned with Baron
+Danglars. His business had suffered many losses, but his greatest loss of
+all was due to some false news about the price of shares which had been
+telegraphed to Paris by means which Monte Cristo could have explained.</p>
+
+<p>The baron's daughter was engaged to Albert de Morcerf, but the Count of
+Morcerf had now come under a cloud, for his betrayal of Ali Pasha had been
+made public; and perhaps the Count of Monte Cristo could have told how the
+truth came out at last. So the baron did not hesitate to break the
+engagement, and to accept as the suitor for his daughter a dashing young
+man known as Count Cavalcanti, who had been introduced to Paris by Monte
+Cristo, but concerning whose antecedents nothing seemed to be known.</p>
+
+<p>The Count de Morcerf was tried for his betrayal of Ali, and seemed
+likely to be acquitted, when a veiled woman was brought to the place of
+trial, and testified before the committee that she was the daughter of Ali
+Pasha, and that Morcerf had not only betrayed her father to the Turks, but
+had sold her and her mother into slavery. The veiled woman was
+Haid&eacute;e, the ward of Monte Cristo. The count was now a ruined man,
+and when his son Albert discovered the part that Monte Cristo had played,
+he publicly insulted the count at the opera.</p>
+
+<p>A duel was averted, for Albert publicly apologised to the count when he
+learned the reasons for his actions. Furious that he had not been avenged
+by his son, Morcerf rushed to the house of Monte Cristo.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to tell you," said Morcerf, "that as the young people of the
+present day will not fight, it remains for us to do it."</p>
+
+<p>"So much the better," said Monte Cristo. "Are you prepared?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; and witnesses are unnecessary, as we know each other so
+little."</p>
+
+<p>"Truly they are unnecessary," said Monte Cristo, "but for the reason
+that we know each other well. Are you not the soldier Fernand who deserted
+on the eve of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who served as
+guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the Captain Fernand
+who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," cried the general, "wretch, to reproach me with my shame! Tell me
+your real name that I may pronounce it when I plunge my sword through your
+heart."</p>
+
+<p>At this Monte Cristo, bounding to a dressing room near, quickly pulled
+off his coat, and waistcoat, and, donning a sailor's jacket and hat, was
+back in an instant.</p>
+
+<p>Gazing for a moment in terror at this man who seemed to have risen from
+the dead to avenge his wrongs, Morcerf turned, seeking the wall to support
+him, and went out by the door uttering the cry--"Edmond Dant&egrave;s!"</p>
+
+<p>Events marched rapidly now, and Paris had scarcely ceased talking of the
+suicide of the Count de Morcerf, when Cavalcanti, identified as a former
+galley-slave named Benedetto, was arrested for the murder of a
+fellow-convict.</p>
+
+<p>Danglars fled from France, his great business in ruin. With him he took
+a large sum of money belonging to Paris hospitals, which, however, was
+taken from him near Rome by brigands controlled by Monte Cristo.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--Vengeance is Complete</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>In the household of Villefort, Monte Cristo had done nothing to bring
+vengeance on that evil man. He had seen from the first that Villefort's
+second wife was studying the art of poisoning, and he felt that revenge was
+already at work here. There had already been three mysterious deaths in the
+house, and now the beautiful Valentine seemed to be suffering from the
+early effects of some slow poison. Maximilian Morrel, in despair of
+Valentine's life, rushed to Monte Cristo for his advice and assistance.</p>
+
+<p>"Must I let one of the accursed race escape?" Monte Cristo asked
+himself, but decided, for Maxmilian's sake, that he would save Valentine.
+He had bought the house adjoining that of Villefort, and, clearing out the
+tenants, had engaged workmen to remove so much of the old wall between the
+two houses that it was a simple matter for him to take out the remaining
+stones and pass into a large cupboard in Valentine's room. Here the count
+watched while Valentine was asleep, and saw Madame de Villefort creep into
+the room and substitute for the medicine in Valentine's glass a dose of
+poison.</p>
+
+<p>He then entered the room and threw half the draught into the fireplace,
+leaving the rest in the glass. When Valentine awoke he gave her a pellet of
+hashish, which made her sink into a deathlike sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning the doctor declared that Valentine was dead. In the glass
+he discovered poison, and as the same poison was found in madame's
+laboratory, there was no doubt of her guilt. She admitted all, and
+confessed that her object had been to make her own son sole heir to
+Villefort's fortune.</p>
+
+<p>Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He addressed her with
+passionate words of reproach as he turned to leave her.</p>
+
+<p>"Think of it, madame," he said; "if on my return justice has not been
+satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my
+own hands! I am going to the court to pronounce sentence of death on a
+murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in
+gaol."</p>
+
+<p>Madame sighed, her nerves gave way, and she sank on the carpet.</p>
+
+<p>But Villefort little knew at the moment he spoke these burning words to
+the woman who was his wife that he himself was not going out to condemn a
+fellow-sinner, but to be himself condemned. For the man to whom he referred
+as a murderer was the so-called Count Cavalcanti, really Benedetto, who now
+turned out to be an illegitimate son of Villefort's whom he had endeavoured
+to bury alive as an infant in the garden of a house at Auteuil. The night
+before the criminal had had a long interview with Monte Cristo's steward,
+who had disclosed to the prisoner the secret of his birth, and in court he
+declared his father was Villefort, the public prosecutor! This statement
+made a great commotion in the court, and all eyes were on Villefort, while
+Benedetto continued to answer the questions of the president, and proved
+that he was the child whom Villefort would have buried alive years before.
+The public prosecutor himself confirmed the prisoner's story by admitting
+his guilt, and staggering from the court.</p>
+
+<p>When Villefort arrived at his own house he found everything in
+confusion. Making his way to his wife's apartments, he had the horror of
+meeting her while she still lived, just at the very instant when the poison
+she had taken did its work, and of finding a moment or two after that she
+had poisoned his little son Edward.</p>
+
+<p>This was more than the brain of man could endure, and Villefort turned
+from the tragic scene a raving madman, rushing wildly to the garden, and
+beginning to dig with a spade.</p>
+
+<p>The vengeance of Edmond Dant&egrave;s, so long delayed, so carefully and
+laboriously planned, was now complete, and it only remained for him to
+perform the last of his marvels, at the same time giving proof of his
+boundless generosity. Valentine de Villefort had been buried, and
+Maximilian was in despair; but Monte Cristo urged the young man to have
+patience and hope.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed a strange thing to ask a lover whose sweetheart had been
+placed within the tomb to have hope and to come to Monte Cristo in one
+month. But this was the bargain they made.</p>
+
+<p>When the month had passed, Maximilian came to the isle of Monte
+Cristo.</p>
+
+<p>"I have your word," he said to the count, "that you would help me die or
+give me Valentine!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! A miracle alone can save you--the resurrection of Valentine! Thus
+do I fulfil my promise!"</p>
+
+<p>Monte Cristo turned to a jewelled cabinet, and took from it a tube of
+greenish paste. Maximilian swallowed some of the mysterious substance,
+which was but hashish. He sat down and waited.</p>
+
+<p>"Monte Cristo," he said, "I feel that I am dying--good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Monte Cristo had opened a door from which a great light
+streamed. Maximilian opened his eyes, looked towards the light; and
+then--he saw Valentine!</p>
+
+<p>Then Monte Cristo spoke. "He calls you, Valentine, even as he thinks he
+dies by his own will. But even as I saved you from the tomb, so have I
+saved him. I feared for his reason if he saw you, except in a trance--from
+his trance he will wake to happiness!"</p>
+
+<p>Next morning Valentine and Maximilian were walking on the beach, when
+Jacopo, the captain of Monte Cristo's yacht, gave them a letter. As they
+looked on the superscription they cried, simultaneously, "Gone!"</p>
+
+<p>In his letter, Monte Cristo, said: "All that is in this grotto, my
+friend, my house in the Champs Elys&eacute;es, and my château at
+Tr&eacute;port, are the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dant&egrave;s
+upon the son of his old master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will
+share them with you; for I entreat her to give to the poor the immense
+fortune reverting to her from her father, now a madman, and her brother,
+who died last September with his mother."</p>
+
+<p>"But where is the count?" asked Morrel eagerly. Jacopo pointed towards
+the horizon, where a white sail was visible.</p>
+
+<p>"And where is Haid&eacute;e?" asked Valentine. Jacopo still pointed
+towards the sail.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas5">The Three Musketeers</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> It was not till the publication of "The Three Musketeers," in
+1844, that the amazing gifts of Dumas were fully recognised. From 1844 till
+1850, the literary output of novels, plays, and historical memoirs was
+enormous, and so great was the demand for Dumas' work that he made no
+attempt to supply his customers single-handed, but engaged a host of
+assistants, and was content to revise and amend--or in some cases only to
+sign--their productions. "The Three Musketeers" was followed by its sequel,
+"Twenty Years After," in 1845, and the story was continued still further in
+the "Vicomte de Bragelonne." The "Valois" series of novels, "Monte Cristo,"
+and the "Memoirs of a Physician," were all published before 1850, in
+addition to many dramatised versions of stories. </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Musketeer's Apprenticeship</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>D'Artagnan was without acquaintances in Paris, and now on the very day
+of his arrival he was committed to fight with three of the most
+distinguished of the king's musketeers.</p>
+
+<p>Coming from Gascony, a youth with all the pride and ambition of his
+race, D'Artagnan had brought no money; with him, but only a letter of
+introduction from his father to M. de Treville, captain of the musketeers.
+But he had been taught that by courage alone could a man now make his way
+to fortune, and that he was to bear nothing, save from the cardinal--the
+great Cardinal Richelieu, or from the king--Louis XIII.</p>
+
+<p>It was immediately after his interview with M. de Treville that
+D'Artagnan, well trained at home as a swordsman, quarrelled with the three
+musketeers.</p>
+
+<p>First, on the palace stairs, he ran violently into Athos, who was
+suffering from a wounded shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"You are in a hurry?" said the musketeer, pale as a sheet. "Under that
+pretence, you run against me; you say 'Excuse me!' and you think that
+sufficient. You are not polite; it is easy to see that you are from the
+country."</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan had already passed on, but this remark made him stop
+short.</p>
+
+<p>"However far I may come it is not you, monsieur, who can give me a
+lesson in manners, I warn you."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said Athos, "you are in a hurry now, but you can find me
+without running after me. Do you understand me."</p>
+
+<p>"Where, and when?" said D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Near the Carmes-Deschaux at noon," replied Athos. "And please do not
+keep me waiting, for at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your ears if
+you run."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "I will be there at ten minutes to
+twelve."</p>
+
+<p>At the street gate Porthos was talking with the soldiers on guard.
+Between the two there was just room for a man to pass, and D'Artagnan
+hurried on, only to find himself enveloped in the long velvet cloak of
+Porthos, which the wind had blown out.</p>
+
+<p>"The fellow must be mad," said Porthos, "to run against people in this
+manner! Do you always forget your eyes when you happen to be in a
+hurry?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied D'Artagnan, who, in extricating himself from the cloak,
+had observed that the handsome cloth of gold coat worn by Porthos was only
+gold in front and plain buff at the back, "no, and thanks to my eyes, I can
+see what others cannot see."</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur," said Porthos angrily, "you stand a chance of getting
+chastised if you run against musketeers in this fashion. I shall look for
+you, at one o'clock behind the Luxembourg."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, at one o'clock then," replied D'Artagnan, turning into the
+street.</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later D'Artagnan annoyed Aramis, the third musketeer, who
+was chatting with some gentleman of the king's musketeers. As D'Artagnan
+came up Aramis accidentally dropped an embroidered pocket-handkerchief and
+covered it at once with his foot to prevent observation. D'Artagnan,
+conscious of a certain want of politeness in his treatment of Athos and
+Porthos, and determined to be more obliging in future, stooped and picked
+up the handkerchief--much to the vexation of Aramis, who denied all claim
+to the delicate piece of cambric.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan not taking the rebukes of Aramis in good part, they fixed two
+o'clock as the hour of meeting.</p>
+
+<p>The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis going up the street which
+led to the Luxembourg, whilst D'Artagnan, finding that it was near noon,
+took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, "Decidedly I can't
+draw back; but at least if I am killed, I shall be killed by a
+musketeer."</p>
+
+<p>Knowing nobody in Paris, D'Artagnan went to his appointment without a
+second.</p>
+
+<p>It was just striking twelve when he arrived on the ground, and Athos,
+still suffering from his old wound on the shoulder, was already waiting for
+his adversary.</p>
+
+<p>Athos explained with all politeness that his seconds had not yet
+arrived.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are in great haste, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "and if it be
+your will to despatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself. I am
+ready. But if you would wait three days till your shoulder is healed, I
+have a miraculous balsam given me by my mother, and I am sure this balsam
+will cure your wound. At the end of three days it would still do me a great
+honour to be your man."</p>
+
+<p>"That is well said," said Athos, "and it pleases me. Thus spoke the
+gallant knights of Charlemagne. Monsieur, I love men of your stamp, and I
+can tell that if we don't kill each other, I shall enjoy your society. But
+here comes my seconds."</p>
+
+<p>"What!" cried D'Artagnan as Porthos and Aramis appeared. "Are these
+gentlemen your seconds?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied Athos. "Are you not aware that we are never seen one
+without the others, and that we are called the three inseparables?"</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean?" said Porthos, who had now come up and stood
+astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the gentleman I am to fight with," said Athos, pointing to
+D'Artagnan and saluting him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why I am also going to fight with him," said Porthos.</p>
+
+<p>"But not before one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, and I also am going to fight with that gentleman," said
+Aramis.</p>
+
+<p>"But not till two o'clock," said D'Artagnan calmly.</p>
+
+<p>"And now you are all assembled, gentleman, permit me to offer you my
+excuses."</p>
+
+<p>At this word "excuses" a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty
+smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of
+Aramis.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not understand me, gentleman," said D'Artagnan, throwing up his
+head. "I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my
+debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first. And now,
+gentleman, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and--guard!"</p>
+
+<p>At these words D'Artagnan drew his sword, and at that moment so elated
+was he that he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the
+kingdom.</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had the two rapiers sounded on meeting, when a company of the
+cardinal's guards appeared on the scene. At that time there was not only a
+standing feud between the king's musketeers and the guards of Cardinal
+Richelieu, there was also a prohibition against duelling.</p>
+
+<p>"The cardinal's guards! The cardinal's guards!" cried Aramis and Porthos
+at the same time. "Sheathe swords, gentlemen! Sheathe swords!" But it was
+too late.</p>
+
+<p>Jussac, commander of the guards, had seen the combatants in a position
+which could not be mistaken.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, musketeers," he called out; "fighting, are you, in spite of the
+edicts? Well, duty before everything. Sheathe your swords, please, and
+follow us."</p>
+
+<p>"That is quite impossible," said Aramis politely. "The best thing you
+can do is to pass on your way."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall charge upon you, then," said Jussac. "if you disobey."</p>
+
+<p>"There are five of them," said Athos, "and we are but three. We shall be
+beaten, and must die on the spot, for on my part I will never face my
+captain as a conquered man."</p>
+
+<p>Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly closed in, and Jussac drew up his
+soldiers.</p>
+
+<p>In that short interval D'Artagnan determined on the part he was to take;
+it was a decision of life-long importance. He had to choose between the
+king and the cardinal, and the choice made, it must be persisted in. He
+turned towards Athos and his friends. "Gentlemen," said he, "allow me to
+correct your words. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we
+are four. I do not wear the uniform, but my heart is that of a
+musketeer."</p>
+
+<p>"Withdraw, young man, and save your skin!" cried Jussac.</p>
+
+<p>The three musketeers thought of D'Artagnan's youth, and dreaded his
+inexperience.</p>
+
+<p>"Try me, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "and I swear to you that I will
+never go hence if we are conquered."</p>
+
+<p>Athos pressed the young man's hand, and exclaimed, "Well, then! Athos,
+Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forward!"</p>
+
+<p>The nine combatants rushed upon each other with fury, and the battle
+ended in the utter discomfiture of the cardinal's guards, one of whom was
+slain and three badly wounded. The musketeers returned walking arm in arm.
+D'Artagnan marched between Athos and Porthos, his heart full of
+delight.</p>
+
+<p>"If I am not yet a musketeer," said he to his new friends, "at least, I
+have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven't I?"</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Queen's Diamonds</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The king, always jealous of Richelieu's guards, was extremely pleased
+when he heard from M. de Treville of the fight that had taken place. He
+gave D'Artagnan a handful of gold, and promised him a place in the ranks of
+the musketeers at the first vacancy; in the meantime he was to join a
+company of royal guards. From this time the life of the four young men
+became common, for D'Artagnan fell quite easily into the habits of his
+three friends.</p>
+
+<p>Athos, who was scarcely thirty years old, was of great personal beauty
+and intelligence of mind. He never spoke of women, he never laughed, rarely
+smiled, and his reserved and silent habits seemed to make him a much older
+man.</p>
+
+<p>Porthos was exactly the opposite of Athos. He not only talked much, but
+he talked loudly, not caring whether anyone listened to him. He would talk
+about anything except the sciences, alleging that from childhood dated his
+inveterate hatred of learning. The physical strength of Porthos was
+enormous, and with all the vanity of a child he was a thoroughly loyal and
+brave man.</p>
+
+<p>As for Aramis, he always gave out that he intended to take orders in the
+Church, and was merely a musketeer for the time being. Aramis revelled in
+intrigues and mysteries.</p>
+
+<p>What the real names of his comrades were D'Artagnan had no idea. That
+the names they bore had been assumed was all he knew.</p>
+
+<p>The motto of the four was "all for one, one for all." D'Artagnan had
+already earned the dislike of Cardinal Richelieu by his part in the fight
+with the cardinal's guards; it was not long before his daring gave greater
+cause for offence.</p>
+
+<p>The king suspected his wife, Anne of Austria, of being in love with the
+Duke of Buckingham, and the cardinal suspected the queen of intriguing with
+Buckingham against France. Now, a secret interview had taken place at the
+palace between Buckingham and the queen, and the cardinal, who employed
+spies everywhere, found out this as he found out everything, and determined
+to destroy the queen's reputation, for there was deadly enmity between Anne
+of Austria and Richelieu.</p>
+
+<p>Buckingham had received from the queen a set of diamond studs--a present
+from the king--as a keepsake; so the cardinal despatched a certain lady, a
+woman of rare beauty, known as "Milady," to England, to get hold of two of
+these studs.</p>
+
+<p>Then the cardinal, by fostering the royal suspicion, persuaded the king
+to give a grand ball whereat the queen should wear the diamond studs. By
+this means Louis would be convinced of Buckingham's visit, for the set of
+studs would be incomplete.</p>
+
+<p>The queen was in dispair. It was D'Artagnan and the three musketeers
+who saved her honour. D'Artagnan loved Madame Bonacieux, a confidential
+dressmaker of the queen's; and this woman, devoted to her royal mistress,
+gave D'Artagnan a secret note from the queen to Buckingham.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan went at once to M. de Treville, obtained leave of absence for
+himself and his friends, and set out for England. It was not a minute too
+soon, for the cardinal had already made plans to prevent any such
+counter-move, giving orders that no one was to sail from France without a
+permit.</p>
+
+<p>Between Paris and Calais, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were all left
+behind, wounded by Richelieu's guards, and D'Artagnan only effected a
+passage to Dover by fighting and nearly killing a young noble who held a
+permit from the cardinal to leave France.</p>
+
+<p>Once in England, D'Artagnan hastened to find Buckingham. The latter
+discovered, to his horror, that Milady had already become possessed
+cunningly of two of the precious studs, and D'Artagnan had to wait while
+the skill of the first English jeweller made good the loss beyond
+detection.</p>
+
+<p>He returned to Paris with the twelve studs in time for the royal ball.
+Milady had already given the two she had stolen to the cardinal, who had
+passed them on to the king.</p>
+
+<p>"What does this mean, Monsieur le Cardinal?" said the king severely,
+when in the middle of the ball he found, to his joy, that the queen was
+already wearing twelve diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>"It means, sire," the cardinal replied, with vexation, "that I was
+anxious to present her majesty with two studs, but did not dare to offer
+them myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very grateful," said Anne of Austria, fully alive to the
+cardinal's defeat, "only I am afraid these two studs must have cost your
+eminence as much as all the others cost his majesty."</p>
+
+<p>The man, D'Artagnan, to whom the queen owed this extraordinary triumph
+over her enemy, stood unknown in the crowd that gathered round the doors.
+It was only when the queen retired that someone touched him on the shoulder
+and bade him follow. He readily obeyed; D'Artagnan waited in an ante-room
+of the queen's apartments; he could hear voices within, and presently a
+hand and an arm, marvellously white and beautiful, came through the
+tapestry.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan felt that this was his reward. He dropped on his knees,
+seized the hand, and touched it modestly with his lips. Then the hand was
+withdrawn, and in his own a ring was left. The tapestry closed, and his
+guide, no other than Bonacieux, reappeared and escorted him hastily to the
+corridor.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--The Musketeers at La Rochelle</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The siege of La Rochelle was an important affair, one of the chief
+political events of the reign of Louis XIII.</p>
+
+<p>For a time D'Artagnan was separated from his friends, for the musketeers
+were escorting the king to the seat of war, and our intrepid Gascon was
+with the main army. It was now that D'Artagnan began to realise that he had
+attracted, not only the displeasure of the cardinal, but also the deadly
+hatred of Milady, the cardinal's secret agent, whose overtures at
+friendship, made in the cardinal's interest, he had insulted before leaving
+Paris, and whose secret shame he had discovered.</p>
+
+<p>Twice his life was nearly taken by hired assassins, and the third time a
+present of wine turned out to be poisoned.</p>
+
+<p>To add to his natural discomfort, Madame Bonacieux had disappeared from
+Paris, and probably was in prison.</p>
+
+<p>The arrival of the musketeers restored his spirits, and the four were
+again inseparable. One drawback to their intercourse was the fact that the
+cardinal and his spies were all over the camp, and that, consequently, it
+was difficult to talk confidentially without being overheard.</p>
+
+<p>In order to secure privacy for a conference, they decided to go and
+breakfast in a bastion near the enemy's lines, and wagered with some
+officers they would stay there an hour. It was a position of terrible
+danger, but the feat was accomplished, and the wild undertaking of the
+musketeers was acclaimed with tremendous enthusiasm in the French camp.</p>
+
+<p>The noise reached the cardinal's ears, and he inquired its meaning.</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur," said the officer, "three musketeers and a guard laid a
+wager that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and they
+breakfasted and held it for two hours against the enemy, killing I don't
+know how many Rochellais."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you inquire the names of those three musketeers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, monseigneur. MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis."</p>
+
+<p>"Still the three braves!" muttered the cardinal. "And the guard?"</p>
+
+<p>"M. D'Artagnan!"</p>
+
+<p>"Still my reckless young friend! I must have these four men as my
+own."</p>
+
+<p>That same night the cardinal spoke to M. de Treville of the episode of
+the bastion, and gave permission for D'Artagnan to become a musketeer, "for
+such men should be in the same company," he said.</p>
+
+<p>One night during the siege, the three musketeers, seeking D'Artagnan,
+were met in a country lane by the cardinal, travelling, as he often did,
+with a single attendant. Athos recognised him, and the cardinal bade the
+three men escort him to a lonely inn. At the door they all alighted. The
+landlord of the inn received the cardinal, for he had been expecting an
+officer to visit a lady who was within. The three musketeers were
+accommodated in a large room on the ground floor, and the cardinal passed
+up the staircase as a man who knew his road. Porthos and Aramis sat down at
+the table to dice, while Athos walked up and down the room in a thoughtful
+mood. To his astonishment, Athos found that, the stovepipe being broken, he
+could hear all that was passing in the room above.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Milady," the cardinal was saying, "this affair is of utmost
+importance. A small vessel is waiting for you at the mouth of the river.
+You will go on board to-night and set sail to-morrow morning for England.
+Half an hour after I have gone, you will leave here. When you reach
+England, you will seek the Duke of Buckingham, explain to him that I have
+proofs of his secret interviews with the queen, and tell him that if
+England moves in support of the besieged in La Rochelle, I will at once
+ruin the queen."</p>
+
+<p>"But what if he persists in spite of this in making war?" said
+Milady.</p>
+
+<p>"If he persists? Why, then he must be got rid of. Some woman doubtless
+exists, handsome, young, and clever, who has a grievance against the duke;
+and some fanatic can be found to be her instrument."</p>
+
+<p>"The woman exists, and the fanatic will be found," returned Milady. "And
+now, will monseigneur permit me to speak of my enemies, as we have spoken
+of yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your enemies? Who are they?" asked Richelieu.</p>
+
+<p>"First, there is a meddlesome little woman called Bonacieux. She was in
+prison at Nantes, but has been conveyed to a convent by an order which the
+queen obtained from the king. Will your eminence find out where that
+convent is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't object to that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I have a much more dangerous enemy than the little Bonacieux, and
+that is her lover, the wretch D'Artagnan. I will get you a thousand proofs
+that he has conspired with Buckingham."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well; get me proof, and I will send him to the Bastille."</p>
+
+<p>For a few seconds there was silence while the cardinal was writing a
+note.</p>
+
+<p>Athos at once got up and told his companions he would go out to see if
+the road was safe, and left the house.</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal gave his final instructions to Milady, and departed with
+Porthos and Aramis. No sooner had they turned an angle of the road than
+Athos re-entered the inn, marched boldly upstairs, and before he had been
+seen, had bolted the door.</p>
+
+<p>Milady turned round, and became exceedingly white.</p>
+
+<p>"The Count de la F&egrave;re!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Milady, the Count de la F&egrave;re in person. You believed him
+dead, did you not, as I believed you to be?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want? Why do you come here?" said Milady in a hollow
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I have followed your actions," said Athos sternly. "It was you who had
+Madame Bonacieux carried off; it was you who sent assassins after
+D'Artagnan, and poisoned his wine. Only to-night you have agreed to
+assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, and expect D'Artagnan to be slain in
+return. Now, I care nothing about the Duke of Buckingham; he is an
+Englishman, but D'Artagnan is my friend."</p>
+
+<p>"M. D'Artagnan insulted me," said Milady.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it possible to insult you?" said Athos. He drew out a pistol and
+cocked it. "Madame, you will instantly deliver to me the paper you have
+received from the cardinal; or, upon my soul, I will blow out your
+brains."</p>
+
+<p>Athos slowly raised his pistol until the weapon almost touched the
+woman's forehead. Milady knew too well that with this terrible man death
+would certainly come unless she yielded. She drew the paper out of her
+bosom and handed it to Athos. "Take it," she said, "and be accursed."</p>
+
+<p>Athos returned the pistol to his belt, unfolded the paper, and read:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>It is by my order, and for the good of the state, that the
+bearer of this has done what he has done.</p>
+
+<p>Dec. 3rd, 1627.</p>
+
+<p>RICHELIEU.</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Athos, without looking at the woman, left the inn, mounted his horse,
+and galloping across country, managed to get in front, on the road, before
+the cardinal had passed.</p>
+
+<p>For a second, Milady thought of pursuing the cardinal in order to
+denounce Athos; but unpleasant revelations might be made, and it seemed
+best to carry out her mission in England, and then, when she had satisfied
+the cardinal, to claim her revenge.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--The Doom of Milady</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Milady accomplished the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham at
+Portsmouth, and Richelieu was relieved of the fear of English intervention
+at La Rochelle.</p>
+
+<p>But the doom of Milady was at hand.</p>
+
+<p>The king, weary of the siege, had gone to spend a few days quietly at
+St. Germains, taking for an escort only twenty of the musketeers, and at
+Paris the four friends had obtained from M. de Treville a few days' leave
+of absence.</p>
+
+<p>Aramis had discovered the convent where Madame Bonacieux was confined;
+it was at Bethune, and thither the musketeers hastened. Unfortunately,
+Milady reached Bethune first. She had come there to await the cardinal's
+orders, and having ingratiated herself with the abbess, learnt that
+D'Artagnan was on his way with an order from the queen to take Madame
+Bonacieux to Paris. Milady immediately dispatched a messenger to the
+cardinal, and at the very moment when the musketeers were at the front
+entrance, she poured a powder into a glass of wine and bade Madame
+Bonacieux drink.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the way I meant to avenge myself," said Milady, as she
+hastily left the convent by the back gate, "but, <i>ma foi</i>, we do what
+we must!"</p>
+
+<p>The deadly poison did its work. Constance Bonacieux expired in
+D'Artagnan's arms.</p>
+
+<p>Then the four musketeers, joined by Lord de Winter, who had arrived from
+England in hot pursuit of Milady, his sister-in-law, set out to overtake
+the woman who had wrought so much evil.</p>
+
+<p>They came up with Milady at a solitary house near the village of
+Erquinheim.</p>
+
+<p>The four servants of the musketeers guarded the house; Athos,
+D'Artagnan, Aramis, Porthos, and De Winter entered.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want?" screamed Milady.</p>
+
+<p>"We want Charlotte Backson, first called Countess de la F&egrave;re, and
+afterwards Lady de Winter," said Athos. "M. D'Artagnan, it is for you to
+accuse her first."</p>
+
+<p>"I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, and of
+having attempted to poison me, and I accuse her of having engaged assassins
+to shoot me," said D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"I accuse this woman of having procured the assassination of the Duke of
+Buckingham," said Lord de Winter. "Moreover, my brother, who made her his
+heiress, died suddenly of a strange disease."</p>
+
+<p>"I married this woman and gave her my name and wealth, and found
+afterwards she was branded as a felon," said Athos.</p>
+
+<p>The musketeers and Lord de Winter passed sentence of death upon the
+miserable woman.</p>
+
+<p>She was taken out to the river bank, and beheaded, and her body dropped
+into the middle of the stream.</p>
+
+<p>"Let the justice of Heaven be done!" they cried in a loud voice.</p>
+
+<p>Within three days the musketeers were back in Paris, ready to return
+with the king to La Rochelle. Then the cardinal summoned D'Artagnan to his
+presence.</p>
+
+<p>"You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of France,
+with having surprised state secrets, and with having attempted to thwart
+the plans of your general," said the cardinal.</p>
+
+<p>"The woman who charges me--a branded felon--Milady de Winter, is dead,"
+replied D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead!" exclaimed the cardinal. "Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"We have tried her and condemned her," said D'Artagnan. Then he told the
+cardinal of the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux, and of the subsequent trial
+and execution.</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal shuddered before he answered quietly, "You will be tried
+and condemned."</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur," said D'Artagnan, "though I have the pardon in my pocket I
+am willing to die."</p>
+
+<p>"What pardon?" said the cardinal, in astonishment. "From the king?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, a pardon signed by your eminence." D'Artagnan produced the precious
+paper which Athos had forced Milady to give him before her journey to
+England.</p>
+
+<p>For a time the cardinal sat looking at the paper before him. Then he
+slowly tore it up.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I am lost." thought D'Artagnan. "But he shall see how a gentleman
+can die."</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal went to a table, and wrote a few lines on a parchment.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, monsieur," he said; "I have taken away from you one paper; I give
+you another. Only the name is wanting in this commission, and you must fill
+that up."</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan took the document with hesitation. He looked at it, saw it
+was a lieutenant's commission in the musketeers, and fell at the cardinal's
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Monseigneur, my life is yours. Dispose of it as you will. But I do not
+deserve this. I have three friends, all more worthy----"</p>
+
+<p>The cardinal interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a brave young man, D'Artagnan. Fill up this commission as you
+will."</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan sought out his friends, and offered the commission to them in
+turn.</p>
+
+<p>But each declined, and Athos filled in the name of D'Artagnan on the
+commission.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall soon have no more friends. Nothing but bitter recollections!"
+said D'Artagnan, thinking of Madame Bonacieux.</p>
+
+<p>"You are young yet," Athos answered. "In time these bitter recollections
+will give way to sweet remembrances."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="dumas6">Twenty Years After</a></h3>
+
+
+<blockquote> In this first-rate romance, which is a sequel to "The Three
+Musketeers," and was published in 1845, we have D'Artagnan and the three
+musketeers in the prime of middle life. Their efforts on behalf of Charles
+I. are amazing, worthy of anything done when they were twenty years
+younger. All the characters introduced are for the most part historical,
+and they are all drawn with spirit, so that our interest in them never
+flags. A remarkable point in regard to these historical romances of Dumas
+is that, in spite of their enormous length, no superfluous dialogue or long
+descriptions prolong them. Dumas took considerable liberties with the facts
+of history in several places, as, for instance, in the introduction of
+D'Artagnan and his friends to Charles I., and in making his trial and
+execution follow as quickly on his surrender as we are made to believe in
+"Twenty Years After." The story is further continued in "The Vicomte de
+Bragelonne." </blockquote>
+
+
+<h4><i>I.--The Parsimony of Mazarin</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The great Richelieu was dead, and his successor, Cardinal Mazarin, a
+cunning and parsimonious Italian, was chief minister of France. Paris, torn
+and distracted by civil dissension, and impoverished by heavy taxation, was
+seething with revolt, and Mazarin was the object of popular hatred, Anne of
+Austria, the queen-mother (for Louis XIV. was but a child), sharing his
+disfavour with the people.</p>
+
+<p>It was under these circumstances that the queen recalled how faithfully
+D'Artagnan had once served her, and reminded Mazarin of that gallant
+officer, and of his three friends. Mazarin sent for D'Artagnan, who for
+twenty years had remained a lieutenant of musketeers, and asked him what
+had become of his friends.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you and your three friends to be of use to me," said the
+cardinal. "Where are your friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know, my lord. We parted company long ago; all three have left
+the service."</p>
+
+<p>"Where can you find them, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can find them wherever they are. It would be my business."</p>
+
+<p>"And what are the conditions for finding them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Money, my lord; as much money as the undertaking may require.
+Travelling is dear, and I am only a poor lieutenant in the musketeers."</p>
+
+<p>"You will be at my service when they are found?" asked Mazarin.</p>
+
+<p>"What are we to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't trouble about that. When the time for action arrives you shall
+learn all that I require of you. Wait till that comes, and find out where
+your friends are."</p>
+
+<p>Mazarin gave D'Artagnan a bag of money, and the latter withdrew, to
+discover in the courtyard that the bag contained silver and not gold.</p>
+
+<p>"Crown pieces only, silver!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "I guessed as much.
+Ah, Mazarin, Mazarin, you have no real confidence in me. So much the worse
+for you!"</p>
+
+<p>But the cardinal was rubbing his hands, and congratulating himself that
+he had discovered a secret for a tenth of the coin Richelieu would have
+spent on the matter.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan first sought for Aramis, who was now an abb&eacute;, and
+lived in a convent and wrote sermons. But the heart of Aramis was not in
+religion, and when D'Artagnan found him, and the two had sat talking for
+some time, D'Artagnan said, "My friend, it seems to me that when you were a
+musketeer you were always thinking of the Church, and now that you are an
+abb&eacute; you are always longing to be a musketeer."</p>
+
+<p>"It's true," said Aramis. "Man is a strange bundle of inconsistencies.
+Since I became an abb&eacute; I dream of nothing but battles, and I
+practise shooting all day long here with an excellent master."</p>
+
+<p>Aramis indeed had both retained his swordsmanship and his interest in
+public affairs. But when D'Artagnan mentioned Mazarin, and the serious
+crisis in the state, Aramis declared that Mazarin was an upstart with only
+the queen on his side; and that the young king, the nobles, and princes,
+were all against him. Aramis was already on the side of Mazarin's enemies.
+He could not pledge himself to anyone, and the two separated.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan went on to find Porthos, whose address he had learnt from
+Aramis. Porthos, who now called himself De Valon after the name of his
+estate, lived at ease as a country gentleman should; he was a widower and
+wealthy, but he was mortified because his neighbours were of ancient family
+and ignored him. He received D'Artagnan with open arms, and when at
+breakfast he confessed his weariness, D'Artagnan at once invited him to
+join him again and promised that he would get a barony for his
+services.</p>
+
+<p>"Go into harness again!" cried D'Artagnan. "Gird on your sword, and win
+a coronet. You want a title; I want money; the cardinal wants our
+help."</p>
+
+<p>"For my part," said the gigantic Porthos, "I certainly want to be made a
+baron."</p>
+
+<p>They talked of Athos, who lived on his estate at Bragelonne, and was now
+the Count de la F&egrave;re. And Porthos mentioned that Athos had an
+adopted son.</p>
+
+<p>"If we can get Athos, all will be well," said D'Artagnan. "If we cannot,
+we must do without him. We two are worth a dozen."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of their old exploits;
+"but we four would be equal to thirty-six."</p>
+
+<p>"I have your word, then?" said D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I will fight heart and soul for the cardinal; but--but he must
+make me a baron."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's settled already!" said D'Artagnan. "I'll answer for your
+barony."</p>
+
+<p>With that he had his horse saddled, and rode on to the castle of
+Bragelonne. Athos was visibly moved at the sight of D'Artagnan, and rushed
+towards him and clasped him in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally moved, held
+him closely, while tears stood in his eyes. Athos seemed scarcely aged at
+all, in spite of his eight-and-forty years; but there was a greater dignity
+about his face. Formerly, too, he had been a heavy drinker, but now no
+signs of excess disturbed the calm serenity of his countenance. The
+presence of his son, whom he called Raoul--a boy of fifteen--seemed to
+explain to D'Artagnan the regenerated existence of Athos.</p>
+
+<p>Deeply as the heart of Athos was stirred at meeting his old
+comrade-in-arms, and sincere as his attachment was to D'Artagnan, the Count
+de la F&egrave;re would have nothing to do with any plan for helping
+Mazarin.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan returned alone to await Porthos in Paris. The same night
+Athos and his son also left for Paris.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>II.--The Four Set Out for England</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Queen Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV. of France and wife of
+King Charles I., was lodged in the Louvre, while her husband lost his crown
+in the civil war. The queen had appealed to Mazarin either to send
+assistance to Charles I., or to receive him in France, and the cardinal had
+declined both propositions. Then it was that an Englishman, Lord de Winter,
+who had come to Paris to get help, appealed to Athos, whom he had known
+twenty years earlier, to come to England and fight for the king.</p>
+
+<p>Athos and Aramis at once responded, and waited on the queen, who
+received them in the large empty rooms--left unfurnished by the avarice of
+the cardinal--allotted to her in the Louvre.</p>
+
+<p>"Gentlemen," said the queen, "a few years ago I had around me knights,
+treasure, and armies. To-day look around, and know that in order to
+accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have only Lord de
+Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I see for the
+first time, and whom I know but as my countrymen."</p>
+
+<p>"It is enough," said Athos, bowing low, "if the life of three men can
+purchase yours, madame."</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me. My husband, King of England, is
+leading so wretched a life that death would be a welcome exchange for him.
+He has asked for the hospitality of France, and it has been refused
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"What is to be done?" said Athos. "I have the honour to inquire from
+your majesty what you desire Monsieur D'Herblay (as Aramis was named) and
+myself to do in your service. We are ready."</p>
+
+<p>"I, madame," said Aramis, "follow M. de la F&egrave;re wherever he
+leads, even to death, without demanding any reason; but when it concerns
+your majesty's service, no one precedes me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, gentlemen," said the queen, "since it is thus, and since
+you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess whom
+everybody has forsaken, this is what must be done for me. The king is alone
+with a few gentlemen whom he may lose any day, and he is surrounded by the
+Scotch, whom he distrusts. I ask much, too much, perhaps, for I have no
+title to ask it. Go to England, join the king, be his friends, his
+bodyguard; be with him on the field of battle and in his house. Gentlemen,
+in exchange I can only promise you my love; next to my husband and my
+children, and before everyone else, you will have my prayers and a sister's
+love."</p>
+
+<p>"Madame," said Athos, "when must we set out? we are ready!"</p>
+
+<p>The queen, moved to tears, held out her hand, which they kissed, and
+then, after receiving letters for the king, they withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Aramis, when they were alone, "what do you think of this
+business, my dear count?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bad!" replied Athos. "Very bad!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you entered on it with enthusiasm."</p>
+
+<p>"As I shall ever do when a great principle is to be defended. Kings are
+only strong by the aid of the aristocracy; but aristocracy cannot exist
+without kings. Let us then support monarchy in order to support
+ourselves."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall be murdered there," said Aramis. "I hate the English--they are
+so coarse, like all people who drink beer."</p>
+
+<p>"Would it be better to remain here?" said Athos. "And take a turn in the
+Bastille, by the cardinal's order? Believe me, Aramis, there is little left
+to regret. We avoid imprisonment, and we take the part of heroes--the
+choice is easy!"</p>
+
+<p>While Athos and Aramis were preparing to go to England on behalf of the
+king, Mazarin had decided to employ D'Artagnan and Porthos as his envoys to
+Oliver Cromwell.</p>
+
+<p>"Monsieur D'Artagnan," said the cardinal, "do you wish to become a
+captain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lord."</p>
+
+<p>"Your friend wishes to be made a baron?"</p>
+
+<p>"At this very moment, my lord, he's dreaming that he is one."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Mazarin, "take this dispatch, carry it to England, and when
+you get to London, tear off the outer envelope."</p>
+
+<p>"And on our return, may we, my friend and I, rely on getting our
+promotion--he his barony, I my captaincy?"</p>
+
+<p>"On the honour of Mazarin, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather have another sort of oath than that," said D'Artagnan to
+himself as he went out.</p>
+
+<p>Just as they were leaving Paris, a letter came from Athos, who had
+already gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Porthos,--My friends, perhaps this is the last
+time you will hear from me. I entrust certain papers which are at
+Bragelonne to your keeping; if in three months you do not hear of me, take
+possession of them. May God and the remembrance of our friendship support
+you always.--Your devoted friend, Athos."</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>III.--In England</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>Athos and Aramis were with Charles I. at Newcastle. The king had been
+sold by the Scotch to the English Parliament, and on the approach of
+Cromwell's army the king's troops refused to fight. Only fifteen men stood
+round the king when Cromwell's cavalry came charging down. Lord de Winter
+was shot dead by his own nephew, who was in Cromwell's army.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Aramis, now for the honour of France," said Athos, and the two
+Englishmen who were nearest to them fell mortally wounded.</p>
+
+<p>At the same instant a tremendous shout filled the air, and thirty swords
+flashed before them. Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell
+upon Athos, wound his muscular arms round him, and tearing his sword from
+him, said in his ear, "Silence! Yield--you yield to me, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>A giant from the English ranks at the same moment seized Aramis by the
+wrists, who struggled in vain to get free.</p>
+
+<p>"I yield myself prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to
+Porthos.</p>
+
+<p>"D'Art----" exclaimed Athos; but the musketeer covered his mouth with
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p>The ranks opened. D'Artagnan held the bridle of Athos' horse, and
+Porthos that of Aramis, and they led their prisoners off the field.</p>
+
+<p>"We are all four lost if you give the least sign you know us," said
+D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"The king--where is the king?" Athos exclaimed anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! We have got him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Aramis; "through a base act of treachery!"</p>
+
+<p>Porthos pressed his friend's hand, and answered, "Yes; all is fair in
+war--stratagem as well as force. Look yonder!"</p>
+
+<p>The squadron, which ought to have protected the king, was advancing to
+meet the English regiments.</p>
+
+<p>The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked alone on foot. He caught
+sight of Athos and Aramis, and greeted them.</p>
+
+<p>"Farewell, messieurs. The day has been unfortunate, but it is not your
+fault, thank God! But where is my old friend Winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look for him with Strafford," said a voice.</p>
+
+<p>Charles shuddered. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was Winter's.</p>
+
+<p>That hour messengers were sent off in every direction over England and
+Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was now the prisoner of Oliver
+Cromwell. D'Artagnan not only accomplished the release of the prisoners, he
+also joined with his friends in a bold attempt to rescue Charles from his
+captors.</p>
+
+<p>D'Artagnan at first naturally assumed they would all four return to
+France as quickly as possible; but Athos declared that he could not abandon
+the king, and still meant to save him if it were possible.</p>
+
+<p>"But what can you do in a foreign land; in an enemy's country?" said
+D'Artagnan. "Did you promise the queen to storm the Tower of London? Come,
+Porthos, what do you think of this business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing good," said Porthos.</p>
+
+<p>"Friend," said Athos, "our minds are made up! Ah, if we had you with us!
+With you, D'Artagnan, and you, Porthos--all four, and reunited for the
+first time for twenty years--we would dare, not only England but the three
+kingdoms together!"</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," cried D'Artagnan furiously, "very well, since you wish it,
+let us leave our bones in this horrible land, where it is always cold,
+where the fine weather comes after a fog, and the fog after rain; in truth,
+whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must die sooner
+or later."</p>
+
+<p>"But your future career, D'Artagnan? Your ambition, Porthos?" said
+Athos.</p>
+
+<p>"Our future, our ambition!" replied D'Artagnan bitterly. "What do we
+need to think of that for, if we are to save the king? The king saved, we
+shall assemble our friends together, reconquer England, and place him
+securely on the throne."</p>
+
+<p>"And he shall make us dukes and peers," said Porthos joyfully at this
+cheerful prospect.</p>
+
+<p>"Or he will forget us," added D'Artagnan.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Athos, offering his hand to D'Artagnan, "I swear to you, my
+friend, by the God who hears us, I believe there is a power watching over
+us, and I look forward to our all meeting in France again."</p>
+
+<p>"So be it!" said D'Artagnan; "but I confess I have quite a contrary
+conviction. However, 'tis settled; but I stay in England only on one
+condition, that I don't have to learn the language."</p>
+
+<p>The attempt to rescue Charles from his guards on the way to London was
+only frustrated by the sudden arrival of General Harrison, with a large
+body of soldiers, and D'Artagnan and his friends made their escape by a
+hasty flight, and followed to London.</p>
+
+<p>"We must see this tragedy played out to the end," said Athos. "Do not
+let us leave England while any hope remains."</p>
+
+<p>And the others agreed.</p>
+
+
+<h4><i>IV.--At Whitehall</i></h4>
+
+
+<p>The intrepid four were present at the trial of Charles I., and it was
+the voice of Athos that called out, "You lie!" when the prosecutor declared
+that the accusation against the king was put forward by the English
+people.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, D'Artagnan managed to get Athos out of the court quickly,
+and then, followed by Porthos and Aramis, they mingled in the crowd outside
+undetected.</p>
+
+<p>Sentence having been pronounced against the king, the only thing to be
+done by the four was to get rid of the London executioner; this meant at
+least a few days delay while another executioner was being procured.
+D'Artagnan undertook this difficult task, while Aramis was to personate
+Bishop Juxon, the royal chaplain, and explain to Charles the attempt being
+made to save him. Athos engaged to get everything ready for leaving
+England.</p>
+
+<p>On the very night before the execution Aramis brought the king a message
+from D'Artagnan, "Tell the king that to-morrow, at ten o'clock at night, we
+shall carry him off." Aramis added, "He has said it, and he will do
+it."</p>
+
+<p>The scaffold was already being constructed in Whitehall as he spoke, but
+D'Artagnan had the London executioner fast bound under lock and key in a
+cellar, and Athos had a light skiff waiting at Greenwich. Not only this,
+but at midnight these four wonderful men, thanks to Athos, who spoke
+excellent English, were also at work at the scaffold--having bribed the
+carpenter in charge to let them assist--and at the same time boring a hole
+in the wall. The scaffold, which had two lower stories, and was covered
+with black serge, was at the height of twenty feet, on a level with the
+window in the king's room; and the hole communicated with a narrow loft,
+between the floor of the king's room, and the ceiling of the one below
+it.</p>
+
+<p>The plan was to pass through the hole into the loft, and cut out from
+below a piece of the flooring of the king's room, so as to form a kind of
+trap-door. The king was to escape through this on the following night, and,
+hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was then to change his dress
+for that of a workman, and so pass the sentinels on duty, and reach the
+skiff that was waiting for him at Greenwich.</p>
+
+<p>At nine o'clock in the morning Aramis, this time in attendance on Bishop
+Juxon, was once more in the king's room.</p>
+
+<p>"Sire," he said, "you are saved! The London executioner has vanished,
+and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol. The Count de la
+F&egrave;re is two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace, and
+strike three times on the floor. He will answer you. He has the path ready
+for your majesty to escape by."</p>
+
+<p>The king did as Aramis suggested, and in reply came three dull knocks
+from below.</p>
+
+<p>"The Count de la F&egrave;re," said Aramis.</p>
+
+<p>All was ready; nothing as far as D'Artagnan and Athos could see, had
+been overlooked; twenty-four hours hence would see the king beyond the
+reach of his adversaries.</p>
+
+<p>And then just as Charles had satisfied himself that his life was saved,
+a Parliamentary officer and a file of soldiers entered the king's room to
+announce his immediate execution.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.</p>
+
+<p>"Were not you warned that it was to take place this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the London
+executioner?"</p>
+
+<p>"The London executioner has disappeared, but a man has offered his
+services instead. The execution will, therefore, take place at the
+appointed hour."</p>
+
+<p>A fanatical Puritan, nephew of Lord de Winter--whom he slew at
+Newcastle--and a trusted lieutenant of Cromwell's did the work of the
+headsman, and upon Athos, waiting in concealment beneath the scaffold, fell
+drops of the king's blood.</p>
+
+<p>When all was over the four hastened away in deep dejection to the skiff
+at Greenwich, and so to France. But when they had landed at Dunkirk it was
+plain to D'Artagnan that their troubles were not yet at an end.</p>
+
+<p>"Porthos and I were sent by Cardinal Mazarin to fight for Cromwell;
+instead of fighting for Cromwell, we have served Charles I.; that's not the
+same thing at all."</p>
+
+<p>However, D'Artagnan and Porthos, on their return to Paris, rendered such
+signal service to Mazarin and to the queen, by guarding them from the
+violence of the mob, and by quelling a riot, that D'Artagnan received his
+commission as captain of musketeers, and Porthos his barony.</p>
+
+<p>The four old friends met once more in Paris before they separated.
+Aramis was returning to his convent, Athos and Porthos to their estates. As
+war had just broken out in Flanders, D'Artagnan made ready to go
+thither.</p>
+
+<p>Then all four embraced, with tears in their eyes. And after that they
+departed on their various ways, not knowing whether they were ever to see
+each other again.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+by Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+by Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+
+Author: Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
+
+Release Date: January 19, 2004 [EBook #10748]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREATEST BOOKS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+THE
+WORLD'S
+GREATEST BOOKS
+
+JOINT EDITORS
+
+ARTHUR MEE
+Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
+
+J. A. HAMMERTON
+Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
+
+VOL. III
+FICTION
+
+MCMX
+
+
+
+
+
+_Table of Contents_
+
+DAUDET, ALPHONSE
+  Tartarin of Tarascon
+
+DAY, THOMAS
+  Sandford and Merton
+
+DEFOE, DANIEL
+  Robinson Crusoe
+  Captain Singleton
+
+DICKENS, CHARLES
+  Barnaby Rudge
+  Bleak House
+  David Copperfield
+  Dombey and Son
+  Great Expectations
+  Hard Times
+  Little Dorrit
+  Martin Chuzzlewit
+  Nicholas Nickleby
+  Oliver Twist
+  Old Curiosity Shop
+  Our Mutual Friend
+  Pickwick Papers
+  Tale of Two Cities
+
+DISRAELI, BENJAMIN (Earl of Beaconsfield)
+  Coningsby
+  Sybil, or The Two Nations
+  Tancred, or The New Crusade
+
+DUMAS, ALEXANDRE
+  Marguerite de Valois
+  Black Tulip
+  Corsican Brothers
+  Count of Monte Cristo
+  The Three Musketeers
+  Twenty Years After
+
+
+A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
+of Volume XX.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ALPHONSE DAUDET
+
+Tartarin of Tarascon
+
+      Alphonse Daudet, the celebrated French novelist, was born at
+     Nimes on May 13, 1840, and as a youth of seventeen went to
+     Paris, where he began as a poet at eighteen, and at twenty-two
+     made his first efforts in the drama. He soon found his feet as
+     a contributor to the leading journals of the day and a
+     successful writer for the stage. He was thirty-two when he
+     wrote "Tartarin of Tarascon," than which no better comic tale
+     has been produced in modern times. Tarascon is a real town,
+     not far from the birthplace of Daudet, and the people of the
+     district have always had a reputation for "drawing the long
+     bow." It was to satirise this amiable weakness of his southern
+     compatriots that the novelist created the character of
+     Tartarin, but while he makes us laugh at the absurd
+     misadventures of the lion-hunter, it will be noticed how
+     ingeniously he prevents our growing out of temper with him,
+     how he contrives to keep a warm corner in our hearts for the
+     bragging, simple-minded, good-natured fellow. That is to say,
+     it is a work of essential humour, and the lively style in
+     which the story is told attracts us to it time and again with
+     undiminished pleasure. In two subsequent books, "Tartarin in
+     the Alps," and "Port Tarascon," Daudet recounted further
+     adventures of his delightful hero. His "Sapho" and "Kings in
+     Exile" have also been widely read. Daudet died on December 17,
+     1897.
+
+
+_I.--The Mighty Hunter at Home_
+
+
+I remember my first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon as clearly as if it
+had been yesterday, though it is now more than a dozen years ago. When
+you had passed into his back garden, you would never have fancied
+yourself in France. Every tree and plant had been brought from foreign
+climes; he was such a fellow for collecting the curiosities of Nature,
+this wonderful Tartarin. His garden boasted, for instance, an example of
+the baobab, that giant of the vegetable world, but Tartarin's specimen
+was only big enough to occupy a mignonette pot. He was mightily proud of
+it, all the same.
+
+The great sight of his place, however, was the hero's private den at the
+bottom of the garden. Picture to yourself a large hall gleaming from top
+to bottom with firearms and weapons of all sorts: carbines, rifles,
+blunderbusses, bowie-knives, revolvers, daggers, flint-arrows--in a
+word, examples of the deadly weapons of all races used by man in all
+parts of the world. Everything was neatly arranged, and labelled as if
+it were in a public museum. "Poisoned Arrows. Please do not touch!" was
+the warning on one of the cards. "Weapons loaded. Have a care!" greeted
+you from another. My word, it required some pluck to move about in the
+den of the great Tartarin.
+
+There were books of travel and adventure, books about mighty hunting on
+the table in the centre of the room; and seated at the table was a short
+and rather fat, red-haired fellow of about forty-five, with a closely-
+trimmed beard and a pair of bright eyes. He was in his shirtsleeves,
+reading a book held in one hand while he gesticulated wildly with a
+large pipe in the other--Tartarin! He was evidently imagining himself
+the daring hero of the story.
+
+Now you must know that the people of Tarascon were tremendously keen on
+hunting, and Tartarin was the chief of the hunters. You may think this
+funny when you know there was not a living thing to shoot at within
+miles of Tarascon; scarcely a sparrow to attract local sportsmen. Ah,
+but you don't know how ingenious they are down there.
+
+Every Sunday morning off the huntsmen sallied with their guns and
+ammunition, the hounds yelping at their heels. Each man as he left in
+the morning took with him a brand new cap, and when they got well into
+the country and were ready for sport, they took their caps off, threw
+then high in the air, and shot at them as they fell. In the evening you
+would see them returning with their riddled caps stuck on the points of
+their guns, and of all these brave men Tartarin was the most admired, as
+he always swung into town with the most hopeless rag of a cap at the end
+of a day's sport. There's no mistake, he was a wonder!
+
+But for all his adventurous spirit, he had a certain amount of caution.
+There were really two men inside the skin of Tartarin. The one Tartarin
+said to him, "Cover yourself with glory." The other said to him, "Cover
+yourself with flannel." The one, imagining himself fighting Red Indians,
+would call for "An axe! An axe! Somebody give me an axe!" The other,
+knowing that he was cosy by his fireside, would ring the bell and say,
+"Jane, my coffee."
+
+One evening at Costecalde's, the gunsmith's, when Tartarin was
+explaining some mechanism of a rifle, the door was opened and an excited
+voice announced, "A lion! A lion!" The news seemed incredible, but you
+can imagine the terror that seized the little group at the gunsmith's as
+they asked for more news. It appeared that the lion was to be seen in a
+travelling menagerie newly arrived from Beaucaire.
+
+A lion at last, and here in Tarascon! Suddenly, when the full truth had
+dawned upon Tartarin, he shouldered his gun, and, turning to Major
+Bravida, "Let us go to see him!" he thundered. Following him went the
+cap-hunters. Arrived at the menagerie, where many Tarasconians were
+already wandering from cage to cage, Tartarin entered with his gun over
+his shoulder to make inquiries about the king of beasts. His entrance
+was rather a wet blanket on the other visitors, who, seeing their hero
+thus armed, thought there might be danger, and were about to flee. But
+the proud bearing of the great man reassured them, and Tartarin
+continued his round of the booth until he faced the lion from the Atlas
+Mountains.
+
+Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled
+in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a
+terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.
+
+Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the
+cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery,
+again drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, "Ah, yes,
+there's a hunt for you!"
+
+Not another word did Tartarin utter that day. Yet next day nothing was
+spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt
+the lions of the Atlas Mountains. When asked if this were true his pride
+would not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true. So
+the notion grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid
+tremendous cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very
+soon to set forth in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.
+
+Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins. While the one was
+strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to
+leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon. But he
+had let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through.
+So he began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these
+how some of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by
+enduring hunger, thirst, and other privations before they set out.
+Tartarin began cutting down his food, taking very watery soup. Early in
+the morning, too, he walked round the town seven or eight times, and at
+nights he would stay in the garden from ten till eleven o'clock, alone
+with his gun, to inure himself to night chills; while, so long as the
+menagerie remained in Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in
+the dark, prowling around the tent, listening to the growling of the
+lion. This was Tartarin, accustoming himself to be calm when the king of
+beasts was raging.
+
+The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking. He
+showed no haste to be off. At length, one night Major Bravida went to
+Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, "Tartarin, you must go!"
+
+It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of
+the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he
+replied at length in a choking voice, "Bravida, I shall go!" Having made
+this irrevocable decision, he now pushed ahead his final preparations
+with some show of haste. From Bompard's he had two large trunks, one
+inscribed with "Tartarin of Tarascon. Case of Arms," and he sent to
+Marseilles all manner of provisions of travel, including a patent
+camp-tent of the latest style.
+
+
+_II.--Tartarin Sets off to Lion-Land_
+
+
+Then the great day of his departure arrived. All the town was agog. The
+neighbourhood of Baobab Villa was crammed with spectators. About ten
+o'clock the bold hero issued forth.
+
+"He's a Turk! He's wearing spectacles!" This was the astonished cry of
+the beholders, and, sure enough, Tartarin had thought it his duty to don
+Algerian costume because he was going to Algeria. He also carried two
+heavy rifles, one on each shoulder, a huge hunting-knife at his waist
+and a revolver in a leather case. A pair of large blue spectacles were
+worn by him, for the sun in Algeria is terribly strong, you know.
+
+At the station the doors of the waiting-room had to be closed to keep
+the crowd out, while the great man took leave of his friends, making
+promises to each, and jotting down notes on his tablets of the various
+people to whom he would send lion-skins.
+
+Oh, that I had the brush of an artist, that I might paint you some
+pictures of Tartarin during his three days aboard the Zouave on the
+voyage from Marseilles! But I have no facility with the brush, and mere
+words cannot convey how he passed from the proudly heroic to the
+hopelessly miserable in the course of the journey. Worst of all, while
+he was groaning in his stuffy bunk, he knew that a very merry party of
+passengers were enjoying themselves in the saloon. He was still in his
+bunk when the ship came to her moorings at Algiers, and he got up with a
+sudden jerk, under the impression that the Zouave was sinking. Seizing
+his many weapons, he rushed on deck, to find it was not foundering, but
+only arriving.
+
+Soon after Tartarin had set foot on shore, following a great negro
+porter, he was almost stupefied by the babel of tongues; but,
+fortunately, a policeman took him in hand and had him directed, together
+with his enormous collection of luggage, to the European hotel.
+
+On arriving at his hotel, he was so fatigued that his marvellous
+collection of weapons had to be taken from him, and he had to be carried
+to bed, where he snored very soundly until it was striking three
+o'clock. He had slept all the evening, through the night and morning,
+and well into the next afternoon!
+
+He awakened refreshed, and the first thought in his mind was, "I'm in
+lion-land at last!" But the thought sent a cold shiver through him, and
+he dived under the bedclothes. A moment later he determined to be up.
+Exclaiming, "Now for the lions!" he jumped on the floor and began his
+preparations.
+
+His plan was to get out at once into the country, take ambush for the
+night, shoot the first lion that came along, and then back to the hotel
+for breakfast. So off he went, carrying not only his usual arsenal, but
+the marvellous patent tent strapped to his back. He attracted no little
+attention as he trudged along, and catching sight of a very fine camel,
+his heart beat fast, for he thought the lions could not be far off now.
+
+It was quite dark by the time he had got only a little way beyond the
+outskirts of the town, scrambling over ditches and bramble-hedges. After
+much hard work of this kind, the mighty hunter suddenly stopped,
+whispering to himself, "I seem to smell a lion hereabouts." He sniffed
+keenly in all directions. To his excited imagination, it seemed a likely
+place for a lion; so, dropping on one knee, and laying one of his guns
+in front of him, he waited.
+
+He waited very patiently. One hour, two hours; but nothing stirred. Then
+he suddenly remembered that great lion-hunters take a little young goat
+with them to attract the lion by its bleating. Having forgotten to
+supply himself with one, Tartarin conceived the happy idea of bleating
+like a kid. He started softly, calling, "Meh, meh!" He was really afraid
+that a lion might hear him, but as no lion seemed to be paying
+attention, he became bolder in his "mehs," until the noise he made was
+more like the bellowing of a bull.
+
+But hush! What was that? A huge black object had for the moment loomed
+up against the dark blue sky. It stooped, sniffing the ground; then
+seemed to move away again, only to return suddenly. It must be the lion
+at last; so, taking a steady aim, bang went the gun of Tartarin, and a
+terrible howling came in response. Clearly his shot had told; the
+wounded lion had made off. He would now wait for the female to appear,
+as he had read in books.
+
+But two or more hours passed, and she did not come; and the ground was
+damp, and the night air cold, so the hunter thought he would camp for
+the night. After much struggling, he could not get his patent tent to
+open. Finally, he threw it on the ground in a rage, and lay on the top
+of it. Thus he slept until the bugles in the barracks near by wakened
+him in the morning. For behold, instead of finding himself out on the
+Sahara, he was in the kitchen garden of some suburban Algerian!
+
+"These people are mad," he growled to himself, "to plant their
+artichokes where lions are roaming about. Surely I have been dreaming.
+Lions do come here; there's proof positive."
+
+From artichoke to artichoke, from field to field, he followed the thin
+trail of blood, and came at length to a poor little donkey he had
+wounded!
+
+Tartarin's first feeling was one of vexation. There is such a difference
+between a lion and an ass, and the poor little creature looked so
+innocent. The great hunter knelt down and tried to stanch the donkey's
+wounds, and it seemed grateful to him, for it feebly flapped its long
+ears two or three times before it lay still for ever.
+
+Suddenly a voice was heard calling, "Noiraud! Noiraud!" It was "the
+female." She came in the form of an old French woman with a large red
+umbrella, and it would have been better for Tartarin to have faced a
+female lion.
+
+When the unhappy man tried to explain how he had mistaken her little
+donkey for a lion, she thought he was making fun of her, and belaboured
+him with her umbrella. When her husband came on the scene the matter was
+soon adjusted by Tartarin agreeing to pay eight pounds for the damage he
+had done, the price of the donkey being really something like eight
+shillings. The donkey owner was an inn-keeper, and the sight of
+Tartarin's money made him quite friendly. He invited the lion-hunter to
+have some food at the inn with him before he left. And as they walked
+thither he was amazed to be told by the inn-keeper that he had never
+seen a lion there in twenty years!
+
+Clearly, the lions were to be looked for further south. "I'll make
+tracks for the south, too," said Tartarin to himself. But he first of
+all returned to his hotel in an omnibus. Think of it! But before he was
+to go south on the high adventure, he loafed about the city of Algiers
+for some time, going to the theatres and other places of amusement,
+where he met Prince Gregory of Montenegro, with whom he made friends.
+
+One day the captain of the Zouave came across him in the town, and
+showed him a note about himself in a Tarascon newspaper. This spoke of
+the uncertainty that prevailed as to the fate of the great hunter, and
+wound up with these words:
+
+"Some Negro traders state, however, that they met in the open desert a
+European whose description answers to that of Tartarin, and who was
+making tracks for Timbuctoo. May Heaven guard for us our hero!"
+
+Tartarin went red and white by turns as he read this, and realised that
+he was in for it. He very much wished to return to his beloved Tarascon,
+but to go there without having shot some lions--one at least--was
+impossible, and so it was Southward ho!
+
+
+_III.--Tartarin's Adventures in the Desert_
+
+
+The lion-hunter was keenly disappointed, after a very long journey in
+the stage-coach, to be told that there was not a lion left in all
+Algeria, though a few panthers might still be found worth shooting.
+
+He got out at the town of Milianah, and let the coach go on, as he
+thought he might as well take things easily if, after all, there were no
+lions to be shot. To his amazement, however, he came across a real live
+lion at the door of a cafe.
+
+"What made them say there were no more lions?" he cried, astounded at
+the sight. The lion lifted in its mouth a wooden bowl from the pavement,
+and a passing Arab threw a copper in the bowl, at which the lion wagged
+its tail. Suddenly the truth dawned on Tartarin. He was a poor, blind,
+tame lion, which a couple of negroes were taking through the streets,
+just like a performing dog. His blood was up at the very idea. Shouting,
+"You scoundrels, to humiliate these noble beasts so!" he rushed and took
+the degrading bowl from the royal jaws of the lion. This led to a
+quarrel with the negroes, at the height of which Prince Gregory of
+Montenegro came upon the scene.
+
+The prince told him a most untrue story about a convent in the north of
+Africa where lions were kept, to be sent out with priests to beg for
+money. He also assured him that there were lots of lions in Algeria, and
+that he would join him in his hunt.
+
+Thus it was in the company of Prince Gregory, and with a following of
+half a dozen negro porters, that Tartarin set off early next morning for
+the Shereef Plain; but they very soon had trouble, both with the porters
+and with the provisions Tartarin had brought for his great journey. The
+prince suggested dismissing the negroes and buying a couple of donkeys,
+but Tartarin could not bear the thought of donkeys, for a reason with
+which we are acquainted. He readily agreed, however, to the purchase of
+a camel, and when he was safely helped up on its hump, he sorely wished
+the people of Tarascon could see him. But his pride speedily had a fall,
+for he found the movement of the camel worse than that of the boat in
+crossing the Mediterranean. He was afraid he might disgrace France.
+Indeed, if truth must out, France was disgraced! So, for the remainder
+of their expedition, which lasted nearly a month, Tartarin preferred to
+walk on foot and lead the camel.
+
+One night in the desert, Tartarin was sure he heard sounds just like
+those he had studied at the back of the travelling menagerie at
+Tarascon. He was positive they were in the neighbourhood of a lion at
+last. He prepared to go forward and stalk the beast. The prince offered
+to accompany him, but Tartarin resolutely refused. He would meet the
+king of beasts alone! Entrusting his pocket-book, full of precious
+documents and bank-notes, to the prince, in case he might lose it in a
+tussle with the lion, he moved forward. His teeth were chattering in his
+head when he lay down, trembling, to await the lion.
+
+It must have been two hours before he was sure that the beast was moving
+quite near him in the dry bed of a river. Firing two shots in the
+direction whence the sound came, he got up and bolted back to where he
+had left the camel and the prince--but there was only the camel there
+now! The prince had waited a whole month for such a chance!
+
+In the morning he realised that he had been robbed by a thief who
+pretended to be a prince. And here he was in the heart of savage Africa
+with a little pocket money only, much useless luggage, a camel, and not
+a single lion-skin for all his trouble.
+
+Sitting on one of the desert-tombs erected over pious Mohammedans, the
+great man fell to weeping bitterly. But, even as he wept the bushes were
+pushed aside a little in front of him, and a huge lion presented itself.
+To his honour, be it said, Tartarin never moved a muscle, but, breathing
+a fervent "At last!" he leapt to his feet, and, levelling his rifle,
+planted two explosive bullets in the lion's head. All was over in a
+moment, for he had nearly blown the king of beasts to pieces! But in
+another moment he saw two tall, enraged negroes bearing down upon him.
+He had seen them before at Milianah, and this was their poor blind lion!
+Fortunately for Tartarin, he was not so deeply in the desert as he had
+thought, but merely outside the town of Orleansville, and a policeman
+now came up, attracted by the firing, and took full particulars.
+
+The upshot of it was that he had to suffer much delay in Orleansville,
+and was eventually fined one hundred pounds. How to pay this was a
+problem which he solved by selling all his extensive outfit, bit by bit.
+When his debts were paid, he had nothing but the lion's skin and the
+camel. The former he dispatched to Major Bravida at Tarascon. Nobody
+would buy the camel, and its master had to face all the journey back to
+Algiers in short stages on foot.
+
+
+_IV.--The Home-Coming of the Hero_
+
+
+The camel showed a curious affection for him, and followed him as
+faithfully as a dog. When, at the end of eight days' weary tramping, he
+came at last to Algiers, he did all he could to lose the animal, and
+hoped he had succeeded. He met the captain of the Zouave, who told him
+that all Algiers had been laughing at the story of how he had killed the
+blind lion, and he offered Tartarin a free passage home.
+
+The Zouave was getting up steam next day as the dejected Tartarin had
+just stepped into the captain's long-boat, when, lo! his faithful camel
+came tearing down the quay and gazed affectionately at its friend.
+Tartarin pretended not to notice it; but the animal seemed to implore
+him with his eyes to be taken away. "You are the last Turk," it seemed
+to say, "I am the last camel. Let us never part again, O my Tartarin!"
+
+But the lion-hunter pretended to know nothing of this ship of the
+desert.
+
+As the boat pulled off to the Zouave, the camel jumped into the water
+and swam after it, and was taken aboard. At last Tartarin had the joy of
+hearing the Zouave cast anchor at Marseilles, and, having no luggage to
+trouble him, he rushed off the boat at once and hastened through the
+town to the railway station, hoping to get ahead of the camel.
+
+He booked third class, and quickly hid himself in a carriage. Off went
+the train. But it had not gone far when everybody was looking out of the
+windows and laughing. Behind the train ran the camel--holding his own,
+too!
+
+What a humiliating home-coming! All his weapons of the chase left on
+Moorish soil, not a lion with him, nothing but a silly camel!
+
+"Tarascon! Tarascon!" shout the porters as the train slows up at the
+station, and the hero gets out. He had hoped to slink home unobserved;
+but, to his amazement, he is received with shouts of "Long live
+Tartarin!" "Three cheers for the lion-slayer!" The people are waving
+their caps in the air; it is no joke, they are serious. There is Major
+Bravida, and there the more noteworthy cap-hunters, who cluster round
+their chief and carry him in triumph down the stairs.
+
+Now, all this was the result of sending home the skin of the blind lion.
+But the climax was reached when, following the crowd down the stairs of
+the station, limping from his long run, came the camel. Even this
+Tartarin turned to good account. He reassured his fellow-citizens,
+patting the camel's hump.
+
+"This is my camel; a noble beast! It has seen me kill all my lions."
+
+And so, linking his arm with the worthy major, he calmly wended his way
+to Baobab Villa, amid the ringing cheers of the populace. On the road he
+began a recital of his hunts.
+
+"Picture to yourself," he said, "a certain evening in the open
+Sahara----"
+
+       *       *       *        *        *
+
+
+
+
+THOMAS DAY
+
+Sandford and Merton
+
+
+      Thomas Day was born in London on June 22, 1748, and educated
+     at the Charterhouse and at Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
+     Entering the Middle Temple in 1765, he was called to the Bar
+     ten years later, but never practised. A contemporary and
+     disciple of Rousseau, he convinced himself that human
+     suffering was, in the main, the result of the artificial
+     arrangements of society, and inheriting a fortune at an early
+     age he spent large sums in philanthropy. A poem written by him
+     in 1773, entitled "The Dying Negro," has been described as
+     supplying the keynote of the anti-slavery movement. His
+     "History of Sandford and Merton," published in three volumes
+     between the years 1783 and 1789, provided a channel through
+     which many generations of English people have imbibed a kind
+     of refined Rousseauism. It retains its interest for the
+     philosophic mind, despite the burlesque of _Punch_ and its
+     waning popularity as a book for children. Thomas Day died
+     through a fall from his horse on September 28, 1789.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Barlow and his Pupils_
+
+
+In the western part of England lived a gentleman of a large fortune,
+whose name was Merton. He had a great estate in Jamaica, but had
+determined to stay some years in England for the education of his only
+son. When Tommy Merton came from Jamaica he was six years old. Naturally
+very good-natured, he had been spoiled by indulgence. His mother was so
+fond of him that she gave him everything he cried for, and would not let
+him learn to read because he complained that it made his head ache. The
+consequence was that, though Master Merton had everything he wanted, he
+was fretful and unhappy, made himself disagreeable to everybody, and
+often met with very dangerous accidents. He was also so delicately
+brought up that he was perpetually ill.
+
+Very near to Mr. Merton's seat lived a plain, honest farmer named
+Sandford, whose only son, Harry, was not much older than Master Merton,
+but who, as he had always been accustomed to run about in the fields, to
+follow the labourers when they were ploughing, and to drive the sheep to
+their pasture, was active, strong, hardy, and fresh-coloured. Harry had
+an honest, good-natured countenance, was never out of humour, and took
+the greatest pleasure in obliging others, in helping those less
+fortunate than himself, and in being kind to every living thing. Harry
+was a great favourite, particularly with Mr. Barlow, the clergyman of
+the parish, who taught him to read and write, and had him almost always
+with him.
+
+One summer morning, while Master Merton and a maid were walking in the
+fields, a large snake suddenly started up and curled itself round
+Tommy's leg. The maid ran away, shrieking for help, whilst the child, in
+his terror, dared not move. Harry, who happened to be near, ran up, and
+seizing the snake by the neck, tore it from Tommy's leg, and threw it to
+a great distance. Mrs. Merton wished to adopt the boy who had so bravely
+saved her son, and Harry's intelligence so appealed to Mr. Merton that
+he thought it would be an excellent thing if Tommy could also benefit by
+Mr. Barlow's instruction. With this view he decided to propose to the
+farmer to pay for the board and education of Harry that he might be a
+constant companion to Tommy. Mr. Barlow, on being consulted, agreed to
+take Tommy for some months under his care; but refused any monetary
+recompense.
+
+The day after Tommy went to Mr. Barlow's the clergyman took his two
+pupils into the garden, and, taking a spade in his own hand, and giving
+Harry a hoe, they both began to work. "Everybody that eats," he said,
+"ought to assist in procuring food. This is my bed, and that is Harry's.
+If, Tommy, you choose to join us, I will mark you out a piece of ground,
+all the produce of which shall be your own."
+
+"No, indeed," said Tommy; "I am a gentleman, and don't choose to slave
+like a ploughboy."
+
+"Just as you please, Mr. Gentleman," said Mr. Barlow. And Tommy, not
+being asked to share the plate of ripe cherries with which Mr. Barlow
+and Harry refreshed themselves after their labour, wandered
+disconsolately about the garden, surprised and vexed to find himself in
+a place where nobody felt any concern whether he was pleased or not.
+Meanwhile, Harry, after a few words of advice from Mr. Barlow, read
+aloud the story of "The Ants and the Flies," in which it is related how
+the flies perished for lack of laying up provisions for the winter,
+whereas the industrious ants, by working during the summer, provided for
+their maintenance when the bad weather came.
+
+Mr. Barlow and Harry then rambled into the fields, where Mr. Barlow
+pointed out the several kinds of plants to be seen, and told his little
+companion the name and nature of each. When they returned to dinner
+Tommy, who had been skulking about all day, came in, and being very
+hungry, was going to sit down to the table, when Mr. Barlow said, "No,
+sir; though you are too much of a gentleman to work, we, who are not so
+proud, do not choose to work for the idle!"
+
+Upon this Tommy retired into a corner, crying as if his heart would
+break; when Harry, who could not bear to see his friend so unhappy,
+looked up, half-crying, into Mr. Barlow's face, and said, "Pray, sir,
+may I do as I please with my dinner?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure, my boy," was the reply.
+
+"Why, then," said Harry, "I will give it to poor Tommy, who wants it
+more than I do."
+
+Tommy took it and thanked Harry; but without turning his eyes from the
+ground.
+
+"I see," said Mr. Barlow, "that though certain gentlemen are too proud
+to be of any use to themselves, they are not above taking the bread that
+other people have been working hard for."
+
+At this Tommy cried more bitterly than before.
+
+The next day, when they went into the garden, Tommy begged that he might
+have a hoe, too, and, having been shown how to use it, soon worked with
+the greatest pleasure, which was much increased when he was asked to
+share the fruit provided after the work was done. It seemed to him the
+most delicious fruit that he had ever tasted.
+
+Harry read as before, the story this time being about the gentleman and
+the basket-maker. It described how a rich man, jealous of the happiness
+of a poor basket-maker, destroyed the latter's means of livelihood, and
+was sent by a magistrate with his humble victim to an island, where the
+two were made to serve the natives. On this island the rich man, because
+he possessed neither talents to please nor strength to labour, was
+condemned to be the basket-maker's servant. When they were recalled, the
+rich man, having acquired wisdom by his misfortunes, not only treated
+the basket-maker as a friend during the rest of his life, but employed
+his riches in relieving the poor.
+
+
+_II.--Gentleman Tommy Learns to Read_
+
+
+From this time forward Mr. Barlow and his two pupils used to work in
+their garden every morning; and when they were fatigued they retired to
+the summer-house, where Harry, who improved every day in reading, used
+to entertain them with some pleasant story. Then Harry went home for a
+week, and the morning after, when Tommy expected that Mr. Barlow would
+read to him as usual, he found to his great disappointment, that
+gentleman was busy and could not. The same thing happening the next day
+and the day after, Tommy said to himself, "Now, if I could but read like
+Harry, I should not need to ask anybody to do it for me." So when Harry
+returned, Tommy took an early opportunity of asking him how he came to
+be able to read.
+
+"Why," said Harry, "Mr. Barlow taught me my letters; and then, by
+putting syllables together, I learnt to read."
+
+"And could you not show me my letters?" asked Tommy.
+
+"Very willingly," was Harry's reply. And the lessons proceeded so well
+that Tommy, who learned the whole alphabet at the very first lesson, at
+the end of two months was able to read aloud to Mr. Barlow "The History
+of the Two Dogs," which shows how vain it is to expect courage in those
+who lead a life of indolence and repose, and that constant exercise and
+proper discipline are frequently able to change contemptible characters
+into good ones.
+
+Later, Harry read the story of Androcles and the Lion, and asked how it
+was that one person should be the servant of another and bear so much
+ill-treatment.
+
+"As to that," said Tommy, "some folks are born gentlemen, and then they
+must command others; and some are born servants, and they must do as
+they are bid." And he recalled how the black men and women in Jamaica
+had to wait upon him, and how he used to beat them when he was angry.
+But when Mr. Barlow asked him how these people came to be slaves, he
+could only say that his father had bought them, and that he was born a
+gentleman.
+
+"Then," said Mr. Barlow, "if you were no longer to have a fine house,
+nor fine clothes, nor a great deal of money, somebody that had all these
+things might make you a slave, and use you ill, and do whatever he liked
+with you."
+
+Seeing that he could not but admit this, Tommy became convinced that no
+one should make a slave, of another, and decided that for the future he
+would never use their black William ill.
+
+Some days after this Tommy became interested in the growing of corn, and
+Harry promising to get some seed from his father, Tommy got up early
+and, having dug very perseveringly in a corner of his garden to prepare
+the ground for the seed, asked Mr. Barlow if this was not very good of
+him.
+
+"That," said Mr. Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of the
+corn when you have raised it. Where," he asked, "will be the great
+goodness in your sowing corn for your own eating? That is no more than
+all the people round here continually do. And if they did not do it,
+they would be obliged to fast."
+
+"But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."
+
+"What," answered Mr. Barlow, "must not gentlemen eat as well as others;
+and therefore, is it not for their interest to know how to procure food
+as well as other people?"
+
+"Yes, sir," answered Tommy; "but they can have other people to raise it
+for them."
+
+"How does that happen?"
+
+"Why they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is
+made."
+
+"Then they pay for it with money?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then they must have money before they can buy corn?"
+
+"Certainly, sir."
+
+"But have all gentlemen money?"
+
+Tommy hesitated some time, and at last said, "I believe not always,
+sir."
+
+"Why, then," said Mr. Barlow, "if they have not money, they will find it
+difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves." And he
+proceeded to recount the History of the Two Brothers, Pizarro and
+Alonzo, the former of whom, setting out on a gold-hunting expedition,
+prevailed upon the latter to accompany him, and became dependent upon
+Alonzo, who, instead of taking gold-seeking implements, provided himself
+with the necessaries for stocking a farm.
+
+
+_III.--Town Life and Country Life_
+
+
+This story was followed by others, describing life in different and
+distant parts of the world; and in addition to the knowledge they
+acquired in this way, Tommy and Harry, in their intercourse with their
+neighbours and in the cultivation of their gardens, learned a great
+deal. Tommy in particular, growing much kinder towards the poor and
+towards dumb animals, as well as growing in physical well-being.
+
+Mr. Barlow's young pupils were gradually taught many interesting and
+useful facts about natural history. They learned to cultivate their
+powers of observation also by studying the heavens. From a study of the
+stars their tutor drew them on to an acquaintance with the compass, the
+telescope, the magic lantern, the magnet, and the wonders of arithmetic.
+
+The stories of foreign lands were interspersed with others illustrating
+the habits of society; one for example, told how a certain rich man was
+cured of the gout, showing how, while most of the diseases of the poor
+originate in the want of food and necessaries, the rich are generally
+the victims of their own sloth and intemperance.
+
+"Dear me," said Tommy on one occasion, "what a number of accidents
+people are subject to in this world."
+
+"It is very true," said Mr. Barlow; "but as that is the case, it is
+necessary to improve ourselves in every manner, that we may be able to
+struggle against them."
+
+TOMMY: Indeed, sir, I begin to believe it is; for when I was younger
+than I am now, I remember I was always fretful and hurting myself,
+though I had two or three people constantly to take care of me. At
+present I seem quite another thing, I do not mind falling down and
+hurting myself, or cold, or scarcely anything that happens.
+
+MR. BARLOW: And which do you prefer--to be as you are now, or as you
+were before?
+
+TOMMY: As I am now, a great deal, sir; for then I always had something
+or another the matter with me. At present I think I am ten times
+stronger and healthier than ever I was in my life.
+
+All the same, Tommy found it difficult at first to understand how people
+who lived in countries where they had to undergo great hardships could
+be so attached to their own land as to prefer it to any other country in
+the world. "I have," he said, "seen a great many ladies and little
+misses at our house, and whenever they were talking of the places where
+they should like to live, I have always heard them say that they hated
+the country of all things, though they were born and bred there."
+
+MR. BARLOW: And yet there are thousands who bear to live in it all their
+lives, and have no desire to change. Should you, Harry, like to go to
+live in some town?
+
+HARRY: Indeed, sir, I should not, for then I must leave everything I
+love in the world.
+
+TOMMY: And have you ever been in any large town?
+
+HARRY: Once I was in Exeter, but I did not much like it. The houses
+seemed to me to stand too thick and close, and then there are little,
+narrow alleys where the poor live, and the houses are so high that
+neither light nor air can ever get to them. And they most of them
+appeared so dirty and unhealthy that it made my heart ache to look at
+them. I went home the next day, and never was better pleased in my life.
+When I came to the top of the great hill, from which you have a prospect
+of our house, I really thought I should have cried with joy. The fields
+looked all so pleasant, and the very cattle, when I went about to see
+them, all seemed glad that I was come home again.
+
+MR. BARLOW: You see by this that it is very possible for people to like
+the country, and to be happy in it. But as to the fine young ladies you
+talk of, the truth is that they neither love nor would be contented in
+any place. It is no wonder they dislike the country, where they find
+neither employment nor amusement. They wish to go to London, because
+they there meet with numbers of people as idle and as frivolous as
+themselves; and these people assist each other to talk about trifles and
+to waste their time.
+
+TOMMY: That is true, sir, really; for when we have a great deal of
+company, I have often observed that they never talk about anything but
+eating or dressing, or men and women that are paid to make faces at the
+playhouse or a great room called Ranelagh, where everybody goes to meet
+their friends.
+
+Which discourse led on to a story of the ancient Spartans, and their
+superiority to the luxury-loving Persians.
+
+
+_IV.--The Bull-Baiting_
+
+
+The time had now arrived when Tommy was by appointment to go home and
+spend some time with his parents. Mr. Barlow had been long afraid of
+this visit, as he knew his pupil would meet a great deal of company
+there who would give him impressions of a nature very different from
+those he had, with so much assiduity, been labouring to excite. However,
+the visit was unavoidable, and Mrs. Merton sent so pressing an
+invitation for Harry to accompany his friend, after having obtained the
+consent of his father, that Mr. Barlow, with much regret, took leave of
+his pupils.
+
+When the boys arrived at Mr. Merton's they were introduced into a
+crowded drawing-room full of the most elegant company which that part of
+the country afforded, among whom were several young gentlemen and ladies
+of different ages who had been purposely invited to spend their holidays
+with Master Merton.
+
+As soon as Master Merton entered, every tongue was let loose in his
+praise. As to Harry, he had the good fortune to be taken notice of by
+nobody except Mr. Merton, who received him with great cordiality, and a
+Miss Simmons, who had been brought up by an uncle who endeavoured, by a
+hardy and robust education, to prevent in his niece that sickly delicacy
+which is considered so great an ornament in fashionable life. Harry and
+this young lady became great friends, though to a considerable extent
+they were the butt of the others.
+
+A lady who sat by Mrs. Merton, asked her, in a whisper loud enough to be
+heard all over the room, whether (indicating Harry) that was the little
+ploughboy whom she had heard Mr. Barlow was attempting to bring up like
+a gentleman? Mrs. Merton answered "Yes." "Indeed," said the lady, "I
+should have thought so by his plebeian look and vulgar air. But I
+wonder, my dear madam, that you will suffer your son, who, without
+flattery, is one of the most accomplished children I ever saw, with
+quite the air of fashion, to keep such company."
+
+Whilst Tommy was being estranged from his friend by a constant
+succession of flattery from his elders and the example of others of his
+own age, Harry, who never said any of those brilliant things that render
+a boy the darling of the ladies, and who had not that vivacity, or
+rather impertinence, which frequently passes for wit with superficial
+people, paid the greatest attention to what was said to him, and made
+the most judicious observations upon subjects he understood. For this
+reason, Miss Simmons, although much older and better informed, received
+great satisfaction from conversing with him, and thought him infinitely
+more agreeable and sensible than any of the smart young gentlemen she
+had hitherto seen.
+
+One morning the young gentlemen agreed to take a walk in the country.
+Harry went with them. As they walked across a common they saw a great
+number of people moving forward towards a bull-baiting. Instantly they
+were seized with a desire to see the diversion. One obstacle alone
+presented itself. Their parents, particularly Mrs. Merton, had made them
+promise to avoid every kind of danger. However, all except Harry, agreed
+to go, insisting among themselves that there was no danger.
+
+"Master Harry," said one, "has not said a word. Surely he will not tell
+of us."
+
+Harry said he did not wish to tell; but if, he added, he were asked, he
+would have to tell the truth.
+
+A quarrel followed, in which Tommy struck his friend in the face with
+his fist. This, added to Tommy's recent conduct towards him, caused the
+tears to start to Harry's eyes, whereupon the others assailed him with
+cries of "Coward!" "Blackguard!" and so on. Master Mash went further and
+slapped him in the face. Harry, though Master Mash's inferior in size
+and strength, returned this by a punch, and a fight ensued, from which,
+though severely punished himself, Harry emerged the victor, to be
+assailed with a chorus of congratulation from those who before were
+loading him with taunts and outrages.
+
+The young gentlemen persisting in their intention to see the
+bull-baiting, Harry followed at some distance, deciding not to quit his
+friend till he had once more seen him in a place of safety. As it
+happened, the bull, after disposing of his early tormentors, broke loose
+when three fierce dogs were set upon it at once. In the stampede little
+Tommy fell right in the path of the infuriated animal, and would have
+lost his life had not Harry, with a courage and presence of mind above
+his years, suddenly seized a prong which one of the fugitives had
+dropped, and, at the very moment when the bull was stopping to gore his
+defenceless friend, advanced and wounded it in the flank. The bull
+turned, and with redoubled rage made at his new assailant, and it is
+probable that, notwithstanding his intrepidity, Harry would have paid
+with his own life the price of his assistance to his friend had not a
+poor negro, whom he had helped earlier in the day, come opportunely to
+his aid, and by his promptitude and address secured the animal.
+
+The gratitude of Mr. Merton for his son's escape was unbounded, and even
+Mrs. Merton was ashamed of her disparaging remarks about Harry. As for
+Tommy, he went to his friend's home to seek reconciliation, reflecting
+with shame and contempt upon the ridiculous prejudices he had once
+entertained.
+
+He had now learned to consider all men as his brethren, not forgetting
+the poor negro; and that, as he said, it is much better to be useful
+than rich or fine.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+DANIEL DEFOE
+
+Robinson Crusoe
+
+      Daniel Defoe, English novelist, historian and pamphleteer,
+     was born in 1660 or 1661, in London, the son of James Foe, a
+     butcher, and only assumed the name of De Foe, or Defoe, in
+     middle life. He was brought up as a dissenter, and became a
+     dealer in hosiery in the city. He early began to publish his
+     opinions on social and political questions, and was an
+     absolutely fearless writer, audacious and independent, so that
+     he twice suffered imprisonment for his daring. The immortal
+     "Robinson Crusoe" was published on April 25, 1719. Defoe was
+     already fifty-eight years of age. It was the first English
+     work of fiction that represented the men and manners of its
+     own time as they were. It appeared in several parts, and the
+     first part, which is here epitomised, was so successful that
+     no fewer than four editions were printed in as many months.
+     "Robinson Crusoe" was widely pirated, and its authorship gave
+     rise to absurd rumours. Some claimed it had been written by
+     Lord Oxford in the Tower; others that Defoe had appropriated
+     Alexander Selkirk's papers. The latter idea was only justified
+     inasmuch as the story was partly founded on Selkirk's
+     adventures and partly on Dampier's voyages. Defoe died on
+     April 26, 1731.
+
+
+_I.--I Go to Sea_
+
+
+I was born of a good family in the city of York, where my father--a
+foreigner, of Bremen--settled after having retired from business. My
+father had given me a competent share of learning and designed me for
+the law; but I would be satisfied in nothing but going to sea. My mind
+was filled with thoughts of seeing the world, and nothing could persuade
+me to give up my desire.
+
+At length, on September 1, 1651, I left home, and went on board a ship
+bound for London. The ship was no sooner out of the Humber than the wind
+began to blow and the sea to rise in a most frightful manner; and as I
+had never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in body and
+terrified in mind. The next day, however, the wind abated, and for
+several days the weather continued calm. My fears being forgotten, and
+the current of my desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows to return
+home that I made in my distress.
+
+The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads and cast
+anchor. Our troubles were not yet over, however, for a few days later
+the wind increased till it blew a terrible storm indeed. I began to see
+terror in the faces even of the seamen themselves; and as the captain
+passed me, I could hear him softly to himself say, several times, "We
+shall be all lost!"
+
+My horror of mind put me into such a condition that I can by no words
+describe it. The storm increased, and the seamen every now and then
+cried out the ship would founder. One of the men cried out that we had
+sprung a leak, and all hands were called to the pumps; but the water
+increasing in the hold, it was apparent that the ship would founder. We
+fired guns for help, and a ship who had rid it out just ahead of us
+ventured a boat out. It was with the utmost hazard the boat came near
+us, but at last we got all into it, and got into shore, though not
+without much difficulty, and walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth.
+
+Having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London, and there got
+acquainted with the master of a ship which traded on the coast of
+Guinea. This captain, taking a fancy to my conversation, told me if I
+would make a voyage with him I might do some trading on my own account.
+I embraced the offer, and went the voyage with him. With the help of
+some of my relations I raised L40, which I laid out in toys, beads, and
+such trifles as my friend the captain said were most in demand on the
+Guinea Coast. It was a prosperous voyage. It made me both a sailor and a
+merchant, for my adventure yielded me on my return to London almost
+L300, and this filled me with those aspiring thoughts which have since
+so completed my ruin.
+
+I was now set up as a Guinea trader, and made up my mind to go the same
+voyage again in the same ship; but this was the unhappiest voyage ever
+man made, for as we were off the African shore we were surprised by a
+Moorish rover of Salee, who gave chase with all sail. About three in the
+afternoon he came up with us, and after a great fight we were forced to
+yield, and were carried all prisoners into the port of Salee, where we
+were sold as slaves.
+
+I was fortunate enough to fall into the hands of a master who treated me
+with no little kindness. He frequently went fishing, and as I was
+dexterous in catching fish, he never went without me. One day he sent me
+out with a Moor to catch fish for him. Then notions of deliverance
+darted into my thoughts, and I prepared not for fishing, but for a
+voyage. When everything was ready, we sailed away to the
+fishing-grounds. Purposely catching nothing, I said we had better go
+farther out. The Moor agreed, and I ran the boat out near a league
+farther; then I brought to as if I would fish. Instead of that, however,
+I stepped forward, and, stooping behind the Moor, took him by surprise
+and tossed him overboard. He rose to the surface, and called on me to
+take him in. For reply I presented a gun at him, and told him if he came
+nearer the boat I would shoot him, and that as the sea was calm, he
+might easily swim ashore. So he turned about, and swam for the shore,
+and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease.
+
+About ten days afterwards, as I was steering out to double a cape, I
+came in sight of a Portuguese ship. On coming nearer, they hailed me,
+but I understood not a word. At last a Scotch sailor called to me, and I
+answered I was an Englishman, and had made my escape from the Moors of
+Salee. They then bade me come on board, and very kindly took me in, with
+all my goods.
+
+We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and when we reached our
+destination the captain recommended me to an honest man who had a sugar
+plantation. Here I settled down for a while, and learned the planting of
+sugar. Then I took a piece of land, and became a planter myself. My
+affairs prospered, and had I continued in the station I was now in, I
+had room for many happy things to have yet befallen me; but I was still
+to be the agent of my own miseries.
+
+
+_II.--Lord of an Island and Alone_
+
+
+Some of my neighbours, hearing that I had a knowledge of Guinea trading,
+proposed to fit out a vessel and send her to the coast of Guinea to
+purchase negroes to work in our plantations. I was well pleased with the
+idea; and when they asked me to go to manage the trading part, I forgot
+all the perils and hardships of the sea, and agreed to go. A ship being
+fitted out, we set sail on September 1, 1659.
+
+We had very good weather for twelve days, but after crossing the line,
+violent hurricanes took us, and drove us out of the way of all human
+commerce. In this distress, one morning, there was a cry of "Land!" and
+almost at the same moment the ship struck against a sandbank. We took to
+a boat, and worked towards the land; but before we could reach it, a
+raging wave came rolling astern of us, and overset the boat. We were all
+thrown into the sea, and out of fifteen who were on board, none escaped
+but myself. I managed, somehow, to scramble to shore, and clambered up
+the cliffs, and sat me down on the grass half-dead. Night coming on me,
+I took up my lodging in a tree.
+
+When I waked, it was broad day, the weather clear, and the storm abated.
+What surprised me most was that in the night the ship had been lifted
+from the bank by the swelling tide, and driven ashore almost as far as
+the place where I had landed. I saw that if we had all kept on board we
+had been all safe, and I had not been so miserable as to be left
+entirely destitute of all company as I now was.
+
+I swam out to the ship, and found that her stern lay lifted up on the
+bank. All the ship's provisions were dry, and, being well disposed to
+eat, I filled my pockets and ate as I went about other things, for I had
+no time to lose. We had several spare yards and planks, and with these I
+made a raft. I emptied three of the seamen's chests, and let them down
+upon the raft, and filled them with provisions. I also let down the
+carpenter's chest, and some arms and ammunition--all of which, after
+much labour, I got safely to land.
+
+My next work was to view the country. Where I was I yet knew not, but
+after I had with great labour got to the top of a hill which rose up
+very steep and high, I saw my fate, to my great affliction--_viz._, that
+I was in an island, uninhabited except by wild beasts.
+
+I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many things out of
+the ship which would be useful to me; so every day at low water I went
+on board, and brought away something or other until I had the biggest
+magazine that was ever laid up, I believe, for one man. I verily
+believe, had the calm weather held, I should have brought away the whole
+ship piece by piece; but on the fourteenth day it blew a storm, and next
+morning, behold, no more ship was to be seen. I must not forget that I
+brought on shore two cats and a dog. He was a trusty servant to me many
+years. I wanted nothing that he could fetch me, nor any company. I only
+wanted him to talk to me, but that he could not do. Later, I managed to
+catch a parrot, which did much to cheer my loneliness. I taught him to
+speak, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the pitying
+tones in which he used to say, "Robin--poor Robin Crusoe!"
+
+I now went in search of a place where to fix my dwelling. I found a
+little plain on the side of a rising hill, which was there as steep as a
+house-side, so that nothing could come down on me from the top. On the
+side of this rock was a hollow space like the entrance of a cave, before
+which I resolved to pitch my tent. Before I set up my tent, I drew a
+half-circle before the hollow place, which extended backwards about
+twenty yards. In this half-circle I planted two rows of strong stakes,
+driving them into the ground like piles, above five feet and a half
+high, and sharpened at the top. Then I took some pieces of cable I had
+found in the ship, and laid them in rows one upon another between the
+stakes; and this fence was so strong that neither man nor beast could
+get into it or over it. The entrance I made to be by a short ladder to
+go over the top, and when I was in I lifted the ladder after me.
+
+Inside the fence, with infinite labour, I carried all my riches,
+provisions, ammunition, and stores. And I made me a large tent, also, to
+preserve me from the rains. When I had done this I began to work my way
+into the rock. All the earth and stones I dug out I laid up within my
+fence, and thus I made me a cave just behind my tent which served me
+like a cellar.
+
+In the middle of my labours it happened that, rummaging in my things, I
+found a little bag with but husks of corn and dust in it. Wishing to
+make use of the bag, I shook it out on one side of my fortification. It
+was a little before the great rains that I threw this stuff away, not
+remembering that I had thrown anything there; about a month after, I saw
+some green stalks shooting up. I was perfectly astonished when, after a
+little longer time, I saw ten or twelve ears of barley. I knew not how
+it came there. At last it occurred to me that I had shaken out the bag
+there. Besides the barley there were also a few stalks of rice. I
+carefully saved the ears of this corn, you may be sure, and resolved to
+sow them all again. When my corn was ripe, I used a cutlass as a scythe,
+and cut off the ears, and rubbed them out with my hands. At the end of
+my harvesting I had nearly two bushels of rice, and two bushels and a
+half of barley. I kept all this for seed, and bore the want of bread
+with patience.
+
+I soon found that I needed many things to make me comfortable. First I
+wanted a chair and a table, for without them I must live like a savage.
+So I set to work. I had never handled a tool in my life, but I had a
+saw, an axe, and several hatchets, and I soon learned to use them all.
+If I wanted a board, I had to chop down a tree. From the trunk of the
+tree I cut a log of the length my board was to be. Then I split the log,
+and, with infinite labour, hewed it flat till it was as thin as a board.
+I made myself a table and a chair out of short pieces of board, and from
+the large boards I made some wide shelves. On these I laid my tools and
+other things.
+
+From time to time I made many useful things. From a piece of ironwood,
+cut in the forest with great labour, I made a spade to dig with. Then I
+wanted a pick-axe, but for long I could not think how I was to get one.
+At length I made use of crowbars from the wreck. These I heated in the
+fire, and, little by little, shaped them till I made a pick-axe, proper
+enough, though heavy.
+
+At first I felt the need of baskets in which to carry things, so I set
+to work as a basket-maker. It came to my mind that the twigs of the tree
+whence I cut my stakes might serve. I found them to my purpose as much
+as I could desire, and, during the next rainy season, I employed myself
+in making a great many baskets. Though I did not finish them handsomely,
+yet I made them sufficiently serviceable.
+
+I had, however, one want greater than all the others--bread. My barley
+was very fine, the grains were large and smooth; but before I could make
+bread I must grind the grains into flour. I spent many a day to find out
+a Stone to cut hollow and make fit for a mortar, and could find none;
+nor were the rocks of the island of hardness sufficient. So I gave it
+over and rounded a great block of hard wood and, with the help of fire
+and great labour, made a hollow in it. I made a great heavy pestle of
+the wood called ironwood.
+
+The baking part was the next thing to be considered; for, first, I had
+no yeast. As to that, there was no supplying the want, so I did not
+concern myself much about it. But for an oven I was indeed in great
+pain. At length I found out an experiment for that also. I made some
+earthen vessels, broad but not deep, about two feet across, and about
+nine inches deep. These I burned in the fire till they were as hard as
+nails and as red as tiles, and when I wanted to bake I made a great fire
+upon a hearth which I paved with some square tiles of my own making.
+
+When the fire had all burned I drew the embers forward upon my hearth,
+and let them be there till the hearth was very hot. My loaves being
+ready, I swept the hearth and set them on the hottest part of it. Over
+each loaf I placed one of the large earthen pots, and drew the embers
+all round to keep in and add to the heat. And thus I baked my barley
+loaves and became, in a little time, a good pastrycook into the bargain.
+
+It need not be wondered at if all these things took up most of the third
+year of my abode in the island. I had now brought my state of life to be
+much easier than it was at first, and I learned to look more upon the
+bright side of my condition and less on the dark.
+
+Had anyone in England met such a man as I was, it must have frightened
+them, or raised great laughter. On my head I wore a great, high,
+shapeless cap of goat's skin. Stockings and shoes I had none, but I had
+made a pair of somethings, I scarce knew what to call them, to slip over
+my legs; a jacket, with the skirts coming down to the middle of my
+thighs, and a pair of open-kneed breeches of the same, completing my
+outfit. I had a broad belt of goat's skin, and in this I hung, on one
+side, a saw, on the other, a hatchet. Under my arm hung two pouches for
+shot and powder; at my back I carried my basket, on my shoulder my gun,
+and over my head a great clumsy goat's skin umbrella.
+
+A stoic would have smiled to have seen me at dinner. There was my
+majesty, prince and lord of the whole island. How like a king I dined,
+too, all alone, attended by my servants! Poll, my parrot, as if he had
+been my favourite, was the only person permitted to talk to me. My old
+dog sat at my right hand, and two cats on each side of the table,
+expecting a bit from my hand as a mark of special favour.
+
+
+_III.--The Footprint_
+
+
+It was my custom to make daily excursions to some part of the island.
+One day, walking along the beach, I was exceedingly surprised with the
+print of a man's naked foot plainly impressed on the sand. I stood like
+one thunderstruck. I listened, I looked around, but I could hear nothing
+nor see anything. I went up to a rising ground to look further; I walked
+backwards and forwards on the shore, but I could see only that one
+impression.
+
+I went to it again. There was exactly a foot--toes, heel, and every part
+of a foot. How it came thither I knew not; but I hurried home, looking
+behind me at every two or three steps, and mistaking every bush and
+tree, fancying every stump to be a man. I had no sleep that night; but
+my terror gradually wore off, and after some days I ventured down to the
+beach to take measure of the footprint by my own.
+
+I found it much larger! This filled me again with all manner of fears,
+and when I went home I began to prepare against an attack. I got out my
+muskets, loaded them, and went to an enormous amount of labour and
+trouble--all because I had seen the print of a naked foot on the sand.
+There seemed to me then no labour too great, no task too toilsome, and I
+made me a second fortification, and planted a vast number of stakes on
+the outside of my outer wall, which grew and became a thick grove of
+trees, entirely concealing the place of my retreat, and adding greatly
+to my security.
+
+I had now been twenty-two years on the island, and had grown so
+accustomed to the place that, had I felt myself secure from the attack
+by savages, I fancied I could have been contented to remain there till I
+died of old age.
+
+For many months the perturbation of my mind was very great; in the day
+great troubles overwhelmed me, and in the night I dreamed often of
+killing savages. About two years after I first knew these fears, I was
+surprised one morning by seeing five canoes on the shore. I could not
+tell what to think of it, so went and lay in my castle perplexed and
+discomforted. At length, becoming very impatient, I clambered up to the
+top of the hill and perceived, by the help of my perspective glass, no
+less than thirty men dancing round a fire with barbarous gestures. While
+I was looking, two miserable wretches were dragged from the boats. One
+was immediately knocked down, while the other, seeing himself a little
+at liberty, started away from them and ran along the sands directly
+towards me. I was dreadfully frightened, that I must acknowledge, when I
+perceived him run my way, especially when, as I thought, I saw him
+pursued by the whole body. But my spirits began to recover when I found
+that but three men followed him, and that he outstripped them
+exceedingly, in running.
+
+Presently he came to a creek and, making nothing of it, plunged in,
+landed, and ran on with exceeding strength. Two of the pursuers swam the
+creek, but the third went no farther, and soon after went back again. I
+immediately took my two guns, ran down the hill and clapped myself in
+the way between the pursuers and the pursued, hallooing aloud to him
+that fled. Then, rushing on the foremost of the pursuers, I knocked him
+down with the stock of my piece. The other stopped, as if frightened,
+but as I came nearer, I perceived he was fitting a bow and arrow to
+shoot at me; so I was then obliged to shoot at him first, which I did
+and killed him.
+
+The poor savage who fled was so frightened with the noise of my piece
+that he seemed inclined still to fly. I gave him all the signs of
+encouragement I could think of, and he came nearer, kneeling down every
+ten or twelve steps. I took him up and made much of him, and comforted
+him. Then, beckoning him to follow me, I took him to my cave on the
+farther part of the island. Here, having refreshed him, I made signs for
+him to lie down to sleep, which the poor creature did. After he had
+slumbered about half an hour, he came out of the cave, running to me,
+laying himself down and setting my foot upon his head to let me know he
+would serve me so long as he lived.
+
+In a little time I began to speak to him and teach him to speak to me;
+and, first, I let him know his name should be Friday, which was the day
+I saved his life. I likewise taught him to say "Master," and then let
+him know that was to be my name. I made a little tent for him, and took
+in my ladders at night, so that he could no way come at me.
+
+But I needed not this precaution, for never man had a more faithful,
+loving servant than Friday was to me. I made it my business to teach him
+everything that was proper to make him useful, especially to make him
+speak, and he was the aptest scholar that ever was. Indeed, this was the
+pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place. I began now to
+have some use for my tongue again, and, besides the pleasure of talking
+to Friday, I had a singular satisfaction in the fellow himself. His
+simple, unfeigned honesty appeared to me more and more every day, and I
+began really to love the creature; and I believe he loved me more than
+it was possible for him ever to love anything before.
+
+
+_IV.--The End of Captivity_
+
+
+I was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my captivity on the
+island. One morning I bade Friday go to the seashore and see if he could
+find a turtle. He had not been gone long when he came running back like
+one that felt not the ground, or the steps he set his feet on, and cries
+out to me, "O master! O sorrow! O bad!"
+
+"What's the matter, Friday?" said I.
+
+"O yonder, there," says he; "one, two, three canoes!"
+
+"Well," says I, "do not be frightened."
+
+However, I saw the poor fellow was most terribly scared, for nothing ran
+in his head but that the savages were come back to look for him, and
+would cut him in pieces and eat him. I comforted him, and told him I was
+in as much danger as he. Then I went up the hill and found quickly by my
+glass that there were one-and-twenty savages, whose business seemed to
+be a triumphant banquet upon three human bodies. I came down again to
+Friday and, going towards the wretches, sent Friday a little ahead to
+see what they were doing. He came back and told me that they were eating
+the flesh of one of their prisoners, and that a bearded man lay bound,
+whom he said they would kill next.
+
+This fired the very soul within me, and, going to a little rising
+ground, I turned to Friday and said, "Now, Friday, do exactly as you see
+me do." So, with a musket, I took aim at the savages; Friday did the
+like, and we fired, killing three of them and wounding five more. They
+were in a dreadful consternation, and after we fired again among the
+amazed wretches, I made directly towards the poor victim who was lying
+upon the beach. Loosing him, I found he was a Spaniard. He took pistol
+and sword from me thankfully, and flew upon his murderers, and, Friday,
+pursuing the flying wretches, in the end but four of the twenty-one
+escaped in a canoe.
+
+I was minded to pursue them lest they should return with a greater force
+and devour us by mere multitude. So, running to a canoe, I bade Friday
+follow me, but was surprised to find another poor creature lying
+therein, bound hand and foot. I immediately cut his fastenings and bade
+Friday tell him of his deliverance. But when Friday came to hear him
+speak and to look in his face, it would have moved anyone to tears to
+have seen how Friday kissed him, embraced him, hugged him, cried,
+danced, sung, and then cried again. It was a good while before I could
+make him tell me what was the matter, but when he came a little to
+himself, he told me it was his father. He sat down by the old man a long
+while, and took his arms and ankles, which were numbed with the binding,
+and chafed and rubbed them with his hands.
+
+My island was now peopled, and I thought myself rich in subjects. The
+Spaniard and the old savage had been with us about seven months, sharing
+in our labours, when, being unable to keep means of deliverance out of
+my thoughts, I gave them leave to go over in one of the canoes to the
+mainland, where some of the Spaniard's shipmates were cast away, giving
+them provisions sufficient for themselves and all the Spaniards, for
+eight days.
+
+It was no less than eight days I had waited for their return when Friday
+came to me and called aloud, "Master, master, they are come!" I jumped
+up and climbed to the top of the hill, and with my glass plainly made
+out an English ship, and its long-boat standing in for the shore. I
+cannot express the joy I was in at seeing a ship, and one that was
+manned by my own countrymen; but yet I had some secret doubts, bidding
+me keep on my guard. Presently the boat was run upon the beach, and in
+all eleven men landed, whereof three were unarmed and bound, whom I
+could perceive using passionate gestures of entreaty and despair.
+Presently the seamen were all gone straggling in the woods, leaving the
+three distressed men under a tree a little distance from me. I resolved
+to discover myself to them, and marched with Friday towards them, and
+called aloud in Spanish, "What are ye, gentlemen?" They started up at
+the noise, and I perceived them about to fly from me, when I spoke to
+them in English.
+
+"Gentlemen," says I, "do not be surprised at me; perhaps you may have a
+friend near, when you did not expect it. Can you not put a stranger in
+the way to help you?"
+
+One of them, looking like one astonished, returned, "Sir, I was captain
+of that ship; my men have mutinied against me, and have set me on shore
+in this desolate place with these two men--my mate and a passenger."
+
+He then told me that if two among the mutineers, who were desperate
+villains, were secured, he believed the rest on shore would return to
+their duty. He anticipated my proposals in venturing their deliverance
+by telling me that both he and the ship, if recovered, should be wholly
+directed by me in everything. Then I gave them muskets, and the
+mutineers returning, the two villains were killed, and the rest begged
+for mercy, and joined us. More of them coming ashore, we fell upon them
+at night, so that at the captain's call they laid down their arms,
+trusting to the mercy of the governor of the island, for such they
+supposed me to be.
+
+It now occurred to me that the time of my deliverance was come, and that
+it would be easy to bring these fellows in to be hearty in getting
+possession of the ship. And so it proved, for, the ship being boarded
+next morning, and the new rebel captain shot, the rest yielded without
+any more lives lost.
+
+When I saw my deliverance then put visibly into my hands, I was ready to
+sink down with the surprise, and it was a good while before I could
+speak a word to the captain, who was in as great an ecstasy as I. After
+some time, I came dressed in a new habit of the captain's, being still
+called governor. Being all met, and the captain with me, I caused the
+prisoners to be brought before me, told them I had got a full account of
+their villainous behaviour to the captain, and asked of them what they
+had to say why I should not execute them as pirates. I told them I had
+resolved to quit the island, but that they, if they went, could only go
+as prisoners in irons; so that I could not tell what was the best for
+them, unless they had a mind to take their fate in the island. They
+seemed thankful for this, and said they would much rather venture to
+stay than be carried to England to be hanged. So I left it on that
+issue. When the captain was gone I sent for the men up to me in my
+apartment and let them into the story of my living there; showed them my
+fortifications, the way I made my bread, planted my corn; and, in a
+word, all that was necessary to make them easy. I told them the story,
+also of the Spaniards that were to be expected, and made them promise to
+treat them in common with themselves.
+
+I left the next day and went on board the ship with Friday. And thus I
+left the island the 19th of December, in the year 1686, after eight and
+twenty years, and, after a long voyage, I arrived in England, the 11th
+of June, 1687, having been thirty-five years absent.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Captain Singleton
+
+      Defoe was fifty-nine when he published this remarkable book,
+     in 1720. "Robinson Crusoe" had appeared in the previous year,
+     and "Moll Flanders" came out in 1722. Shrewdness and wit, the
+     study of character, vividness of imagination, and, beyond
+     these, the pure literary style, make "Captain Singleton" a
+     classic in English literature. William the Quaker, the first
+     Quaker in English fiction, has never been surpassed in any
+     later novel, and remains an immortal creation. The clear
+     common sense of this man, the combination of business ability
+     and a real humaneness, the quiet humour which prevails over
+     the stupid barbarity of his pirate companions--who but Defoe
+     could have drawn such a character as the guide, philosopher,
+     and friend of a crew of pirates? Bob Singleton himself, who
+     tells the story with a frankness of extraordinary charm,
+     confessing his willingness for evil courses as readily as his
+     later repentance, is no less striking a personality. By sheer
+     imagination the genius of Defoe makes Singleton's adventures,
+     including the impossible journey across Central Africa, real
+     and credible. The book is a model of fine narrative.
+
+
+_I.--Sailing With the Devil_
+
+
+If I may believe the woman whom I was taught to call mother, I was a
+little boy about two years old, very well dressed, and had a nurse-maid
+to attend me, who took me out on a fine summer's evening into the fields
+towards Islington, to give the child some air; a little girl being with
+her, of twelve or fourteen years old, that lived in the neighbourhood.
+
+The maid meets with a fellow, her sweetheart; he carries her into a
+public-house, and while they are toying in there the girl plays about
+with me in her hand, sometimes in sight, sometimes out of sight,
+thinking no harm.
+
+Then comes by one of those sort of people who make it their business to
+spirit away little children, a trade chiefly practised where they found
+little children well dressed, and for bigger children, to sell them to
+the plantations.
+
+The woman, pretending to take me up in her arms and play with me, draws
+the girl a good way from the house, and then bids her go back to the
+maid, and tell her that a gentlewoman had taken a fancy to the child.
+And so, while the girl went, she carries me quite away.
+
+From that time, it seems, I was disposed of to a beggar woman, and after
+that to a gipsy, till I was about six years old.
+
+And this gipsy, though I was continually dragged about with her from one
+part of the country to the other, never let me want for anything. I
+called her mother, but she told me at last she was not my mother, but
+that she bought me for twelve shillings, and that my name was Bob
+Singleton, not Robert, but plain Bob.
+
+Who my father and mother really were I have never learnt.
+
+When my gipsy mother happened in process of time to be hanged, I was
+sent to a parish school; and then I was moved from one parish to
+another, and at Bussleton, near Southampton, the master of a ship took a
+fancy to me, and though I was not above twelve years old, he carried me
+to sea with him on a voyage to Newfoundland.
+
+I went several voyages with him, when, coming home from Newfoundland
+about the year 1695, we were taken by an Algerine rover, which was in
+its turn taken by two great Portuguese men-of-war.
+
+We were carried into Lisbon, and there my master, the only friend I had
+in the world, dying of his wounds, I was left starving in a foreign
+country where I knew nobody, and could not speak a word of the language.
+
+However, an old pilot found me, and, speaking in broken English, asked
+me if I would go with him.
+
+"Yes," said I, "with all my heart."
+
+For two years I lived with him, and then he got to be master under Don
+Garcia de Carravallas, captain of a Portuguese galleon, which was bound
+to Goa in the East Indies. On this voyage I began to get a smattering of
+the Portuguese tongue and a superficial knowledge of navigation. I also
+learnt to be an arrant thief and a bad sailor.
+
+I was reputed as mighty diligent and faithful to my master, but I was
+very far from honest.
+
+Indeed, I had no sense of virtue or religion in me, never having heard
+much of either, and was growing up apace to be as wicked as anybody
+could be.
+
+Thieving, lying, swearing, forswearing, joined to the most abominable
+lewdness, was the stated practice of the ship's crew; adding to it that,
+with the most insufferable boasts of their own courage, they were,
+generally speaking, the most complete cowards that I ever met with. And
+I was exactly fitted for their society.
+
+According to the English proverb, he that is shipped with the devil must
+sail with the devil; I was among them, and I managed myself as well as I
+could.
+
+When we came to anchor on the coast of Madagascar to repair some damage
+to the ship, there happened a most desperate mutiny among the men upon
+account of a deficiency in their allowance, and I, being full of
+mischief in my head, readily joined.
+
+Though I was but a boy, as they called me, yet I prompted the mischief
+all I could, and embarked in it so openly that I escaped very little
+being hanged in the first and most early part of my life.
+
+For the captain, getting wind of the plot, brought two fellows to
+confess the particulars, and presently no less than sixteen men were
+seized and put into irons, whereof I was one.
+
+The captain, who was made desperate by his danger, tried us all, and we
+were all condemned to die. The gunner and purser were hanged
+immediately, and I expected it with the rest. I do not remember any
+great concern I was under about it, only that I cried very much; for I
+knew little then of this world, and nothing at all of the next.
+
+However, the captain contented himself with executing these two, and
+some of the rest, upon their humble submission, were pardoned; but five
+were ordered to be set on shore on the island and left there, of which I
+was one.
+
+At our first coming into the island we were terrified exceedingly with
+the sight of the barbarous people; but when we came to converse with
+them awhile, we found they were not cannibals, as was reported, but they
+came and sat down by us, and wondered much at our clothes and arms. Nor
+did we suffer any harm from them during our whole stay on the island.
+
+Before the ship sailed twenty-three of the crew decided to join us, and
+the captain, not unwilling to lose them, sent us two barrels of powder,
+and shot and lead, as well as a great bag of bread.
+
+Being now a considerable number, and in condition to defend ourselves,
+the first thing we did was to give everyone his hand that we would not
+separate from one another, but that we would live and die together, that
+we would be in all things guided by the majority, that we would appoint
+a captain among us to be our leader, and that we would obey him on pain
+of death.
+
+
+_II.--A Mad Venture_
+
+
+For two years we remained on the island of Madagascar, for at the
+beginning we had no vessel large enough to pass the ocean.
+
+I never proposed to speak in the general consultations, but one day I
+told the company that our best plan was to cruise along the coast in
+canoes, and seize upon the first vessel we could get that was better
+than our own, and so from that to another, till perhaps we might at last
+get a good ship to carry us wherever we pleased to go.
+
+"Excellent advice," says one of them. "Admirable advice," says another.
+"Yes, yes," says the third (which was a gunner), "the English dog has
+given excellent advice, but it is just the way to bring us all to the
+gallows. To go a-thieving, till from a little vessel we come to a great
+ship, and so shall we turn downright pirates, the end of which is to be
+hanged."
+
+"You may call us pirates," says another, "if you will, and if we fall
+into bad hands we may be used like pirates; but I care not for that.
+I'll be a pirate or anything, rather than starve here!"
+
+And so they cried all, "Let us have a canoe!"
+
+The gunner, overruled by the rest, submitted; but as we broke up the
+council, he came to me and very gravely. "My lad," says he, "thou art
+born to do a world of mischief; thou hast commenced pirate very young;
+but have a care of the gallows, young man; have a care, I say, for thou
+wilt be an eminent thief."
+
+I laughed at him, and told him I did not know what I might come to
+hereafter; but as our case was now, I should make no scruple to take the
+first ship I came at to get our liberty. I only wished we could see one,
+and come at her.
+
+When we had made three canoes of some size, we set out on as odd a
+voyage as ever man went. We were a little fleet of three ships, and an
+army of between twenty and thirty as dangerous fellows as ever lived. We
+were bound somewhere and nowhere, for though we knew what we intended to
+do, we really did not know what we were doing.
+
+We cruised up and down the coast, but no ship came in sight, and at
+last, with more courage than discretion, more resolution than judgment,
+we launched for the main coast of Africa.
+
+The voyage was much longer than we expected, and when we were landed
+upon the continent it seemed the most desolate, desert, and inhospitable
+country in the world.
+
+It was here that we took one of the rashest and wildest and most
+desperate resolutions that ever was taken by man; this was to travel
+overland through the heart of the country, from the coast of Mozambique
+to the coast of Angola or Guinea, a continent of land of at least 1,800
+miles, in which journey we had excessive heats to support, impassable
+deserts to go over, no carriages, camels, or beasts of any kind to carry
+our baggage, innumerable wild and ravenous beasts to encounter, such as
+lions, leopards, tigers, lizards, and elephants; we had nations of
+savages to encounter, barbarous and brutish to the last degree; hunger
+and thirst to struggle with, and, in one word, terrors enough to have
+daunted the stoutest hearts that ever were placed in cases of flesh and
+blood.
+
+Yet, fearless of all these, we resolved to adventure, and not only did
+we accomplish our journey, but we came to a river where there were vast
+quantities of gold.
+
+The hardships and difficulties of our march were much mitigated by a
+method which I proposed and was found very convenient. This was to
+quarrel with some of the negro natives, take them as prisoners, and
+binding them, as slaves, cause them to travel with us and make them
+carry our baggage.
+
+Accordingly, we secured about sixty lusty young fellows as prisoners,
+for the natives stood in great awe of us because of our firearms, and
+they not only served us faithfully--the more so as we treated them
+without harshness--but were of great help in showing us the way, and in
+conversing with the savages we afterwards met.
+
+When we reached the country where the gold was, we at once agreed, in
+order that the good harmony and friendship of our company might be
+maintained, that however much gold was gotten, it should be brought into
+one common stock, and equally divided at last, the negroes sharing with
+the rest.
+
+This was done, and at the end of our long journey we found each man's
+share amounted to many pounds of gold. We also got a cargo of elephants'
+teeth.
+
+We parted at the Gold Coast from our black companions on the best of
+terms. Then most of my comrades went off to the Portuguese factories
+near Gambia, and I went to Cape Coast Castle, and got passage for,
+England, where I arrived in September.
+
+
+_III.--Quaker and Pirate_
+
+
+I had neither friend nor relation in England, though it was my native
+country; I had not a person to trust with what I had, or to counsel me
+to secure or save it; but falling into ill company, and trusting the
+keeper of a public-house in Rotherhithe with a great part of my money,
+all that great sum, which I got with so much pains and hazard, was gone
+in little more than two years' time--spent in all kinds of folly and
+wickedness.
+
+Then I began to see it was time to think of further adventures, and I
+next shipped myself, in an evil hour to be sure, on a voyage to Cadiz.
+
+On the coast of Spain I fell in with some masters of mischief, and,
+among them, one, forwarder than the rest, named Harris, who began an
+intimate confidence with me, so that we called one another brothers.
+
+This Harris was afterwards captured by an English man-of-war, and, being
+laid in irons, died of grief and anger.
+
+When we were together, he asked me if I had a mind for an adventure that
+might make amends for all past misfortunes. I told him, yes, with all my
+heart; for I did not care where I went, having nothing to lose, and no
+one to leave behind me.
+
+He told me, then, there was a brave fellow, whose name was Wilmot, in
+another English ship which rode in the harbour, who had resolved to
+mutiny the next morning, and run away with the ship; and that if we
+could get strength enough among our ship's company, we might do the
+same.
+
+I liked the proposal very well, but we could not bring our part to
+perfection. For there were but eleven in our ship who were in the
+conspiracy, nor could we get any more that we could trust. So that when
+Wilmot began his work, and secured the ship, and gave the signal to us,
+we all took a boat and went off to join him.
+
+Being well prepared for all manner of roguery, without the least checks
+of conscience, I thus embarked with this crew, which at last brought me
+to consort with the most famous pirates of the age.
+
+I, that was an original thief, and a pirate even by inclination before,
+was now in my element, and never undertook anything in my life with more
+particular satisfaction.
+
+Captain Wilmot--for so we now called him--at once stood out for sea,
+steering for the Canaries, and thence onward to the West Indies. Our
+ship had twenty-two guns, and we obtained plenty of ammunition from the
+Spaniards in exchange for bales of English cloth.
+
+We cruised near two years in those seas of the West Indies, chiefly upon
+the Spaniards--not that we made any difficulty of taking English ships,
+or Dutch, or French, if they came in our way. But the reason why we
+meddled as little with English vessels as we could was, first, because
+if they were ships of any force, we were sure of more resistance from
+them; and, secondly, because we found the English ships had less booty
+when taken; for the Spaniards generally had money on board, and that was
+what we best knew what to do with.
+
+We increased our stock considerably in these two years, having taken
+60,000 pieces of gold in one vessel, and 100,000 in another; and being
+thus first grown rich, we resolved to be strong, too, for we had taken a
+brigantine, an excellent sea-boat, able to carry twelve guns, and a
+large Spanish frigate-built ship, which afterwards, by the help of good
+carpenters, we fitted up to carry twenty-eight guns.
+
+We had also taken two or three sloops from New England and New York,
+laden with flour, peas, and barrelled beef and pork, going for Jamaica
+and Barbados, and for more beef we went on shore on the island of Cuba,
+where we killed as many black cattle as we pleased, though we had very
+little salt to cure them.
+
+Out of all the prizes we took here we took their powder and bullets,
+their small-arms and cutlasses; and as for their men, we always took the
+surgeon and the carpenter, as persons who were of particular use to us
+upon many occasions; nor were they always unwilling to go with us.
+
+We had one very merry fellow here, a Quaker, whose name was William
+Walters, whom we took out of a sloop bound from Pennsylvania to
+Barbados. He was a surgeon and they called him doctor, and we made him
+go with us, and take all his implements with him. He was a comic fellow
+indeed, a man of very good solid sense, and an excellent surgeon; but,
+what was worth all, very good-humoured and pleasant in his conversation,
+and a bold, stout, brave fellow too, as any we had among us.
+
+I found William not very averse to go along with us, and yet resolved to
+do it so that it might be apparent he was taken away by force. "Friend,"
+he says, "thou sayest I must go with thee, and it is not in my power to
+resist thee if I would; but I desire thou wilt oblige the master of the
+sloop to certify under his hand that I was taken away by force, and
+against my will." So I drew up a certificate myself, wherein I wrote
+that he was taken away by main force, as a prisoner, by a pirate ship;
+and this was signed by the master and all his men.
+
+"Thou hast dealt friendly by me," says he, when we had brought him
+aboard, "and I will be plain with thee, whether I came willingly to thee
+or not. But thou knowest it is not my business to meddle when thou art
+to fight."
+
+"No, no," says the captain, "but you may meddle a little when we share
+the money."
+
+"Those things are useful to furnish a surgeon's chest," says William,
+and smiled, "but I shall be moderate."
+
+In short, William was a most agreeable companion; but he had the better
+of us in this part, that if we were taken we were sure to be hanged, and
+he was sure to escape. But he was a sprightly fellow, and fitter to be
+captain than any of us.
+
+
+_IV.--A Respectable Merchant_
+
+
+We cruised the seas for many years, and after a time William and I had a
+ship to ourselves with 400 men in authority under us. As for Captain
+Wilmot, we left him with a large company at Madagascar, while we went on
+to the East Indies.
+
+At last we had gotten so rich, for we traded in cloves and spices to the
+merchants, that William one day proposed to me that we should give up
+the kind of life we had been leading. We were then off the coast of
+Persia.
+
+"Most people," said William, "leave off trading when they are satisfied
+of getting, and are rich enough; for nobody trades for the sake of
+trading; much less do men rob for the sake of thieving. It is natural
+for men that are abroad to desire to come home again at last, especially
+when they are grown rich, and so rich as they would know not what to do
+with more if they had it."
+
+"Well, William," said I, "but you have not explained what you mean by
+home. Why, man, I am at home; here is my habitation; I never had any
+other in my lifetime; I was a kind of charity school-boy; so that I can
+have no desire of going anywhere for being rich or poor; for I have
+nowhere to go."
+
+"Why," says William, looking a little confused, "hast thou no relatives
+or friends in England? No acquaintance; none that thou hast any kindness
+or any remains of respect for?"
+
+"Not I, William," said I, "no more than I have in the court of the Great
+Mogul. Yet I do not say I like this roving, cruising life so well as
+never to give it over. Say anything to me, I will take it kindly." For I
+could see he was troubled, and I began to be moved by his gravity.
+
+"There is something to be thought of beyond this way of life," says
+William.
+
+"Why, what is that," said I, "except it be death?"
+
+"It is repentance."
+
+"Why," says I, "did you ever know a pirate repent?"
+
+At this he was startled a little, and returned.
+
+"At the gallows I have known one, and I hope thou wilt be the second."
+
+He spoke this very affectionately, with an appearance of concern for me.
+
+"My proposal," William went on, "is for thy good as well as my own. We
+may put an end to this kind of life, and repent."
+
+"Look you, William," says I, "let me have your proposal for putting an
+end to our present way of living first, and you and I will talk of the
+other afterwards."
+
+"Nay," says William, "thou art in the right there; we must never talk of
+repenting while we continue pirates."
+
+"Well," says I, "William, that's what I meant; for if we must not
+reform, as well as be sorry for what is done, I have no notion what
+repentance means: the nature of the thing seems to tell me that the
+first step we have to take is to break off this wretched course. Dost
+thou think it practicable for us to put an end to our unhappy way of
+living, and get off?"
+
+"Yes," says he, "I think it very practicable."
+
+We were then anchored off the city of Bassorah, and one night William
+and I went ashore, and sent a note to the boatswain telling him we were
+betrayed and bidding him make off with the ship.
+
+By this means we frighted the rogues our comrades; and we had nothing to
+do then but to consider how to convert our treasure into things proper
+to make us look like merchants, as we were now to be, and not like
+freebooters, as we really had been.
+
+Then we clothed ourselves like Armenian merchants, and after many days
+reached Venice; and at last we agreed to go to London. For William had a
+sister whom he was anxious to see once more.
+
+So we came to England, and some time later I married William's sister,
+with whom I am much more happy than I deserve.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CHARLES DICKENS
+
+
+Barnaby Rudge
+
+
+      Charles Dickens, son of a clerk in the Navy Pay Office, was
+     born at Landport on February 7, 1812. Soon afterwards the
+     family removed to Chatham and then to London. With all their
+     efforts, they failed to keep out of distress, and at the age
+     of nine Dickens was employed at a blacking factory. With the
+     coming of brighter days, he was sent back to school;
+     afterwards a place was found for him in a solicitor's office.
+     In the meantime, his father had obtained a position as
+     reporter on the "Morning Herald," and Dickens, too, resolved
+     to try his fortune in that direction. Teaching himself
+     shorthand, and studying diligently at the British Museum, at
+     the age of twenty-two he secured permanent employment on the
+     staff of a London paper. "Barnaby Rudge," the fifth of
+     Dickens's novels, appeared serially in "Master Humphrey's
+     Clock" during 1841. It thus followed "The Old Curiosity Shop,"
+     the character of Master Humphrey being revived merely to
+     introduce the new story, and on its conclusion "The Clock" was
+     stopped for ever. In 1849 "Barnaby Rudge" was published in
+     book form. Written primarily to express the author's
+     abhorrence of capital punishment, from the use he made of the
+     Gordon Riots of 1780, "Barnaby Rudge," like "A Tale of Two
+     Cities," may be considered an historical work. It is more of a
+     story than any of its predecessors. Lord George Gordon, the
+     instigator of the riots, died a prisoner in the Tower of
+     London, after making public renunciation of Christianity in
+     favour of the Jewish religion. "The raven in this story," said
+     Dickens, "is a compound of two originals, of whom I have been
+     the proud possessor." Dickens died at Gad's Hill on June 9,
+     1870, having written fourteen novels and a great number of
+     short stories and sketches.
+
+
+_I.--Barnaby and the Robber_
+
+
+In the year 1775 there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, in the
+village of Chigwell, about twelve miles from London, a house of public
+entertainment called the Maypole, kept by John Willet, a large-headed
+man with a fat face, of profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension,
+combined with a very strong reliance upon his own merits.
+
+From this inn, Gabriel Varden, stout-hearted old locksmith of
+Clerkenwell, jogged steadily home on a chaise, half sleeping and half
+waking, on a certain rough evening in March.
+
+A loud cry roused him with a start, just where London begins, and he
+descried a man extended in an apparently lifeless state wounded upon the
+pathway, and, hovering round him, another person, with a torch in his
+hand, which he waved in the air with a wild impatience.
+
+"What's here to do?" said the old locksmith. "How's this? What, Barnaby!
+You know me, Barnaby?"
+
+The bearer of the torch nodded, not once or twice, but a score of times,
+with a fantastic exaggeration.
+
+"How came it here?" demanded Varden, pointing to the body.
+
+"Steel, steel, steel!" Barnaby replied fiercely, imitating the thrust of
+a sword.
+
+"Is he robbed?" said the blacksmith.
+
+Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded "Yes," pointing towards the
+city.
+
+"Oh!" said the old man. "The robber made off that way, did he? Now let's
+see what can be done."
+
+They covered the wounded man with Varden's greatcoat, and carried him to
+Mrs. Rudge's house hard by. On his way home Gabriel congratulated
+himself on having an adventure which would silence Mrs. Varden on the
+subject of the Maypole for that night, or there was no faith in woman.
+
+But Mrs. Varden was a lady of uncertain temper, and she was on this
+occasion so ill-tempered, and put herself to so much anxiety and
+agitation, aided and abetted by her shrewish hand-maiden, Miggs, that
+next morning she was, she said, too much indisposed to rise. The
+disconsolate locksmith had, therefore, to deliver himself of his story
+of the night's experiences to his daughter, buxom, bewitching Dolly, the
+very pink and pattern of good looks, and the despair of the youth of the
+neighbourhood.
+
+Calling next day in the evening, Gabriel Varden learnt the wounded man
+was better, and would shortly be removed.
+
+Varden chatted as an old friend with Barnaby's mother. He knew the
+Maypole story of the widow Rudge--how her husband, employed at Chigwell,
+and his master had been murdered; and how her son, born upon the very
+day the deed was known, bore upon his wrist a smear of blood but half
+washed out.
+
+"Why, what's that?" said the locksmith suddenly. "Is that Barnaby
+tapping at the door?"
+
+"No," returned the widow; "it was in the street, I think. Hark! 'Tis
+someone knocking softly at the shutter."
+
+"Some thief or ruffian," said the locksmith. "Give me a light."
+
+"No, no," she returned hastily. "I would rather go myself, alone."
+
+She left the room, and Varden heard the sound of whispers without. Then
+the words "My God!" came, tittered in a voice dreadful to hear.
+
+Varden rushed out. A look of terror was on the woman's face, and before
+her stood a man, of sinister appearance, whom the locksmith had passed
+on the road from Chigwell the previous night.
+
+The man fled, but the locksmith was after him and would have held him
+but for the widow, who clutched his arms.
+
+"The other way--the other way!" she cried. "Do not touch him, on your
+life! He carries other lives besides his own. Don't ask what it means.
+He is not to be followed or stopped! Come back!"
+
+"The other way!" said the locksmith. "Why, there he goes!"
+
+The old man looked at her in wonder, and let her draw him into the
+house. Still that look of terror was on her face, as she implored him
+not to question her.
+
+Presently she withdrew, and left him in his perplexity alone, and
+Barnaby came in.
+
+"I have been asleep," said the idiot, with widely opened eyes. "There
+have been great faces coming and going--close to my face, and then a
+mile away. That's sleep, eh? I dreamed just now that something--it was
+in the shape of a man--followed me and wouldn't let me be. It came
+creeping on to worry me, nearer and nearer. I ran faster, leaped, sprang
+out of bed and to the window, and there in the street below--"
+
+"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Bow, wow, wow!" cried a hoarse voice. "What's
+the matter here? Halloa!"
+
+The locksmith started, and there was Grip, a large raven, Barnaby's
+close companion, perched on the top of a chair.
+
+"Halloa, halloa, halloa! Keep up your spirits! Never say die!" the bird
+went on, in a hoarse voice. "Bow, wow, wow!" And then he began to
+whistle.
+
+The locksmith said "Good-night," and went his way home, disturbed in
+thought.
+
+"In league with that ill-looking figure that might have fallen from a
+gibbet. He listening and hiding here. Barnaby first upon the spot last
+night. Can she, who has always borne so fair a name, be guilty of such
+crimes in secret?" said the locksmith, musing. "Heaven forgive me if I
+am wrong, and send me just thoughts."
+
+
+_II--Barnaby Is Enrolled_
+
+
+It is seven in the forenoon, on June 2, 1780, and Barnaby and his
+mother, who had travelled to London to escape that unwelcome visitor
+whom Varden had noticed, were resting in one of the recesses of
+Westminster Bridge.
+
+A vast throng of persons were crossing the river to the Surrey shore in
+unusual haste and excitement, and nearly every man in this great
+concourse wore in his hat a blue cockade.
+
+When the bridge was clear, which was not till nearly two hours had
+elapsed, the widow inquired of an old man what was the meaning of the
+great assemblage.
+
+"Why, haven't you heard?" he returned. "This is the day Lord George
+Gordon presents the petition against the Catholics, and his lordship has
+declared he won't present it to the House of Commons at all unless it is
+attended to the door by forty thousand good men and true, at least.
+There's a crowd for you!"
+
+"A crowd, indeed!" said Barnaby. "Do you hear that, mother? That's a
+brave crowd he talks of. Come!"
+
+"Not to join it!" cried his mother. "You don't know what mischief they
+may do, or where they may lead you. Dear Barnaby, for my sake----"
+
+"For your sake!" he answered. "It _is_ for your sake, mother. Here's a
+brave crowd! Come--or wait till I come back! Yes, yes, wait here!"
+
+A stranger gave Barnaby a blue cockade and bade him wear it, and while
+he was still fixing it in his hat Lord Gordon and his secretary,
+Gashford, passed, and then turned back.
+
+"You lag behind, friend, and are late," said Lord George. "It's past ten
+now. Didn't you know the hour of assemblage was ten o'clock?"
+
+Barnaby shook his head, and looked vacantly from one to the other.
+
+"He cannot tell you, sir," the widow interposed. "It's no use to ask
+him. We know nothing of these matters. This is my son--my poor,
+afflicted son, dearer to me than my own life. He is not in his right
+senses--he is not, indeed."
+
+"He has surely no appearance," said Lord George, whispering in his
+secretary's ear, "of being deranged. We must not construe any trifling
+peculiarity into madness. You desire to make one of this body?" he
+added, addressing Barnaby. "And intended to make one, did you?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said Barnaby, with sparkling eyes. "To be sure, I did. I
+told her so myself."
+
+"Then follow me." replied Lord George, "and you shall have your wish."
+
+Barnaby kissed his mother tenderly, and telling her their fortunes were
+made now, did as he was desired.
+
+They hastened on to St. George's Fields, where the vast army of men was
+drawn up in sections. Doubtless there were honest zealots sprinkled here
+and there, but for the most part the throng was composed of the very
+scum and refuse of London.
+
+Barnaby was acclaimed by a man in the ranks, Hugh, the rough hostler of
+the Maypole, whom Barnaby in his frequent wanderings had long known.
+
+"What! you wear the colour, do you? Fall in, Barnaby. You shall march
+between me and Dennis, and you shall carry," said Hugh, taking a flag
+from the hand of a tired man, "the gayest silken streamer in this
+valiant army."
+
+"In the name of God, no!" shrieked the widow, who had followed in
+pursuit and now darted forward. "Barnaby, my lord, he'll come
+back--Barnaby!"
+
+"Women in the field!" cried Hugh, stepping between them, and holding her
+off with his outstretched hand. "It's against all orders--ladies
+carrying off our gallant soldiers from their duty. Give the word of
+command, captain."
+
+The words, "Form! March!" rang out.
+
+She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was
+whirled away into the heart of a dense mass of men, and the widow saw
+him no more.
+
+Barnaby himself, heedless of the weight of the great banner he carried,
+marched proud, happy, and elated past all telling. Hugh was at his side,
+and next to Hugh came a squat, thick-set personage called Dennis, who,
+unknown to his companions, was no other than the public hangman.
+
+"I wish I could see her somewhere," said Barnaby, looking anxiously
+around. "She would be proud to see me now, eh, Hugh? She'd cry with joy,
+I know she would."
+
+"Why, what palaver's this?" asked Mr. Dennis, with supreme disdain. "We
+ain't got no sentimental members among us, I hope."
+
+"Don't be uneasy, brother," cried Hugh, "he's only talking of his
+mother."
+
+"His mother!" growled Mr. Dennis, with a strong oath, and in tones of
+deep disgust. "And have I combined myself with this here section, and
+turned out on this here memorable day, to hear men talk about their
+mothers?"
+
+"Barnaby's right," cried Hugh, with a grin, "and I say it. Lookee, bold
+lad, if she's not here to see it's because I've provided for her, and
+sent half-a-dozen gentlemen, every one of 'em with a blue flag, to take
+her to a grand house all hung round with gold and silver banners, where
+she'll wait till you come and want for nothing. And we'll get money
+for her. Money, cocked hats, and gold lace will all belong to us if we
+are true to that noble gentleman, if we carry our flags and keep 'em
+safe. That's all we've got to do.
+
+"Don't you see, man," Hugh whispered to Dennis, "that the lad's a
+natural, and can be got to do anything if you take him the right way?
+He's worth a dozen men in earnest, as you'd find if you tried a fall
+with him. You'll soon see whether he's of use or not."
+
+Mr. Dennis received this explanation with many nods and winks, and
+softened his behaviour towards Barnaby from that moment.
+
+Hugh was right. It was Barnaby who stood his ground, and grasped his
+pole more firmly when the Guards came out to clear the mob away from
+Westminster.
+
+One soldier came spurring on, cutting at the hands of those who would
+have forced his charger back, and still Barnaby, without retreating an
+inch, waited for his coming. Some called to him to fly, when the pole
+swept the air above the people's heads, and the man's saddle was empty
+in an instant.
+
+Then he and Hugh turned and fled, the crowd opening and closing so
+quickly that there was no clue to the course they had taken.
+
+
+_III.--The Storming of Newgate_
+
+
+For several days London was in the hands of the rioters. Catholic
+chapels were burned, the private residences of Catholics were sacked.
+From the moment of the first outbreak at Westminster every symptom of
+order vanished. Fifty resolute men might have turned the rioters; a
+single company of soldiers could have scattered them like dust; but no
+man interposed, no authority restrained them.
+
+But Barnaby, bold Barnaby, had been taken. Left behind at the resort of
+the rioters by Hugh, who led a body of men to Chigwell, he had been
+captured by the soldiers, a proclamation of the Privy Council having at
+last encouraged the magistrates to set the military in motion for the
+arrest of certain ringleaders.
+
+He was placed in Newgate and heavily ironed, and presently Grip, with
+drooping head and plumes rough and tumbled, was thrust into his cell.
+
+Another man was also taken and placed in Newgate on that day, and
+presently he and Barnaby stood staring at each other, face to face.
+Suddenly Barnaby laid hands upon him, and cried, "Ah, I know! You are
+the robber!"
+
+The other struggled with him silently, but finding the young man too
+strong for him, raised his eyes and said, "I am your father."
+
+Barnaby released his hold, fell back, and looked at him aghast. Then he
+sprang towards him, put his arms about his neck, and pressed his head
+against his cheek. He never learnt that his father, supposed to have
+been murdered, was himself a murderer. This was the widow's dreadful
+secret.
+
+And now Hugh, with a huge army, was at the gates of Newgate, bent on
+rescue. He had returned, to find Barnaby taken, and at once announced
+that the prison must be stormed. In vain the military commanders tried
+to rouse the magistrates, and in particular the Lord Mayor; no orders
+were given, and the soldiers could do nothing within the precincts of
+the city without the warrant of the civil authorities.
+
+In a dense mass the rioters halted before the prison-gate. All those who
+had already been conspicuous were there, and others who had friends or
+relatives within the jail hastened to the attack.
+
+Hugh had brought, by force, old Gabriel Varden to pick the lock of the
+great door, but this the sturdy locksmith resolutely refused to do.
+
+"You have got some friends of ours in your custody, master," Hugh called
+out to the head jailer, who had appeared on the roof. "Deliver up our
+friends, and you may keep the rest."
+
+"It's my duty to keep them all. I shall do my duty," replied the jailer,
+firmly.
+
+A shower of stones compelled the keeper of the jail to retire.
+
+Gabriel Varden was urged by blows, by offers of reward, and by threats
+of instant death to do the office the rioters required of him, and all
+in vain. He was knocked down, was up again, buffeting with a score of
+them. He had never loved his life so well as then, but nothing could
+move him.
+
+The cry was raised, "You lose time. Remember the prisoners! Remember
+Barnaby!" And the crowd left the locksmith, to gather fuel, for an
+entrance was to be forced by fire. Furniture from the prison lodge was
+piled up in a monstrous heap and set blazing, oil was poured on, and at
+last the great gate yielded to the flames. It settled deeper in the
+red-hot cinders, tottered, and was down.
+
+Hugh leaped upon the blazing heap, and dashed into the jail. The hangman
+followed. And then so many rushed upon their track that the fire got
+trodden down. There was no need of it now, for, inside and out, the
+prison was soon in flames.
+
+Barnaby and his father were quickly released, and passed from hand to
+hand into the street. Soon all the wretched inmates of the jail were
+free, except four condemned to die whom Dennis kept under guard. And
+these Hugh roughly insisted on liberating, to the sullen anger of the
+hangman.
+
+"You won't let these men alone, and leave 'em to me? You've no respect
+for nothing, haven't you?" said Dennis, and with a scowl he disappeared.
+
+Three hundred prisoners in all were released from Newgate, and many of
+these returned to haunt the place of their captivity, and were retaken.
+The day after the storming of Newgate, the mob having now had London at
+its mercy for a week, the authorities at last took serious action, and
+at nightfall the military held the streets.
+
+Hugh and Barnaby and old Rudge had taken refuge in a rough out-house in
+the outskirts of London, where they were wont to rest, when Dennis stood
+before them; he had not been seen since the storming of Newgate.
+
+A few minutes later, and the shed was filled with soldiers, while a body
+of horse galloping into the field drew op before it.
+
+"Here!" said Dennis, "it's them two young ones, gentlemen, that the
+proclamation puts a price on. This other's an escaped felon. I'm sorry
+for it, brother," he added, addressing himself to Hugh; "but you've
+brought it on yourself; you forced me to do it; you wouldn't respect the
+soundest constitutional principles, you know; you went and wiolated the
+wery framework of society."
+
+Barnaby and his father were carried off by one road in the centre of a
+body of foot-soldiers; Hugh, fast bound upon a horse, was taken by
+another.
+
+
+_IV.--The Fate of the Rioters_
+
+
+The riots had been stamped out, and once more the city was quiet.
+
+Barnaby sat in his dungeon. Beside him, with his hand in hers, sat his
+mother; worn and altered, full of grief, and heavy-hearted, but the same
+to him.
+
+"Mother," he said, "how long--how many days and nights--shall I be kept
+here?"
+
+"Not many, dear. I hope not many."
+
+"If they kill me--they may; I heard it said--what will become of Grip?"
+
+The sound of the word suggested to the raven his old phrase, "Never say
+die!" But he stopped short in the middle of it as if he lacked the heart
+to get through the shortest sentence.
+
+"Will they take his life as well as mine?" said Barnaby. "I wish they
+would. If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to
+feel sorry, or to grieve for us. Don't you cry for me. They said that I
+am bold, and so I am, and so I will be."
+
+The turnkey came to close the cells for the night, the widow tore
+herself away, and Barnaby was alone.
+
+He was to die. There was no hope. They had tried to save him. The
+locksmith had carried petitions and memorials to the fountain-head with
+his own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and Barnaby was to
+die. From the first, his mother had never left him, save at night; and,
+with her beside him, he was contented.
+
+"They call me silly, mother. They shall see--to-morrow."
+
+Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. "No reprieve, no reprieve! Nobody
+comes near us. There's only the night left now!" moaned Dennis. "Do you
+think they'll reprieve me in the night, brother? I've known reprieves
+come in the night afore now. Don't you think there's a good chance yet?
+Don't you? Say you do."
+
+"You ought to be the best instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping
+before him. "Ha, ha, ha! See the hangman when it comes home to him."
+
+The clock struck. Barnaby looked in his mother's face, and saw that the
+time had come. After a long embrace he rushed away, and they carried her
+away, insensible.
+
+"See the hangman when it comes home to him!" cried Hugh, as Dennis,
+still moaning, fell down in a fit. "Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we?
+A man can die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily,
+and fall asleep again."
+
+The time wore on. Five o'clock had struck--six--seven--and eight. They
+were to die at noon, and in the crowd without it was said they could
+tell the hangman, when he came out, by his being the shorter one, and
+that the man who was to suffer with him was named Hugh; and that it was
+Barnaby Rudge who would be hanged in Bloomsbury Square.
+
+At the first stroke of twelve the prison bell began to toll, and the
+three were brought forth into the yard together.
+
+Barnaby was the only one who had washed or trimmed himself that morning.
+He still wore the broken peacock's feathers in his hat; and all his
+usual scraps of finery were carefully disposed about his person.
+
+"What cheer, Barnaby?", cried Hugh. "Don't be downcast, lad. Leave that
+to _him_," he added, with a nod in the direction of Dennis, held up
+between two men.
+
+"Bless you!" cried Barnaby, "I'm not frightened, Hugh. I'm quite happy.
+Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see _me_ tremble?"
+
+"I'd say this," said Hugh, wringing Barnaby by the hand, and looking
+round at the officers and functionaries gathered in the yard, "that if I
+had ten lives to lose I'd lay them all down to save this one. This one
+that will be lost through mine!"
+
+"Not through you," said Barnaby mildly. "Don't say that. You were not to
+blame. You have always been very good to me. Hugh, we shall know what
+makes the stars shine _now_!"
+
+Hugh spoke no more, but moved onward in his place with a careless air,
+listening as he went to the service for the dead. As soon as he had
+passed the door, his miserable associate was carried out; and the crowd
+beheld the rest. Barnaby would have mounted the steps at the same time,
+but he was restrained, as he was to undergo the sentence elsewhere.
+
+It was only just when the cart was starting that the courier reached the
+jail with the reprieve. All night Gabriel Varden and his friends had
+been at work; they had gone to the young Prince of Wales, and even to
+the ante-chamber of the king himself. Successful, at last, in awakening
+an interest in his favour, they had an interview with the minister in
+his bed as late as eight o'clock that morning. The result of a searching
+inquiry was that, between eleven and twelve o'clock, a free pardon to
+Barnaby Rudge was made out and signed, and Gabriel Varden had the
+grateful task of bringing him home in triumph with an enthusiastic mob.
+
+"I needn't say," observed the locksmith, when his house in Clerkenwell
+was reached at last, and he and Barnaby were safe within, "that, except
+among ourselves, _I_ didn't want to make a triumph of it. But directly
+we got into the street, we were known, and the hub-bub began. Of the
+two, and after experience of both, I think I'd rather be taken out of my
+house by a crowd of enemies than escorted home by a mob of friends!"
+
+At last the crowd dispersed. And Barnaby stretched himself on the ground
+beside his mother's couch, and fell into a deep sleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Bleak House
+
+      "Bleak House," a story with a purpose, like most of Dickens's
+     works, was published when the author was forty years old. The
+     object of the story was to ventilate the monstrous injustice
+     wrought by delays in the old Court of Chancery, which defeated
+     all the purposes of a court of justice. Many of the
+     characters, who, though famous, are not essential to the
+     development of the story, were drawn from real life.
+     Turveydrop was suggested by George IV., and Inspector Bucket
+     was a friend of the author in the Metropolitan Police Force.
+     Harold Skimpole was identified with Leigh Hunt. Dickens
+     himself admitted the resemblance; but only in so far as none
+     of Skimpole's vices could be attributed to his prototype. The
+     original of Bleak House was a country mansion in
+     Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, though it is usually said to
+     be a summer residence of the novelist at Broadstairs.
+
+
+_I.--In Chancery_
+
+
+London. Implacable November weather. The Lord Chancellor sitting in
+Lincoln's Inn Hall. Fog everywhere, and at the very heart of the fog
+sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery. The case of
+Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on. No man alive knows what it means. It
+has passed into a joke. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in
+the profession.
+
+Mr. Kenge (of Kenge and Carboy, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn) first
+mentioned Jarndyce and Jarndyce to me, and told me that the costs
+already amounted to from sixty to seventy thousand pounds.
+
+My godmother, who brought me up, was just dead, and Mr. Kenge came to
+tell me that Mr. Jarndyce proposed, knowing my desolate position, that I
+should go to a first-rate school, where my education should be completed
+and my comfort secured. What did I say to this? What could I say but
+accept the proposal thankfully?
+
+I passed at this school six happy, quiet years, and then one day came a
+note from Kenge and Carboy, mentioning that their client, Mr. Jarndyce,
+being in the house, desired my services as an eligible companion to this
+young lady.
+
+So I said good-bye to the school and went to London, and was driven to
+Mr. Kenge's office. He was not altered, but he was surprised to see how
+altered I was, and appeared quite pleased.
+
+"As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is now in
+the Chancellor's private room, Miss Summerson," he said, "we thought it
+well that you should be in attendance also."
+
+Mr. Kenge gave me his arm, and we went out of his office and into the
+court, and then into a comfortable sort of room where a young lady and a
+young gentleman were standing talking.
+
+They looked up when I came in, and I saw in the young lady a beautiful
+girl, with rich golden hair, and a bright, innocent, trusting face.
+
+"Miss Ada," said Mr. Kenge, "this is Miss Summerson."
+
+She came to meet me with a smile of welcome and her hand extended, but
+seemed to change her mind in a moment, and kissed me.
+
+The young gentleman was her distant cousin, she told me, and his name
+Richard Carstone. He was a handsome youth, and after she had called him
+up to where we sat, he stood by us, talking gaily, like a light-hearted
+boy. He was very young, not more than nineteen then, but nearly two
+years older than she was. They were both orphans, and had never met
+before that day. Our all three coming together for the first time in
+such an unusual place was a thing to talk about, and we talked about it.
+
+Presently we heard a bustle, and Mr. Kenge said that the court had
+risen, and soon after we all followed him into the next room. There was
+the Lord Chancellor sitting in an armchair at the table, and his manner
+was both courtly and kind.
+
+"Miss Clare," said his lordship. "Miss Ada Clare?" Mr. Kenge presented
+her.
+
+"The Jarndyce in question," said the Lord Chancellor, turning over
+papers, "is Jarndyce of Bleak House--a dreary name."
+
+"But not a dreary place, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
+
+"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House is not married?" said his lordship.
+
+"He is not, my lord," said Mr. Kenge.
+
+"Young Mr. Richard Carstone is present?" said the Lord Chancellor.
+
+Richard bowed and stepped forward.
+
+"Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House, my lord," Mr. Kenge observed, "if I may
+venture to remind your lordship, provides a suitable companion for----"
+
+"For Mr. Richard Carstone!" I thought I heard his lordship say in a low
+voice.
+
+"For Miss Ada Clare. This is the young lady, Miss Esther Summerson."
+
+"Miss Summerson is not related to any party in the cause, I think."
+
+"No, my lord."
+
+"Very well," said his lordship, after taking Miss Ada aside and asking
+her if she thought she would be happy at Bleak House. "I shall make the
+order. Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House has chosen, so far as I may judge, a
+very good companion for the young lady, and the arrangement seems the
+best of which the circumstances admit."
+
+He dismissed us pleasantly and we all went out. As we stood for a
+minute, waiting for Mr. Kenge, a curious little old woman, Miss Flite,
+in a squeezed bonnet, and carrying a reticule, came curtsying and
+smiling up to us, with an air of great ceremony.
+
+"Oh!" said she, "The wards in Jarndyce. Very happy, I am sure, to have
+the honour. It is a good omen for youth, and hope, and beauty when they
+find themselves in this place, and don't know what's to come of it."
+
+"Mad!" whispered Richard, not thinking she could hear him.
+
+"Right! Mad, young gentleman," she returned quickly. "I was a ward
+myself. I was not mad at that time. I had youth and hope; I believe
+beauty. It matters very little now. Neither of the three served, or
+saved me. I have the honour to attend court regularly. I expect a
+judgment. On the Day of Judgment. I have discovered that the sixth seal
+mentioned in the Revelations is the great seal. Pray accept my
+blessing."
+
+Mr. Kenge coming up, the poor old lady went on. "I shall confer estates
+on both. Shortly. On the Day of Judgment. This is a good omen for you.
+Accept my blessing."
+
+We left her at the bottom of the stairs. She was still saying, with a
+curtsy, and a smile between every little sentence, "Youth. And hope. And
+beauty. And Chancery."
+
+The morning after, walking out early, we met the old lady again, smiling
+and saying in her air of patronage, "The wards in Jarndyce! Ve-ry happy,
+I am sure! Pray come and see my lodgings. It will be a good omen for me.
+Youth, and hope, and beauty, are very seldom there."
+
+She took my hand and beckoned Richard and Ada to come too, and in a few
+moments she was at home.
+
+She had stopped at a shop over which was written, "Krook, Rag and Bottle
+Warehouse." Inside was an old man in spectacles and a hair cap, and
+entering the shop the little old lady presented him to us.
+
+"My landlord, Krook," she said. "He is called among the neighbours the
+Lord Chancellor. His shop is called the Court of Chancery."
+
+She lived at the top of the house in a room from which she had a glimpse
+of the roof of Lincoln's Inn Hall, and this seemed to be her principal
+inducement for living there.
+
+
+_II.--Bleak House_
+
+
+We drove down to Bleak House, in Hertfordshire, next day, and all three
+of us were anxious and nervous when the night closed in, and the driver,
+pointing to a light sparkling on the top of a hill, cried, "That's Bleak
+House!"
+
+"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. Rick, if I had a hand
+to spare at present I would give it you!"
+
+The gentleman who said these words in a clear, hospitable voice, kissed
+us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy
+little room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.
+
+"Now, Rick!" said he, "I have a hand at liberty. A word in earnest is as
+good as a speech. I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm
+yourself!"
+
+While he spoke I glanced at his face. It was a handsome face, full of
+change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron grey. I took him to
+be nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust.
+
+So this was our coming to Bleak House.
+
+The very next morning I was installed as housekeeper and presented with
+two bunches of keys--a large bunch for the housekeeping and a little
+bunch for the cellars. I could not help trembling when I met Mr.
+Jarndyce, for I knew it was he who had done everything for me since my
+godmother's death.
+
+"Nonsense!" he said. "I hear of a good little orphan girl without a
+protector, and I take it into my head to be that protector. She grows
+up, and more than justifies my good opinion, and I remain her guardian
+and her friend. What is there in all this?"
+
+He soon began to talk to me confidentially as if I had been in the habit
+of conversing with him every morning for I don't know how long.
+
+"Of course, Esther," he said, "you don't understand this Chancery
+business?"
+
+I shook my head.
+
+"I don't know who does," he returned. "The lawyers have twisted it into
+such a state of bedevilment that the original merits of the case have
+long disappeared. Its about a will, and the trusts under a will--or it
+was once. It's about nothing but costs now. It was about a will when it
+was about anything. A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great
+fortune and made a great will. In the question how the trusts under that
+will are to be administered, the fortune left by the will is squandered
+away; the legatees under the will are reduced to such a miserable
+condition that they would be sufficiently punished if they had committed
+an enormous crime in having money left them, and the will itself is made
+a dead letter. All through the deplorable cause everybody must have
+copies, over and over again, of everything that has accumulated about it
+in the way of cartloads of papers, and must go down the middle and up
+again, through such an infernal country-dance of costs and fees and
+nonsense and corruption as was never dreamed of in the wildest visions
+of a witch's sabbath. And we can't get out of the suit on any terms, for
+we are made parties to it, and _must be_ parties to it, whether we like
+it or not. But it won't do to think of it! Thinking of it drove my
+great-uncle, poor Tom Jarndyce, to blow his brains out."
+
+"I hope sir--" said I.
+
+"I think you had better call me Guardian, my dear."
+
+"I hope, Guardian," said I, giving the housekeeping keys the least shake
+in the world, "that you may not be trusting too much to my discretion. I
+am not clever, and that's the truth."
+
+"You are clever enough to be the good little woman of our lives here, my
+dear," he returned playfully; "the little old woman of the rhyme, who
+sweeps the cobwebs of the sky, and you will sweep them out of _our_ sky
+in the course of your housekeeping, Esther."
+
+This was the beginning of my being called Old Woman, and Mother Hubbard,
+and Dame Durden, and so many names of that sort, that my own soon became
+quite lost.
+
+One of the things I noticed from the first about my guardian was that,
+though he was always doing a thousand acts of kindness, he could not
+bear any acknowledgments.
+
+We had somehow got to see more of Miss Flite on our visits to London:
+for the Lord Chancellor always had to be consulted before Richard could
+settle in any profession, and as Richard first wanted to be a doctor and
+then tired of that in favour of the army, there were several
+consultations. I remember one visit because it was the first time we met
+Mr. Woodcourt.
+
+My guardian and Ada and I heard of Miss Flite having been ill, and when
+we called we found a medical gentleman attending her in her garret in
+Lincoln's Inn.
+
+Miss Flite dropped a general curtsy.
+
+"Honoured, indeed," she said, "by another visit from the wards in
+Jarndyce! Very happy to receive Jarndyce of Bleak House beneath my
+humble roof!"
+
+"Has she been very ill?" asked Mr. Jarndyce in a whisper of the doctor.
+
+"Oh, decidedly unwell!" she answered confidentially. "Not pain, you
+know--trouble. Only Mr. Woodcourt knows how much. My physician, Mr.
+Woodcourt"--with great stateliness--"The wards in Jarndyce; Jarndyce of
+Bleak House. The kindest physician in the college," she whispered to me.
+"I expect a judgment. On the Day of Judgment. And shall then confer
+estates."
+
+"She will be as well, in a day or two," said Mr. Woodcourt, with an
+observant smile, "as she ever will be. Have you heard of her good
+fortune?"
+
+"Most extraordinary!" said Miss Flite. "Every Saturday Kenge and Carboy
+place a paper of shillings in my hand. Always the same number. One for
+every day in the week. _I_ think that the Lord Chancellor forwards them.
+Until the judgment I expect is given."
+
+My guardian was contemplating Miss Flite's birds, and I had no need to
+look beyond him.
+
+
+_III.--I Am Made Happy_
+
+
+I sometimes thought that Mr. Woodcourt loved me, and that, if he had
+been richer, he would perhaps have told me that he loved me before he
+went away. I had thought sometimes that if he had done so I should have
+been glad. As it was, he went to the East Indies, and later we read in
+the papers of a great shipwreck, that Allan Woodcourt had worked like a
+hero to save the drowning, and succour the survivors.
+
+I had been ill when my dear guardian asked me one day if I would care to
+read something he had written, and I said "Yes." There was estrangement
+at that time between Richard and Mr. Jarndyce, for the unhappy boy had
+taken it into his head that the case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce would yet
+be settled, and would bring him fortune, and this kept him from devoting
+himself seriously to any profession. Of course, he and my darling Ada
+had fallen in love, and my guardian insisting on their waiting till
+Richard was earning some income before any engagement could be
+recognised, increased the estrangement. I knew, to my distress, that
+Richard suspected my guardian of having a conflicting claim in the
+horrible lawsuit and this made him think unjustly of Mr. Jarndyce.
+
+I read the letter. It was so impressive in its love for me, and in the
+unselfish caution it gave me, that my eyes were too often blinded to
+read much at a time. But I read it through three times before I laid it
+down. It asked me would I be the mistress of Bleak House. It was not a
+love-letter, though it expressed so much love, but was written just as
+he would at any time have spoken to me.
+
+I felt that to devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly
+for all he had done for me. Still I cried very much; not only in the
+fulness of my heart after reading the letter, but as if something for
+which there was no name or distinct idea were lost to me. I was very
+happy, very thankful, very hopeful, but I cried very much.
+
+On entering the breakfast-room next morning I found my guardian just as
+usual; quite as frank, as open, as free. I thought he might speak to me
+about the letter, but he never did.
+
+At the end of a week I went to him and said, rather hesitating and
+trembling, "Guardian, when would you like to have the answer to the
+letter?"
+
+"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.
+
+"I think it's ready," said I, "and I have brought it myself."
+
+I put my two arms around his neck and kissed him, and he said was this
+the mistress of Bleak House? And I said "Yes," and it made no difference
+presently, and I said nothing to my pet, Ada, about it.
+
+It was a few days after this, when Mr. Vholes, the attorney whom Richard
+employed to watch his interests, called at Bleak House, and told us that
+his client was very embarrassed financially, and so thought of throwing
+up his commission in the army.
+
+To avert this I went down to Deal and found Richard alone in the
+barracks. He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes,
+tin cases, books, boots, and brushes strewn all about the floor. So worn
+and haggard he looked, even in the fulness of his handsome youth!
+
+My mission was quite fruitless.
+
+"No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid. The first is John Jarndyce. The
+second, you know what. Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it
+now, and can't be sane. But it is no such thing; it is the one object I
+have to pursue."
+
+He went on to tell me that it was impossible to remain a soldier; that,
+apart from debts and duns, he took no interest in his employment and was
+not fit for it. He showed me papers to prove that his retirement was
+arranged. Knowing I had done no good by coming down, I prepared to
+return to London on the morrow.
+
+There was some excitement in the town by reason of the arrival of a big
+Indiaman, and, as it happened, amongst those who came on shore from the
+ship was Mr. Allan Woodcourt. I met him in the hotel where I was
+staying, and he seemed quite pleased to see me. He was glad to meet
+Richard again, too, and promised, on my asking him, to befriend Richard
+in London.
+
+
+_IV.--End of Jarndyce and Jarndyce_
+
+
+Richard always declared that it was Ada he meant to see righted, no less
+than himself, and his anxiety on that point so impressed Mr. Woodcourt
+that he told me about it. It revived a fear I had had before, that my
+dear girl's little property might be absorbed by Mr. Vholes, and that
+Richard's justification to himself would be this.
+
+So I went up to London to see Richard, who now lived in Symond's Inn,
+and my darling Ada went with me. He was poring over a table covered with
+dusty papers, but he received us very affectionately.
+
+I noticed, as he passed his two hands over his head, how sunken and how
+large his eyes appeared, and how dry his lips were. He spoke of the case
+half-hopefully, half-despondently, "Either the suit must be ended,
+Esther, or the suitor. But it shall be the suit--the suit." Then he took
+a few turns up and down, and sank upon the sofa. "I get so tired," he
+said gloomily. "It is such weary, weary work."
+
+"Esther, dear," Ada said, very quietly, "I am not going home again.
+Never any more. I am going to stay with my dear husband. We have been
+married above two months. Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall
+never go home any more."
+
+I often came to Richard and his wife, and I often met Mr. Woodcourt
+there. Richard still suspected my guardian, and refused to see him, and
+when I said this was so unreasonable, my guardian only said, "What shall
+we find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce? Unreason and injustice from
+beginning to end, if it ever has an end. How should poor Rick, always
+hovering near it, pluck reason out of it?"
+
+It was some months after this when Mr. Woodcourt asked me to be his
+wife, and I had to tell him I was not free. But I had to tell him that I
+could never forget how proud and glad I was at having been beloved by
+him.
+
+He took my hand and kissed it, and was like himself again.
+
+All this time my guardian had never referred to his letter or my answer,
+so I said to him next morning I would be the mistress of Bleak House
+whenever he pleased.
+
+"Next month?" my guardian said gaily.
+
+"Next month, dear guardian."
+
+At the end of the month my guardian went away to Yorkshire, and asked me
+to follow him. I was very much surprised, and when the journey was over
+my guardian explained that he had asked me to come down to see a house
+he had bought for Mr. Woodcourt, with whom he was always very pleased.
+
+It was a beautiful summer morning when we went out to look at the house,
+and there over the porch was written. "Bleak House." He led me to a
+seat, and sitting down beside me, said:
+
+"When I wrote you the letter to which you brought the answer"--my
+guardian smiled as he referred to it--"I had my own happiness too much
+in view; but I had yours, too. Hear me, my love, but do not speak. When
+Woodcourt came home, I saw that there was other happiness for you; I saw
+with whom you would be happier. Well, I have long been in Allan
+Woodcourt's confidence, although he was not, until yesterday, in mine.
+One more last word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear, he spoke
+with my knowledge and consent. But I gave him no encouragement; not I,
+for these surprises were my great reward, and I was too miserly to part
+with a scrap of it. He was to come and tell me all that passed, and he
+did. I have no more to say. This is Bleak House. This day I give this
+house its little mistress, and before God it is the brightest day in all
+my life."
+
+He rose, and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My husband--I
+have called him by that name full seven happy years now--stood at my
+side.
+
+"Allan," said my guardian, "take from me the best wife that ever man
+had. What more can I say for you than that I know you deserve her?"
+
+He kissed me once again. And now the tears were in his eyes as he said,
+more softly, "Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there is a kind
+of parting in this too. I know that my mistake has caused you some
+distress. Forgive your old guardian in restoring him to his old place in
+your affections. Allan, take my dear."
+
+We all three went home together next day. We had an intimation from Mr.
+Kenge that the case would come on at Westminster in two days, and that a
+certain will had been found which might end the suit in Richard's
+favour.
+
+Allan took me down to Westminster, and when we came to Westminster Hall
+we found that the Court of Chancery was full, and that something unusual
+had occurred. We asked a gentleman by us if he knew what case was on. He
+told us Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and that, as well as he could make out,
+it was over. Over for the day? "No," he said; "over for good."
+
+In a few minutes a crowd came streaming out, and we saw Mr. Kenge. He
+told us that Jarndyce and Jarndyce was a monument of Chancery practice,
+and--in a good many words--that the case was over because the whole
+estate was found to have been absorbed in costs.
+
+We hurried away, first to my guardian, and then to Ada and Richard.
+
+Richard was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed when I went in. When
+he opened them, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn he was. But he
+spoke cheerfully, and said how glad he was to think of our intended
+marriage.
+
+In the evening my guardian came in and laid his hand softly on
+Richard's.
+
+"Oh, sir," said Richard, "you are a good man, a good man!" and burst
+into tears.
+
+My guardian sat down beside him, keeping his hand on Richard's.
+
+"My dear Rick," he said, "the clouds have cleared away, and it is bright
+now. We can see now. And how are you, my dear boy?"
+
+"I am very weak, sir, but I hope I shall be stronger. I have to begin
+the world."
+
+He sought to raise himself a little.
+
+"Ada, my darling!" Allan raised him, so that she could hold him on her
+bosom. "I have done you many wrongs, my own. I have married you to
+poverty and trouble, I have scattered your means to the winds. You will
+forgive me all this, my Ada, before I begin the world?"
+
+A smile lit up his face as she bent to kiss him. He slowly laid his face
+upon her bosom, drew his arms closer round her neck, and with one
+parting sob began the world. Not this--oh, not this! The world that sets
+this right.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+David Copperfield
+
+
+      "David Copperfield"--published in 1849-50--will always be
+     acclaimed by many as the best of all Dickens's books. It was
+     its author's favourite, and its universal and lasting
+     popularity is entirely deserved. "David Copperfield" is
+     especially remarkable for the autobiographical element, not
+     only in the wretched days of childhood at the wine merchant's,
+     but in the shorthand-reporting in the House of Commons.
+     Dickens never forgot his early degradation, as it seemed to
+     him, in the blacking warehouse at Hungerford Stairs, or quite
+     forgave those who sent him to an occupation he so loathed.
+     Much of "David Copperfield" is familiar in our mouths as
+     household words, and Swinburne has maintained that Micawber
+     ranks with Dick Swiveller as one of the greatest characters in
+     all Dickens's novels. "Copperfield" comes midway in the great
+     list of works by Charles Dickens.
+
+
+_I.--My Early Childhood_
+
+
+I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve
+o'clock at night, at Blunderstone, in Suffolk. I was a posthumous child.
+My father's eyes had been closed upon the light of this world six months
+when mine opened upon it. Miss Betsey Trotwood, an aunt of my father's,
+and consequently a great-aunt of mine, arrived on the afternoon of the
+day I was born, and explained to my mother (who was very much afraid of
+her) that she meant to provide for her child, which was to be a girl.
+
+My aunt said never a word when she learnt that it was a boy, and not a
+girl, but took her bonnet by the strings in the manner of a sling, aimed
+a blow at the doctor's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, and
+never came back. She vanished like a discontented fairy.
+
+The first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, as I look
+far back into the blank of my infancy, are my mother, with her pretty
+air and youthful shape, and Peggotty, my old nurse, with no shape at
+all, and with cheeks and arms so red and hard that I wondered the birds
+didn't peck her in preference to apples.
+
+I remember a few years later, a gentleman with beautiful black hair and
+whiskers walking home from church on Sunday with us; and, somehow, I
+didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand
+should touch my mother's in touching me--which it did.
+
+It must have been about this time that, waking up from an uncomfortable
+doze one night, I found Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both
+talking.
+
+"Not such a one as this Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have liked," said
+Peggotty. "That I say, and that I swear!"
+
+"Good heavens!" cried my mother. "You'll drive me mad! How can you have
+the heart to say such bitter things to me, when you are well aware that
+out of this place I haven't a single friend to turn to?" But the
+following Sunday I saw the gentleman with the black whiskers again, and
+he walked home from church with us, and gradually I became used to
+seeing him and knowing him as Mr. Murdstone. I liked him no better than
+at first, and had the same uneasy jealousy of him.
+
+It was on my return from a visit to Yarmouth, where I went with Peggotty
+to spend a fortnight at her brother's, that I found my mother married to
+Mr. Murdstone. They were sitting by the fire in the best parlour when I
+came in.
+
+I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went and kissed my
+mother. I could not look at her, I could not look at him; I knew quite
+well he was looking at us both. As soon as I could creep away, I crept
+upstairs, and cried myself to sleep.
+
+A word of encouragement, of pity for my childish ignorance, of welcome
+home, of reassurance to me that it _was_ home, might have made me
+dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead of in my hypocritical
+outside, and might have made me respect instead of hating him.
+
+Miss Murdstone arrived next day; she was dark, like her brother, and
+greatly resembled him in face and voice. Firmness was the grand quality
+on which both of them took their stand.
+
+I soon fell into disgrace over my lessons. I never could do them with my
+mother satisfactorily with the Murdstones sitting by; their influence
+upon me was like the fascination of two snakes on a wretched young bird.
+
+One dreadful morning, when the lessons had turned out even more badly
+than usual, Mr. Murdstone seized hold of me and twisted my head under
+his arm preparatory to beating me with a cane. At the first stroke I
+caught the hand with which he held me, in my mouth, between my teeth,
+and bit it through. He beat me then as if he would have beaten me to
+death. And when he had gone, I was kept a close prisoner in my room, and
+was not allowed to see my mother, and was only permitted to walk in the
+garden for half an hour every day. Miss Murdstone acted as gaoler, and
+after five days of this confinement, she told me I was to be sent away
+to school--to Salem House School, Blackheath.
+
+I saw my mother before I left. They had persuaded her I was a wicked
+fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going.
+
+
+_II.--I Begin Life on My own Account_
+
+
+I was doing my second term at school when I was told that my mother was
+dead, and that I was to go home to the funeral.
+
+I never returned to Salem House. Mr. Murdstone and his sister left me to
+myself, and I could see that Mr. Murdstone liked me less than ever. At
+odd times I speculated on the possibility of not being taught any more
+or cared for any more, and growing up to be a shabby, moody man,
+lounging an idle life away about the village.
+
+Peggotty was under notice to quit, and thought of going to live with her
+brother at Yarmouth; but as it turned out, she didn't do this, but
+married the old carrier Barkis instead.
+
+"Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive, and have this house
+over my head," said Peggotty to me on the day she was married, "you
+shall find it as if I expected you here directly. I shall keep it every
+day, as I used to keep your old little room, my darling."
+
+The solitary condition I now fell into for some weeks was ended one day
+by Mr. Murdstone telling me that I was to be put into the business of
+Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+"You will earn enough to provide for your eating and drinking, and
+pocket money," said Mr. Murdstone. "Your lodging, which I have arranged
+for, will be paid by me. So will your washing, and your clothes will be
+looked after for you, too. You are now going to London, David, to begin
+the world on your own account."
+
+"In short, you are provided for," observed his sister, "and will please
+to do your duty."
+
+So I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hind in the service of
+Murdstone and Grinby.
+
+Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the waterside, down in
+Blackfriars, and an important branch of their trade was the supply of
+wines and spirits to certain packet ships. A great many empty bottles
+were one of the consequences of this traffic, and a certain number of
+men and boys, of whom I was one, were employed to rinse and wash them.
+When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full
+ones, or corks to be fitted to them, or finished bottles to be packed in
+casks.
+
+There were three or four boys, counting me. Mick Walker was the name of
+the oldest; he wore a ragged apron, and a paper cap. The next boy was
+introduced to me under the extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes, which
+had been bestowed upon him on account of his complexion, which was pale,
+or mealy.
+
+No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into this
+companionship, and compared these associates with those of my happier
+childhood, with the boys at Salem House. Often in the early morning,
+when I was alone, I mingled my tears with the water in which I was
+washing the bottles, and sobbed as if there were a flaw in my breast,
+and it were in danger of bursting.
+
+My salary was six or seven shillings a week--I think it was six at
+first, and seven afterwards--and I had to support myself on that money
+all the week. My breakfast was a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk,
+and I kept another small loaf and a modicum of cheese to make my supper
+on at night.
+
+I was so young and childish, and so little qualified to undertake the
+whole charge of my existence, that often of a morning I could not resist
+the stale pastry put out for sale at half price at the pastry-cooks'
+doors, and spent on that the money I should have kept for my dinner. On
+those days I either went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice
+of pudding.
+
+I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into the
+bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter to moisten
+what I had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me.
+
+I know I do not exaggerate the scantiness of my resources or the
+difficulties of my life. I know that if a shilling were given me at any
+time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know that I worked from morning
+until night, a shabby child, and that I lounged about the streets,
+insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but for the mercy
+of God, I might easily have been, for any care that was taken of me, a
+little robber or a little vagabond.
+
+Arrangements had been made by Mr. Murdstone for my lodging with Mr.
+Micawber--who took orders on commission for Murdstone and Grinby--and
+Mr. Micawber himself escorted me to his house in Windsor Terrace, City
+Road.
+
+Mr. Micawber was a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout,
+with no more hair upon his head than there is upon an egg, and with a
+very extensive face. His clothes were shabby, but he wore an imposing
+shirt-collar. He carried a jaunty sort of a stick, with a large pair of
+rusty tassels to it; and an eyeglass hung outside his coat--for
+ornament, I afterwards found, as he very seldom looked through it, and
+couldn't see anything when he did.
+
+Arrived at his house in Windsor Terrace--which, I noticed, was shabby,
+like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could--he
+presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all young.
+
+"I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber, as she showed me my room at the
+top of the house at the back, "before I was married that I should ever
+find it necessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in
+difficulties, all considerations of private feeling must give way."
+
+I said, "Yes, ma'am."
+
+"Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,"
+said Mrs. Micawber, "and whether it is possible to bring him through
+them I don't know. If Mr. Micawber's creditors _will not_ give him time,
+they must take the consequences."
+
+In my forlorn state, I soon became quite attached to this family, and
+when Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he was arrested
+and carried to the King's Bench Prison in the Borough, and Mrs. Micawber
+shortly afterwards followed him, I hired a little room in the
+neighbourhood of that institution.
+
+Mr. Micawber was in due time released under the Insolvent Debtors' Act,
+and it was decided that he should go down to Plymouth, where Mrs.
+Micawber held that her family had influence.
+
+My own mind was now made up. I had resolved to run away--to go by some
+means or other down into the country, to the only relation I had in the
+world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. I knew from Peggotty
+that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at
+Hythe, Sandgate, or Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men,
+however, informing me on my asking him about these places that they were
+all close together, I deemed this enough for my object; and after seeing
+the Micawbers off at the coach office, I set off.
+
+
+_III.--My Aunt Provides for Me_
+
+
+It was on the sixth day of my flight that I reached the wide downs near
+Dover and set foot in the town.
+
+I had walked every step of the way, sleeping under haystacks at night.
+Fortunately, it was summer weather, for I was obliged to part with coat
+and waistcoat to buy food. My shoes were in a woeful condition, and my
+hat--which had served me for a nightcap, too--was so crushed and bent
+that no old battered saucepan on the dunghill need have been ashamed to
+vie with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and
+the Kentish soil on which I had slept, might have frightened the birds
+from my aunt's garden as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb
+or brush since I left London. In this plight I waited to introduce
+myself to my formidable aunt.
+
+As I stood there, a lady came out of the house, with a handkerchief over
+her cap, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and carrying a great
+knife. I was sure she must be Miss Betsey from her walk, for my mother
+had often described the way my aunt came to the house when I was born.
+
+"Go away!" said Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Go along! No boys here!"
+
+I watched her as she marched to a corner of the garden, and then, in
+desperation, I went softly and stood beside her.
+
+"If you please, ma'am--if you please, aunt, I am your nephew."
+
+"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden path.
+
+"I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, where you came
+when I was born. I have been very unhappy since my mother died. I have
+been taught nothing and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away
+to you, and I have walked all the way, and have never slept in bed since
+I began the journey."
+
+Here my self-support gave way all at once, and I broke into a passion of
+crying.
+
+Thereupon, my aunt got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me
+into the parlour.
+
+The first thing my aunt did was to pour the contents of several bottles
+down my throat. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I
+am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. Then
+she put me on the sofa, and, acting on the advice of a pleasant-looking,
+grey-headed gentleman, whom she called "Mr. Dick," heated a bath for me.
+After that I was enrobed in a shirt and trousers belonging to Mr. Dick,
+tied up in two or three great shawls, and fell asleep.
+
+That was the beginning of my aunt's adoption of me. She wrote to Mr.
+Murdstone, and he and his sister arrived a few days later, and were
+routed by my aunt.
+
+Mr. Murdstone said, finally, he would only take me back unconditionally,
+and that if I did not return there and then his doors would be shut
+against me henceforth.
+
+"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go, David?"
+
+I answered "No," and entreated her not to let me go. I begged and prayed
+my aunt to befriend and protect me, for my father's sake.
+
+"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"
+
+Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, "Have him
+measured for a suit of clothes directly!"
+
+"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "give me your hand, for your commonsense is
+invaluable." She pulled me towards her, and said to Mr. Murdstone, "You
+can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy!"
+
+When they had gone my aunt announced that Mr. Dick would be joint
+guardian of me, with herself, and that I should be called Trotwood
+Copperfield.
+
+Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about
+me.
+
+My aunt sent me to school at Canterbury, and, there being no room at the
+school for boarders, settled that I should board with her old lawyer,
+Mr. Wickfield.
+
+My aunt was as happy as I was in this arrangement. For Mr. Wickfield's
+house was quiet and still; and Mr. Wickfield's little housekeeper was
+his only daughter, Agnes, a child of about my own age, whose face, so
+bright and happy, was the child likeness of a woman's portrait that was
+on the staircase. There was a tranquility about the house, and about
+Agnes, a good, calm spirit, that I have never forgotten and never shall.
+
+The school I now went to was better in every way than Salem House. It
+seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among any companions of
+my own age, except Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt very
+strange at first. Whatever I had learnt had so slipped away from me that
+when I was examined about what I knew, I knew nothing, and was put in
+the lowest form of the school.
+
+But I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to school the
+next day, and a good deal the better the day after, and so shook it off,
+by degrees, that in less than a fortnight I was quite at home, and happy
+among my new companions.
+
+"Trot," said my aunt, when she left me at Mr. Wickfield's, "be a credit
+to yourself, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you! Never be mean
+in anything; never be false; never be cruel. Avoid these vices, Trot,
+and I can always be hopeful of you. And now the pony's at the door, and
+I am off!"
+
+She embraced me hastily, and went out of the house, shutting the door
+after her. When I looked into the street I noticed how dejectedly she
+got into the chaise, and that she drove away without looking up.
+
+
+_IV.--Uriah Heep and Mr. Micawber_
+
+
+I first saw Uriah Heep on the day my aunt introduced me to Mr.
+Wickfield's house. He was then a red-haired youth of fifteen, but
+looking much older, whose hair was cropped as close as the closest
+stubble; who had hardly any eyebrows and no eyelashes, and eyes of a
+red-brown. He was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black,
+with a white wisp of a neck-cloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a
+long, lank, skeleton hand.
+
+Heep was Mr. Wickfield's clerk, and I often saw him of an evening in the
+little round office reading, and from time to time strayed in to talk to
+him.
+
+He told me, one night, he was not doing office work, but was improving
+his legal knowledge.
+
+"I suppose you are quite a great lawyer?" I said, after looking at him
+for some time.
+
+"Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm a very 'umble person.
+I am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going, let the other be
+where he may. My mother is likewise a very 'umble person. We live in a
+'umble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thankful for. My
+father's former calling was 'umble; he was a sexton."
+
+"What is he now?" I asked.
+
+"He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah
+Heep. "But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be
+thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield!"
+
+I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long.
+
+"I have been with him going on four years, Master Copperfield," said
+Uriah, "since a year after my father's death. How much I have to be
+thankful for in that! How much have I to be thankful for in Mr.
+Wickfield's kind intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise
+not lay within the 'umble means of mother and self!"
+
+"Perhaps, when you're a regular lawyer, you'll be a partner in Mr.
+Wickfield's business, one of these days," I said to make myself
+agreeable; "and it will be Wickfield and Heep or Heep late Wickfield."
+
+"Oh, no, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking his head, "I am
+much too 'umble for that!"
+
+It must have been five or six years later, when I was in London, that
+Uriah recalled my prophecy to me.
+
+Agnes had noticed as I had noticed, long before this, a gradual
+alteration in Mr. Wickfield. He sat longer and longer over his wine, and
+it was at such times, when his hands trembled, and his speech was not
+plain, that Uriah was most certain to want him on some business.
+
+So it came about that Agnes had to tell me that Uriah had made himself
+indispensable to her father.
+
+"He is subtle and watchful," she said. "He has mastered papa's
+weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until papa is
+afraid of him."
+
+If I was indignant to hear that Uriah had wormed himself into such
+promotion, I restrained my feelings when we met, for Agnes had bidden me
+not to repel him, for her father's sake, and for her own.
+
+"What a prophet you have shown yourself, Master Copperfield!" said
+Uriah, reminding me of my early words. "You may not recollect it; but
+when a person is 'umble, a person treasures such things up. But the
+'umblest persons, Master Copperfield, may be instruments of good. I am
+glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and
+that I may be more so. Oh, what a worthy man he is; but how imprudent he
+has been!"
+
+When the rascal went on to tell me confidentially that he "loved the
+ground his Agnes walked on," and that he thought she might come to be
+kind to him, knowing his usefulness to her father, I had a delirious
+idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire and running him
+through with it. However, I thought of Agnes, and could say nothing. In
+the end all the evil machinations of Uriah Heep were frustrated by my
+old friend Mr. Micawber, who, visiting Canterbury on the chance of
+something suitable turning up, and meeting me in Heep's company, was
+subsequently engaged by Heep as a clerk at twenty-two and sixpence per
+week.
+
+It was only after Micawber had found that Uriah Heep had forged Mr.
+Wickfield's name to various documents, and had fraudulently speculated
+with moneys entrusted by my aunt, amongst others, to his partner, that
+he turned upon him and denounced him, and accomplished what he called
+"the final pulverisation of Keep."
+
+Mr. Micawber being once more "in pecuniary shackles," my aunt, so
+grateful, as we all were, for the services he had rendered, suggested
+emigration to Australia to him; he at once responded to the idea.
+
+"The climate, I believe, is healthy," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then the
+question arises: Now, _are_ the circumstances of the country such that a
+man of Mr. Micawber's abilities would have a fair chance of rising?--I
+will not say, at present, to be governor or anything of that sort; but
+would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to develop
+themselves? If so, it is evident to me that Australia is the legitimate
+sphere of action for Mr. Micawber."
+
+"I entertain the conviction," said Mr. Micawber, "that it is, under
+existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself and family;
+and that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up on that
+shore."
+
+But the defeat of Heep and Micawber's departure belong to the days of my
+manhood. Let me look back at intervening years.
+
+
+_V.--I Achieve Manhood_
+
+
+My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
+unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth!
+
+Time has stolen on unobserved, and _I_ am the head boy now in the
+school, and look down on the line of boys below me with a condescending
+interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself when I
+first came here. That little fellow seems to be no part of me; I
+remember him as something left behind upon the road of life, and almost
+think of him as of someone else.
+
+And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where is
+she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture, a
+child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet
+sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend--the
+better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good,
+self-denying influence--is quite a woman.
+
+It is time for me to have a profession, and my aunt proposes that I
+should be a proctor in Doctors' Commons. I learn that the proctors are a
+sort of solicitors, and that the Doctors' Commons is a faded court held
+near St. Paul's Churchyard, where people's marriages and wills are
+disposed of and disputes about ships and boats are settled.
+
+So I am articled, and later, when my aunt has lost her money, through no
+fault of her own, but through the rascality of Uriah Heep, and I seek
+Mr. Spenlow to know if it is possible for my articles to be cancelled,
+it is, I am assured, Mr. Jorkins who is inexorable.
+
+"If it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered, if I had not a
+partner--Mr. Jorkins," says Mr. Spenlow. "But I know my partner,
+Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is _not_ a man to respond to a proposition of
+this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to move from the
+beaten track."
+
+The years pass.
+
+I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the dignity of
+twenty-one. Let me think what I have achieved.
+
+Determined to do something to bring in money, I have mastered the savage
+mystery of shorthand, and make a respectable income by reporting the
+debates in Parliament for a morning newspaper. Night after night I
+record predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never
+fulfilled, explanations that are only meant to mystify.
+
+I have come out in another way. I have taken, with fear and trembling,
+to authorship. I wrote a little something in secret, and sent it to a
+magazine, and it was published. Since then I have taken heart to write a
+good many trifling pieces.
+
+My record is nearly finished.
+
+Peggotty, a widow, is with my aunt, and Mr. Dick is in the room.
+
+"Goodness me!" said my aunt, "who's this you're bringing home?"
+
+"Agnes," said I.
+
+We were to be married within a fortnight. It was not till I had told
+Agnes of my love that I learnt from her, as she laid her gentle hands
+upon my shoulders and looked calmly in my face, that she had loved me
+all my life.
+
+Let me look back once more, for the last time, before I close these
+leaves.
+
+I have advanced in fame and fortune. I have been married ten years, and
+I see my children playing in the room.
+
+Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of fourscore years
+and more, but upright yet, and godmother to a real, living Betsey
+Trotwood. Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse,
+likewise in spectacles. A newspaper from Australia tells me that Mr.
+Micawber is now a magistrate and a rising townsman at Port Middlebay.
+
+One face is above all these and beyond them all. I turn my head and see
+it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me. So may thy face be by me,
+Agnes, when I close my life; and when realities are melting from me, may
+I still find thee near me, pointing upward!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Dombey and Son
+
+
+      The publication of "Dombey and Son" began in October, 1846,
+     and the story was completed in twenty monthly parts at one
+     shilling each, the last number being issued in April, 1848.
+     Its success was striking and immediate, the sale of its first
+     number exceeding that of "Martin Chuzzlewit" by more than
+     12,000 copies--a remarkable thing considering the immense
+     superiority of "Chuzzlewit." "Dombey and Son," indeed, is by
+     no means one of Dickens's best books; though little Paul will
+     always retain the sympathies of the reader, and the story of
+     his short life for ever move us with its pathos. The
+     popularity of "Dombey and Son" provoked an impudent
+     publication called "Dombey and Daughter," which was started in
+     January, 1847, and was issued monthly at a penny. Two stage
+     versions of "Dombey" appeared--in London in 1873, and in New
+     York in 1888, but in neither case was the adaptation
+     particularly successful. "What are the wild waves saying?" was
+     made the subject of a song--a duet--which at one time was
+     widely sung, but is now, happily forgotten.
+
+
+_I.--Dombey and Son_
+
+
+Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair by
+the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket-bedstead.
+
+Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age; Son about eight-and-forty
+minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome,
+well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be prepossessing.
+Son was very bald, and very red, and somewhat crushed and spotted in his
+general effect, as yet.
+
+"The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey," said Mr. Dombey, "be not only
+in name, but in fact, Dombey and Son; Dombey and Son! He will be
+christened Paul, Mrs. Dombey, of course!"
+
+The sick lady feebly echoed, "Of course," and closed her eyes again.
+
+"His father's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's! I wish his
+grandfather were alive this day." And again he said "Dombey and Son" in
+exactly the same tone as before, and then went downstairs to learn what
+that fashionable physician, Dr. Parker Peps, had to say, for Mrs. Dombey
+lay very weak and still.
+
+"Dombey and Son"--those three words conveyed the idea of Mr. Dombey's
+life. The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and
+moon were made to give them light.
+
+He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and
+death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the sole
+representative of the firm. Of those years he had been married
+ten--married, as some said, to a lady with no heart to give him. But
+such idle talk never reached the ears of Mr. Dombey. Dombey and Son
+often dealt in hides, never in hearts. Mr. Dombey would have reasoned
+that a matrimonial alliance with himself _must_, in the nature of
+things, be gratifying and honourable to any woman of commonsense.
+
+One drawback only could be admitted. Until the present day there had
+been no issue--to speak of. There had been a girl some six years before,
+a child who now crouched by her mother's bed, unobserved. But what was
+that girl to Dombey and Son?
+
+"Nature must be called upon to make a vigorous effort in this instance!"
+said Doctor Parker Peps, referring to Mrs. Dombey.
+
+Mrs. Chick, Mr. Dombey's married sister, emphasised this opinion.
+
+"Now my dear Paul," said Mrs. Chick, "you may rest assured that there is
+nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part."
+
+They returned to the sick-room and its stillness. In vain Mrs. Chick
+exhorted her sister-in-law to make an effort; no sound came in answer
+but the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Pep's watch,
+which seemed in the silence to be running a race.
+
+"Fanny!" said Mrs. Chick, "Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show
+me that you hear and understand me."
+
+Still no answer. Mrs. Dombey lay motionless, clasping her little
+daughter to her breast.
+
+"Mamma!" cried the child, sobbing aloud. "Oh, dear mamma!"
+
+Thus clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother
+drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round all the
+world.
+
+Mr. Dombey, in the days to come, could not forget that closing scene--
+that he had had no part in it; that he had stood a mere spectator while
+those two figures lay clasped in each other's arms. His previous
+feelings of indifference towards his little daughter Florence changed
+into an uneasiness of an extraordinary kind. He had never conceived an
+aversion to her; it had not been worth his while or in his humour. But
+now he was ill at ease about her. He read nothing in her glance, when he
+saw her later in the solemn house, of the passionate desire to run
+clinging to him, and the dread of a repulse; the pitiable need in which
+she stood of some assurance and encouragement. He saw nothing of this.
+
+
+_II.--Mrs. Pipchin's_
+
+
+In spite of his early promise, all the vigilance and care bestowed upon
+him could not make little Paul a thriving boy. There was something wan
+and wistful in his look, and he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful
+way of sitting brooding in his miniature armchair.
+
+The medical practitioner recommended sea-air, and Mrs. Pipchin, who
+conducted an infantile boarding house of a very select description at
+Brighton, and whose scale of charges was high, was entrusted with the
+care of Paul's health when he was little more than five years old.
+
+Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill-conditioned old lady,
+with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye.
+It was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was a woman of system with
+children, and no doubt she was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame
+enough, after sojourning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof.
+
+At this exemplary old lady Paul would sit staring in his little armchair
+by the fire for any length of time. He was not fond of her, he was not
+afraid of her.
+
+Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he was thinking about.
+
+"You," said Paul, without the least reserve. "I'm thinking how old you
+must be."
+
+"You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," returned the
+dame.
+
+"Why not?" asked Paul.
+
+"Because it's not polite!" said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly.
+
+"Not polite?" said Paul.
+
+"No! And remember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by
+a mad bull for asking questions!"
+
+"If the bull was mad," said Paul, "how did _he_ know that the boy had
+asked questions? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I
+don't believe that story."
+
+"You don't believe it, sir?"
+
+"No," said Paul.
+
+"Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little infidel?"
+said Mrs. Pipchin.
+
+As Paul had not considered the subject in that light, he allowed himself
+to be put down for the present.
+
+Mr. Dombey came down to Brighton every Sunday, and Florence was her
+brother's constant companion.
+
+At first, Paul got no stronger, and a little carriage was procured for
+him, in which he could lie at his ease and be wheeled down to the
+sea-side; there he would sit or lie for hours together; never so
+distressed as by the company of children--Florence alone excepted,
+always.
+
+"Go away, if you please," he would say to any child who came up to him.
+"Thank you, but I don't want you. I think you had better go and play, if
+you please."
+
+His favourite spot was quite a lonely one, far away from most loungers;
+and, with Florence sitting by his side, and the wind blowing on his
+face, and the water near the wheels of his bed, he wanted nothing more.
+
+"I want to know what it says," he said once, looking steadily in her
+face. "The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying?"
+
+She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying something.
+Always the same thing. What place is over there?" He rose up, looking
+eagerly at the horizon.
+
+She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he
+didn't mean that; he meant farther away--farther away!
+
+Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off,
+to try to understand what it was that the waves were always saying, and
+would rise up on his couch to look at that invisible region far away.
+
+At the end of twelve months at Mrs. Pipchin's, Paul had grown strong
+enough to dispense with his little carriage, though he still looked thin
+and delicate.
+
+Mr. Dombey therefore decided to remove him, not from Brighton, but to
+Doctor Blimber's educational establishment. "I fear," said Mr. Dombey,
+addressing Mrs. Pipchin, "that my son in his studies is behind many
+children of his age. Now instead of being behind his peers, my son ought
+to be before them--far before them. There is an eminence ready for him
+to mount upon. The education of my son must not be delayed. It must not
+be left imperfect."
+
+Doctor Blimber only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, and his
+establishment was a great hot-house, in which there was a forcing
+apparatus incessantly at work.
+
+Florence would remain at Mrs. Pipchin's, and for the first six months
+Paul would return there for the Sunday.
+
+"Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey exultingly, when they stood on the doctor's
+doorsteps, "This is the way, indeed, to be Dombey and Son, and have
+money. You are almost a man already."
+
+"Almost," returned the child.
+
+
+_III.--Doctor Blimber's Academy_
+
+
+The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings at
+his knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly
+polished, a deep voice, and a chin so very double that it was a wonder
+how he ever managed to shave into the creases.
+
+Mrs. Blimber was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that
+did quite as well.
+
+As to Miss Blimber, there was no light nonsense about her. She was dry
+and sandy with working in the graves of dead languages.
+
+Mr. Feeder, B.A., Dr. Blimber's assistant, was a kind of human barrel-
+organ, with a list of tunes at which he was continually working, over
+and over again, without any variation.
+
+Under the forcing system at Dr. Blimber's a young gentleman usually took
+leave of his spirits in three weeks; he had all the cares of the world
+on his head in three months, and he conceived bitter sentiments against
+his parents or guardians in four.
+
+The doctor was sitting in his study when Mr. Dombey and Paul arrived.
+"And how do you do, sir?" he said to Mr. Dombey. "And how is my little
+friend?" It seemed to Paul as if the great clock in the hall took this
+up, and went on saying, "how, is, my, lit-tle friend? how, is, my,
+lit-tle friend?" over and over again.
+
+Paul was handed over to Miss Blimber at once to be "brought on."
+
+"Cornelia," said the doctor. "Dombey will be your charge at first. Bring
+him on, Cornelia, bring him on."
+
+It was hard work, for no sooner had Paul mastered subject A than he was
+immediately provided with subject B, from which we passed to C, and even
+D. Often he felt giddy and confused, and drowsy and dull.
+
+But there were always the Saturdays when Florence came at noon to fetch
+him, and never would she, in any weather, stay away. Florence brought
+the school-books he was studying, and every Saturday night would
+patiently assist him through so much as they could anticipate together
+of his next week's work. And this saved him, possibly, from sinking
+underneath the burden which the fair Cornelia Blimber piled upon his
+back.
+
+It was not that Miss Blimber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Dr.
+Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general. But
+when Dr. Blimber said that Paul made great progress, and was naturally
+clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and
+crammed.
+
+Such spirits as he had at the outset Paul soon lost, of course. But he
+retained all that was strange, and odd, and thoughtful in his character;
+and Mrs. Blimber thought him "odd," and whispered that he was "old
+fashioned," and that was all.
+
+Between little Paul Dombey the youngest, and Mr. Toots, the oldest of
+Dr. Blimber's young gentlemen, a strong attachment existed. Toots had
+"gone through" so much, that he had left off growing, and was free to
+pursue his own course of study, which was chiefly to write long letters
+to himself from persons of distinction, addressed "P. Toots, Esquire,
+Brighton," to preserve them in his desk with great care.
+
+"How are you?" Toots would say to Paul, fifty times a day.
+
+"Quite well, sir, thank you," Paul would answer.
+
+"Shake hands," would be Toot's next advance. Which Paul, of course,
+would immediately do.
+
+"I say!" cried Toots one evening, finding Paul looking out of the
+window. "I say, what do you think about?"
+
+"Oh, I think about a great many things," replied Paul.
+
+"Do you, though?" said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself
+surprising.
+
+"If you had to die," said Paul, "don't you think you would rather die on
+a moonlight night, when the sky is quite clear, and the wind blowing, as
+it did last night?"
+
+Mr. Toots, looking doubtfully at Paul, said he didn't know about that.
+
+"It was a beautiful night," said Paul. "There was a boat over there, in
+the full light of the moon, a boat with a sail."
+
+Mr. Toots, feeling called upon to say something, suggested "Smugglers,"
+and then added, "or Preventive."
+
+"A boat with a sail," repeated Paul. "It went away into the distance,
+and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?"
+
+"Pitch!" said Mr. Toots.
+
+"It seemed to beckon," said the child; "to beckon me to come."
+
+Certainly people found him an "old-fashioned" child. At the end of the
+term Dr. and Mrs. Blimber gave an early party to their pupils and their
+parents and guardians, and it was a day or two before this event when
+Paul was taken ill. This illness released him from his books, and made
+him think the more of Florence.
+
+They all loved "Dombey's sister" at that party, and Paul, sitting in a
+cushioned corner, heard her praises constantly. There was a
+half-intelligible sentiment, too, diffused around, referring to Florence
+and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched
+him. He did not know why, but it seemed to have something to do with his
+"old-fashioned" reputation.
+
+The time arrived for taking leave.
+
+"Good-bye, Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand.
+
+"Good-bye, my little friend," returned the doctor. "Dombey, Dombey, you
+have always been my favourite pupil."
+
+"God bless you!" said Cornelia, taking both Paul's hands in hers. And it
+showed, Paul thought, how easily one might do injustice to a person; for
+Miss Blimber meant it--though she _was_ a Forcer--and felt it.
+
+There was a general move after Paul and Florence down the staircase, in
+which the whole Blimber family were included. Such a circumstance, Mr.
+Feeder said aloud, as has never happened in the case of any former young
+gentleman within his experience. The servants, with the butler--a stern
+man--at their head, had all an interest in seeing little Dombey go;
+while the young gentlemen pressed to shake hands with him, crying
+individually "Dombey, don't forget me!"
+
+Once for a last look, Paul turned and gazed upon the faces addressed to
+him, and from that time whenever he thought of Dr. Blimber's it came
+back as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be a
+real place, but always a dream, full of faces.
+
+
+_IV.--Paul Goes Out with the Stream_
+
+
+From the night they brought him home from Dr. Blimber's Paul had never
+risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the
+street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but
+watching it, and watching everywhere about him with observing eyes.
+
+When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and
+quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening
+was coming on.
+
+By little and little he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of
+the carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would
+fall asleep or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense of a rushing
+river. "Why will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It
+is bearing me away, I think!"
+
+But Floy could always soothe him.
+
+He was visited by as many as three grave doctors, and the room was so
+quiet, and Paul was so observant of them, that he even knew the
+difference in the sound of their watches. But his interest centred in
+Sir Parker Peps; for Paul had heard them say long ago that that
+gentleman had been with his mamma when she clasped Florence in her arms
+and died. And he could not forget it now. He liked him for it. He was
+not afraid.
+
+The people in the room were always changing, and in the night-time Paul
+began to wonder languidly who the figure was, with its head upon its
+hand, that returned so often and remained so long.
+
+"Floy," he said, "what is that--there at the bottom of the bed?"
+
+"There's nothing there except papa."
+
+The figure lifted up its head and rose, and said, "My own boy! Don't you
+know me?"
+
+Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was that his father? The next
+time he observed the figure at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.
+
+"Don't be sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy."
+
+That was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a
+great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.
+
+How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights
+the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea, Paul never counted, never
+sought to know.
+
+One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the
+drawing-room downstairs.
+
+"Floy, did I ever see mamma?"
+
+"No, darling."
+
+The river was running very fast now, and confusing his mind. Paul fell
+asleep, and when he awoke the sun was high.
+
+"Floy, come close to me, and let me see you."
+
+Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden
+light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together.
+
+"How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy!
+But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so."
+
+Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was
+lulling him to rest, now the boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly
+on. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?
+
+He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He
+did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so behind
+her neck.
+
+"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! The light about her
+head is shining on me as I go."
+
+The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred
+in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our
+first parents, and will last unchanged until our race has run its
+course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old
+fashion--Death!
+
+
+_V.--The End of Dombey and Son_
+
+
+The stonemason to whom Mr. Dombey gave his order for a tablet in the
+church, in memory of little Paul, called his attention to the
+inscription "Beloved and only child," and said, "It should be 'son,' I
+think, sir?"
+
+"You are right, of course. Make the correction."
+
+And there came a time when it was to Florence, and Florence only, that
+Mr. Dombey turned. For the great house of Dombey and Son fell, and in
+the crash its proud head became a ruined man, ruined beyond recovery.
+
+Bankrupt in purse, his personal pride was yet further humbled. For Mr.
+Dombey had married again, a loveless match, and his wife deserted him.
+In the hour when he discovered that desertion he had driven his daughter
+Florence from the house.
+
+He was fallen now never to be raised up any more. For the night of his
+worldly ruin there was no to-morrow's sun, for the stain of his domestic
+shame there was no purification.
+
+In his pride--for he was proud yet--he let the world go from him freely.
+As it fell away, he shook it off. He knew, now, what it was to be
+rejected and deserted. Dombey and Son was no more--his children no more.
+
+His daughter Florence had married--married a young sailor once a boy in
+the office of Dombey and Son--and thinking of her, Dombey, in the
+solitude of his dismantled home, remembered that she had never changed
+to him through all those years; and the mist through which he had seen
+her, cleared, and showed him her true self.
+
+He wandered through the rooms, and thought of suicide; a guilty hand was
+grasping what was in his breast.
+
+It was arrested by a cry--a wild, loud, loving, rapturous cry, and he
+saw his daughter.
+
+"Papa! Dearest papa!"
+
+Unchanged still. Of all the world unchanged.
+
+He tottered to his chair. He felt her draw his arms about her neck. He
+felt her kisses on his face, he felt--oh, how deeply!--all that he had
+done.
+
+She laid his face, now covered with his hands, against the heart that he
+had almost broken, and said, sobbing, "Papa, love, I am a mother. Papa,
+dear, oh, say God bless me and my little child!"
+
+His head, now grey, was encircled by her arm, and he groaned to think
+that never, never had it rested so before.
+
+"My little child was born at sea, papa. I prayed to God to spare me that
+I might come. The moment I could land I came to you. Never let us be
+parted any more, papa!"
+
+He kissed her on the lips, and lifting up his eyes, said, "Oh, my God,
+forgive me, for I need it very much!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Great Expectations
+
+
+      "Great Expectations," first published as a serial in "All the
+     Year Round," in 1861, is one of Dickens's finest works. It is
+     rounded off so completely and the characters are so admirably
+     drawn that, as a finished work of art, it is hard to say where
+     the genius of its author has surpassed it. If there is less of
+     the exuberance of "Pickwick," there is also less of the
+     characteristic exaggeration of Dickens; and the pathos of the
+     ex-convict's return is far deeper than the pathos of
+     children's death-beds, so frequently exhibited by the author.
+     "Great Expectations," for all its rare qualities, has never
+     achieved the wide popularity of the novels of Charles Dickens
+     that preceded it. We are not generally familiar with any name
+     in the story, as we are with at least one name in all the
+     other novels. Yet, Pip, as a study of child-life, youth, and
+     early manhood, is as excellent as anything in the whole range
+     of English fiction.
+
+
+_I.--In the Marshes_
+
+
+My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I
+called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip.
+
+My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained
+on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh
+country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had
+wandered into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard.
+
+"Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
+among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you
+little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"
+
+A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
+who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones;
+who limped and shivered, and glared and growled.
+
+"Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
+sir."
+
+"Tell us your name! quick!"
+
+"Pip, sir."
+
+"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye
+live with?"
+
+I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs.
+Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."
+
+"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me
+by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And you know what wittles is?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or
+I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow
+morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at
+that old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a
+word concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You
+fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it
+is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate.
+Now what do you say?"
+
+I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken
+bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in
+the morning.
+
+As soon as the darkness outside my little window was shot with grey, I
+got up and went downstairs. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese,
+about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket
+handkerchief), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a
+glass bottle I had used for Spanish liquorice water up in my room), a
+meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round pork pie.
+
+There was a door in the kitchen communicating with the forge; I unlocked
+and unbolted that door, got a file from among Joe's tools, put the
+fastenings as I had found them, and ran for the marshes.
+
+It was a rainy morning, and very damp. I knew my way to the Battery, for
+I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and had just scrambled up
+the mound beyond the ditch when I saw the man sitting before me--with
+his back toward me.
+
+I touched him on the shoulder, and he instantly jumped up, and it was
+not the same man, but another man--dressed in coarse grey, too, with a
+great iron on his leg.
+
+He aimed a blow at me, and then ran into the mist, stumbling as he went,
+and I lost him.
+
+I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man
+waiting for me. He was awfully cold. And his eyes looked awfully hungry.
+
+He devoured the food, mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie,
+all at once--more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a
+violent hurry, than a man who was eating it, only stopping from time to
+time to listen.
+
+"You're not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?"
+
+"No, sir! No!"
+
+"Well," said he, "I believe you. You'd be but a fierce young hound
+indeed if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched
+varmint, hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched varmint
+is."
+
+While he was eating I mentioned that I had just seen another man dressed
+like him, and with a badly bruised face.
+
+"Not here?" he exclaimed, striking his left cheek.
+
+"Yes, there!"
+
+He swore he would pull him down like a bloodhound, and then crammed what
+little food was left into the breast of his grey jacket, and began to
+file at his iron like a madman; so I thought the best thing that I could
+do was to slip off home.
+
+
+_II.--I Meet Estella_
+
+
+I must have been about ten years old when I went to Miss Havisham's, and
+first met Estella.
+
+My uncle Pumblechook, who kept a cornchandler's shop in the high-street
+of the town, took me to the large old, dismal house, which had all its
+windows barred. For miles round everybody had heard of Miss Havisham as
+an immensely rich and grim lady who led a life of seclusion; and
+everybody soon knew that Mr. Pumblechook had been commissioned to bring
+her a boy.
+
+He left me at the courtyard, and a young lady, who was very pretty and
+seemed very proud, let me in, and I noticed that the passages were all
+dark, and that there was a candle burning. My guide, who called me
+"boy," but was really about my own age, was as scornful of me as if she
+had been one-and-twenty, and a queen. She led me to Miss Havisham's
+room, and there, in an armchair, with her elbow resting on the table,
+sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.
+
+She was dressed in rich materials--satins and lace and silks--all of
+white--or rather, which had been white, but, like all else in the room,
+were now faded yellow. Her shoes were white, and she had a long white
+veil dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair; but her
+hair was white. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had
+withered like the dress.
+
+"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.
+
+"Pip, ma'am. Mr. Pumblechook's boy."
+
+"Come nearer; let me look at you; come close. You are not afraid of a
+woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"
+
+"No, ma'am."
+
+"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon
+the other, on her left side.
+
+"Yes, ma'am; your heart."
+
+"Broken!" She was silent for a little while, and then added, "I am
+tired; I want diversion. Play, play, play!"
+
+What was an unfortunate boy to do? I didn't know how to play.
+
+"Call Estella," said the lady. "Call Estella, at the door."
+
+It was a dreadful thing to be bawling "Estella" to a scornful young lady
+in a mysterious passage in an unknown house, but I had to do it. And
+Estella came, and I heard her say, in answer to Miss Havisham, "Play
+with this boy! Why, he is a common labouring boy!"
+
+I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer, "Well? You can break his
+heart."
+
+We played at beggar my neighbour, and before the game was out Estella
+said disdainfully, "He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy! And what coarse
+hands he has! And what thick boots!"
+
+I was very glad to get away. My coarse hands and my common boots had
+never troubled me before; but they troubled me now, and I determined to
+ask Joe why he had taught me to call those picture cards Jacks which
+ought to be called knaves.
+
+For a long time I went once a week to this strange, gloomy house--it was
+called Satis House--and once Estella told me I might kiss her.
+
+And then Miss Havisham decided I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and gave
+him L25 for the purpose; and I left off going to see her, and helped Joe
+in the forge. But I didn't like Joe's trade, and I was afflicted by that
+most miserable thing--to feel ashamed of home.
+
+I couldn't resist paying Miss Havisham a visit; and, not seeing Estella,
+stammered that I hoped she was well.
+
+"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating for a lady; far out of reach;
+prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you
+have lost her?"
+
+I was spared the trouble of answering by being dismissed, and went home
+dissatisfied and uncomfortable, thinking myself coarse and common, and
+wanting to be a gentleman.
+
+It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship when, one Saturday night,
+Joe and I were up at the Three Jolly Bargemen, according to our custom.
+
+A stranger, who did not recognise me, but whom I recognised as a
+gentleman I had met on the stairs at Miss Havisham's, was in the room;
+and on his asking for a blacksmith named Gargery and his apprentice
+named Pip, and, being answered, said he wanted to have a private
+conference with us two.
+
+Joe took him home, and the stranger told us his name was Jaggers, and
+that he was a lawyer in London.
+
+"Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this
+young fellow, your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his
+indentures at his request and for his good?"
+
+"No," said Joe.
+
+"The communication I have got to make to this young fellow is that he
+has great expectations."
+
+Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.
+
+"I am instructed to tell him," said Mr. Jaggers, "that he will come into
+a handsome property. Further, it is the desire of the present possessor
+of that property that he be immediately removed from his present sphere
+of life and be brought up as a gentleman, and that he always bear the
+name of Pip. Now, you are to understand that the name of the person who
+is your liberal benefactor remains a profound secret until the person
+chooses to reveal it, and you are most positively prohibited from making
+any inquiry on this head. If you have a suspicion, keep it in your own
+breast."
+
+Mr. Jaggers went on to say that if I accepted the expectations on these
+terms, there was already money in hand for my education and maintenance,
+and that one Mr. Matthew Pocket, in London (whom I knew to be a relation
+of Miss Havisham's), could be my tutor if I was willing to go to him,
+say in a week's time. Of course I accepted this wonderful good fortune,
+and had no doubt in my own mind that Miss Havisham was my benefactress.
+
+When Mr. Jaggers asked Joe whether he desired any compensation, Joe laid
+his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. "Pip is that hearty
+welcome," said Joe, "to go free with his services, to honour and
+fortun', as no words can tell him. But if you think as money can make
+compensation to me for the loss of the little child--what come to the
+forge--and ever the best of friends!" He scooped his eyes with his
+disengaged hand, but said not another word.
+
+
+_III.--I Know My Benefactor_
+
+
+I went to London, and studied with Mr. Matthew Pocket, and shared rooms
+with his son Herbert (who, knowing my earlier life, decided to call me
+Handel), first in Barnard's Inn and later in the Temple.
+
+On my twenty-first birthday I received L500, and this (unknown to
+Herbert) I managed to make over to my friend in order to secure him a
+managership in a business house.
+
+My studies were not directed in any professional channel, but were
+pursued with a view to my being equal to any emergency when my
+expectations, which I had been told to look forward to, were fulfilled.
+
+Estella was often in London, and I met her at many houses, and was
+desperately in love with her. But though she treated me with friendship,
+she was proud and capricious as ever, and a few years later married a
+man whom I knew and detested--a Mr. Bentley Drummle, a bully and a
+scoundrel.
+
+When I was three-and-twenty I happened to be alone one night in our
+chambers reading, for I had a taste for books. Herbert was away at
+Marseilles on a business journey.
+
+The clocks had struck eleven, and I closed my books. I was still
+listening to the clocks, when I heard a footstep on the staircase, and
+started. The staircase lights were blown out by the wind, and I took my
+reading-lamp and went out to see who it was.
+
+"There is someone there, is there not?" I called out. "What floor do you
+want?"
+
+"The top--Mr. Pip."
+
+"That is my name. There is nothing the matter?"
+
+"Nothing the matter," returned the voice. And the man came on.
+
+I made out that the man was roughly but substantially dressed; that he
+had iron-grey hair; that his age was about sixty; that he was a muscular
+man, hardened by exposure to weather. I saw nothing that in the least
+explained him, but I saw that he was holding out both his hands to me.
+
+I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him. No need to take a
+file from his pocket and show it to me. I knew my convict, in spite of
+the intervening years, as distinctly as I knew him in the churchyard
+when we first stood face to face.
+
+He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his
+forehead with his large brown hands.
+
+"You acted nobly, my boy," said he.
+
+I told him that I hoped he had mended his way of life, and was doing
+well.
+
+"I've done wonderful well," he said. And then he asked me if I was doing
+well. And when I mentioned that I had been chosen to succeed to some
+property, he asked whose property? And, after that, if my
+lawyer-guardian's name began with "J."
+
+All the truth of my position came flashing on me, and quickly I
+understood that Miss Havisham's intentions towards me were all a mere
+dream.
+
+"Yes, Pip, dear boy, I've made a gentleman on you. It's me wot has done
+it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea
+should go to you. I swore afterwards, sure as ever I spec'lated and got
+rich, that you should get rich. Look 'ee here, Pip. I'm your second
+father. You're my son--more to me nor any son. I've put away money, only
+for you to spend. You ain't looked slowly forward to this as I have. You
+wasn't prepared for this as I wos. It warn't easy, Pip, for me to leave
+them parts, nor it wasn't safe. Look 'ee here, dear boy; caution is
+necessary."
+
+"How do you mean?" I said. "Caution?"
+
+"I was sent for life. It's death to come back. There's been overmuch
+coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if
+took."
+
+As Herbert was away, I put the man in the spare room, and gave out that
+he was my uncle.
+
+He told me something of his story next day, and when Herbert came back
+and we had found a bed-room for our visitor in Essex Street, he told us
+all of it. His name was Magwitch--Abel Magwitch--he called himself
+Provis now--and he had been left by a travelling tinker to grow up
+alone. "In jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail--that's my life
+pretty much, down to such times as I got shipped off, arter Pip stood my
+friend." But there was a man who "set up fur a gentleman, named
+Compeyson," and this Compeyson's business was swindling, forging, and
+stolen banknote passing. Magwitch became his servant, and when both men
+were arrested, Compeyson turned round on the man whom he had employed,
+and got off with seven years to Magwitch's fourteen. Compeyson was the
+second convict of my childhood.
+
+On consideration of the case, and after consultation with Mr. Jaggers,
+who corroborated the statement that a colonist named Abel Magwitch, of
+New South Wales, was my benefactor, and admitted that a Mr. Provis had
+written to him on behalf of Magwitch, concerning my address, we decided
+that the best thing to be done was to take a lodging for Mr. Provis on
+the riverside below the Pool, at Mill Pond Bank. It was out of the way,
+and in case of danger it would be easy to get away by a packet steamer.
+
+The only danger was from Compeyson--for he had gone in terror of his
+life, and feared the vengeance of the man he had betrayed.
+
+
+_IV--My Fortune_
+
+
+We were soon warned that Compeyson was aware of the return of his enemy,
+and that flight was necessary. Both Herbert and I noticed how quickly
+Provis had become softened, and on the night when we were to take him on
+board a Hamburg steamer he was very gentle.
+
+We were out in mid-stream in a small rowing boat, moving quietly with
+the tide, when, just as the Hamburg steamer came in sight, a four-oared
+galley ran aboard of us, and the man who held the lines in it called
+out, "You have a returned transport there. That's the man wrapped in the
+cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch--otherwise Provis. I call upon him to
+surrender, and you to assist."
+
+At once there was great confusion. The steamer was right upon us, and I
+heard the order given to stop the paddles. In the same moment I saw the
+steersman of the galley lay his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, and the
+prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the
+neck of a shrinking man in the galley. Still in the same moment I saw
+that the face disclosed was the face of the other convict of long ago,
+and white terror was on it. Then I heard a cry, and a loud splash in the
+water, and for an instant I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill
+weirs; the instant past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was
+there, but our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone. Presently
+we saw a man swimming, but not swimming easily, and knew him to be
+Magwitch. He was taken on board, and instantly menacled at the wrists
+and ankles.
+
+It was not till we had pulled up, and had landed at the riverside, that
+I could get some comforts for Magwitch, who had received injury in the
+chest, and a deep cut in the head. He told me that he believed himself
+to have gone under the keel of the steamer, and to have been struck on
+the head in rising. The injury to his chest he thought he had received
+against the side of the galley. He added that Compeyson, in the moment
+of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, had staggered up,
+and back, and they had both gone overboard together, locked in each
+other's arms. He had disengaged himself under water, and swam away.
+
+He was taken to the police-court next day, and committed for trial at
+the, next session, which would come on in a month.
+
+"Dear boy," he said. "Look 'ee, here. It's best as a gentleman should
+not be knowed to belong to me now."
+
+"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be
+near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"
+
+When the sessions came round, the trial was very short and very clear,
+and the capital sentence was pronounced. But the prisoner was very ill.
+Two of his ribs had been broken, and one of his lungs seriously injured,
+and ten days before the date fixed for his execution death set him free.
+
+"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed on that last day. "I
+thought you was late. But I knowed you couldn't be that. You've never
+deserted me, dear boy."
+
+I pressed his hand in silence.
+
+"And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been more comfortable
+along of me since I was under a dark cloud than when the sun shone.
+That's best of all."
+
+He had spoken his last words, and, holding my hand in his, passed away.
+
+And with his death ended my expectations, for the pocket-book containing
+his wealth went to the Crown.
+
+Herbert took me into his business, and I became a clerk, and afterwards
+went abroad to take charge of the eastern branch, and when many a year
+had gone round, became a partner.
+
+It was eleven years later when I was down in the marshes again. I had
+been to see Joe Gargery, who was as friendly as ever, and had strolled
+on to where Satis House once stood. I had been told of Miss Havisham's
+death, and also of the death of Estella's husband.
+
+Nothing was left of the old house but the garden wall, and as I stood
+looking along the desolate garden walk a solitary figure came up. I saw
+it stop, and half turn away, and then let me come up to it. It faltered
+as if much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out, "Estella!"
+
+I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the
+morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the
+evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil
+light they showed to me I saw no shadow of another parting from her.
+
+       *       *       *       *        *
+
+
+
+
+Hard Times
+
+
+      "Hard Times" is not one of the longest, but it is one of the
+     most powerful of Dickens's works. John Ruskin went so far as
+     to call it "in several respects the greatest" book Dickens had
+     written. It is, of course, a fierce attack on the early
+     Victorian school of political economists. The Bounderbys and
+     Gradgrinds are typical of certain characters, and, though they
+     change their form of speech, are still recognisable to-day. As
+     a study of social and industrial life in England in the
+     manufacturing districts fifty years ago, "Hard Times" will
+     always be valuable, though allowance must be made here as
+     elsewhere for the novelist's tendency to
+     exaggeration--exaggeration of virtue no less than of vice or
+     weakness. In Josiah Bounderby and Stephen Blackpool this
+     characteristic is pronounced. The first, according to John
+     Ruskin, being a dramatic monster, and the second a dramatic
+     perfection. The story first appeared serially in "Household
+     Words" between April 1 and August 12, 1854.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Thomas Gradgrind_
+
+
+"Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of facts and calculations. With a rule and
+a pair of scales, and the multiplication table always in his pocket,
+sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you
+exactly what it comes to."
+
+In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
+to his private circle of acquaintance or to the public in general. In
+such terms Thomas Gradgrind presented himself to the schoolmaster and
+children before him. It was his school, and he intended it to be a
+model.
+
+"Now, what I want is facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but
+facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. You can only form the minds of
+reasoning animals upon facts. This is the principle on which I bring up
+my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these
+children. Stick to facts, sir."
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, having waited to hear a model lesson delivered by the
+school master, walked home in a considerable state of satisfaction.
+
+There were five young Gradgrinds, and they were models every one. They
+had been lectured at from their tenderest years; coursed, like little
+hares, almost as soon as they could run, they had been made to run to
+the lecture-room.
+
+To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
+directed his steps. The house was situated on a moor, within a mile or
+two of a great town, called Coketown.
+
+On the outskirts of this town a travelling circus ("Sleary's
+Horse-riding") had pitched its tent, and, to his amazement, Mr.
+Gradgrind observed his two eldest children trying to obtain a peep, at
+the back of the booth, of the hidden glories within.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind laid his hand upon the shoulder of each erring child, and
+said, "Louisa! Thomas!"
+
+"I wanted to see what it was like," said Louisa shortly. "I brought him,
+I was tired, father. I have been tired a long time."
+
+"Tired? Of what?" asked the astonished father.
+
+"I don't know of what--of everything, I think."
+
+They walked on in silence for some half a mile before Mr. Gradgrind
+gravely broke out with, "What would your best friends say, Louisa? What
+would Mr. Bounderby say?"
+
+All the way to Stone Lodge he repeated at intervals, "What would Mr.
+Bounderby say?"
+
+At the first mention of the name his daughter, a child of fifteen or
+sixteen now, but at no distant day to become a woman, all at once, stole
+a look at him, remarkable for its intense and searching character. He
+saw nothing of it, for before he looked at her, she had again cast down
+her eyes.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was at Stone Lodge when they arrived. He stood before the
+fire on the hearth rug, delivering some observations to Mrs. Gradgrind
+on the circumstance of its being his birthday. It was a commanding
+position from which to subdue Mrs. Gradgrind.
+
+He stopped in his harangue, which was entirely concerned with the story
+of his early disadvantages, at the entrance of his eminently practical
+friend and the two young culprits.
+
+"Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what's the matter? What is young
+Thomas in the dumps about?"
+
+He spoke of young Thomas, but he looked at Louisa.
+
+"We were peeping at the circus," muttered Louisa haughtily; "and father
+caught us."
+
+"And, Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband, in a lofty manner, "I should as
+soon have expected to find my children reading poetry."
+
+"Dear me!" whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind. "How can you, Louisa and Thomas? I
+wonder at you. I declare you're enough to make one regret ever having
+had a family at all. I have a great mind to say I wish I hadn't. _Then_
+what would you have done, I should like to know? As if, with my head in
+its present throbbing state, you couldn't go and look at the shells and
+minerals and things provided for you, instead of circuses. I'm sure you
+have enough to do if that's what you want. With my head in its present
+state I couldn't remember the mere names of half the facts you have got
+to attend to."
+
+"That's the reason," pouted Louisa.
+
+"Don't tell me that's the reason, because it can be nothing of the
+sort," said Mrs. Gradgrind. "Go and be something logical directly."
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind, not being a scientific character, usually dismissed her
+children to their studies with the general injunction that they were to
+choose their own pursuit.
+
+
+_II.--Mr. Bounderby of Coketown_
+
+
+Mr. Josiah Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend as a
+man perfectly devoid of sentiment can be to another man perfectly devoid
+of sentiment.
+
+He was a rich man--banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not. A big,
+loud man, with a stare and a metallic laugh. A man who could never
+sufficiently vaunt himself--a self-made man. A man who was always
+proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his
+early ignorance and poverty. A man who was the bully of humility.
+
+He was fond of telling, was Mr. Bounderby, how he was born in a ditch,
+and, abandoned by his mother, how he ran away from his grandmother, who
+starved and ill-used him, and so became a vagabond. "I pulled through
+it," he would say, "though nobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond,
+errand-boy, labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small
+partner--Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown."
+
+This myth of his early life was dissipated later; and it turned out that
+his mother, a respectable old woman, whom Bounderby pensioned off with
+thirty pounds a year on condition she never came near him, had pinched
+herself to help him out in life, and put him as apprentice to a trade.
+From this apprenticeship he had steadily risen to riches.
+
+Mr. Bounderby held strong views about the people who worked for him, the
+"hands" he called them; and found, whenever they complained of anything,
+that they always expected to be set up in a coach and six, and to be fed
+on turtle soup and venison, with a gold spoon.
+
+As time went on, and young Thomas Gradgrind became old enough to go into
+Bounderby's Bank, Bounderby decided that Louisa was old enough to be
+married.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, now member of parliament for Coketown, mentioned the
+matter to his daughter.
+
+"Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage that has
+been made to me."
+
+He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something.
+Strange to relate Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this moment as
+his daughter was.
+
+"I have undertaken to let you know that--in short, that Mr. Bounderby
+has long hoped that the time might arrive when he should offer you his
+hand in marriage. That time has now come, and Mr. Bounderby has made his
+proposal to me, and has entreated me to make it known to you."
+
+"Father," said Louisa, "do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?"
+
+Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomforted by this unexpected question.
+"Well, my child," he returned, "I--really--cannot take upon myself to
+say."
+
+"Father," pursued Louisa, in exactly the same voice as before, "do you
+ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?"
+
+"My dear Louisa, no. No, I ask nothing."
+
+"Father, does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love him?"
+
+"Really, my dear, it is difficult to answer your question. Because the
+reply depends so materially, Louisa, on the sense in which we use the
+expression. Mr. Bounderby does not pretend to anything sentimental. Now,
+I should advise you to consider this question simply as one of fact.
+Now, what are the facts of this case? You are, we will say in round
+numbers, twenty years of age. Mr. Bounderby is, we will say in round
+numbers, fifty. There is some disparity in your respective years, but in
+your means and position there is none; on the contrary, there is a great
+suitability. Confining yourself rigidly to fact, the questions of fact
+are: 'Does Mr. Bounderby ask me to marry him?' 'Yes, he does.' And,
+'Shall I marry him?'"
+
+"Shall I marry him?" repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.
+
+There was silence between the two before Louisa spoke again. She thought
+of the shortness of life, of how her brother Tom had said it would be a
+good thing for him if she made up her mind to do--she knew what.
+
+"While it lasts," she said aloud, "I would like to do the little I can,
+and the little I am fit for. What does it matter? Mr. Bounderby asks me
+to marry him. Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I
+am satisfied to accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you
+please, that this was my answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can,
+because I should wish him to know what I said."
+
+"It is quite right, my dear," retorted her father approvingly, "to be
+exact I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in
+reference to the period of your marriage, my child?"
+
+"None, father. What does it matter?"
+
+They went into the drawing-room, and Mr. Gradgrind presented Louisa to
+his wife as Mrs. Bounderby.
+
+"Oh!" said Mrs. Gradgrind. "So you have settled it. I am sure I give you
+joy, my dear, and I hope you may turn all your ological studies to good
+account. And now, you see, I shall be worrying myself morning, noon, and
+night, to know what I am to call him!"
+
+"Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husband solemnly, "what do you mean?"
+
+"Whatever am I to call him when he is married to Louisa? I must call him
+something. It's impossible to be constantly addressing him, and never
+giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is
+insupportable to me. You yourself wouldn't hear of Joe, you very well
+know. Am I to call my own son-in-law 'Mister?' I believe not, unless the
+time has arrived when I am to be trampled upon by my relations. Then,
+what am I to call him?"
+
+There being no answer to this conundrum, Mrs. Gradgrind retired to bed.
+
+The day of the marriage came, and after the wedding-breakfast the
+bridegroom addressed the company--an improving party, there was no
+nonsense about any of them--in the following terms.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown. Since you
+have done my wife and myself the honour of drinking our healths and
+happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same. If you want a speech,
+my friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a member of parliament,
+and you know where to get it. Now, you have mentioned that I am this day
+married to Tom Gradgrind's daughter. I am very glad to be so. It has
+long been my wish to be so. I have watched her bringing up, and I
+believe she is worthy of me. At the same time, I believe I am worthy of
+her. So I thank you for the goodwill you have shown towards us."
+
+Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to
+Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might see how the hands got on in
+those parts, and whether they, too, required to be fed with gold spoons,
+the happy pair departed for the railroad. As the bride passed downstairs
+her brother Tom whispered to her. "What a game girl you are, to be such
+a first-rate sister, too!"
+
+She clung to him as she would have clung to some far better nature that
+day, and was shaken in her composure for the first time.
+
+
+_III.--Mr. James Harthouse_
+
+
+The Gradgrind party wanting assistance in the House of Commons, Mr.
+James Harthouse, who was of good family and appearance, and had tried
+most things and found them a bore, was sent down to Coketown to study
+the neighbourhood with a view to entering Parliament.
+
+Mr. Bounderby at once pounced upon him, and James Harthouse was
+introduced to Mrs. Bounderby and her brother. Tom Gradgrind, junior,
+brought up under a continuous system of restraint, was a hypocrite, a
+thief, and, to Mr. James Harthouse, a whelp.
+
+Yet the visitor saw at once that the whelp was the only creature Mrs.
+Bounderby cared for, and it occurred to him, as time went on, that to
+win Mrs. Bounderby's affection (for he made no secret of his contempt
+for politics), he must devote himself to the whelp.
+
+Mr. Bounderby was proud to have Mr. James Harthouse under his roof,
+proud to show off his greatness and self-importance to this gentleman
+from London.
+
+"You're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be one. You're a man of
+family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of rag, tag,
+and bobtail," said Mr. Bounderby.
+
+At the same time Mr. Bounderby blustered at his wife and bullied his
+hands, so that Mr. Harthouse might understand his independence.
+
+One of these hands, Stephen Blackpool, an old, steady, faithful workman,
+who had been boycotted by his fellows for refusing to join a trade
+union, was summoned to Mr. Bounderby's presence in order that Harthouse
+might see a specimen of the people that had to be dealt with.
+
+Blackpool said he had nought to say about the trade union business; he
+had given a promise not to join, that was all.
+
+"Not to me, you know!" said Bounderby.
+
+"Oh, no sir; not to you!"
+
+"Here's a gentleman from London present," Mr. Bounderby said, pointing
+at Harthouse. "A Parliament gentleman. Now, what do you complain of?"
+
+"I ha' not come here, sir, to complain. I were sent for. Indeed, we are
+in a muddle, sir. Look round town--so rich as 'tis. Look how we live,
+and where we live, an' in what numbers; and look how the mills is always
+a-goin', and how they never works us no nigher to any distant object,
+'cepting always, death. Sir, I cannot, wi' my little learning, tell the
+gentleman what will better this; though some working men o' this town
+could. But the strong hand will never do't; nor yet lettin' alone will
+never do't. Ratin' us as so much power and reg'latin' us as if we was
+figures in a sum, will never do't."
+
+"Now, it's clear to me," said Mr. Bounderby, "that you are one of those
+chaps who have always got a grievance. And you are such a raspish,
+ill-conditioned chap that even your own union--the men who know you
+best--will have nothing to do with you. And I tell you what, I go so far
+along with them for a novelty, that I'll have nothing to do with you
+either. You can finish off what you're at, and then go elsewhere."
+
+Thus James Harthouse learnt how Mr. Bounderby dealt with hands.
+
+Mr. Harthouse, however, only felt bored, and took the earliest
+opportunity to explain to Mrs. Bounderby that he really had no opinions,
+and that he was going in for her father's opinions, because he might as
+well back them as anything else.
+
+"The side that can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds,
+and thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun and to
+give a man the best chance. I am quite ready to go in for it to the same
+extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do if I did
+believe it?".
+
+"You are a singular politician," said Louisa.
+
+"Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party in the
+state, I assure you, if we all fell out of our adopted ranks and were
+reviewed together."
+
+The more Mr. Harthouse's interest waned in politics the greater became
+his interest in Mrs. Bounderby. And he cultivated the whelp, cultivated
+him earnestly, and by so doing learnt from the graceless youth that "Loo
+never cared anything for old Bounderby," and had married him to please
+her brother.
+
+Gradually, bit by bit, James Harthouse established a confidence with the
+whelp's sister from which her husband was excluded. He established a
+confidence with her that absolutely turned upon her indifference towards
+her husband, and the absence at all times of any congeniality between
+them. He had artfully, but plainly, assured her that he knew her heart
+in its last most delicate recesses, and the barrier behind which she
+lived had melted away.
+
+And yet he had not, even now, any earnest wickedness of purpose in him.
+So drifting icebergs, setting with a current, wreck the ships.
+
+
+_IV.--Mr. Gradgrind and His Daughter_
+
+
+Mrs. Gradgrind died while her husband was up in London, and Louisa was
+with her mother when death came.
+
+"You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and so did your brother," said Mrs.
+Gradgrind, when she was dying. "Ologies of all kinds from morning to
+night. But there is something--not an ology at all--that your father has
+missed, or forgotten. I don't know what it is; I shall never get its
+name now. But your father may. It makes me restless. I want to write to
+him to find out, for God's sake, what it is."
+
+It was shortly after Mrs. Gradgrind's death that Mr. Bounderby was
+called away from home on business for a few days; and Mr. James
+Harthouse, still not sure at times of his purpose, found himself alone
+with Mrs. Bounderby.
+
+They were in the garden, and Harthouse implored her to accept him as her
+lover. She urged him to go away, she commanded him to go away; but she
+neither turned her face to him nor raised it, but sat as still as though
+she were a statue.
+
+Harthouse declared that she was the stake for which he ardently desired
+to play away all that he had in life; that the objects he had lately
+pursued turned worthless beside her; the success that was almost within
+his grasp he flung away from him, like the dirt it was, compared with
+her.
+
+All this, and more, he said, and pleaded for a further meeting.
+
+"Not here," Louisa said calmly.
+
+They parted at the beginning of a heavy shower of rain, and the fall
+James Harthouse had ridden for was averted.
+
+Mrs. Bounderby left her husband's house, left it for good; not to share
+Mr. Harthouse's life, but to return to her father.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind, released from parliament for a time, was alone in his
+study, when his eldest daughter entered.
+
+"What is the matter, Louisa?"
+
+"Father, I want to speak to you. You have trained me from my cradle?"
+
+"Yes, Louisa."
+
+"I curse the hour in which I was born to such a destiny. How could you
+give me life, and take from me all the things that raise it from the
+state of conscious death? Now, hear what I have come to say. With a
+hunger and a thirst upon me, father, which have never been for a moment
+appeased, in a condition where it seemed nothing could be worth the pain
+and trouble of a contest, you proposed my husband to me."
+
+"I never knew you were unhappy, my child!"
+
+"I took him. I never made a pretence to him or you that I loved him. I
+knew, and, father you knew, and he knew, that I never did. I was not
+wholly indifferent, for I had a hope of being pleasant and useful to
+Tom. But Tom had been the subject of all the little tenderness of my
+life, perhaps he became so because I knew so well how to pity him. It
+matters little now, except as it may dispose you to think more leniently
+of his errors."
+
+"What can I do, child? Ask me what you will."
+
+"I am coming to it. Father, chance has thrown into my way a new
+acquaintance; a man such as I had had no experience of--light, polished,
+easy. I only wondered it should be worth his while, who cared for
+nothing else, to care so much for me. It matters little how he gained my
+confidence. Father, he did gain it. What you know of the story of my
+marriage he soon knew just as well."
+
+Her father's face was ashy white.
+
+"I have done no worse; I have not disgraced you. This night, my husband
+being away, he has been with me. This minute he expects me, for I could
+release myself of his presence by no other means. I do not know that I
+am sorry or ashamed. All that I know is, your philosophy and your
+teaching will not save me. Father, you have brought me to this. Save me
+by some other means?"
+
+She fell insensible, and he saw the pride of his heart and the triumph
+of his system lying at his feet. And it came to Thomas Gradgrind that
+night and on the morrow when he sat beside his daughter's bed, that
+there was a wisdom of the heart no less than a wisdom of the head; and
+that in supposing the latter to be all sufficient, he had erred.
+
+But no such change of mind took place in Mr. Bounderby. Finding his wife
+absent, he went at once to Stone Lodge, and blustered in his usual way.
+
+Mr. Gradgrind tried to make him understand that the best thing to do was
+to leave things as they were for a time, and that Louisa, who had been
+so tried, should stay on a visit to her father, and be treated with
+tenderness and consideration. It was all wasted on Blunderby.
+
+"Now, I don't want to quarrel with you, Tom Gradgrind!" he retorted. "If
+your daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby, and might have done better by
+leaving Loo Gradgrind, don't come home at noon to-morrow, I shall
+understand that she prefers to stay away, and you'll take charge of her
+in future. What I shall say to people in general of the incompatibility
+that led to my so laying down the law will be this: I am Josiah
+Bounderby, she's the daughter of Tom Gradgrind; and the two horses
+wouldn't pull together. I am pretty well known to be rather an uncommon
+man, and most people will understand that it must be a woman rather out
+of the common who would come up to my mark. I have got no more to say.
+Good-night!"
+
+At five minutes past twelve next day, Mr. Bounderby directed his wife's
+property to be carefully packed up and sent to Tom Gradgrind's, and then
+resumed a bachelor's life.
+
+Mr. James Harthouse, learning from Louisa's maid--a young woman greatly
+attached to her mistress--that his attentions were altogether
+undesirable, and that he would never see Mrs. Bounderby again, decided
+to throw up politics and leave Coketown at once. Which he did.
+
+Into how much of futurity did Mr. Bounderby see as he sat alone? Had he
+any prescience of the day, five years to come, when Josiah Bounderby, of
+Coketown, was to die in a fit in the Coketown street? Could he foresee
+Mr. Gradgrind, a white-haired man, making his facts and figures
+subservient to Faith, Hope, and Charity, and no longer trying to grind
+that Heavenly trio in his dusty little mills? These things were to be.
+
+Could Louisa, sitting alone in her father's house and gazing into the
+fire, foresee the childless years before her? Could she picture a lonely
+brother, flying from England after robbery, and dying in a strange land,
+conscious of his want of love and penitent? These things were to be.
+Herself again a wife--a mother--lovingly watchful of her children, ever
+careful that they should have a childhood of the mind no less than a
+childhood of the body, as knowing it to be an even more beautiful thing,
+and a possession any hoarded scrap of which is a blessing and happiness
+to the wisest? Such a thing was never to be.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Little Dorrit
+
+
+      "Little Dorrit" was written at a time when the author was
+     busying himself not only with other literary work, but also
+     with semi-private theatricals. John Forster, Charles Dickens's
+     biographer and friend, even had some sort of fear at that time
+     that Dickens was in danger of adopting the stage as a
+     profession. Domestic troubles, culminating a year later in the
+     separation from his wife, also explain the restlessness and
+     general dissatisfaction which affected the great novelist in
+     the years 1855-57, when this story appeared. Hence there is no
+     surprise that "Little Dorrit" added but little to its author's
+     reputation. It is a very long book, but it will never take a
+     front-rank place. The story, however, on its appearance in
+     monthly parts, the first of which was published in January
+     1856, and the completed work in 1857, was enormously
+     successful, beating, in Dickens's own words, "'Bleak House'
+     out of the field." Popular with the public, it has never won
+     the critics.
+
+
+_I.--The Father of the Marshalsea_
+
+
+Thirty years ago there stood, a few doors short of the church of Saint
+George, in the Borough of Southwark, on the left-hand side of the way
+going southward, the Marshalsea Prison. It had stood there many years
+before, and it remained there some years afterwards; but it is gone now,
+and the world is none the worse without it.
+
+A debtor had been taken to the Marshalsea Prison, a very amiable and
+very helpless middle-aged gentleman who was perfectly clear--"like all
+the rest of them," the turnkey on the lock said--that he was going out
+again directly.
+
+The affairs of this debtor, a shy, retiring man, with a mild voice and
+irresolute hands, were perplexed by a partnership, of which he knew no
+more than that he had invested money in it.
+
+"Out?" said the turnkey. "He'll never get out unless his creditors take
+him by the shoulders and shove him out!"
+
+The next day the debtor's wife came to the Marshalsea, bringing with her
+a little boy of three, and a little girl of two.
+
+"Two children," the turnkey observed to himself. "And you another, which
+makes three; and your wife another, which makes four."
+
+Six months later a little girl was born to the debtor, and when this
+child was eight years old, her mother, who had long been languishing,
+died.
+
+The debtor had long grown accustomed to the place. Crushed at first by
+his imprisonment, he had soon found a dull relief in it. His elder
+children played regularly about the yard. If he had been a man with
+strength of purpose, he might have broken the net that held him, or
+broken his heart; but being what he was, he slipped easily into this
+smooth descent, and never more took one step upward.
+
+The shabby old debtor with the soft manners and the white hair became
+the Father of the Marshalsea. And he grew to be proud of the title. All
+newcomers were presented to him. He was punctilious in the exaction of
+this ceremony. They were welcome to the Marshalsea, he would tell them.
+
+It became a not unusual circumstance for letters to be put under his
+door at night enclosing half-a-crown, two half-crowns, now and then, at
+long intervals, even half a sovereign, for the Father of the Marshalsea,
+"With the compliments of a collegian taking leave." He received the
+gifts as tributes to a public character.
+
+Later he established the custom of attending collegians of a certain
+standing to the gate, and taking leave of them there. The collegian
+under treatment would often wrap up something in a paper and give it to
+him, "For the Father of the Marshalsea."
+
+
+_II.--The Child of the Marshalsea_
+
+
+The youngest child of the Father of the Marshalsea, born within the
+jail, was a very, very little creature indeed when she gained the
+knowledge that while her own light steps were free to pass beyond the
+prison gate, her father's feet must never cross that line.
+
+At thirteen she could read and keep accounts--that is, could put down in
+words and figures how much the bare necessaries they needed would cost,
+and how much less they had to buy them with. From the first she was
+inspired to be something which was not what the rest were, and to be
+that something for the sake of the rest. Recognised as useful, even
+indispensable, she took the place of eldest of the three in all but
+precedence; was the head of the fallen family, and bore, in her own
+heart, its anxieties and shames. She had been, by snatches of a few
+weeks at a time, to an evening school outside, and got her sister and
+brother sent to day schools by desultory starts, during three or four
+years. There was no instruction for any of them at home; but she knew
+well--no one better--that a man so broken as to be the Father of the
+Marshalsea could be no father to his own children.
+
+To these scanty means of improvement she added others. Her sister Fanny,
+having a great desire to learn dancing, the Child of the Marshalsea
+persuaded a dancing-master, detained for a short time, to teach her. And
+Fanny became a dancer.
+
+There was a ruined uncle in the family group, ruined by his brother, the
+Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than his ruiner did,
+on whom Fanny's protection devolved. Naturally a retired and simple man,
+he had shown no particular sense of being ruined, further than that he
+left off washing when the shock was announced, and never took to that
+luxury any more. Having been a very indifferent musical amateur in his
+better days, when he fell with his brother he resorted for support to
+playing a clarionet in a small theatre orchestra. It was the theatre in
+which his niece became a dancer, and he accepted the task of serving as
+her escort and guardian.
+
+To get her brother--christened Edward, but called Tip--out of the prison
+was a more difficult task. Every post she obtained for him he always
+gave up, returning with the announcement that he was tired of it, and
+had cut it.
+
+One day he came back, and said he was in for good, that he had been
+taken for forty pounds odd. For the first time in all those years, she
+sank under her cares. It was so hard to make Tip understand that the
+Father of the Marshalsea must not know the truth about his son.
+
+For, the Father of the Marshalsea, as he grew more dependent on the
+contributions of his changing family, made the greater stand by his
+forlorn gentility. So the pretence had to be kept up that neither of his
+daughters earned their bread.
+
+The Child of the Marshalsea learned needlework of an insolvent milliner,
+and went out daily to work for a Mrs. Clennam.
+
+This was the life and this the history of the Child of the Marshalsea at
+twenty-two. Worldly wise in hard and poor necessities, she was innocent
+in all things else. This was the life, and this the history of Little
+Dorrit, now going home upon a dull September evening, and observed at a
+distance by Arthur Clennam. Arthur Clennam had returned to his mother's
+house--a dark and gloomy place--from the Far East. He had noticed that
+Little Dorrit appeared at eight, and left at eight. She let herself out
+to do needlework, he was told. What became of her between the two eights
+was a mystery.
+
+It was not easy for Arthur Clennam to make out Little Dorrit's face; she
+plied her needle in such retired corners. But it seemed to be a pale,
+transparent face, quick in expression, though not beautiful in feature.
+A delicately bent head, a tiny form, a quick little pair of busy hands,
+and a shabby dress--shabby but very neat--were Little Dorrit as she sat
+at work.
+
+Arthur Clennam watched Little Dorrit disappear within the outer gate of
+the Marshalsea, and presently stopped an old man to ask what place it
+was.
+
+"This is the Marshalsea, sir."
+
+"Can anyone go in here?"
+
+"Anyone can go in," replied the old man, plainly implying, "but it is
+not everyone who can go out."
+
+"Pardon me once more. I am not impertinently curious. But are you
+familiar with the place? Do you know the name of Dorrit here?"
+
+"My name, sir," replied the old man, "is Dorrit."
+
+Clennam explained that he had seen a young woman working at his
+mother's, spoken of as Little Dorrit, and had noticed her come in here,
+and that he was sincerely interested in her, and wanted to know
+something about her.
+
+"I know very little of the world, sir," replied the old man, "it would
+not be worth while to mislead me. The young woman whom you saw go in is
+my brother's child. You say you have seen her at your mother's, and have
+felt an interest in her, and wish to know what she does here. Come and
+see."
+
+Arthur Clennam followed his guide to the room of the Father of the
+Marshalsea.
+
+"I found this gentleman," said the uncle--"Mr. Clennam, William, son of
+Amy's friend--at the outer gate, wishful, as he was going by, of paying
+his respects. This is my brother William, sir."
+
+"Mr. Clennam," said William Dorrit, "you are welcome, sir; pray sit
+down. I have welcomed many visitors here."
+
+The Father of the Marshalsea went on to mention that he had been
+gratified by the testimonials of his visitors--the "very acceptable
+testimonials."
+
+When Clennam left he presented his testimonial, and the next morning
+found him there again. He went out with Little Dorrit alone; asked her
+if she had ever heard his mother's name before.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"I am not asking from any reason that can cause you anxiety. You think
+that at no time of your father's life was my name of Clennam ever
+familiar to him?"
+
+"No, sir. And, oh, I hope you will not misunderstand my father! Don't
+judge him, sir, as you would judge others outside the gates. He has been
+there so long."
+
+They had walked some way before they returned. She was not working at
+Mrs. Clennam's that day.
+
+The courtyard received them at last, and there he said good-bye to
+Little Dorrit. Little as she had always looked, she looked less than
+ever when he saw her going into the Marshalsea Lodge passage.
+
+Aware that his mother might have once averted the ruin of the Dorrit
+family, Clennam returned more than once to the Marshalsea. No word of
+love crossed his lips; he told Little Dorrit to think of him as an old
+man, old enough to be her father, and he besought her only to let him
+know if at any time he could do her service. "I press for no confidence
+now. I only ask you to repose unhesitating trust in me," he said.
+
+"Can I do less than that when you are so good?"
+
+"Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness or
+anxiety concealed from me?"
+
+"Almost none."
+
+But if Arthur Clennam kept silent, Little Dorrit was not without a
+lover. Years ago young John Chivery, the sentimental son of the turnkey,
+had eyed her with admiring wonder. There seemed to young John a fitness
+in the attachment. She, the Child of the Marshalsea; he, the
+lock-keeper. Every Sunday young John presented cigars to the Father of
+the Marshalsea--who was glad to get them--and one particular Sunday
+afternoon he mustered up courage to urge his suit.
+
+Little Dorrit was out, walking on the Iron Bridge, when young John found
+her.
+
+"Miss Amy," he stammered, "I have had for a long time--ages they seem to
+me--a heart-cherished wish to say something to you. May I say it? May I,
+Miss Amy? I but ask the question humbly--may I say it? I know very well
+your family is far above mine. It were vain to conceal it. I know very
+well that your high-souled brother, and likewise your spirited sister,
+spurn me from a height."
+
+"If you please, John Chivery," Little Dorrit answered, in a quiet way,
+"since you are so considerate as to ask me whether you shall say any
+more--if you please, no."
+
+"Never, Miss Amy?"
+
+"No, if you please. Never."
+
+"Oh, Lord!" gasped young John.
+
+"When you think of us, John--I mean, my brother and sister and me--don't
+think of us as being any different from the rest; for whatever we once
+were we ceased to be long ago, and never can be any more. And, good-bye,
+John. And I hope you will have a good wife one day, and be a happy man.
+I am sure you will deserve to be happy, and you will be, John."
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Amy. Good-bye!"
+
+
+_III.--The Marshalsea Becomes an Orphan_
+
+
+It turned out that Mr. Dorrit, being of the Dorrits of Dorsetshire, was
+heir-at-law to a great fortune. Inquiries and investigations confirmed
+it.
+
+Arthur Clennam broke the news to Little Dorrit, and together they went
+to the, Marshalsea. William Dorrit was sitting in his old grey gown and
+his old black cap in the sunlight by the window when they entered.
+"Father, Mr. Clennam has brought me such joyful and wonderful
+intelligence about you!"
+
+Her agitation was great, and the old man put his hand suddenly to his
+heart, and looked at Clennam.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Dorrit, what surprise would be the most unlocked for and
+the most acceptable to you. Do not be afraid to imagine it, or to say
+what it would be."
+
+He looked steadfastly at Clennam, and, so looking at him, seemed to
+change into a very old, haggard man. The sun was bright upon the wall
+beyond the window, and on the spikes at the top. He slowly stretched out
+the hand that had been upon his heart, and pointed at the wall.
+
+"It is down," said Clennam. "Gone! And in its place are the means to
+possess and enjoy the utmost that they have so long shut out. Mr.
+Dorrit, there is not the smallest doubt that within a few days you will
+be free and highly prosperous."
+
+They had to fetch wine for the old man, and when he had swallowed a
+little he leaned back in his chair and cried. But he quickly recovered,
+and announced that everybody concerned should be nobly rewarded.
+
+"No one, my dear sir, shall say that he has an unsatisfied claim against
+me. Everybody shall be remembered. I will not go away from here in
+anybody's debt. I particularly wish to act munificently, Mr. Clennam."
+
+Clennam's offer of money for present contingencies was at once accepted.
+
+"I am obliged to you for the temporary accommodation, sir. Exceedingly
+temporary, but well timed--well timed. Be so kind, sir, as to add the
+amount to former advances."
+
+He grew more composed presently, and then when he seemed to be falling
+asleep unexpectedly sat up and said, "Mr. Clennam, am I to understand,
+my dear sir, that I could pass through the lodge at this moment, and
+take a walk?"
+
+"I think not, Mr. Dorrit," was the unwilling reply. "There are certain
+forms to be completed. It is but a few hours now."
+
+"A few hours, sir!" he returned in a sudden passion. "You talk very
+easily of hours, sir! How long do you suppose, sir, that an hour is to a
+man who is choking; for want of air?"
+
+It was his last demonstration for that time, but in the interval before
+the day of his departure he was very imperious with the lawyers
+concerned in his release, and a good deal of business was transacted.
+
+Mr. Arthur Clennam received a cheque for L24 93. 8d. from the solicitors
+of Edward Dorrit, Esq.--once "Tip"--with a note that the favour of the
+advance now repaid had not been asked of him.
+
+To the applications made by collegians within the so-soon-to-be-orphaned
+Marshalsea for small sums of money, Mr. Dorrit responded with the
+greatest liberality. He also invited the whole College to a
+comprehensive entertainment in the yard, and went about among the
+company on that occasion, and took notice of individuals, like a baron
+of the olden time, in a rare good humour.
+
+And now the final hour arrived when he and his family were to leave the
+prison for ever. The carriage was reported ready in the outer courtyard.
+Mr. Dorrit and his brother proceeded arm in arm, Edward Dorrit, Esq.,
+and his sister Fanny followed, also arm in arm.
+
+There was not a collegian within doors, nor a turnkey absent, as they
+crossed the yard. Mr. Dorrit--whose meat and drink had many a time been
+bought with money presented by some of those who stood to watch him
+go--yielding to the vast speculation how the poor creatures were to get
+on without him, was great, and sad, but not absorbed. He patted children
+on the head like Sir Roger de Coverley going to church, spoke to people
+in the background by their Christian names, and condescended to all
+present.
+
+At last three honest cheers announced that he had passed the gate, and
+that the Marshalsea was an orphan.
+
+Only when the family had got into their carriage, and not before, Miss
+Fanny exclaimed, "Good gracious I Where's Amy?"
+
+Her father had thought she was with her sister. Her sister had thought
+she was somewhere or other. They had all trusted to find her, as they
+had always done, quietly in the right place at the right moment. This
+going away was, perhaps, the very first action of their joint lives that
+they had got through without her.
+
+"Now I do say, Pa," cried Miss Fanny, flushed and indignant, "that this
+is disgraceful! Here is that child, Amy, in her ugly old shabby dress.
+Disgracing us at the last moment by being carried out in that dress
+after all. And by that Mr. Clennam too!"
+
+Clennam appeared at the carriage-door, bearing the little insensible
+figure in his arms.
+
+"She has been forgotten," he said. "I ran up to her room, and found the
+door open, and that she had fainted on the floor."
+
+They received her in the carriage, and the attendant, getting between
+Clennam and the carriage-door, with a sharp "By your leave, sir!"
+bundled up the steps, and drove away.
+
+
+_IV.--Another Prisoner in the Marshalsea_
+
+
+The Dorrit family travelled abroad in handsome style, and in due time
+Miss Fanny married.
+
+A sudden seizure carried off old Mr. Dorrit, and he died thinking
+himself back in the Marshalsea. His brother Frederick, stricken with
+grief, did not long survive him.
+
+Arthur Clennam, who had gone into partnership with a friend named Doyce,
+unfortunately invested his money in the financial schemes of Mr. Merdle,
+the greatest swindler of the day, and when the crash came and Merdle
+committed suicide, Clennam with hundreds of other innocent persons was
+involved in the general ruin.
+
+Doyce was working at the time in Germany, and it was some weeks before
+he could be found; in the meantime, Clennam, being insolvent, was taken
+to the Marshalsea.
+
+Mr. Chivery was on the lock and young John was in the lodge when the
+Marshalsea was reached. The elder Mr. Chivery shook hands with him in a
+shamefaced kind of way, and said, "I don't call to mind, sir, as I was
+ever less glad to see you."
+
+The prisoner followed young John up the old staircase into the old room.
+"I thought you'd like the room, and here it is for you," said young
+John.
+
+Young John waited upon him; and it was young John who explained that he
+did this not on the ground of the prisoner's merits, but because of the
+merits of another, of one who loved the prisoner. Clennam tried to argue
+to himself the improbability of Little Dorrit loving him, but he wasn't
+altogether successful.
+
+He fell ill, and it was Little Dorrit whose living presence first
+cheered him when he returned from the world of feverish dreams and
+shadows.
+
+He did his best to dissuade her from coming. He was a ruined man, and
+the time when Little Dorrit and the prison had anything in common had
+long gone by.
+
+But still she came and often read to him. And one day she told him that
+all her money had gone as his had gone, lost in the Merdle whirlpool,
+and that her sister Fanny's was lost, too, in the same way.
+
+"I have nothing in the world. I am as poor as when I lived here. When
+papa came over to England, just before his death, he confided everything
+he had to the same hands, and it is all swept away. Oh, my dearest and
+best, are you quite sure you will not share my fortune with me?"
+
+Locked in his arms, held to his heart, she drew the slight hand round
+his neck, and clasped it in its fellow-hand.
+
+Of course, when Doyce, who was a thoroughly good fellow, and successful
+to boot, found out his partner's plight, he came back and put things
+right, and the business was soon set going again.
+
+And on the very day of his release, Arthur Clennam and Little Dorrit
+went into the neighbouring church of St. George, and were married, Doyce
+giving the bride away.
+
+Little Dorrit and her husband walked out of the church alone when the
+signing of the register was done.
+
+They paused for a moment on the steps of the portico, and then went down
+into the roaring streets, inseparable and blessed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Martin Chuzzlewit
+
+
+      On its monthly publication, in 1843-44, "Martin Chuzzlewit"
+     was, pecuniarily, the least successful of Dickens's serials,
+     though popular as a book. It was his first novel after his
+     American tour, and the storm of resentment that had hailed the
+     appearance of "American Notes," in 1842, was intensified by
+     his merciless satire of American characteristics and
+     institutions in "Martin Chuzzlewit." Despite all adverse
+     criticism, however, "Chuzzlewit" is worthy to rank with
+     anything that ever came from the pen of the great Victorian
+     novelist. It is a very long story, and a very full one; the
+     canvas is crowded with a gallery of typical Dickensian people.
+     Through Mrs. Gamp, Dickens dealt a death-blow to the drunken
+     nurse of the period. The name Pecksniff has become synonymous
+     with a certain type of hypocrite, and the adjective
+     Pecksniffian is in common use wherever the English language is
+     spoken. Charged with exaggeration regarding Mr. Pecksniff,
+     Dickens wrote in the preface to "Martin Chuzzlewit," "All the
+     Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that
+     no such character ever existed. I will not offer any plea on
+     his behalf to so powerful and genteel a body." Mrs. Gamp,
+     though one of the humorous types that have, perhaps,
+     contributed most largely to the fame of Dickens, does not
+     appear in this epitome, the character being a minor one in the
+     development of the story.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Pecksniff's New Pupil_
+
+
+Mr. Pecksniff lived in a little Wiltshire village within an easy journey
+of Salisbury.
+
+The brazen plate upon his door bore the inscription, "Pecksniff,
+Architect," to which Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added,
+"and Land Surveyor." Of his architectural doings nothing was clearly
+known, except that he had never designed or built anything.
+
+Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not
+entirely, confined to the reception of pupils. His genius lay in
+ensnaring parents and guardians and pocketing premiums.
+
+Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. Perhaps there never was a more moral man
+than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence.
+Some people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the
+way to a place, and never goes there; but these were his enemies.
+
+Into Mr. Pecksniff's house came young Martin Chuzzlewit, a relation of
+the architect's. Tom Pinch, Mr. Pecksniff's assistant, had driven over
+to Salisbury for the new pupil, and had already discoursed to Martin on
+Mr. Pecksniff and his family (for Mr. Pecksniff had two
+daughters--Mercy, and Charity), in whose good qualities he had a
+profound and pathetic belief.
+
+Festive preparations on a rather extensive scale were already completed
+for Martin's benefit on the night of his arrival. There were two bottles
+of currant wine, white and red; a dish of sandwiches, very long, and
+very slim; another of apples; another of captain's biscuits; a plate of
+oranges cut up small and gritty with powdered sugar; and a highly
+geological home-made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite
+took away Tom Pinch's breath, for though the new pupils were usually let
+down softly, particularly in the wine department, still this was a
+banquet, a sort of lord mayor's feast in private life, a something to
+think of, and hold on by afterwards.
+
+To this entertainment Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do full
+justice.
+
+"Martin," he said, addressing his daughters, "will seat himself between
+you two, my dears, and Mr. Pinch will come by me. This is a mingling
+that repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry."
+Here he took a captain's biscuit. "It is a poor heart that never
+rejoices; and our hearts are not poor. No!"
+
+The following morning Mr. Pecksniff announced that he must go to London.
+"On professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional
+business; and I promised my girls long ago that they should accompany
+me. We shall go forth to-night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old,
+my dear Martin--and it will be a week before we again deposit, our
+olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive branches," observed Mr.
+Pecksniff, in explanation, "I mean our unpretending luggage."
+
+"And now let me see," said Mr. Pecksniff presently, "how can you best
+employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to give me
+your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London, or a tomb for a
+sheriff, or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a nobleman's
+park. A pump is a very chaste practice. I have found that a lamp-post is
+calculated to refine the mind and give it a classical tendency. An
+ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect upon the imagination. What
+do you say to beginning with an ornamental turnpike?"
+
+"Whatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Martin doubtfully.
+
+"Stay," said that gentleman. "Come! as you're ambitious, and are a very
+neat draughtsman, you shall try your hand on these proposals for a
+grammar-school. When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of
+occupation, Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of surveying the
+back-garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the road between this
+house and the finger-post, or in any other practical and pleasing
+pursuit. There is a cart-load of loose bricks, and a score or two of old
+flower-pots in the back-yard. If you could pile them up, my dear Martin,
+into any form which would remind me on my return, say, of St. Peter's at
+Rome, or the Mosque of St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once
+improving to you and agreeable to my feelings."
+
+The coach having rolled away, with the olive-branches in the boot and
+the family of doves inside, Martin Chuzzlewit and Tom Pinch were left
+together. Now, there was something in the very simplicity of Pinch that
+invited confidences, and young Martin could not refrain from telling his
+story.
+
+"I must talk openly to somebody," he began, "I'll talk openly to you.
+You must know, then, that I have been bred up from childhood with great
+expectations, and have always been taught to believe that one day I
+should be very rich. Certain things, however, have led to my being
+disinherited."
+
+"By your father?" inquired Tom.
+
+"By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. Now, my
+grandfather has a great many good points, but he has two very great
+faults, which are the staple of his bad side. He has the most confirmed
+obstinacy of character, and he is most abominably selfish; I have heard
+that these are failings of our family, and I have to be very thankful
+that they haven't descended to me. Now I come to the cream of my story,
+and the occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch. I am in love
+with one of the most beautiful girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is
+wholly and entirely dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and
+if he were to know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home
+and everything she possesses in the world. My grandfather, although I had
+conducted myself from the first with the utmost circumspection, is full
+of jealousy and mistrust, and suspected me of loving her. He said
+nothing to her, but attacked me in private, and charged me with
+designing to corrupt the fidelity to himself--observe his selfishness--
+of a young creature who was his only disinterested and faithful
+companion. The upshot of it was that I was to renounce her or be
+renounced by him. Of course, I was not going to yield to him, and here I
+am!"
+
+Mr. Pinch, after staring at the fire, said, "Pecksniff, of course, you
+knew before?"
+
+"Only by name. My grandfather kept not only himself, but me, aloof from
+all his relations. But our separation took place in a town in the
+neighbouring county. I saw Pecksniff's advertisement in the paper when I
+was at Salisbury, and answered it, having always had some natural taste
+in the matters to which it referred. I was doubly bent on coming to him
+if possible, on account of his being--"
+
+"Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rubbing his hands.
+
+"Why, not so much on that account," returned Martin, "as because my
+grandfather has an inveterate dislike to him, and after the old man's
+arbitrary treatment of me, I had a natural desire to run as directly
+counter to all his opinions as I could."
+
+
+_II.--Mr. Pecksniff Discharges His Duty_
+
+
+Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters took up their lodging in London at Mrs.
+Todgers's Commercial Boarding House, and it was at that favoured abode
+that old Martin Chuzzlewit, whose grandson had just entered Mr.
+Pecksniff's house, sought him out.
+
+"I very much regret," said old Martin, "that you and I held such a
+conversation as we did when we met awhile since. The intentions that I
+bear towards you now are of another kind. Deserted by all in whom I have
+ever trusted; hoodwinked and beset by all who should help and sustain
+me, I fly to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my ally; to attach
+yourself to me by ties of interest and expectations. I regret having
+been severed from you so long."
+
+Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in
+rapture.
+
+"I fear you don't know what an old man's humours are," resumed old
+Martin. "You don't know what it is to be required to court his likings
+and dislikings; to do his bidding, be it what it may. You have a new
+inmate in your house. He must quit it."
+
+"For--for yours?" asked Mr. Pecksniff.
+
+"For any shelter he can find. He has deceived you."
+
+"I hope not," said Mr. Pecksniff eagerly, "I trust not. I have been
+extremely well disposed towards that young man. Deceit--deceit, my dear
+Mr. Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of
+deceit, to renounce him instantly."
+
+"Of course, you know that he has made his matrimonial choice?"
+
+"Surely not without his grandfather's consent and approbation, my dear
+sir?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Don't tell me that. For the honour of human
+nature say you're not about to tell me that!"
+
+"I thought he had suppressed it."
+
+The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure was
+only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What, had
+they taken to their hearth and home a secretely contracted serpent?
+Horrible!
+
+Old Martin then went on to inquire when they would be returning home;
+and, after relieving Mr. Pecksniff's unexpressed anxiety by mentioning
+that Mary Graham, the young lady whom the old man had adopted, would
+receive nothing at his death, announced that they might expect to see
+him before long.
+
+With a hasty farewell, the old man left the house, followed to the door
+by Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters. A few days later the Pecksniffs set
+out for home.
+
+Tom Pinch and Martin were both out in the lane to meet the coach, but
+Mr. Pecksniff pointedly ignored Martin's presence, even when the house
+had been reached; and it was not till Martin sharply demanded an
+explanation that he addressed him.
+
+"You have deceived me," said Mr. Pecksniff. "You have imposed upon a
+nature which you knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. This lowly roof,
+sir, must not be contaminated by the presence of one who has, further,
+deceived--and cruelly deceived--an honourable and venerable gentleman,
+and who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my
+protection. I weep for your depravity. I mourn over your corruption, but
+I cannot have a leper and a serpent for an inmate! Go forth," said Mr.
+Pecksniff, stretching out his hand, "go forth, young man! Like all who
+know you, I renounce you!"
+
+Martin made a stride forward at these words, and Mr. Pecksniff stepped
+back so hastily that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and
+fell in a sitting posture on the ground, where he remained, perhaps
+considering it the safest place.
+
+"Look at him, Pinch," said Martin, "as he lies there--a cloth for dirty
+hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning, servile hound! And, mark
+me, Pinch, the day will come when even you will find him out!"
+
+He pointed at him as he spoke with unutterable contempt, and flinging
+his hat upon his head, walked from the house. He went on so rapidly that
+he was clear of the village before Tom Pinch overtook him.
+
+"Are you going?" cried Tom.
+
+"Yes," he answered sternly, "I am."
+
+"Where?" asked Tom.
+
+"I don't know. Yes, I do--to America."
+
+
+_III.--New Eden_
+
+
+Martin did not go to America alone, for Mark Tapley, formerly of the
+Blue Dragon, an inn in the village where Mr. Pecksniff resided, insisted
+on accompanying him.
+
+"Now, sir, here am I, without a sitiwation," Mr. Tapley put it, "without
+any want of wages for a year to come--for I saved up (I didn't mean to
+do it, but I couldn't help it) at the Dragon; here am I with a liking
+for what's wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out
+strong under circumstances as would keep other men down--and will you
+take me, or will you leave me?"
+
+Once landed in the United States, the question of what to do arose, and
+Martin decided to invest his savings in buying land in the rising
+township of New Eden.
+
+"Mark, you shall be a partner in the business," said Martin (Mark having
+invested L37 to Martin's L8); "an equal partner with myself. We are no
+longer master and servant. I will put in, as my additional capital, my
+professional knowledge, and half the annual profits, as long as it is
+carried on, shall be yours. Our business shall be commenced, as soon as
+we get to New Eden, under the name of Chuzzlewit and Tapley."
+
+"Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, "don't have my name in it! I must be
+'Co.,' I must."
+
+"You shall have your own way, Mark."
+
+"Thank 'ee sir! If any country gentleman thereabouts in the public way
+wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I could take that part of
+the bis'ness, sir."
+
+It was a long steamboat journey, but at last they stopped at Eden. The
+waters of the Deluge might have left it but a week ago, so choked with
+slime and matted growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.
+
+A man advanced towards them when they landed, walking slowly, leaning on
+a stick.
+
+"Strangers!" he exclaimed.
+
+"The very same," said Mark. "How are you, sir?"
+
+"I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. "I haven't stood
+upright these many weeks. My eldest son has a chill upon him. My
+youngest died last week."
+
+"I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart!" said Mark. "The goods
+is safe enough," he added, turning to Martin, and pointing to their
+boxes. "There ain't many people about to make away with 'em. What a
+comfort that is!"
+
+"No," cried the man; "we've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away.
+Them that we have here don't come out at night."
+
+"The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose?" said Mark.
+
+"It's deadly poison," was the answer.
+
+Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him as
+ambrosia; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explained
+the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his
+own log-house, he said.
+
+It was a miserable cabin, rudely constructed of the trunks of trees, the
+door of which had either fallen down or been carried away. When they had
+brought up their chest, Martin gave way, and lay down on the ground, and
+wept aloud.
+
+"Lord love you, sir," cried Mr. Tapley. "Don't do that. Anything but
+that! It never helped man, woman, or child over the lowest fence yet,
+sir, and it never will."
+
+Mark stole out gently in the morning while his companion slept, and took
+a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of cabins
+in the whole, and half of these appeared untenanted. Their own land was
+mere forest. He went down to the landing-place, where they had left
+their goods, and there he found some half a dozen men, wan and forlorn,
+who helped him to carry them to the log-house.
+
+Martin was by this time stirring, but he had greatly changed, even in
+one night. He was very pale and languid, and spoke of pains and
+weakness.
+
+"Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. "Why, you must be ill. Wait half
+a minute, till I run up to one of our neighbours and find out what's
+best to be took."
+
+Martin was soon dangerously ill, very near his death. Mark, fatigued in
+mind and body, working all the day and sitting up at night, worn by hard
+living, surrounded by dismal and discouraging circumstances, never
+complained or yielded in the least degree. And then, when Martin was
+better, Mark was taken ill. He fought against it; but the malady fought
+harder, and his efforts were vain.
+
+"Floored for the present, sir," he said one morning, sinking back upon
+his bed, "but jolly."
+
+And now it was Martin's turn to work and sit beside the bed and watch,
+and listen through the long, long nights to every sound in the gloomy
+wilderness.
+
+Martin's reflections in those days slowly showed him his own
+selfishness, and when Mark Tapley recovered, he found a singular
+alteration in his companion.
+
+"I don't know what to make of him," he thought one night. "He don't
+think of himself half as much as he did. It's a swindle. There'll be no
+credit in being jolly with _him_!"
+
+The settlement was deserted. The only thing to be done was to return to
+England.
+
+
+_IV.--The Downfall of Pecksniff_
+
+
+Old Martin Chuzzlewit had for some time taken up his residence at Mr.
+Pecksniff's, and Martin and Mark Tapley went to the Blue Dragon on their
+return.
+
+Martin at once sought out his grandfather, and marched into the house
+resolved on reconciliation. The old man listened to his appeal in
+silence; but Mr. Pecksniff spoke for him, and bade the young man begone.
+
+But old Martin was awake to Pecksniff's character, and resolved to set
+Mr. Pecksniff right, and Mr. Pecksniff's victims, too.
+
+Mark Tapley was the first person old Martin invited to see him. The old
+man had gone to London, and his grandson, Mary Graham, and Tom Pinch
+were all summoned to wait on him at a certain hour.
+
+From Mark, old Martin learnt that his grandson was an altered man.
+
+"There was always a deal of good in him," said Mr. Tapley, "but a little
+of it got crusted over somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that
+'ere paste, but--well, I think it may have been you, sir."
+
+"So you think," said Martin, "that his old faults are in some degree of
+my creation?"
+
+"Well, sir, I'm very sorry, but I can't unsay it. I don't believe that
+neither of you ever gave the other a fair chance."
+
+Presently came a knock at the door, and young Martin entered. The old
+man pointed to a distant chair. Then came Tom Pinch and his sister,
+Ruth; and Mary Graham; and Mrs. Lupin, the landlady of the Blue Dragon;
+and John Westlock, an old friend of Tom Pinch's.
+
+"Set the door open, Mark!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit.
+
+The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all knew
+it. It was Mr. Pecksniff's; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry, too, for
+he came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he stumbled once
+or twice.
+
+"Where is my venerable friend?" he cried upon the upper landing. And
+then, darting in and catching sight of old Martin, "My venerable friend
+is well?"
+
+Mr. Pecksniff looked round upon the assembled group, and shook his head
+reproachfully.
+
+"Oh, vermin!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Oh bloodsuckers! Horde of unnatural
+plunderers and robbers! Leave him! Leave him, I say! Begone! Abscond!
+You had better be off! Wander over the face of the earth, young sirs,
+and do not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the grey
+hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have the
+honour to act as an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff."
+
+He advanced, with outstretched arms, to take the old man's hand; but he
+had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its
+grasp. As he came smiling on, and got within his reach, old Martin,
+burning with indignation, rose up and struck him to the ground.
+
+"Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!" said Martin. And Mr. Tapley
+actually did drag him away, and struck him upon the floor with his back
+against the opposite wall.
+
+"Hear me, rascal!" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. "I have summoned you here to
+witness your own work. Come hither, my dear Martin! Why did we ever
+part? How could we ever part? How could you fly from me to him? The
+fault was mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so, and I have known
+it long. Mary, my love, come here."
+
+She trembled, and was very pale; but he sat her in his own chair, and
+stood beside it holding her hand, Martin standing by him.
+
+"The curse of our house," said the old man, looking kindly down upon
+her, "has been the love of self--has ever been the love of self." He
+drew one hand through Martin's arm, and standing so, between them,
+proceeded, "What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can
+hold it."
+
+Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist--well,
+well!
+
+But it was good in him that even then, in high fortune and happiness, he
+had still a hand left to stretch out to Tom Pinch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Nicholas Nickleby
+
+
+      Writing in 1848, Charles Dickens declared that when "Nicholas
+     Nickleby" was begun in 1838 "there were then a good many-cheap
+     Yorkshire schools in existence. There are very few now." In
+     the preface to the completed book the author mentioned that
+     more than one Yorkshire schoolmaster laid claim to be the
+     original of Squeers, and he had reason to believe "one worthy
+     has actually consulted authorities learned in the law as to
+     his having good grounds on which to rest an action for libel."
+     But Squeers, as Dickens insisted, was the representative of a
+     class, and not an individual. The Brothers Cheeryble were "no
+     creations of the author's brain" Dickens also wrote; and in
+     consequence of this statement "hundreds upon hundreds of
+     letters from all sorts of people" poured in upon him to be
+     forwarded "to the originals of the Brothers Cheeryble." They
+     were the Brothers Grant, cotton-spinners, near Manchester.
+     "Nicholas Nickleby" was completed in October, 1839.
+
+
+_I.--A Yorkshire Schoolmaster_
+
+
+Mr. Nickleby, a country gentleman of small estate, having endeavoured to
+increase his scanty fortune by speculation, found himself ruined; he
+took to his bed (apparently resolved to keep that, at all events), and,
+after embracing his wife and children, very soon departed this life. So
+Mrs. Nickleby went to London to wait upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph
+Nickleby, and with her two children, Nicholas, then nineteen, and Kate,
+a year or two younger, took lodgings in the Strand.
+
+It was to these apartments that Ralph Nickleby, a hard, unscrupulous,
+cunning money-lender, came on receipt of the widow's note.
+
+"Are you willing to work, sir?" said Ralph, frowning at his nephew.
+
+"Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily.
+
+"Then see here," said his uncle. "This caught my eyes this morning, and
+you may thank your stars for it."
+
+With that Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his pocket and read
+the following advertisement.
+
+"_Education_.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers' Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at the
+delightful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, youths are boarded,
+clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, instructed in all
+languages living or dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry,
+trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if
+required), writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of
+classic literature. Terms, twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no
+vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends
+daily from one till four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B.--An able
+assistant wanted. Annual salary, L5, A Master of Arts would be
+preferred."
+
+"There!" said Ralph, folding the paper again. "Let him get that
+situation and his fortune's made. If he don't like that, let him get one
+for himself."
+
+"I am ready to do anything you wish me," said Nicholas, starting gaily
+up. "Let us try our fortune with Mr. Squeers at once; he can but
+refuse."
+
+"He won't do that," said Ralph. "He will be glad to have you on my
+recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be a
+partner in the establishment in no time."
+
+Nicholas, having taken down the address of Mr. Wackford Squeers, the
+uncle and nephew at once went forth in quest of that accomplished
+gentleman.
+
+"Perhaps you recollect me?" said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
+schoolmaster, as the Saracen's Head.
+
+"You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town
+for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a
+boy who, unfortunately----"
+
+"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
+sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
+assistant. Do you really want one?"
+
+"Certainly," answered Squeers.
+
+"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
+the man you want."
+
+"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
+youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."
+
+"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
+being a Master of Arts?"
+
+"The absence of the college degree _is_ an objection." replied Squeers,
+considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
+nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.
+
+"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
+apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
+Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
+assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.
+
+"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
+coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
+with us."
+
+"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
+to do but keep yourself warm."
+
+
+_II.--At Dotheboys Hall_
+
+
+"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
+arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the
+pump's froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be
+content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the
+well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys."
+
+Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
+the school-room.
+
+"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
+our shop."
+
+It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
+copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
+desks and forms.
+
+But the pupils!
+
+Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
+and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
+bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
+horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
+been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
+yet, painful as the scene was, it had its grotesque features.
+
+Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
+nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of
+brimstone and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in
+succession, using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.
+
+"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
+the operation was over.
+
+A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
+desk, and called up the first class.
+
+"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
+said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
+the first boy?"
+
+"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."
+
+"So he is, to be sure," replied Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode
+of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean,
+verb active, to make bright. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When
+the boy knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the
+second boy?"
+
+"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."
+
+"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
+bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned
+that bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's
+our system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"
+
+"A beast, sir," replied the boy.
+
+"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
+for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
+perfect in that, go and look after _my_ horse, and rub him down well, or
+I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till
+somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and
+they want the coppers filled."
+
+The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
+lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
+see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and
+know that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.
+
+In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
+Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
+slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.
+
+It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.
+
+Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
+displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a
+proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that "she'd
+bring his pride down"), and the petty indignities this lady could
+inflict upon him. He bore with the bad food, dirty lodging, and daily
+round of squalid misery in the school.
+
+But there came a day when Smike, unable to face his tormentors any
+longer, ran away. He was taken within four-and-twenty hours, and brought
+back, bedabbled with mud and rain, haggard and worn--to all appearance
+more dead than alive.
+
+The work this unhappy drudge performed would have cost the establishment
+some ten or twelve shillings a week in the way of wages, and Squeers,
+who, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of all runaways from
+Dotheboys Hall, prepared to take full vengeance on Smike.
+
+At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby
+started up from his desk, and cried "Stop!" in a furious voice.
+
+"Touch that boy at your peril. I will not stand by and see it done."
+
+He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
+spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.
+
+All Nicholas's feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were
+concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon
+the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the
+throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.
+
+Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her
+partner's coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary.
+With the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining
+strength into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from
+him with all the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated
+over an adjacent form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his
+descent, lay at full length on the ground, stunned and motionless.
+
+Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the
+room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched
+boldly out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.
+
+
+_III.--Brighter Days for Nicholas_
+
+
+After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned
+all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry
+office in London. And as he stood there looking at the various placards
+in the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted
+blue coat, happened to stop too.
+
+Nicholas caught the old gentleman's eye, and began to wonder whether the
+stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.
+
+As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to
+speak, and good-naturedly stood still.
+
+"I was only going to say," said Nicholas, "that I hoped you had some
+object in consulting those advertisements in the window."
+
+"Ay, ay; what object now?" returned the old gentleman. "Did you think I
+wanted a situation now, eh? I thought the same of you, at first, upon my
+word I did."
+
+"If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
+from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. "The kindness of your face and
+manner--both so unlike any I have ever seen--tempt me to speak in a way
+I should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of
+London."
+
+"Wilderness! Yes, it is; it is. It was a wilderness to me once. I came
+here barefoot--I have never forgotten it. What's the matter, how did it
+all come about?" said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of
+Nicholas, and walking him up the street. "In mourning, too, eh?" laying
+his finger on the sleeve of his black coat.
+
+"My father," replied Nicholas.
+
+"Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps?"
+
+Nicholas nodded.
+
+"Brothers and sisters, too, eh?"
+
+"One sister."
+
+"Poor thing, poor thing! You're a scholar too, I dare say. Education's a
+great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very
+fine thing. Tell me more of your history, all of it. No impertinent
+curiosity--no, no!"
+
+There was something so earnest and guileless in the way this was said
+that Nicholas could not resist it. So he told his story, and, at the
+end, the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they
+emerged in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into
+some business premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers,"
+on the doorpost, and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk
+in the counting-house.
+
+"Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.
+
+"Yes, he is, sir," said the clerk.
+
+What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor took him into a
+room and presented him to another old gentleman, the very type and model
+of himself--the same face and figure, the same clothes. Nobody could
+have doubted their being twin brothers.
+
+"Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, "here is a young friend of mine
+that we must assist." Then brother Charles related what Nicholas had
+told him. And, after that, and some conversation between the brothers,
+Tim Linkinwater was called in, and brother Ned whispered a few words in
+his ear.
+
+"Tim," said brother Charles, "you understand that we have an intention
+of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house."
+
+Brother Ned remarked that Tim quite approved of it, and Tim, having
+nodded, said, with resolution, "But I'm not coming an hour later in the
+morning, you know. I'm not going to the country either. It's forty-four
+years since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I've opened
+the safe all that time every morning at nine, and I've never slept out
+of the back attic one single night. This ain't the first time you've
+talked about superannuating me, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles; but, if you
+please, we'll make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore."
+
+With which words Tim Linkinwater stalked out, with the air of a man who
+was thoroughly resolved not to be put down.
+
+The brothers coughed.
+
+"He must be done something with, brother Ned. We must, disregard his
+scruples; he must be made a partner."
+
+"Quite right, quite right, brother Charles. If he won't listen to
+reason, we must do it against his will. But, in the meantime, we are
+keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be
+anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present." And at
+that the brothers hurried Nicholas out of the office, shaking hands with
+him all the way.
+
+That was the beginning of brighter days for Nicholas and for Mrs.
+Nickleby and Kate. The brothers Cheeryble not only took Nicholas into
+their office, but a small cottage at Bow, then quite out in the country,
+was found for the widow and her children.
+
+There never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first
+week at that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new
+had been found. One day it was a grape-vine, and another day it was a
+boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlour cupboard at
+the bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items.
+
+As for Nicholas's work in the counting-house, Tim Linkinwater was
+satisfied with the young man the very first day.
+
+Tim turned pale and stood watching with breathless anxiety when Nicholas
+made his first entry in the books of Cheeryble Brothers, while the two
+brothers looked on with smiling faces.
+
+Presently the old clerk nodded his head, signifying "He'll do." But when
+Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, Tim Linkinwater, unable to
+restrain his satisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and
+caught him rapturously by the hand.
+
+"He has done it!" said Tim, looking round triumphantly at his employers.
+"His capital 'B's' and 'D's' are exactly like mine; he dots his small
+'i's' and crosses every 't.' There ain't such a young man in all London.
+The City can't produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it!"
+
+
+_IV.--The Brothers Cheeryble_
+
+
+In course of time the brothers Cheeryble, in their frequent visits to
+the cottage at Bow, often took with them their nephew Frank; and it also
+happened that Miss Madeline Bray, a ward of the brothers, was taken to
+the cottage to recover from a serious illness.
+
+Nicholas, from the first time he had seen Madeline in the office of
+Cheeryble Brothers, had fallen in love with her; but he decided that as
+an honourable man no word of love must pass his lips. While Kate
+Nickleby had been equally firm in declining to listen to any proposal
+from Frank.
+
+It was some time after Madeline had left the cottage, and Nicholas and
+Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own regrets, and
+to live for each other and for their mother, when there came one
+evening, per Mr. Linkinwater, an invitation from the brothers to dinner
+on the next day but one.
+
+"You may depend on it that this means something besides dinner," said
+Mrs. Nickleby solemnly.
+
+When the great day arrived who should be there at the house of the
+brothers but Frank and Madeline.
+
+"Young men," said brother Charles, "shake hands."
+
+"I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas.
+
+"Nor I," rejoined Frank, and the two young men clasped hands heartily.
+
+The old gentleman took them aside.
+
+"I wish to see you friends--close and firm friends. Frank, look here!
+Mrs. Nickleby, will you come on the other side? This is a copy of the
+will of Madeline's grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of L12,000. Now,
+Frank, you were largely instrumental in recovering this document. The
+fortune is but a small one, but we love Madeline. Will you become a
+suitor for her hand?"
+
+"No, sir. I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument,
+believing that her hand was already pledged elsewhere. In this, it
+seems, I judged hastily."
+
+"As you always do, sir!" cried brother Charles. "How dare you think,
+Frank, that we could have you marry for money? How dare you go and make
+love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without telling us first, and letting us
+speak for you. Mr. Nickleby, sir, Frank judged hastily, but he judged,
+for once, correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied--give me your hand--it
+is occupied by you and worthily. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby, as we,
+her dearest friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would
+have _him_ choose. He should have your sister's little hand, sir, if she
+had refused it a score of times--ay, he should, and he shall! What? You
+are the children of a worthy gentleman. The time was, sir, when my
+brother Ned and I were two poor, simple-hearted boys, wandering almost
+barefoot to seek bur fortunes. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, what a happy day this
+is for you and me! If our poor mother had only lived to see us now, Ned,
+how proud it would have made her dear heart at last!"
+
+So Madeline gave her heart and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day,
+and at the same time, Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. Madeline's money
+was invested in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Nicholas had
+become a partner, and before many years elapsed the business was carried
+on in the names of "Cheeryble and Nickleby."
+
+Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreating and brow-beating, to
+accept a share in the house; but he could never be prevailed upon to
+suffer the publication of his name as partner, and always persisted in
+the punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties.
+
+The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were happy?
+
+The first act of Nicholas, when he became a rich and prosperous
+merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and there
+came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was altered and
+enlarged; but no tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any
+association of bygone times was ever removed or changed. Mr. Squeers,
+having come within the meshes of the law over some nefarious scheme of
+Ralph Nickleby's, suffered transportation beyond the seas, and with his
+disappearance Dotheboys Hall was broken up for good.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Oliver Twist
+
+
+      "The Adventures of Oliver Twist," published serially in
+     "Bentley's Miscellany," 1837-39, and in book form in 1838, was
+     the second of Dickens's novels. It lacks the exuberance of
+     "Pickwick," and is more limited in its scenes and characters
+     than any other novel he wrote, excepting "Hard Times" and
+     "Great Expectations." But the description of the workhouse,
+     its inmates and governors, is done in Dickens's best style,
+     and was a frontal attack on the Poor Law administration of the
+     time. Bumble, indeed, has passed into common use as the
+     typical workhouse official of the least satisfactory sort. No
+     less powerful than the picture of Oliver's wretched childhood
+     is the description of the thieves' kitchen, presided over by
+     Fagin. Bill Sikes and the Artful Dodger are household words
+     for criminals, and the character of Fagin is drawn with
+     wonderful skill in this terrible view of the underworld of
+     London.
+
+
+_I.--The Parish Boy_
+
+
+Oliver was born in the workhouse, and his mother died the same night.
+Not even a promised reward of L10 could produce any information as to
+the boy's father or the mother's name. The woman was young, frail, and
+delicate--a stranger to the parish.
+
+"How comes he to have any name at all, then?" said Mrs. Mann (who was
+responsible for the early bringing up of the workhouse children) to Mr.
+Bumble, the parish beadle.
+
+The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, "I invented it.
+We name our foundings in alphabetical order. The last was a S; Swubble I
+named him. This was a T; Twist I named _him_. I have got names ready
+made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when
+we come to Z."
+
+"Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann.
+
+Oliver, being now nine years old, was removed from the tender mercies of
+Mrs. Mann, in whose wretched home not one kind word or look had ever
+lighted the gloom of his infant years, and was taken into the workhouse.
+
+Now the members of the board, who were long-headed men, had just
+established the rule that all poor people should have the alternative
+(for they would compel nobody, not they) of being starved by a gradual
+process in the house, or by a quick one out of it. All relief was
+inseparable from the workhouse, and the thin gruel issued three times a
+day to its inmates.
+
+The system was in full operation for the first six months after Oliver
+Twist's admission, and boys having generally excellent appetites, Oliver
+Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation. Each
+boy had one porringer of gruel, and no more. At last the boys got so
+voracious and wild with hunger, that one, who was tall for his age and
+hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small
+cook's shop), hinted darkly to his companions that unless he had another
+basin of gruel _per diem_ he was afraid he might some night happen to
+eat the boy who slept next him, a weakly youth of tender age. He had a
+wild, hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council was held,
+lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper that
+evening and ask for more, and it fell to Oliver Twist.
+
+The evening arrived, the boys took their places. The master, in his
+cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper to ladle out the gruel;
+his pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him, the gruel was served
+out, and a long grace was said over the short commons.
+
+The gruel disappeared, the boys whispered to each other, and winked at
+Oliver, while his next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was
+desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the table,
+and advancing to the master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat
+alarmed at his own temerity, "Please, sir, I want some more."
+
+The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He gazed in
+stupified astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then
+said, "What!"
+
+"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."
+
+The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in
+his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
+
+The board were sitting in solemn conclave when Mr. Bumble rushed into
+the room in great excitement, and addressing a gentleman in a high
+chair, said, "Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver Twist has
+asked for more!"
+
+There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance.
+
+"For _more_?" said the chairman. "Compose yourself, Bumble, and answer
+me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more, after he had
+eaten the supper allotted by the dietary?"
+
+"He did, sir," replied Bumble.
+
+"That boy will be hung," said a gentleman in a white waistcoat. "I know
+that boy will be hung."
+
+Nobody disputed the opinion. Oliver was ordered into instant
+confinement, and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
+workhouse gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would
+take Oliver Twist off their hands. In other words, five pounds and
+Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice
+to any trade, business, or calling.
+
+Mr. Gamfield, the chimney sweep, was the first to respond to this offer.
+
+"It's a nasty trade," said the chairman of the board.
+
+"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys before now," said another
+member.
+
+"That's because they damped the straw afore they lit it in the chimbley
+to make 'em come down again," said Gamfield. "That's all smoke, and no
+blaze; vereas smoke only sinds him to sleep, and that ain't no use in
+making a boy come down. Boys is wery obstinite and wery lazy, gen'l'men,
+and there's nothink like a good hot blaze to make 'em come down with a
+run. It's humane, too, gen'l'men, acause, even if they've stuck in the
+chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to hextricate
+theirselves."
+
+The board consented to hand over Oliver to the chimney-sweep (the
+premium being reduced to L3 10s.), but the magistrates declined to
+sanction the indentures, and it was Mr. Sowerberry, the undertaker, who
+finally relieved the board of their responsibility.
+
+Mrs. Sowerberry's ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight. He left the
+house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across
+fields, and gained the high road outside the town. A milestone intimated
+that it was seventy miles to London. In London he would be beyond the
+reach of Mr. Bumble; to London he would trudge.
+
+
+_II.--The Artful Dodger_
+
+
+It was on the seventh morning after he had left his native place that
+Oliver limped slowly into the town of Barnet. Tired and hungry he sat
+down on a doorstep, and presently was roused by the question "Hallo, my
+covey, what's the row?"
+
+The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young wayfarer was about his
+own age, but one of the queerest-looking boys that Oliver had ever seen.
+He was short for his age, and dirty, and he had about him all the airs
+and manners of a man. He wore a man's coat which reached nearly to his
+heels, and he had turned the cuffs back half-way up his arm to get his
+hands out of the sleeves. Altogether he was as roystering and swaggering
+a young gentleman as ever stood four feet six in his bluchers.
+
+"You want grub," said this strange boy, helping Oliver to rise; "and you
+shall have it. I'm at low-watermark myself, only one bob and a magpie;
+but as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump."
+
+"Going to London?" said the strange boy, while they sat and finished a
+meal in a small public-house.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Got any lodgings?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Money?"
+
+"No."
+
+The strange boy whistled.
+
+"I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night, don't you? Well,
+I've got to be in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman
+as lives there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for
+the change--that is, if any genelman he knows interduces you."
+
+This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting to be resisted, and on
+the way to London, where they arrived at nightfall, Oliver learnt that
+his friend's name was Jack Dawkins, but that he was known among his
+intimates as "The Artful Dodger."
+
+In Field Lane, in the slums of Saffron Hill, the Dodger pushed open the
+door of a house, and drew Oliver within.
+
+"Now, then," cried a voice, in reply to his whistle.
+
+"Plummy and slam," said the Dodger.
+
+This seemed to be a watchword, for a man at once appeared with a candle.
+
+"There's two on you," said the man. "Who's the t'other one, and where
+does he come from?"
+
+"A new pal from Greenland," replied Jack Dawkins. "Is Fagin upstairs?"
+
+"Yes, he's sortin the wipes. Up with you."
+
+The room that Oliver was taken into was black with age and dirt. Several
+rough beds, made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the floor.
+Seated round the table were four or five boys, none older than the
+Dodger, smoking long clay pipes, and drinking spirits with the air of
+middle-aged men. An old shrivelled Jew, of repulsive face, was standing
+over the fire, dividing his attention between a frying-pan and a
+clothes-horse full of silk handkerchiefs.
+
+The Dodger whispered a few words to the Jew, and then said aloud, "This
+is him, Fagin, my friend Oliver Twist."
+
+The Jew grinned. "We are very glad to see you, Oliver--very."
+
+A good supper Oliver had that night, and a heavy sleep, and a hearty
+breakfast next morning.
+
+When the breakfast was cleared away, Fagin, who was quite a merry old
+gentleman, and the Dodger and another boy named Charley Bates, played at
+a very curious game. The merry old gentleman, placing a snuffbox in one
+pocket of his trousers, a note-book in the other, and a watch in his
+waistcoat, and sticking a mock diamond pin in his shirt, and
+spectacle-case and handkerchief in his coat-pocket, trotted up and down
+the room in imitation of the manner in which old gentlemen walk about
+the streets; while the Dodger and Charley Bates had to get all these
+things out of his pockets without being observed. It was so very funny
+that Oliver laughed till the tears ran down his face.
+
+A few days later, and he understood the full meaning of the game.
+
+The Dodger and Charley Bates had taken Oliver out for a walk, and after
+sauntering along, they suddenly pulled up short on Clerkenwell Green, at
+the sight of an old gentleman reading at a bookstall. So intent was he
+over his book that he might have been sitting in an easy chair in his
+study.
+
+To Oliver's horror, the Dodger plunged his hand into the gentleman's
+pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and handed it to Bates. Then both boys
+ran away round the corner at full speed. Oliver, frightened at what he
+had seen, ran off, too; the old gentleman, at the same moment missing
+his handkerchief, and seeing Oliver scudding off, concluded he was the
+thief, and gave chase, still holding his book in his hand.
+
+The cry of "Stop thief!" was raised. Oliver was knocked down, captured,
+and taken to the police-station by a constable.
+
+The magistrate was still sitting, and Oliver would have been convicted
+there and then but for the arrival of the bookseller.
+
+"Stop, stop! Don't take him away! I saw it all! I keep the bookstall,"
+cried the man. "I saw three boys, two others, and the prisoner here. The
+robbery was committed by another boy. I saw that this one was amazed by
+it."
+
+Oliver was acquitted. But he had fainted. Mr. Brownlow, for that was the
+name of the old gentleman, shocked and moved at the boy's deathly
+whiteness, straightway carried the boy off in a cab to his own house in
+a quiet, shady street near Pentonville.
+
+
+_III.--Back in Fagin's Den_
+
+
+For many days Oliver remained insensible to the goodness of his new
+friends. But all that careful nursing could do was done, and he slowly
+and surely recovered. Mr. Brownlow, a kind-hearted old bachelor, took
+the greatest interest in his _protege_, and Oliver implored him not to
+turn him out of doors to wander in the streets.
+
+"My dear child," said the old gentleman, moved by the warmth of Oliver's
+appeal, "you need not be afraid of my deserting you. I have been
+deceived before in people I have endeavored to benefit, but I feel
+strongly disposed to trust you, nevertheless; and I am more interested
+in your behalf than I can well account for. Let me hear your story;
+speak the truth to me, and you shall not be friendless while I am
+alive."
+
+A certain unmistakable likeness in Oliver to a lady's portrait that was
+on the wall of the room struck Mr. Brownlow. What connection could there
+be between the original of the portrait, and this poor child?
+
+But before Mr. Brownlow had heard Oliver's story he had lost the boy.
+For Fagin, horribly uneasy lest Oliver should be the means of betraying
+his late companions, resolved to get him back as quickly as possible. To
+accomplish his evil purpose, Nancy, a young woman who belonged to
+Fagin's gang, and who had seen Oliver, was prevailed upon to undertake
+the commission.
+
+Now, the very evening before Oliver was to tell his story to Mr.
+Brownlow, the boy, anxious to prove his honesty, had set out with some
+books on an errand to the bookseller at Clerkenwell Green.
+
+"You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, "that you have brought these books
+back, and that you have come to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This
+is a five-pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten shillings
+change."
+
+"I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied Oliver eagerly.
+
+He was walking briskly along, thinking how happy and contented he ought
+to feel, when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very loud,
+"Oh, my dear brother!" He had hardly looked up when he was stopped by
+having a pair of arms thrown tight round his neck.
+
+"Don't!" cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of me. Who is it? What are
+you stopping me for?"
+
+The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the
+young woman who had embraced him.
+
+"I've found him! Oh, Oliver, Oliver! Oh, you naughty boy to make me
+suffer such distress on your account! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've
+found him! Thank gracious goodness heavens, I've found him!"
+
+The young woman burst out crying, and a couple of women standing by
+asked what was the matter.
+
+"Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, "he ran away from his parents, and
+went and joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke
+his mother's heart."
+
+"Young wretch!" said one woman.
+
+"Go home, do, you little brute," said the other.
+
+"I'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. "I don't know her. I haven't
+any sister or father or mother. I'm an orphan; I live at Pentonville."
+
+"Oh, only hear him, how he braves it out," cried the young woman. "Make
+him come home, or he'll kill his dear mother and father, and break my
+heart!"
+
+"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out of a beer-shop, with a
+white dog at his heels. "Young Oliver! Come home to your poor mother,
+you young dog!"
+
+"I don't belong to them. I don't know them! Help, help!" cried Oliver,
+struggling in the man's powerful grasp.
+
+"Help!" repeated the man. "Yes, I'll help you, you young rascal! What
+books are these? You've been a-stealin' 'em, have you? Give 'em here!"
+
+With these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him
+on the head.
+
+Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of
+the attack, terrified by the brutality of the man--who was none other
+than Bill Sikes, the roughest of all Fagin's pupils--what could one poor
+child do? Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; resistance
+was useless. Sikes and Nancy hurried the boy on between them through
+courts and alleys till, once more, he was within the dreadful house
+where the Dodger had first brought him. Long after the gas-lamps were
+lighted, Mr. Brownlow sat waiting in his parlour. The servant had run up
+the street twenty times to see if there were any traces of Oliver. The
+housekeeper had waited anxiously at the open door. But no Oliver
+returned.
+
+
+_IV.--Oliver Falls among Friends_
+
+
+Mr. Bill Sikes having an important house-breaking engagement with his
+fellow-robber, Mr. Toby Crackit, at Shepperton, decided that Oliver must
+accompany him.
+
+It was a detached house, and the night was dark as pitch when Sikes and
+Crackit, dragging Oliver along, climbed the wall and approached a
+narrow, shuttered window. In vain Oliver implored them to let him go.
+
+"Listen, you young limb," whispered Sikes, when a crowbar had overcome
+the shutter, and the lattice had been opened. "I'm going to put you
+through there." Drawing a dark lantern from his pocket, he added, "Take
+this light; go softly up the steps straight afore you, and along the
+hall to the street door; unfasten it, and let us in."
+
+The boy was put through the window, and Sikes, pointing to the door with
+his pistol, told him if he faltered he would shoot him.
+
+Hardly had Oliver advanced a few yards before Sikes called out, "Back!
+back!"
+
+Startled, the boy dropped the lantern, uncertain whether to advance or
+fly.
+
+The cry was repeated--a light appeared--a vision of two terrified,
+half-dressed men at the top of the stairs swam before his eyes--a
+flash--a loud noise--and he staggered back.
+
+Sikes got him out of the window before the smoke cleared away, and fired
+his pistol after the men, who were already in retreat.
+
+"Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes. "Give me a shawl here. They've hit
+him. Quick! The boy is bleeding."
+
+Then came the loud ringing of a bell, and the shouts of men, and the
+sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a rapid pace. And then
+the noises grew confused in the distance, and Oliver saw and heard no
+more.
+
+Sikes, finding the chase too hot, was compelled to leave Oliver in a
+ditch and make his escape with his friend Crackit.
+
+It was morning when Oliver awoke. His left arm was rudely bandaged in a
+shawl, and the bandage was saturated with blood. Weak and dizzy, he yet
+felt that if he remained where he was he would surely die, and so he
+staggered to his feet. The only house in sight was the one he had
+entered a few hours earlier, and he bent his steps towards it. He pushed
+against the garden-gate--it was unlocked. He tottered across the lawn,
+climbed the steps, knocked faintly at the door, and, his whole strength
+failing him, sank down against the little portico.
+
+Mr. Giles, the butler and general steward of the house, who had fired
+the shot and led the pursuit, was just explaining the exciting events of
+the night to his fellow-servants of the kitchen when Oliver's knock was
+heard. With considerable reluctance the door was opened, and then the
+group, peeping timorously over each other's shoulders, beheld no more
+formidable object than poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and
+exhausted.
+
+"Here he is!" bawled Giles. "Here's one of the, thieves, ma'am! Wounded,
+miss! I shot him!"
+
+They lugged the fainting boy into the hall, and then in the midst of all
+the noise and commotion, there was heard a sweet and gentle voice, which
+quelled it in an instant.
+
+"Giles!" whispered the voice from the stairhead. "Hush! You frighten my
+aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor creature much hurt?"
+
+"Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles.
+
+After a hasty consultation with her aunt, the same gentle speaker bade
+them carry the wounded person upstairs, and send to Chertsey at all
+speed for a constable and a doctor. The latter arrived when the young
+lady and her aunt, Mrs. Maylie, were at breakfast, and his visit to the
+sick-room changed the state of affairs. On his return he begged Mrs.
+Maylie and her niece to accompany him upstairs.
+
+In lieu of the dogged, black-visaged ruffian they had expected to see,
+there lay a mere child, sunk in a deep sleep.
+
+The ladies could not believe this delicate boy was a criminal, and when,
+on waking up, he told them his simple history, they were determined to
+prevent his arrest.
+
+The doctor undertook to save the boy, and to that end entered the
+kitchen where Mr. Giles, Brittles, his assistant, and the constable were
+regaling themselves with ale.
+
+"How is the patient, sir?" asked Giles.
+
+"So-so," returned the doctor. "I'm afraid you've got yourself into a
+scrape there, Mr. Giles. Are you a Protestant? And what are _you_?"
+turning sharply on Brittles.
+
+"Yes, sir; I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, turning very pale, for the
+doctor spoke with strange severity.
+
+"I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir," said Brittles, starting violently.
+
+"Then tell me this, both of you," said the doctor. "Are you going to
+take upon yourselves to swear that that boy upstairs is the boy that was
+put through the little window last night? Come, out with it! Pay
+attention to the reply, constable. Here's a house broken into, and a
+couple of men catch a moment's glimpse of a boy in the midst of
+gunpowder-smoke, and in all the distraction of alarm and darkness.
+Here's a boy comes to that very same house next morning, and because he
+happens to have his arm tied up, these men lay violent hands upon him,
+place his life in danger, and swear he is the thief. I ask you again,"
+thundered the doctor, "are you, on your solemn oaths, able to identify
+that boy?"
+
+Of course, under these circumstances, as Mr. Giles and Brittles couldn't
+identify the boy, the constable retired, and the attempted robbery was
+followed by no arrests.
+
+Oliver Twist grew up in the peaceful and happy home of Mrs. Maylie,
+under the tender affection of two good women. Later on, Mr. Brownlow was
+found, and Oliver's character restored. It was proved, too, that the
+portrait Mr. Brownlow possessed was that of Oliver's mother, whom its
+owner had once esteemed dearly. Betrayed by fate, the unhappy woman had
+sought refuge in the workhouse, only to die in giving birth to her son.
+
+In that same workhouse, where his authority had formerly been so
+considerable, Mr. Bumble came--as a pauper--to die.
+
+Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting
+against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage
+housebreaker murdered her.
+
+But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.
+
+For the Jew was taken and condemned to death, and in the condemned cell
+came the recollection to him of all the men he had known who had died
+upon the scaffold, some of them through his means.
+
+Sikes, when the news of Nancy's murder got abroad, was hunted by a
+furious crowd. He had taken refuge in an old, disreputable uninhabited
+house, known to his accomplices, which stood right over the Thames, in
+Jacob's Island, not far from Dockhead; but the pursuit was hot, and the
+only chance of safety lay in getting to the river.
+
+At the very moment when the crowd was forcing its way into the house,
+Sikes made a running noose to slip beneath his arm-pits, and so lower
+himself to a ditch beneath. He was out on the roof, and then, when the
+loop was over his head, the face of the murdered girl seemed to stare at
+him.
+
+"The eyes again!" he cried, in an unearthly screech, and threw up his
+arms in horror.
+
+Staggering, as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled
+over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight,
+tight as a bowstring. He fell for five-and-thirty feet, and then, after
+a sudden jerk, and a terrible convulsion of the limbs, swung lifeless
+against the wall.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Old Curiosity Shop
+
+
+      "The Old Curiosity Shop" was begun by Dickens in his new
+     weekly publication called "Master Humphrey's Clock," in 1840,
+     and its early chapters were written in the first person. But
+     its author soon got rid of the impediments that pertained to
+     "Master Humphrey," and "when the story was finished," Dickens
+     wrote, "I caused the few sheets of 'Master Humphrey's Clock,'
+     which had been printed in connection with it, to be
+     cancelled." "The Old Curiosity Shop" won a host of friends for
+     the author; A.C. Swinburne even declared Little Nell equal to
+     any character in fiction. The lonely figure of the child with
+     grotesque and wild, but not impossible, companions, took the
+     hearts of all readers by storm, and the death of Little Nell
+     moved thousands to tears. While the story was appearing, Tom
+     Hood, then unknown to Dickens, wrote an essay "tenderly
+     appreciative" of Little Nell, "and of all her shadowy kith and
+     kin." The immense and deserved popularity of the book is shown
+     by the universal acquaintance with Mrs. Jarley, and the common
+     use of the phrase "Codlin's the friend--not Short."
+
+
+_I.--Little Nell and Her Grandfather_
+
+
+The shop was one of those receptacles for old and curious things which
+seem to crouch in odd corners of London. There were suits of mail
+standing like ghosts in armour, rusty weapons of various kinds,
+tapestry, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.
+
+The haggard aspect of a little old man, with long grey hair, who stood
+within, was wonderfully suited to the place. Nothing in the whole
+collection looked older or more worn than he.
+
+Confronting the old man was a young man of dissipated appearance, and
+high words were taking place.
+
+"I tell you again I want to see my sister," said the younger man. "You
+can't change the relationship, you know. If you could, you'd have done
+it long ago. But as I may have to wait some time I'll call in a friend
+of mine, with your leave."
+
+At this he brought in a companion of even more dissolute appearance than
+himself.
+
+"There, it's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in.
+
+"But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone.
+"What is the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of
+conviviality, and the wing of friendship never moults a feather! But,
+only one little whisper, Fred--_is_ the old min friendly?"
+
+Mr. Swiveller then leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silence;
+only to break it by observing, "Gentlemen, how does the case stand? Here
+is a jolly old grandfather, and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly
+old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up
+and educated you, Fred; you have bolted a little out of the course, and
+you shall never have another chance.' The wild young grandson makes
+answer, 'You're as rich as can be, why can't you stand a trifle for your
+grown up relation?' Then the plain question is, ain't it a pity this
+state of things should continue, and how much better it would be for the
+old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all
+right and comfortable?"
+
+"Why do you persecute me?" said the old man, turning to his grandson.
+"Why do you bring your profligate companions here? I am poor. You have
+chosen your own path, follow it. Leave Nell and me to toil and work."
+
+"Nell will be a woman soon," returned the other; "She'll forget her
+brother unless he shows himself sometimes."
+
+The door opened, and the child herself appeared, followed by an elderly
+man so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face
+were large enough for the body of a giant.
+
+Mr. Swiveller turned to the dwarf and, stooping down, whispered audibly
+in his ear. "The watchword to the old min is--fork."
+
+"Is what?" demanded Quilp, for that--Daniel Quilp--was the dwarf's name.
+
+"Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slapping his pocket. "You
+are awake, sir?"
+
+The dwarf nodded; the grandson, having announced his intention of
+repeating his visit, left the house accompanied by his friend.
+
+"So much for dear relations," said Quilp, with a sour look. He put his
+hand into his breast, and pulled out a bag. "Here, I brought it myself,
+as, being in gold, it was too large and heavy for Nell to carry. I would
+I knew in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are
+a deep man, and keep your secret close."
+
+"My secret!" said the old man, with a haggard look. "Yes, you're
+right--I keep it close--very close."
+
+He said no more, but, taking the money, locked it in an iron safe.
+
+That night, as on many a night previous, Nell's grandfather went out,
+leaving the child in the strange house alone, to return in the early
+morning.
+
+Quilp, to whom the old man had again applied for money, learnt of these
+nocturnal expeditions, and sent no answer, but came in person to the old
+curiosity shop.
+
+The old man was feverish and excited as he impatiently addressed the
+dwarf.
+
+"Have you brought me any money?"
+
+"No," returned Quilp.
+
+"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands, "the child and I are
+lost. No recompense for the time and money lost!"
+
+"Neighbour," said Quilp, "you have no secret from me now. I know that
+all those sums of money you have had from me have found their way to the
+gamingtable."
+
+"I never played for gain of mine, or love of play," cried the old man
+fiercely. "My winnings would have been bestowed to the last farthing on
+a young sinless child, whose life they would have sweetened and made
+happy. But I never won."
+
+"Dear me!" said Quilp. "The last advance was L70, and it went in one
+night. And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you could
+scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the stock and property."
+
+So saying, he nodded, deaf to all entreaties for further loans, and took
+his leave.
+
+The house was no longer theirs. Mr. Quilp encamped on the premises, and
+the goods were sold. A day was fixed for their removal.
+
+"Grandfather, let us begone from this place," said little Nell; "let us
+wander barefoot through the world, rather than linger here."
+
+"We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the
+fields and woods, and by the side of rivers and trust ourselves to God.
+Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to
+forget this time, as if it had never been."
+
+
+_II.--Messrs. Codlin and Short_
+
+
+The sun was setting when little Nell and her grandfather, who had been
+wandering many days, reached the wicket gate of a country churchyard.
+
+Two men were seated in easy attitudes on the grass by the church--two
+men of the class of itinerant showmen, exhibitors of the freaks of
+Punch--and they had come there to make needful repairs in the stage
+arrangements, for one was engaged in binding together a small gallows
+with thread, while the other was fixing a new black wig upon the head of
+a puppet.
+
+"Are you going to show 'em to-night? Are you?" said the old man.
+
+"That's the intention, governor, and unless I'm much mistaken, my
+partner, Tommy Codlin, is a-calculating at this minute what we've lost
+through your coming upon us. Cheer up, Tommy, it can't be much."
+
+To this Mr. Codlin replied in a surly, grumbling manner, "I don't care
+if we haven't lost a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front
+of the curtain, and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human
+natur' better."
+
+"Ah! it's been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your taking to that branch,"
+rejoined his companion. "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama
+in the fairs, you believed in everything--except ghosts. But now you're
+a universal mistruster."
+
+"Never mind," said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a discontented
+philosopher; "I know better now; p'r'aps I'm sorry for it. Look here,
+here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again."
+
+The child, seeing they were at a loss for a needle and thread, timidly
+proposed to mend it for them, and even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge
+against a proposal so reasonable.
+
+"If you're wanting a place to stop at," said Short, "I should advise you
+to take up at the same house with us. That's it, the long, low, white
+house there. It's very cheap."
+
+The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady, who made
+no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty,
+and were at once prepossessed in her behalf.
+
+"We're going on to the races," said Short next morning to the
+travellers. "If that's your way, and you'd like to have us for company,
+let us go together. If you prefer going alone, only say the word, and we
+shan't trouble you."
+
+"We'll go with you," said the old man. "Nell--with them, with them."
+
+They stopped that night at an ancient roadside inn called the Jolly
+Sandboys, and supper being in preparation, Nelly and her grandfather had
+not long taken their seats by the kitchen fire before they fell asleep.
+
+"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.
+
+"No-good, I suppose," said Mr. Codlin.
+
+"They're no harm," said Short, "depend upon that. It's very plain,
+besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell me that
+handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about as she's done
+these last two or three days. I know better. The old man ain't in his
+right mind. Haven't you noticed how anxious he is always to get
+on--furder away--furder away? Mind what I say, he has given his friends
+the slip, and persuaded this delicate young creatur all along of her
+fondness for him to be his guide--where to, he knows no more than the
+man in the moon. I'm not a-going to stand that!"
+
+"You're not a-going to stand that!" cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the
+clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.
+
+"I," repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, "am not a-going to stand
+it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad
+hands. Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from
+us, I shall take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to
+their friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up
+on every wall in London by this time."
+
+"Short," said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, "it's possible
+there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there should be
+a reward, Short, remember that we're partners in everything!"
+
+Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled
+by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.
+
+"Nothing's the matter, my dear; only I'm your friend. Perhaps you
+haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him. I'm the
+real, open-hearted man. Short's very well, and seems kind, but he
+overdoes it. Now, I don't."
+
+The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.
+
+"Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you
+can. Recollect the friend. Codlin's the friend, not Short. Short's very
+well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin--not Short."
+
+
+_III.--Jarley's Waxwork_
+
+
+Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the
+child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr.
+Thomas Codlin. The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and
+once more the travellers were alone.
+
+It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they
+came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside. It was a smart little
+house upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a
+Christian lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum
+covered with a white napkin.
+
+"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child
+walking slowly by. "Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes!
+And very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low,
+practical, wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at."
+
+"I was not there by choice," returned the child. "We don't know our way,
+and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do
+you know them, ma'am?"
+
+"Know 'em, child! Know _them_! But you're young and inexperienced. Do I
+look as if I knowed 'em? Does the caravan look as if _it_ knowed 'em?"
+
+"No, ma'am, no. I beg your pardon."
+
+It was granted immediately. And then the lady of the caravan, finding
+the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter
+and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the
+caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.
+
+As the caravan moved slowly along, its owner began to talk to Nell, and
+presently pulled out a large roll of canvas. "There child," she said,
+"read that!"
+
+Nell read aloud the inscription, "Jarley's Waxwork."
+
+"That's me," said the lady complacently.
+
+"I never saw any waxwork, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than Punch?"
+
+"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all.
+It's calm and--what's that word again--critical? No--classical, that's
+it--it's calm and classical."
+
+In the course of the journey Mrs. Jarley was so taken with the child
+that she proposed to engage her, and as Nell would not be separated from
+her grandfather, he was included in the agreement.
+
+"What I want your granddaughter for," said Mrs. Jarley, "is to point 'em
+out to the company, for she has a way with her that people wouldn't
+think unpleasant. It's not a common offer, bear in mind; it's Jarley's
+Waxwork. The duty's very light and genteel, the exhibition takes place
+in assembly rooms or town halls. There is none of your open-air wagrancy
+at Jarley's, remember. And the price of admission is only sixpence."
+
+"We are very much obliged to you, ma'am," said Nell, speaking for her
+grandfather, "and thankfully accept your offer."
+
+"And you'll never be sorry for it," returned Mrs. Jarley. "So, as that's
+all settled, let us have a bit of supper."
+
+The next morning, the caravan having arrived at the town, and the
+waxworks having been unpacked in the town hall, Mrs. Jarley sat down in
+an armchair in the centre of the room, and began to instruct Nell in her
+duty.
+
+"That," said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, "is an unfortunate maid
+of honour in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her
+finger in consequence of working on a Sunday. Observe the blood which is
+trickling from her finger, also the gold-eyed needle of the period, with
+which she is at work."
+
+Nell found in the lady of the caravan a kind and considerate person, who
+had not only a peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, but for
+making everybody about her comfortable also.
+
+But the child noticed that her grandfather grew more and more listless
+and vacant, and soon a greater sorrow was to come. The passion for
+gambling revived in the old man one evening, when he and Nell, out
+walking in the country, took passing shelter from a storm in a small
+public-house. He saw men playing cards, and, allowed to join them, lost.
+The next night he went off alone, and Nell, finding him gone, followed.
+Her grandfather was with the card-players near an encampment of gypsies,
+and, to her horror, he promised to bring more money.
+
+Flight was now the only thing possible, before her grandfather should
+steal. How else could he get the money?
+
+
+_IV.--Beyond the Pale_
+
+
+Flight by water! For two days they travelled on a barge, Nell sitting
+with her grandfather in the boat. Rugged and noisy fellows were the
+bargemen, and quite brutal among themselves, though civil enough to
+their passengers. The barge floated into the wharf to which it belonged,
+and now came flight by land through a strange, unfriendly town. The
+travellers were penniless, and at nightfall took refuge in a deep
+doorway.
+
+A man, miserably clad and begrimed with smoke, found them here, and,
+learning they were homeless, promised them shelter by the fire of a
+great furnace.
+
+A dark and blackened region was this they were in. On every side tall
+chimneys poured out their plague of smoke, and at night the smoke was
+changed to fire, and chimneys spurted flame. Struggling vegetation
+sickened and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace. The
+people--men, women, and children--wan in their looks and ragged in their
+attire, tended the engines, or scowled, half naked, from the doorless
+houses.
+
+That night Nell and her grandfather lay down with nothing between them
+and the sky. A penny loaf was all they had had that day, and very weak
+and spent the child felt.
+
+With morning she was weaker still, and a loathing of food prevented her
+sharing the loaf bought with their last penny. Still she dragged her
+weary feet on, and only at the very end of the town fell senseless to
+the ground.
+
+Once in their earlier wanderings they had made friends with a village
+schoolmaster, and now, when all hope seemed gone, it was this
+schoolmaster who brought the travellers into a peaceful haven. For it
+was he who passed along when little Nell fell fainting to the ground,
+and it was he who carried her into a small inn hard by. A day's rest
+brought some recovery to the child, and in the evening she was able to
+sit up.
+
+"I have made my fortune since I saw you last," said the schoolmaster. "I
+have been appointed clerk and schoolmaster to a village a long way from
+here at five-and-thirty pounds a year."
+
+Then the schoolmaster insisted they must come with him, and make the
+journey by waggons, and that when they reached the village some
+occupation should be found by which they could subsist.
+
+They agreed to go, and when the village was reached the efforts of the
+good schoolmaster procured a post for Nell. Someone was wanted to keep
+the keys of the church and show it to strangers, and the old clergyman
+yielded to the schoolmaster's petition.
+
+"But an old church is a dull and gloomy place for one so young as you,
+my child," said the old clergyman, laying his hand upon her head and
+smiling sadly, "I would rather see her dancing on the green at nights
+than have her sitting in the shadow of our mouldering arches."
+
+It was very peaceful in the old church, and the village children soon
+grew to love little Nell. At last Nell and her grandfather were beyond
+the need of flight.
+
+But the child's strength was failing, and in the winter came her death.
+Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. The traces of her early
+cares, her sufferings, and fatigues were gone. She had died with her
+arms round her grandfather's neck and "God bless you!" on her lips.
+
+The old man never realised that she was dead. "She is asleep," he said.
+"She will come to-morrow."
+
+And thenceforth every day, and all day long he waited at her grave. And
+people would hear him whisper, "Lord, let her come to-morrow."
+
+The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the
+usual hour, and they went to seek him, and found him lying dead upon the
+stone.
+
+They laid by the side of her whom he had loved so well; and in the
+church where they had often lingered hand in hand the child and the old
+man slept together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Our Mutual Friend
+
+
+      "Our Mutual Friend" was the last long complete novel Dickens
+     wrote, and, like all his books, it first appeared in monthly
+     parts. It was so published in 1864-65. After three numbers had
+     appeared, the author wrote: "I have grown hard to satisfy, and
+     write very slowly. Although I have not been wanting in
+     industry, I have been wanting in imagination." In his
+     "Postscript in Lieu of Preface," the author points out--in
+     answer to those who had disputed the probability of Harmon's
+     will--"that there are hundreds of will cases far more
+     remarkable than that fancied in this book." In this same
+     postscript Dickens also renewed his attack on Poor Law
+     administration, begun in "Oliver Twist." Though "Our Mutual
+     Friend" is not one of the greatest or most famous of Dickens's
+     works, for it is somewhat loosely constructed as a story, and
+     shows signs of laboured composition, it abounds in scenes of
+     real Dickensian character, and is not without touches of the
+     genius which had made its author the foremost novelist of his
+     time, and one of the greatest writers of all ages.
+
+
+_I.--The Man from Somewhere_
+
+
+It was at a dinner-party that Mortimer Lightwood, solicitor, at the
+request of Lady Tippins, told the story of the Man from Somewhere.
+
+"Upon my life," says Mortimer languidly, "I can't fix him with a local
+habitation; but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me,
+where they make the wine.
+
+"The man," Mortimer goes on, "whose name is Harmon, was the only son of
+a tremendous old rascal, who made his money by dust, as a dust
+contractor. This venerable parent, displeased with his son, turns him
+out of doors. The boy takes flight, gets aboard ship, turns up on dry
+land among the Cape wine; small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you
+like to call it. Venerable parent dies. His will is found. It leaves the
+lowest of a range of dust mountains, with a dwelling-house, to an old
+servant, who is sole executor. And that's all, except that the son's
+inheritance is made conditional on his marrying a girl, at the date of
+the will a child four or five years old, who is now a marriageable young
+woman. Advertisement and inquiry discovered the son in the Man from
+Somewhere, and he is now on his way home, after fourteen years' absence,
+to succeed to a very large fortune, and to take a wife."
+
+Mortimer, being asked what would become of the fortune in the event of
+the marriage condition not being fulfilled, replies that by a clause in
+the will it would then go to the old servant above-mentioned, passing
+over and excluding the son; also, that if the son had not been living,
+the same old servant would have been sole residuary legatee.
+
+It is just when the ladies are retiring that Mortimer receives a note
+from the butler.
+
+"This really arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner," says
+Mortimer, after reading the paper presented to him. "This is the
+conclusion of the story of the identical man. Man's drowned!"
+
+The dinner being over, Mortimer Lightwood and his friend Eugene Wrayburn
+interviewed the boy who had brought the note, and then set out in a cab
+to the riverside quarter of Wapping.
+
+The cab dismissed, a little winding through some muddy alleys brings
+then to the bright lamp of a police-station, where they find the
+night-inspector. He takes a bull's-eye, and Mortimer and Eugene follow
+him to a cool grot at the end of the yard. They quickly come out again.
+
+"No clue, gentlemen," says the inspector, "as to how the body came into
+river. Very often no clue. Steward of ship, in which gentleman came home
+passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity. Likewise
+could swear to clothes. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict."
+
+A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn
+attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.
+
+"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"
+
+"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."
+
+"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't
+have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who
+was it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down
+your name and address?"
+
+The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford,
+Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."
+
+At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the
+proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr.
+Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to
+appear.
+
+Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had
+come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act
+there was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of
+one hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time
+public interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.
+
+
+_II.--The Golden Dustman_
+
+
+Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning,
+dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves
+like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg
+sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice
+collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and
+assuredly it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little
+stalls in London.
+
+"Morning, morning!" said the old fellow.
+
+"Good-morning to _you_, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.
+
+The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question,
+"How did you get your wooden leg?"
+
+"In an accident."
+
+"Do you like it?"
+
+"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered desperately.
+
+"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"
+
+"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."
+
+"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another
+chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick
+or Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."
+
+"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I
+could wish anyone to call _me_ by, but there may be persons that would
+not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't
+know why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."
+
+"Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, "I came by here one morning and heard you
+reading through your ballads to a butcher-boy. I thought to myself,
+'Here's a literary man _with_ a wooden leg, and all print is open to
+him! And here am I without a wooden leg, and all print is shut to me.'"
+
+"I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print that I
+wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing," Mr. Wegg admitted
+modestly.
+
+"Now I want some reading, and I must pay a man so much an hour to come
+and do it for me. Say two hours a night at twopence-halfpenny. Half-a-
+crown a week. What do you think of the terms, Wegg?"
+
+"Mr. Boffin, I never did 'aggle, and I never will 'aggle. I meet you at
+once, free and fair, with----Done, for double the money!"
+
+From that night Silas Wegg came to read at Boffin's Bower--or Harmony
+Jail, as the house was formerly called--and he soon learnt that his
+employer was no other than the inheritor of old Harmon's property, and
+that he was known as the Golden Dustman.
+
+It was not long after Silas Wegg's appointment that Mr. Boffin was
+accosted by a strange gentleman, who gave his name as John Rokesmith,
+and proposed his services as private secretary. Mr. Rokesmith mentioned
+that he lodged at one Mr. Wilfer's, in Holloway. Mr. Boffin stared.
+
+"Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?"
+
+"My landlord has a daughter named Bella."
+
+"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to say," said Mr.
+Boffin; "but call at the Bower, though I don't know that I shall ever be
+in want of a secretary."
+
+So to the Bower came Mr. John Rokesmith, but not before the Boffins had
+called at the Wilfers' and seen the young lady destined by old Harmon
+for his son's bride.
+
+"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin, "I have been thinking early and late of that
+girl, Bella Wilfer, who was so cruelly disappointed both of her husband
+and his riches. Don't you think we might do something for her? Have her
+to live with us? And, Noddy, I tell you what I want--I want society. We
+have come into a great fortune, and we must act up to it. It's never
+been acted up to, and consequently no good has come of it."
+
+It was agreed that they should move into a good house in a good
+neighbourhood, and that a visit should be paid to Mr. Wilfer at once.
+Mrs. Wilfer received them with a tragic air.
+
+"Mrs. Boffin and me, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, "are plain people, and we
+make this call to say we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure
+of your daughter's acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your
+daughter will come to consider our house in the light of her home
+equally with this."
+
+"I am much obliged to you--I am sure," said Miss Bella, coldly shaking
+her curls, "but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all."
+
+"Bella," Mrs. Wilfer admonished her solemnly, "you must conquer this!"
+
+"Yes, do what your ma says, and conquer it, my dear," urged Mrs. Boffin,
+"because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too
+pretty to keep yourself shut up."
+
+With that Mrs. Boffin gave her a kiss, which Bella frankly returned; and
+it was settled that Bella should be sent for as soon as they were ready
+to receive her.
+
+"By the bye, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, as he was leaving, "you have a
+lodger?"
+
+"A gentleman," Mrs. Wilfer answered, "undoubtedly occupies our first
+floor."
+
+"I may call him our mutual friend," said Mr. Boffin. "What sort of
+fellow _is_ our mutual friend, now? Do you like him?"
+
+"Mr. Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet--a very eligible inmate."
+
+The Boffins drove away, and Mr. Rokesmith, coming to the Bower,
+extricated Mr. Boffin from a mass of disordered papers, and gave such
+satisfaction that his services were accepted, and he took up the
+secretaryship.
+
+
+_II.--The Golden Dustman Deteriorates_
+
+
+Miss Bella Wilfer was conscious that she was growing mercenary. She
+admitted as much to her father. There were several other secrets she had
+to impart beyond her own lack of improvement.
+
+"Mr. Rokesmith has made an offer to me, pa, and I told him I thought it
+a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me. Mrs. Boffin has
+herself told me, with her own kind lips, that they wish to see me well
+married; and that when I marry, with their consent, they will portion me
+most handsomely. That is another secret. And now there is only one more,
+and it is very hard to tell it. But Mr. Boffin is being spoilt by
+prosperity, and is changing for the worse every day. Not to me--he is
+always the same to me--but to others about him. He grows suspicious,
+hard, and unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is
+my benefactor."
+
+Bella parted from her father, and returned to the Boffins, to find fresh
+proofs of the deterioration of the Golden Dustman.
+
+"Now, Rokesmith," Mr. Boffin was saying, "it's time to settle about your
+wages. A man of property like me is bound to consider the market price.
+If I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a
+secretary, I buy _him_ out and out. It's convenient to have you at all
+times ready on the premises."
+
+The secretary bowed and withdrew. Bella's eyes followed him to the door.
+She felt that Mrs. Boffin was uncomfortable.
+
+"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin thoughtfully, "haven't you been a little
+strict with Mr. Rokesmith to-night? Haven't you been just a little not
+quite like your own old self?"
+
+"Why, old woman, I hope so," said Mr. Boffin cheerfully. "Our old selves
+wouldn't do here, old lady. Our old selves would be fit for nothing but
+to be imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new
+selves are. It's a great difference."
+
+Very uncomfortable was Bella that night, and very uneasy was she as the
+days went by, for Mr. Boffin made a point of hunting up old books that
+gave the lives of misers, and the more enjoyment he seemed to get out of
+this literature, the harder he became to the secretary. Somehow, the
+worse Mr. Boffin treated his secretary, the more Bella felt drawn to the
+man whose offer of marriage she had refused. The crisis came one morning
+when the Golden Dustman's bearing towards Rokesmith was even more
+arrogant and offensive than it had been before. Mrs. Boffin was seated
+on a sofa, and Mr. Boffin had Bella on his arm.
+
+"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said gently. "I'm going to see you
+righted."
+
+Then he turned to his secretary.
+
+"Now, sir, look at this young lady. How dare you come out of your
+station to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses? This
+young lady, who was far above _you_. This young lady was looking about
+for money, and you had no money."
+
+Bella hung her head, and Mrs. Boffin broke out crying.
+
+"This Rokesmith is a needy young man," Mr. Boffin went on unmoved. "He
+gets acquainted with my affairs and gets to know that I mean to settle a
+sum of money upon this young lady."
+
+"I indignantly deny it!" said the secretary quietly. "But our connection
+being at an end, it matters little what I say."
+
+"I discharge you," Mr. Boffin retorted. "There's your money."
+
+"Mrs. Boffin," said Rokesmith, "for your unvarying kindness I thank you
+with the warmest gratitude. Miss Wilfer, good-bye."
+
+"Oh, Mr. Rokesmith," said Bella in her tears, "hear one word from me
+before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my
+account. Out of the depths of my heart I beg your pardon."
+
+She gave him her hand, and he put it to his lips and said, "God bless
+you!"
+
+"There was a time when I deserved to be 'righted,' as Mr. Boffin has
+done," Bella went on, "but I hope that I shall never deserve it again."
+
+Once more John Rokesmith put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished
+it, and left the room.
+
+Bella threw her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most
+shamefully abused and driven away, and I am the cause of it. I must go
+home; I am very grateful for all you have done for me, but I can't stay
+here."
+
+"Now, Bella," said Mr. Boffin, "look before you leap. Go away, and you
+can never come back. And you mustn't expect that I'm a-going to settle
+money on you if you leave me like this, because I'm not. Not one brass
+farthing."
+
+"No power on earth could make me take it now," said Bella haughtily.
+
+Then she broke into sobs over saying good-bye to Mrs. Boffin, said a
+last word to Mr. Boffin, and ran upstairs. A few minutes later she went
+out of the house.
+
+"That was well done," said Bella when she was in the street, "and now
+I'll go and see my dear, darling pa in the city."
+
+
+_IV.--The Runaway Marriage_
+
+
+Bella found her way to her father's office in the city. It was after
+hours, and the little man was alone, having tea on a small cottage loaf
+and a pennyworth of milk, for R. Wilfer was but a clerk on a small
+income. He immediately fetched another loaf and another pennyworth of
+milk, and then, before she could tell him she had left the Boffins, who
+should come along but John Rokesmith. And John Rokesmith not only came
+in, but he caught Bella in his arms, and she was content to leave her
+head on his breast as if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting
+place.
+
+"I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rokesmith. "You
+_are_ mine."
+
+"Yes, I am yours if you think me worth taking," Bella responded.
+
+Then Bella's father had to hear what had happened, and said his daughter
+had done well.
+
+"To think," said Wilfer, looking round the office, "that anything of a
+tender nature should come off here is what tickles me."
+
+A few weeks later and Bella and her father went out early one morning
+and took the steamer to Greenwich. And at Greenwich there was John
+Rokesmith, and presently in a church John and Bella were joined together
+in wedlock.
+
+They had been married a year, and lived in a little house at Blackheath.
+John Rokesmith went up to the city every day, and explained that he was
+"in a China house." From time to time he would ask her, "Would you like
+to be rich _now_, my darling?" and got for answer, "Dear John, am I not
+rich?"
+
+But for all that a change came in their affairs. For Mortimer Lightwood,
+who had met Bella at the Boffins', seeing her walking with her husband,
+recognised him as Julius Handford; and as Mr. Inspector had never
+discovered what became of Mr. Julius Handford, he must needs pay Mr.
+Rokesmith a visit. And then it turned out that John Rokesmith was not
+only Julius Handford, but John Harmon himself, much to Mr. Inspector's
+astonishment.
+
+More surprises were to follow, for when John came home next day he told
+Bella that he had left the China house, and was better off.
+
+"We must have our headquarters in London now, my dear, and there's a
+house ready for us."
+
+And the house which John and Bella visited next day was none other than
+the Boffins', and when they arrived, there were Mr. and Mrs. Boffin
+beaming at them. Mrs. Boffin told Bella that John Rokesmith was John
+Harmon, and how, remembering him as a small boy, she had guessed it
+quite early. Then Mrs. Boffin admitted that John, despairing of winning
+Bella's heart, and determined that there should be no question of money
+in the marriage, he was for going away, and that Noddy said he would
+prove that she loved him. "We was all of us in it, my beauty," Mrs.
+Boffin concluded, "and when you was married there was we hid up in the
+church organ by this husband of yours, for he wouldn't let us out with
+it then, as was first meant. But it was Noddy who said that he would
+prove you had a true heart of gold. 'If she was to stand up for you when
+you was slighted,' he said to John, 'and if she was to do that against
+her own interest, how would that do?' 'Do?' says John, 'it would raise
+me to the skies.' 'Then,' says my Noddy, 'get ready for the ascent,
+John, for up you go. Look out for being slighted and oppressed.' And
+then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?"
+
+"It looks as if old Harmon's spirit had found rest at last, and as if
+his money had turned bright again after a long rust in the dark," said
+Mrs. Boffin to her husband that night.
+
+"Yes, old lady."
+
+The mystery of the Harmon murder is yet to be explained. John Harmon,
+going on shore with a fellow passenger, who greatly resembled him, was
+drugged and robbed of his money in a house near the river by this man.
+But the robber, who had taken Harmon's clothes, was himself robbed and
+thrown into the water, and Harmon recovered consciousness and made his
+escape just at the time when the body of his assailant was recovered. In
+this state of strange excitement he turned up at the police station,
+and, unwilling to reveal his identity at the moment, passed himself off
+as Julius Handford.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Pickwick Papers
+
+      Dickens first became known to the public through the famous
+     "Sketches by Boz," which appeared in the "Monthly Magazine" in
+     December, 1833, the complete series being collected and
+     published in volume form three years later. This was followed
+     by the immortal "Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club" in
+     1836, which soon placed Dickens in the front rank of English
+     novelists. Frankly humorous as "Pickwick" is, Dickens, in a
+     preface to a later edition, recorded with satisfaction that
+     "legal reforms had pared the claws of Messrs. Dodson and
+     Fogg," that the laws relating to imprisonment for debt had
+     been altered, and the Fleet Prison pulled down.
+
+
+_I.--Mr. Pickwick Engages Sam Weller_
+
+
+Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell Street were of a very neat and
+comfortable description, peculiarly adapted for a man of his genius and
+observation, and importance as General Chairman of the world-famed
+Pickwick Club.
+
+His landlady, Mrs. Bardell, was a comely woman of bustling manners and
+agreeable appearance, with a natural gift for cooking. Cleanliness and
+quiet reigned throughout the house, and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was
+law.
+
+To anyone acquainted with these things and with Mr. Pickwick's admirably
+regulated mind, his conduct on the morning previous to his setting out
+for Eatanswill seemed most mysterious and unaccountable. He paced the
+room, popped his head out of the window, and constantly referred to his
+watch. It was evident to Mrs. Bardell, who was dusting the apartment,
+that something of importance was in contemplation.
+
+"Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick at last, "your little boy is a very
+long time gone."
+
+"Why, it's a good long way to the Borough, sir!" remonstrated Mrs.
+Bardell.
+
+"Very true; so it is. Mrs. Bardell do you think it's a much greater
+expense to keep two people than to keep one?"
+
+"La, Mr. Pickwick!" said Mrs. Bardell, colouring, as she fancied she
+observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger.
+"La, Mr. Pickwick, what a question!"
+
+"Well, but _do_ you?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, "a good deal upon the person, you
+know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it's a saving and careful person, sir."
+
+"That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick; "but the person I have in my eye
+(here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these
+qualities. To tell you the truth, I have made up my mind. You'll think
+it very strange now that I never consulted you about this matter till I
+sent your little boy out this morning, eh?"
+
+Mrs. Bardell had long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, and now she
+thought he was going to propose. A deliberate plan, too--sent her little
+boy to the Borough to get him out of the way! How thoughtful! How
+considerate!
+
+"It'll save you a good deal of trouble, won't it?" said Mr. Pickwick.
+"And when I am in town you'll always have somebody to sit with you." Mr.
+Pickwick smiled placidly.
+
+"I'm sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. Bardell,
+trembling with agitation. "Oh, you kind, good, playful dear!" And,
+without more ado, she flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck.
+
+"Bless my soul!" cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick. "Mrs. Bardell, my
+good woman! Dear me, what a situation! Pray consider if anybody should
+come!"
+
+"Oh, let them come!" exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically. "I'll never
+leave you, dear, kind soul!" And she clung the tighter.
+
+"Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling; "I hear somebody coming
+upstairs! Don't, there's a good creature, don't!" But Mrs. Bardell had
+fainted in his arms, and before he could gain time to deposit her on a
+chair, Master Bardell entered the room, followed by Mr. Pickwick's
+friends Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.
+
+"What is the matter?" said the three Pickwickians.
+
+"I don't know!" replied Mr. Pickwick; while the ever gallant Mr. Tupman
+led Mrs. Bardell, who said she was better, downstairs. "I cannot
+conceive what has been the matter with the woman. I merely told her of
+my intention of keeping a manservant, when she fell into an
+extraordinary paroxysm. Very remarkable thing."
+
+"Very," said his three friends.
+
+"There's a man in the passage now," said Mr. Tupman.
+
+"It's the man I've sent for from the Borough," said Mr. Pickwick. "Have
+the goodness to call him up."
+
+Mr. Samuel Weller forthwith presented himself, having previously
+deposited his old white hat on the landing outside.
+
+"Ta'nt a wery good 'un to look at," said Sam, "but it's an astonishin'
+'un to wear. And afore the brim went it was a wery handsome tile."
+
+"Now, with regard to the matter on which I sent for you," said Mr.
+Pickwick.
+
+"That's the pint, sir; out vith it, as the father said to the child ven
+he swallowed a farden."
+
+"We want to know, in the first place," said Mr. Pickwick, "whether you
+are discontented with your present situation?"
+
+"Afore I answers that 'ere question," replied Mr. Weller, "_I_ should
+like to know whether you're a-goin' to purwide me vith a better."
+
+Mr. Pickwick smiled benevolently as he said: "I have half made up my
+mind to engage you myself."
+
+"Have you though?" said Sam. "Wages?"
+
+"Twelve pounds a year."
+
+"Clothes?"
+
+"Two suits."
+
+"Work?"
+
+"To attend upon me, and travel about with me and these gentlemen here."
+
+"Take the bill down," said Sam emphatically. "I'm let to a single
+gentleman, and the terms is agreed upon. If the clothes fit me half as
+well as the place, they'll do."
+
+
+_II.--Bardell vs. Pickwick_
+
+
+Acting on the advice of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, solicitors, Mrs. Bardell
+brought an action for breach of promise of marriage against Mr.
+Pickwick, and the damages were laid at L1,500. February 14 was the day
+fixed for the memorable trial.
+
+When Mr. Pickwick and his friends reached the court, and the judge--Mr.
+Justice Stareleigh--had taken his place, it was found that only ten of
+the special jury were present, and a greengrocer and a chemist were
+caught from the common jury to make up the number.
+
+"I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, "but I hope this court
+will excuse my attendance. I have no assistant, and I can't afford to
+hire one."
+
+"Then you ought to be able to afford it," said the judge, a most
+particularly short man, and so fat that he seemed all face and
+waistcoat.
+
+"Very well, my lord," replied the chemist, "then there'll be murder
+before this trial's over, that's all. I've left nobody, but an errand-
+boy in my shop, and I know that he thinks Epsom salts means oxalic acid,
+and syrup of senna, laudanum; that's all, my lord."
+
+Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the deepest
+horror when Mrs. Bardell, supported by her friend, Mrs. Cluppins, was
+led into court.
+
+Then Sergeant Buzfuz opened the case for the plaintiff, and when he had
+finished Elizabeth Cluppins was called.
+
+"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you
+recollect being in Mrs. Bardell's back room on one particular morning
+last July, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?"
+
+"Yes, my lord and jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.
+
+"What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?" inquired the little
+judge.
+
+"My lord and jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, "I will not deceive you."
+
+"You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.
+
+"I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, "unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
+been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pounds of red
+kidney pertaties, which was tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's
+street-door on the jar."
+
+"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.
+
+"Partly open, my lord."
+
+"She _said_ on the jar," said the little judge, with a cunning look.
+
+"I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good mornin', and went in a
+permiscuous manner upstairs, and into the back room. There was a sound
+of voices in the front room, very loud, and forced themselves upon my
+ear."
+
+Mrs. Cluppins then related the conversation we have already heard
+between Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell.
+
+The next witness was Mr. Winkle, and after him came Mr. Tupman, and Mr.
+Snodgrass, all of whom appeared on subpoena by the plaintiff's lawyers.
+
+Sergeant Buzfuz then rose and said, with considerable importance, "Call
+Samuel Weller."
+
+It was quite unnecessary to call him, for Samuel Weller stepped briskly
+into the box the instant his name was pronounced.
+
+"What's your name, sir?" inquired the judge.
+
+"Sam Weller, my lord."
+
+"Do you spell it with a 'V or a 'W?" inquired the judge.
+
+"That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord," replied
+Sam, "but I spells it with a 'V.'"
+
+Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, "Quite right, too, Samuel;
+quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we."
+
+"Who is that that dares to address the court?" said the little judge,
+looking up.
+
+"I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," replied Sam.
+
+"Do you see him here now?" said the judge.
+
+"No, I don't my lord," replied Sam, staring right up in the roof of the
+court.
+
+"If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him
+instantly," said the judge.
+
+Sam bowed his acknowledgments.
+
+"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "I believe you are in the
+service of Mr. Pickwick; speak up, if you please."
+
+"I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam. "I am in the service o' that
+'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is."
+
+"Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?" said Sergeant Buzfuz.
+
+"Oh, quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him
+three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam.
+
+"You must not tell us what the soldier said," interposed the judge,
+"it's not evidence."
+
+"Wery good, my lord."
+
+"Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, "do you recollect anything
+particular happening on the morning when you were first engaged by the
+defendant?"
+
+"Yes, I do, sir. I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin',
+and that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith me in
+those days."
+
+"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of the
+fainting of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant?"
+
+"Certainly not; I was in the passage till they called me up, and then
+the old lady wasn't there."
+
+"Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?"
+
+"Yes, that's just it," replied Sam. "If they was a pair o' patent double
+million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps I might be
+able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door, but bein' only
+eyes, you see, my wision's limited."
+
+"Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night last
+November? I suppose you went to have a little talk about this trial, eh,
+Mr. Weller?" said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly at the jury.
+
+"I went up to pay the rent," said Sam; "but the ladies gets into a wery
+great state of admiration at the honourable conduct o' Mr. Dodson and
+Fogg, and said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken
+up the case on spec., and to have charged nothin' at all for costs,
+unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick."
+
+At this very unexpected reply the spectators tittered, and Mr. Sergeant
+Buzfuz said curtly, "Stand down, sir."
+
+Sergeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant, and
+after that Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up.
+
+At the end of a quarter of an hour the jury brought in a verdict for the
+plaintiff with L750 damages.
+
+In the court-room Mr. Pickwick encountered Messrs. Dodson and Fogg,
+rubbing their hands with satisfaction.
+
+"Not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get out of me, if I
+spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"We shall see about that," said Mr. Fogg grinning.
+
+Outside Mr. Pickwick and his friends made their way to a hackney coach,
+and Sam Weller was just preparing to jump upon the box when his father
+stood before him. The old gentleman shook his head gravely and said in
+warning accents, "I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin'
+bisness. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi?"
+
+"But surely, my dear sir," said Perker to his client the following
+morning, "you don't really mean, seriously now, that you won't pay these
+costs and damages?"
+
+"Not one halfpenny," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
+renew the bill," observed Mr. Samuel Weller.
+
+
+_III.--In the Fleet Prison_
+
+
+Two months later Mr. Pickwick was arrested for the non-payment of costs
+and damages and taken to the Fleet Prison. And so, for the first time in
+his life, Mr. Pickwick found himself within the walls of a debtor's
+prison.
+
+"Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr. Pickwick of the turnkey,
+and after some discussion it was discovered there was a bed to let.
+
+"It ain't a large 'un, but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,
+sir," said the turnkey.
+
+Mr. Pickwick, accompanied by Sam Weller, followed his guide up a
+staircase and along a gallery; at the end of this was an apartment
+containing eight or nine iron bedsteads.
+
+Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable when he was left
+alone, and he went slowly to bed. He was awakened from his slumbers by
+the noise of his bed-fellows, one of whom, wearing grey cotton
+stockings, was performing a hornpipe; while another, evidently very
+drunk, was warbling as much as he could recollect of a comic song; the
+third, a man with thick, bushy whiskers, was applauding both performers.
+
+"My name is Smangle, sir," said the man with the whiskers to Mr.
+Pickwick.
+
+"Mine is Mivins," said the man in the stockings.
+
+"Well; but come," said Mr. Smangle, after assuring Mr. Pickwick a great
+many times that he entertained a very high respect for the feelings of a
+gentleman, "this is but dry work. Let's rinse our mouths with a drop of
+burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand it, Mivins shall fetch it, and
+I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and gentleman-like division of
+labour, anyhow."
+
+Mr. Pickwick, unwilling to hazard a quarrel, gladly assented to the
+proposition.
+
+When Mr. Pickwick opened his eyes next morning, the first object upon
+which they rested was Samuel Weller, seated upon a small black
+portmanteau.
+
+He soon learnt that money was in the Fleet just what money was out of
+it; and that if he wished it he could have a room to himself, if he was
+willing to pay for it.
+
+"There's a capital room up in the coffee-room flight that belongs to a
+Chancery prisoner," said the turnkey. "It'll stand you in a pound a
+week. Lord! Why didn't you say at first that you was willing to come
+down handsome?"
+
+The matter was soon arranged, and in a short time the room was
+furnished.
+
+"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when his servant had done his best to make the
+apartment comfortable, and was now inspecting the arrangements, "I have
+felt from the first that this is not the place to bring a young man to."
+
+"Nor an old 'un neither, sir."
+
+"You're quite right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But old men may come here
+through their own heedlessness and unsuspicion. Do you understand me,
+Sam?"
+
+"Vell, sir," rejoined Sam, after a pause, "I think I see your drift, and
+it's my 'pinion that you're a-comin' it a great deal too strong, as the
+mail-coachman said to the snowstorm ven it overtook him."
+
+"For the time that I remain here," said Mr. Pickwick, "you must leave
+me, Sam."
+
+"Now, I tell you vot it is," said Mr. Weller, in a grave and solemn
+voice. "This here sort o' thing won't do at all, so don't let's hear no
+more about it."
+
+"I am serious, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"You air, air you, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller. "Wery good, sir. Then so
+am I."
+
+With that Mr. Weller fixed his hat on his head with great precision and
+left the room. Having found his father, Sam explained to the elder Mr.
+Weller that Mr. Pickwick must not be left alone in the Fleet.
+
+"Vy, they'll eat him up alive, Sammy!" exclaimed the elder Mr. Weller.
+"Stop there by himself, poor creetur, without nobody to take his part!
+It can't be done, Samivel, it can't be done!"
+
+"O' course it can't," asserted Sam. "Well, then, I tell you wot it is.
+I'll trouble you for the loan of five-and-twenty pound. P'raps you may
+ask for it five minits artervards, p'raps I may say I von't pay, and cut
+up rough. You von't think o' arrestin' your own son for the money, and
+sendin' him off to the Fleet, will you, you unnat'ral wagabone?"
+
+The elder Mr. Weller, having grasped the idea, laughed till he was
+purple.
+
+In the course of the day Sam was duly arrested at the suit of his
+father, and Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's
+custody, passed at once into the prison, and went straight to his
+master's room.
+
+"I'm a pris'ner, sir," said Sam. "I was arrested this here wery
+arternoon for debt, and the man as put me in 'ull never let me out till
+you go yourself."
+
+"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall be
+a pris'ner, and I'm very glad on it. He's a malicious, bad-disposed,
+vorldly-minded, windictive creetur wot's put me in, with a hard heart as
+there ain't no soft'nin', as the wirtuous clergyman remarked of the old
+gen'l'm'n with a dropsy, ven he said that upon the whole he thought he'd
+rather leave his property to his vife than build a chapel with it."
+
+In vain Mr. Pickwick remonstrated.
+
+"I takes my determination on principle, sir," remarked Sam, "and you
+takes yours on the same ground; vich puts me in mind o' the man as
+killed hisself on principle."
+
+
+_IV.--Mr. Pickwick Leaves the Fleet_
+
+
+Those enterprising lawyers, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having obtained no
+money from Mr. Pickwick, proceeded in July to arrest Mrs. Bardell, who,
+as a matter of form, had given them a _cognovit_ for the amount of their
+costs.
+
+Mr. Pickwick was taking his evening walk in the grounds of the Fleet
+when Mrs. Bardell was brought in, and Sam Weller, seeing the lady, took
+off his hat in mock reverence. Mr. Pickwick turned indignantly away.
+
+"Don't bother the woman," said the turnkey to Weller; "she's just come
+in."
+
+"A pris'ner!" said Sam. "Who's the plaintives? What for? Speak up, old
+feller!"
+
+"Dodson and Fogg," replied the man.
+
+"Here, Job, Job!" shouted Sam, dashing into the passage, and calling for
+a man who went errands for the prisoners. "Run to Mr. Perker's, Job; I
+want him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game! Hooray!"
+
+Mr. Perker was in Mr. Pickwick's room betimes next morning.
+
+"Well, now, my dear sir," said Perker, "the first question I have to ask
+is whether this woman is to remain here? It rests solely and wholly and
+entirely with you."
+
+"With me!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick.
+
+"Nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, to which
+no man, and still more no woman, should ever be consigned if I had my
+will," resumed Mr. Perker. "I have seen the woman this morning. By
+paying the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the
+damages; and, further, a voluntary statement, under her hand, that this
+business was from the very first fomented and encouraged by these men,
+Dodson and Fogg. She entreats me to intercede with you, and implores
+your pardon."
+
+Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, there was a low murmuring of voices
+outside, and a hesitating knock at the door; and Mr. Winkle, Mr. Tupman,
+and Mr. Snodgrass entering most opportunely, at last, by their united
+pleadings, Mr. Pickwick was fairly argued out of his resolutions. At
+three o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little
+room, and made his way as well as he could through the throng of debtors
+who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached
+the lodge steps. He turned here to look about him, and his eye
+brightened as he did so. In all the crowd of wan, emaciated faces, he
+saw not one which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity.
+
+As for Sam Weller, having dispatched Job Trotter to procure his formal
+discharge, his next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready
+money in the purchase of five-and-twenty gallons of mild porter, which
+he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake
+of it. This done, he hurra'd in divers parts of the building until he
+lost his voice, and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and
+philosophical condition, and followed his master out of the prison.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Tale of Two Cities
+
+
+      The French Revolution has been the subject of more books than
+     any secular event that ever occurred, and two books by English
+     writers have brought the passion, the cruelty, and the horror
+     of it for all time within the shuddering comprehension of
+     English-speaking people. One is a history that is more than a
+     history; the other a tale that is more than a tale. Dickens,
+     no doubt, owed much of his inspiration to Carlyle's tremendous
+     prose epic. But the genius that depicted a moving and tragic
+     story upon the red background of the Terror was Dickens's own,
+     and the "Tale of Two Cities" was final proof that its author
+     could handle a great theme in a manner that was worthy of its
+     greatness. The work was one of the novelist's later
+     writings--it was published in 1859--and is in many respects
+     distinct from all his others. It stands by itself among
+     Dickens's masterpieces, in sombre and splendid loneliness--a
+     detached glory to its author, and to his country's literature.
+
+
+
+_I.--Recalled to Life_
+
+
+A large cask of wine had been dropped and broken in the street. All the
+people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to
+run to the spot and drink the wine. Some kneeled down, made scoops of
+their two hands joined, and tried to sip before the wine had all run out
+between their fingers. Others dipped in the puddles with little mugs of
+mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women's heads. A
+shrill sound of laughter resounded in the street while this wine game
+lasted.
+
+The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street
+in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had
+stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many
+wooden shoes. One tall joker so besmirched scrawled upon a wall, with
+his finger dipped in muddy wine lees, "Blood!"
+
+And now that the cloud settled on Saint Antoine, which a momentary gleam
+had driven from his sacred countenance, the darkness of it was heavy--
+cold, dirt, sickness, ignorance, and want were the lords in waiting on
+the saintly presence. The children had ancient faces and grave voices;
+and upon them, and upon the grown faces, and ploughed into every furrow
+of age, and coming up afresh, was the sign--Hunger.
+
+The master of the wine-shop outside of which the cask had been broken
+turned back to his shop when the struggle for the wine was ended.
+Monsieur Defarge was a dark, bull-necked man, good-humoured-looking on
+the whole, but implacable-looking, too. Three men who had been drinking
+at the counter paid for their wine, and left. An elderly gentleman, who
+had been sitting in a corner with a young lady, advanced, introduced
+himself as Mr. Jarvis Lorry, of Tellson's Bank, London, and begged the
+favour of a word.
+
+The conference was very short, but very decided. It had not lasted a
+minute, when Monsieur Defarge nodded and went out, followed by Mr. Lorry
+and the young lady.
+
+He led them through a stinking little black courtyard, and up a
+staircase to a dim garret, where a white-haired man sat on a low bench,
+stooping and very busy, making shoes.
+
+"You are still hard at work, I see," said Monsieur Defarge.
+
+A pair of haggard eyes looked at the questioner, and a very faint voice
+replied, "Yes, I am working."
+
+"Here is a visitor. Show him that shoe and tell him the maker's name."
+
+There was a long pause, and the shoemaker asked, "What did you say?"
+
+Defarge repeated his words.
+
+"It is a lady's shoe," answered the shoemaker.
+
+"And the maker's name?"
+
+"One Hundred and Five, North Tower."
+
+"Dr. Manette," said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him, "do you
+remember nothing of me? Do you remember nothing of Defarge--your old
+servant?"
+
+As the Bastille captive of many years gazed at them, marks of
+intelligence forced themselves through the mist that had fallen on him.
+They were fainter; they were gone, but they had been there. The young
+lady moved forward, with tears streaming from her eyes, and kissed him.
+He took up her golden hair, and looked at it; then drew from his breast
+a folded rag, and opened it carefully. It contained a little quantity of
+hair. He took the girl's hair into his hand again.
+
+"It is the same! How can it be? She had a fear of my going that night.
+_Was it you?_" He turned upon her with frightful suddenness. But his
+vigour swiftly died out, and he gloomily shook his head. "No, no, no! It
+can't be!"
+
+She fell on her knees and clasped his neck.
+
+"If you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that was once sweet
+music to your ears, weep for it--weep for it! Thank God!" she cried. "I
+feel his sacred tears upon my face! Leave us here," she said. And, as
+the darkness closed in, they left father and daughter together.
+
+They came back at night. A coach stood outside the courtyard, and the
+lately released prisoner, in scared, blank wonder, began the journey
+that was to end in England and rest.
+
+
+_II.--The Jackal_
+
+
+In the dimly-lighted passages of the Old Bailey, Dr. Manette, his
+daughter, and Mr. Lorry stood by Mr. Charles Darnay--just acquitted on a
+charge of high treason--congratulating him on his escape from death.
+
+It was not difficult to recognise in Dr. Manette, intellectual of face
+and upright in bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. He and his
+daughter had been unwilling witnesses for the prosecution, called to
+give evidence that might be distorted into corroboration of a paid spy's
+falsehoods as to Darnay's dealings with the French king.
+
+Darnay kissed Lucie Manette's hand fervently and gratefully, and warmly
+thanked his counsel, Mr. Stryver. As he watched them go, a person who
+had been leaning against the wall stepped up to him. It was Mr. Carton,
+a barrister, who had sat throughout the trial with his whole attention
+seemingly concentrated upon the ceiling of the court. Everybody had been
+struck with the extraordinary resemblance, cleverly used by the
+defending counsel to confound a witness, between Mr. Carton and Mr.
+Darnay. Mr. Carton was shabbily dressed, and did not appear to be quite
+sober.
+
+"This must be a strange sight to you," said Carton, with a laugh.
+
+"I hardly seem yet," returned Darnay, "to belong to this world again."
+
+"Then why the devil don't you dine?"
+
+He led him to a tavern, where Darnay recruited his strength with a good,
+plain dinner. Carton drank, but ate nothing.
+
+"Now your dinner is done," Carton presently said, "why don't you give
+your toast?"
+
+"What toast?"
+
+"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue."
+
+"Miss Manette, then!"
+
+Carton drank the toast, and flung his glass over his shoulder against
+the wall, where it shivered in pieces.
+
+After Darnay had gone, Carton drank and slept till ten o'clock, and then
+walked to the chambers of Mr. Stryver. Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and
+an unscrupulous, and a bold, and was fast shouldering his way to a
+lucrative practice; but it had been noted that he had not the striking
+and necessary faculty of extracting evidence from a heap of statements.
+A remarkable improvement, however, came upon him as to this. Sydney
+Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was his great ally. What the
+two drank together would have floated a king's ship.
+
+Stryver never had a case in hand but what Carton was there, with his
+hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. At last it began to get
+about that, although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an
+amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered service to Stryver in that
+humble capacity. Folding wet towels on his head in a manner hideous to
+behold, the jackal began the "boiling down" of cases, while Stryver
+reclined before the fire. Each had bottles and glasses ready to his
+hand. The work was not done until the clocks were striking three.
+
+Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, Carton threw himself
+down in his clothes on a neglected bed. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It
+rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good
+emotions, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of
+the blight upon him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
+
+
+_III.--The Loadstone Rock_
+
+
+"Dear Dr. Manette," said Charles Darnay, "I love your daughter fondly,
+devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her!"
+
+Dr. Manette turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him or
+raise his eyes.
+
+"Have you spoken to Lucie?" he asked.
+
+"No."
+
+The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle
+with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark
+doubt and dread.
+
+"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her
+perfect happiness, I will give her to you."
+
+"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be
+returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like
+yourself, a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is
+not my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."
+
+"Stop!"
+
+The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.
+
+"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"
+
+On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her
+work alone, Sydney Carton entered.
+
+"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.
+
+"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."
+
+"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"
+
+"It is too late for that." He covered her eyes with his hand. "Will you
+hear me?" he continued. "Since I have known you, I have been troubled by
+a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again. A dream, all a
+dream, that ends in nothing; but let me carry through the rest of my
+misdirected life the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of
+all the world."
+
+"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "I promise to
+respect your secret."
+
+"God bless you! My last application is this, that you will believe that
+for you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. Oh, Miss Manette,
+think now and then that there is a man who would give his life to keep a
+life you love beside you!"
+
+He said "farewell!" and left her.
+
+A wonderful corner for echoes was the quiet street-corner near Soho
+Square, where Dr. Manette lived with his daughter and her husband. But
+Lucie heard in the echoes none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her
+husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm
+and equal. The time came when a little Lucie lay on her bosom. But there
+were other echoes that rumbled menacingly in the distance, with a sound
+as of a great storm in France, with a dreadful sea rising.
+
+It was August of the year 1792. Charles Darnay talked in a low voice
+with Mr. Lorry in Tellson's Bank. The bank had a branch in Paris, and
+the London establishment was the headquarters of the aristocratic
+emigrants who had fled from France.
+
+"And do you really go to Paris to-night?" asked Darnay.
+
+"I do. You can have no conception of the peril in which our books and
+papers over yonder are involved, and the getting them out of harm's way
+is in the power of scarcely anyone but myself."
+
+As Mr. Lorry spoke a letter was laid before him. Darnay saw the
+direction--it was to himself. "To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St.
+Evremonde." Horrified at the oppression and cruelty of his family
+towards the people, Darnay had left his native country and had never
+used the title that had, some years before, fallen to him by
+inheritance. He had told his secret to Dr. Manette on the wedding
+morning, and to none other.
+
+"I know the man," he said.
+
+"Will you take charge of the letter and deliver it?" asked Mr. Lorry.
+
+"I will."
+
+When alone, Darnay opened the letter. It was from the steward of his
+French estate. The man had been charged with acting for an emigrant
+against the people. It was in vain he had urged that by the marquis's
+instructions he had acted for the people--had remitted all rents and
+imposts. The only response was that he had acted for an emigrant.
+Nothing but the marquis's personal testimony could save him from
+execution.
+
+Could he resist his old servant's appeal? He knew the peril of it, but
+his honour was at stake; he must go. That evening he wrote two letters
+explaining his purpose, one to Lucie, one to the doctor. On the next
+night he went out, pretending he would be back by-and-by. The two
+letters he left with the trusty porter to be delivered before midnight;
+and, with a heavy heart, leaving all that was dear on earth behind him,
+he journeyed on--drawn, like the mariner in the old story, to the
+Loadstone Rock.
+
+
+_IV.--The Track of a Storm_
+
+
+In the buildings of Tellson's Bank in Paris, Mr. Lorry sat by a wood
+fire (it was early September, but the blighted year was prematurely
+cold), and on his honest face there was a deeper shade than the pendant
+lamp could throw--a shade of horror. By him sat Dr. Manette; Lucie and
+her child were in an inner room. They had hastened after Darnay to
+Paris. Dr. Manette knew that as a Bastille prisoner he bore a charmed
+life in revolutionary France, and that if Darnay was in danger he could
+help him. Darnay was indeed in danger. He had been arrested as an
+aristocrat and an enemy of the Republic.
+
+From the streets there came the usual night hum of the city, with now
+and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some
+unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to Heaven.
+
+A loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the courtyard. Mr.
+Lorry put his hand on the doctor's arm, and they looked out.
+
+A throng of men and women crowded round a grindstone. Turning madly at
+its double handle were two men, whose faces were more horrible and cruel
+than the visages of the wildest savages. The eye could not detect one
+creature in the surrounding group free from the smear of blood.
+Shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone were men
+with the stain all over their limbs and bodies; hatchets, knives,
+bayonets, swords, all were red with it.
+
+"They are murdering the prisoners," whispered Mr. Lorry.
+
+Dr. Manette hastened out of the room, and down into the courtyard. There
+was a pause, a murmur, and the sound of his voice. Then Mr. Lorry saw
+him, surrounded by all, hurried out with cries of "Live the Bastille
+prisoner! Help for the Bastille prisoner's kindred in La Force!"
+
+It was long ere he returned. He had presented himself at the prison
+before the self-appointed tribunal that was consigning the prisoners to
+massacre, and had announced himself as a victim of the Bastille. One
+member of the tribunal had identified him; the member was Defarge. He
+had pleaded hard for his son-in-law's life, and had been informed that
+the prisoner must remain in custody; but should, for the doctor's sake,
+be held in safe custody.
+
+For fifteen months Charles Darnay remained in prison. During all that
+time Lucie was never sure but that her husband's head would be struck
+off next day. When at length arraigned as an emigrant whose life was
+forfeit to the Republic, he pleaded that he had come back to save a
+citizen's life. That night he sat by the fire with his family, a free
+man. Lucie at last was at ease.
+
+"What is that?" she cried suddenly.
+
+There was a knock at the door; four armed men in red caps entered the
+room.
+
+"Evremonde," said the first, "you are again the prisoner of the
+Republic!"
+
+"Why?" he asked, with his wife and child clinging to him.
+
+"You will know to-morrow."
+
+"One word," entreated the doctor, "who has denounced him?"
+
+"The Citizen Defarge, and another."
+
+"What other?"
+
+"Citizen," said the man, with a strange look, "you will be answered
+to-morrow."
+
+
+_V.--Condemned_
+
+
+The news that Darnay had been again arrested was brought to Mr. Lorry
+later in the evening, and the man who brought it was Sydney Carton. He
+had come to Paris, he said, on business; his business was now completed,
+he was about to return, and he had obtained his leave to pass.
+
+"Darnay," he said, "cannot escape condemnation this time."
+
+"I fear not," answered Mr. Lorry.
+
+"I have found," continued Carton, "that the Old Bailey spy who charged
+Darnay with high treason years ago is now in the service of the Republic
+and is a turnkey at the prison of the Conciergerie where Darnay is
+confined. By threatening to denounce him as a spy of Pitt, I have
+secured that I shall gain access to Darnay in the prison if the trial
+should go against him."
+
+"But access to him," said Mr. Lorry, "will not save him."
+
+"I never said it would."
+
+Mr. Lorry looked at him mystified, and once more noted his strange
+resemblance to the man whose fate was to be decided on the morrow.
+
+Carton stood next day in an obscure corner among the crowd when Charles
+Evremonde, called Darnay, appeared again before the judges.
+
+"Who denounces the accused?" asked the president.
+
+"Ernest Defarge, wine-vendor."
+
+"Good."
+
+"Alexandre Manette, physician."
+
+"President," cried the doctor, pale and trembling, "I indignantly
+protest to you."
+
+"Citizen Manette, be silent! Call Citizen Defarge."
+
+Rapidly Defarge told his story. He had been among the leaders in the
+taking of the Bastille. When the citadel had fallen, he had gone to the
+cell One Hundred and Five, North Tower, and had searched it. In a hole
+in the chimney he had found a paper in the handwriting of Dr. Manette.
+
+"Let it be read," said the president.
+
+In this paper Dr. Manette had written the history of his imprisonment.
+In the year 1757 he had been taken secretly by two nobles to visit two
+poor people who were on the point of death. One was a woman whom one of
+the nobles had forcibly carried off from her husband; the other, her
+brother, whom the seducer had mortally wounded. The doctor had come too
+late; both the woman and her brother died. The doctor refused a fee,
+and, to relieve his mind, wrote privately to the government stating the
+circumstances of the crime. One night he was called out of his home on a
+false pretext, and taken to the Bastille.
+
+The nobles were the Marquis de St. Evremonde and his brother; and the
+Marquis was the father of Charles Darnay. A terrible sound arose in the
+court when the reading was done. The voting of the jury was unanimous,
+and at every vote there was a roar. Death in twenty-four hours!
+
+That night Carton again came to Mr. Lorry. Between the two men, as they
+spoke, a figure on a chair rocked itself to and fro, moaning. It was Dr.
+Manette.
+
+"He and Lucie and her child must leave Paris to-morrow," said Carton.
+"They are in danger of being denounced. It is a capital crime to mourn
+for, or sympathise with, a victim of the guillotine. Be ready to start
+at two o'clock to-morrow afternoon. See them into their seats; take your
+own seat. The moment I come to you, take me in, and drive away.
+
+"It shall be done."
+
+Carton turned to the couch where Lucie lay unconscious, prostrated with
+utter grief.
+
+He bent down, touched her face with his lips, and murmured some words.
+Little Lucie told them afterwards that she heard him say, "A life you
+love."
+
+
+_VI.--The Guillotine_
+
+
+In the black prison of the Conciergerie, the doomed of the day awaited
+their fate. Fifty-two persons were to roll that afternoon on the
+life-tide of the city to the boundless, everlasting sea.
+
+The hours went on as Darnay walked to and fro in his cell, and the
+clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. The final hour, he
+knew, was three, and he expected to be summoned at two. The clocks
+struck one. "There is but another now," he thought.
+
+He heard footsteps. The door was opened, and there stood before him,
+quiet, intent, and smiling, Sydney Carton.
+
+"Darnay," he said, "I bring you a request from your wife."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"There is no time--you must comply. Take off your boots and coat, and
+put on mine."
+
+"Carton, there is no escaping from this place. It is madness."
+
+"Do I ask you to escape?" said Carton, forcing the changes upon him.
+
+"Now sit at the table and write what I dictate."
+
+"To whom do I address it?"
+
+"To no one."
+
+"If you remember," said Carton, dictating, "the words that passed
+between us long ago, you will comprehend this when you see it. I am
+thankful that the time has come when I can prove them." Carton's hand
+was withdrawn from his breast, and slowly and softly moved down the
+writer's face. For a few seconds Darnay struggled faintly, Carton's hand
+held firmly at his nostrils; then he fell senseless to the ground.
+
+Carton called quietly to the turnkey, who looked in and went again as
+Carton was putting the paper in Darnay's breast. He came back with two
+men. They raised the unconscious figure and carried it away.
+
+The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of
+listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote
+suspicion or alarm. There was none. Presently his door opened, and a
+gaoler looked in, merely saying: "Follow me," whereupon Carton followed
+him into a dark room. As he stood by the wall in a dim corner, a young
+woman, with a slight, girlish figure, came to speak to him.
+
+"Citizen Evremonde," she said, "I am a poor little seamstress, who was
+with you in La Force."
+
+He murmured an answer.
+
+"I heard you were released."
+
+"I was, and was taken again and condemned."
+
+"If I may ride with you, will you let me hold your hand?"
+
+As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in
+them.
+
+"Are you dying for him?" she whispered. "Oh, you will let me hold your
+hand?"
+
+"Hush! Yes, my poor sister, to the last."
+
+That afternoon a coach going out of Paris drove up to the Barrier.
+"Papers!" demanded the guard. The papers are handed out and read.
+
+"Alexandre Manette, Lucie Manette, her child. Jarvis Lorry, banker,
+English. Sydney Carton, advocate, English. Which is he?"
+
+He lies here, in a corner, apparently in a swoon. He is in bad health.
+
+"Behold your papers, countersigned."
+
+"One can depart, citizen?"
+
+"One can depart."
+
+The ministers of Sainte Guillotin are robed and ready. Crash!--and the
+women who sit with their knitting in front of the guillotine count one.
+Crash!--and the women count two.
+
+The supposed Evremonde descends with the seamstress from the tumbril,
+and joins the fast-thinning throng of victims before the crashing engine
+that constantly whirrs up and falls. The spare hand does not tremble as
+he grasps it. She goes next before him--is gone. The knitting women
+count twenty-two.
+
+The murmuring of many voices, the pressing on of many footsteps in the
+outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward like one great heave
+of water, all flashes away. Twenty-three.
+
+They said of him about the city that night that it was the peacefulest
+man's face ever beheld there. Had he given utterance to his thoughts at
+the foot of the scaffold, they would have been these:
+
+"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
+prosperous, and happy in that England which I shall see no more. I see
+her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see that I hold a
+sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants,
+generations hence.
+
+"It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a
+far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+BENJAMIN DISRAELI
+
+
+Coningsby
+
+
+      Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was not only a great
+     figure in English politics in the nineteenth century; he was
+     also a novelist of brilliant powers. Born in London on
+     December 21, 1804, the son of Isaac D'Israeli, the future
+     Prime Minister of England was first articled to a solicitor;
+     but he quickly turned from this to politics. Disraeli was
+     leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Commons in
+     1847; he was twice Prime Minister. In 1876 he was created Earl
+     of Beaconsfield. Disraeli's novels--especially the famous
+     trilogy of "Coningsby," 1844, "Sybil," 1845, and "Tancred,"
+     1846--are remarkable chiefly for the view they give of
+     contemporary political life, and for the definite political
+     philosophy of their author. Neither the earlier
+     novels--"Vivian Grey", 1826, "Contarini Fleming," "Alroy,"
+     1832, "Henrietta Temple" and "Venetia," 1837--nor the later
+     ones--"Lothair," 1870, and "Endymion," 1874--are to be ranked
+     with "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Many characters in "Coningsby"
+     are well-known men. Lord Monmouth is Lord Hertford, whom
+     Thackeray depicted as the Marquess of Steyne, Rigby is John
+     Wilson Croker, Oswald Millbank is Mr. Gladstone, Lord H.
+     Sydney is Lord John Manners, Sidonia is Baron Alfred de
+     Rothschild, and Coningsby is Lord Lyttelton. Lord Beaconsfield
+     died in London on April 19, 1881.
+
+
+_I.--The Hero of Eton_
+
+
+Coningsby was the orphan child of the younger of the two sons of Lord
+Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds. The elder son hated
+his father, and lived at Naples, maintaining no connection either with
+his parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated
+his younger son, who had married against his consent a woman to whom
+that son was devoted. Persecuted by his father, he died abroad, and his
+widow returned to England. Not having a relation, and scarcely an
+acquaintance, in the world, she made an appeal to her husband's father,
+the wealthiest noble in England, and a man who was often prodigal, and
+occasionally generous, who respected law, and despised opinion. Lord
+Monmouth decided that, provided she gave up her child, and permanently
+resided in one of the remotest counties, he would make her a yearly
+allowance of three hundred pounds. Necessity made the victim yield; and
+three years later, Mrs. Coningsby died, the same day that her father-
+in-law was made a marquess.
+
+Coningsby was then not more than nine years of age; and when he attained
+his twelfth year an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at
+Rome, that he should go at once to Eton.
+
+Coningsby had never seen his grandfather. It was Mr. Rigby who made
+arrangements for his education. This Mr. Rigby was the manager of Lord
+Monmouth's parliamentary influence and the auditor of his vast estates.
+He was a member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs, and, in fact, a
+great personage. Lord Monmouth had bought him, and it was a good
+purchase.
+
+In the spring of 1832, when the country was in the throes of agitation
+over the Reform Bill, Lord Monmouth returned to England, accompanied by
+the Prince and Princess Colonna and the Princess Lucretia, the prince's
+daughter by his first wife. Coningsby was summoned from Eton to Monmouth
+House, and returned to school in the full favour of the marquess.
+
+Coningsby was the hero of Eton; everybody was proud of him, talked of
+him, quoted him, imitated him. But the ties of friendship bound
+Coningsby to Henry Sydney and Oswald Millbank above all companions. Lord
+Henry Sydney was the son of a duke, and Millbank was the son of one of
+the wealthiest manufacturers in Lancashire. Once, on the river,
+Coningsby saved Millbank's life; and this was the beginning of a close
+and ardent friendship.
+
+Coningsby liked very much to talk politics with Millbank. He heard
+things from Millbank which were new to him. Politics had, as yet,
+appeared to him a struggle whether the country was to be governed by
+Whig nobles or Tory nobles; and Coningsby, a high Tory as he supposed
+himself to be, thought it very unfortunate that he should probably have
+to enter life with his friends out of power and his family boroughs
+destroyed. But, in conversing with Millbank, he heard for the first time
+of influential classes in the country who were not noble, and were yet
+determined to acquire power.
+
+Generally, at that time, among the upper boys at Eton there was a
+reigning inclination for political discussion, and a feeling in favour
+of "Conservative principles." A year later, and in 1836, gradually the
+inquiry fell upon attentive ears as to what these Conservative
+principles were. Before Coningsby and his friends left Eton--Coningsby
+for Cambridge, and Millbank for Oxford--they were resolved to contend
+for political faith rather than for mere partisan success or personal
+ambition.
+
+
+_II.--A Portrait of a Lady_
+
+
+On his way to Coningsby Castle, in Lancashire, where the Marquess of
+Monmouth was living in state--feasting the county, patronising the
+borough, and diffusing confidence in the Conservative party in order
+that the electors of Dartford might return his man, Mr. Rigby, once more
+for parliament--our hero halted for the night at Manchester. In the
+coffee-room at the hotel a stranger, loud in praise of the commercial
+enterprise of the neighbourhood, advised Coningsby, if he wanted to see
+something tip-top in the way of cotton works, to visit Millbank of
+Millbank's; and thus it came about that Coningsby first met Edith
+Millbank. Oswald was abroad; and Mr. Millbank, when he heard the name of
+his visitor, was only distressed that the sudden arrival left no time
+for adequate welcome.
+
+"My visit to Manchester, which led to this, was quite accidental," said
+Coningsby. "I am bound for the other division of the county, to pay a
+visit to my grandfather, Lord Monmouth, but an irresistible desire came
+over me during my journey to view this famous district of industry."
+
+A cloud passed over the countenance of Millbank as the name of Lord
+Monmouth was mentioned; but he said nothing, only turning towards
+Coningsby, with an air of kindness, to beg him, since to stay longer was
+impossible, to dine with him. Coningsby gladly agreed to this and the
+village clock was striking five when Mr. Millbank and his guest entered
+the gardens of his mansion and proceeded to the house.
+
+The hall was capacious and classic; and as they approached the staircase
+the sweetest and the clearest voice exclaimed from above: "Papa, papa!"
+and instantly a young girl came bounding down the stairs; but suddenly,
+seeing a stranger with her father, she stopped upon the landing-place.
+Mr. Millbank beckoned her, and she came down slowly; at the foot of the
+stairs her father said briefly: "A friend you have often heard of,
+Edith--this is Mr. Coningsby."
+
+She started, blushed very much, and then put forth her hand.
+
+"How often have we all wished to see and to thank you!" Miss Edith
+Millbank remarked in tones of sensibility.
+
+Opposite Coningsby at dinner that night was a portrait which greatly
+attracted his attention. It represented a woman extremely young and of a
+rare beauty. The face was looking out of the canvas, and the gaze of
+this picture disturbed the serenity of Coningsby. On rising to leave the
+table he said to Mr. Millbank, "By whom is that portrait, sir?"
+
+The countenance of Millbank became disturbed; his expression was
+agitated, almost angry. "Oh! that is by a country artist," he said, "of
+whom you never heard."
+
+
+_III.--The Course of True Love_
+
+
+The Princess Colonna resolved that an alliance should take place between
+Coningsby and her step-daughter. But the plans of the princess, imparted
+to Mr. Rigby that she might gain his assistance in achieving them, were
+doomed to frustration. Coningsby fell deeply in love with Miss Millbank;
+and Lord Monmouth himself decided to marry Lucretia.
+
+It was in Paris that Coningsby, on a visit to his grandfather, woke to
+the knowledge of his love for Edith Millbank. They met at a brilliant
+party, Miss Millbank in the care of her aunt, Lady Wallinger.
+
+"Miss Millbank says that you have quite forgotten her," said a mutual
+friend.
+
+Coningsby started, advanced, coloured a little, could not conceal his
+surprise. The lady, too, though more prepared, was not without
+confusion. Coningsby recalled at that moment the beautiful, bashful
+countenance that had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had
+effected a wonderful change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed
+girl into a woman of surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith
+Millbank was the last thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated
+slumber. In the morning his first thought was of her of whom he had
+dreamed. The light had dawned on his soul. Coningsby loved.
+
+The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
+few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to
+Sidonia, a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord
+Monmouth. Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of
+Sidonia; against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering
+courage to speak, left hastily for England.
+
+But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
+once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
+Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.
+
+Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
+the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
+accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
+Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
+between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old,
+implacable hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and
+Coningsby left the castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again,
+and still more the beautiful sister of his old friend.
+
+Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
+Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
+Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom
+met in a scene more fresh and fair.
+
+Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
+head, and met his glance.
+
+"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
+Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
+Edith! I love you!"
+
+She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
+impending twilight.
+
+The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
+home.
+
+Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
+he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.
+
+"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
+inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but without harshness. "You are
+the grandson of Lord Monmouth; at present enjoying his favour, but
+dependent on his bounty. You may be the heir of his wealth to-morrow and
+to-morrow you may be the object of his hatred and persecution. Your
+grandfather and myself are foes--to the death. It is idle to mince
+phrases. I do not vindicate our mutual feelings; I may regret that they
+have ever arisen, especially at this exigency. Lord Monmouth would crush
+me, had he the power, like a worm; and I have curbed his proud fortunes
+often. These feelings of hatred may be deplored, but they do not exist;
+and now you are to go to this man, and ask his sanction to marry my
+daughter!"
+
+"I would appease these hatreds," retorted Coningsby, "the origin of
+which I know not. I would appeal to my grandfather. I would show him
+Edith."
+
+"He has looked upon as fair even as Edith," said Mr. Millbank. "And did
+that melt his heart? My daughter and yourself can meet no more."
+
+In vain Coningsby pleaded his suit. It was not till Mr. Millbank told
+that he, too, had suffered--that he had loved Coningsby's own mother,
+and that she gave her heart to another, to die afterwards solitary and
+forsaken, tortured by Lord Monmouth--that Coningsby was silent. It was
+his mother's portrait he had looked upon that night at Millbank; and he
+understood the cause of the hatred.
+
+He wrung Mr. Millbank's hand, and left Hellingsley in despair. But
+Oswald overtook him in the park; and, leaning on his friend's arm,
+Coningsby poured forth a hurried, impassioned, and incoherent strain--
+all that had occurred, all that he had dreamed, his baffled bliss, his
+actual despair, his hopeless outlook.
+
+A thunderstorm overtook them; and Oswald took refuge from the elements
+at the castle. There, as they sat together, pledging their faithful
+friendship, the door opened, and Mr. Rigby appeared.
+
+
+_IV.--Coningsby's Political Faith_
+
+
+Lord Monmouth banished the Princess Colonna from his presence, and
+married Lucretia. Coningsby returned to Cambridge, and continued to
+enjoy his grandfather's hospitality whenever Lord Monmouth was in
+London.
+
+Mr. Millbank had, in the meantime, become a member of parliament, having
+defeated Mr. Rigby in the contest for the representation of Dartford.
+
+In the year 1840 a general election was imminent, and Lord Monmouth
+returned to London. He was weary of Paris; every day he found it more
+difficult to be amused. Lucretia had lost her charm: they had been
+married nearly three years. The marquess, from whom nothing could be
+concealed, perceived that often, while she elaborately attempted to
+divert him, her mind was wandering elsewhere.
+
+He fell into the easy habit of dining in his private rooms, sometimes
+_tete-a-tete_ with Villebecque, his private secretary, a cosmopolitan
+theatrical manager, whose tales and adventures about a kind of society
+which Lord Monmouth had always preferred to the polished and somewhat
+insipid circles in which he was born, had rendered him the prime
+favourite of his great patron. Villebecque's step-daughter Flora, a
+modest and retiring maiden, waited on Lucretia.
+
+Back in London, Lord Monmouth, on the day of his arrival, welcomed
+Coningsby to his room, and at a sign from his master Villebecque left
+the apartment.
+
+"You see, Harry," said Lord Monmouth, "that I am much occupied to-day,
+yet the business on which I wish to communicate with you is so pressing
+that it could not be postponed. These are not times when young men
+should be out of sight. Your public career will commence immediately.
+The government have resolved on a dissolution. My information is from
+the highest quarter. The Whigs are going to dissolve their own House of
+Commons. Notwithstanding this, we can beat them, but the race requires
+the finest jockeying. We can't give a point. Now, if we had a good
+candidate, we could win Dartford. But Rigby won't do. He is too much of
+the old clique used up a hack; besides, a beaten horse. We are assured
+the name of Coningsby would be a host; there is a considerable section
+who support the present fellow who will not vote against a Coningsby.
+They have thought of you as a fit person; and I have approved of the
+suggestion. You will, therefore, be the candidate for Dartford with my
+entire sanction and support; and I have no doubt you will be
+successful."
+
+To Coningsby the idea was appalling. To be the rival of Mr. Millbank on
+the hustings of Dartford! Vanquished or victorious, equally a
+catastrophe. He saw Edith canvassing for her father and against him.
+Besides, to enter the House of Commons a slave and a tool of party!
+Strongly anti-Whig, Coningsby distrusted the Conservative party, and
+looked for a new party of men who shared his youthful convictions and
+high political principles.
+
+Lord Monmouth, however, brushed aside his grandson's objections.
+
+"You are certainly still young; but I was younger by nearly two years
+when I first went in, and I found no difficulty. As for your opinions,
+you have no business to have any other than those I uphold. I want to
+see you in parliament. I tell you what it is, Harry," Lord Monmouth
+concluded, very emphatically, "members of this family may think as they
+like, but they must act as I please. You must go down on Friday to
+Dartford and declare yourself a candidate for the town, or I shall
+reconsider our mutual positions."
+
+Coningsby left Monmouth House in dejection, but to his solemn resolution
+of political faith he remained firm. He would not stand for Dartford
+against Mr. Millbank as the nominee of a party he could not follow. In
+terms of tenderness and humility he wrote to his grandfather that he
+positively declined to enter parliament except as the master of his own
+conduct.
+
+In the same hour of his distress Coningsby overheard in his club two men
+discussing the engagement of Miss Millbank to the Marquess of
+Beaumanoir, the elder brother of his school friend, Henry Sydney.
+
+Edith Millbank, too, had heard news at a London assembly of wealth and
+fashion that Coningsby was engaged to be married to Lady Theresa Sydney.
+
+So easily does rumour spin her stories and smite her victims with
+sadness.
+
+
+_V.--Lady Monmouth's Departure_
+
+
+It was Flora, to whom Coningsby had been always kind and courteous, who
+told Lucretia that Lord Monmouth was displeased with his grandson.
+
+"My lord is very angry with Mr. Coningsby," she said, shaking her head
+mournfully. "My lord told M. Villebecque that perhaps Mr. Coningsby
+would never enter the house again."
+
+Lucretia immediately dispatched a note to Mr. Rigby, and, on the arrival
+of that gentleman, told him all she had learnt of the contention between
+Harry Coningsby and her husband.
+
+"I told you to beware of him long ago," said Lady Monmouth. "He has ever
+been in the way of both of us."
+
+"He is in my power," said Rigby. "We can crush him. He is in love with
+the daughter of Millbank, the man who bought Hellingsley. I found the
+younger Millbank quite domiciliated at the castle, a fact which of
+itself, if known to Lord Monmouth, would ensure the lad's annihilation."
+
+"The time is now most mature for this. Let us not conceal it from
+ourselves that since this grandson's first visit to Coningsby Castle we
+have neither of us really been in the same position with my lord which
+we then occupied, or believed we should occupy. Go now; the game is
+before you! Rid me of this Coningsby, and I will secure all that you
+want."
+
+"It shall be done," said Rigby, "it must be done."
+
+Lady Monmouth bade Mr. Rigby hasten at once to the marquess and bring
+her news of the interview. She awaited with some excitement his return.
+Her original prejudice against Coningsby and jealousy of his influence
+had been aggravated by the knowledge that, although after her marriage
+Lord Monmouth had made a will which secured to her a very large portion
+of his great wealth, the energies and resources of the marquess had of
+late been directed to establish Coningsby in a barony.
+
+Two hours elapsed before Mr. Rigby returned. There was a churlish and
+unusual look about him.
+
+"Lord Monmouth suggests that, as you were tired of Paris, your ladyship
+might find the German baths at Kissingen agreeable. A paragraph in the
+'Morning Post' would announce that his lordship was about to join you;
+and even if his lordship did not ultimately reach you, an amicable
+separation would be effected."
+
+In vain Lucretia stormed. Mr. Rigby mentioned that Lord Monmouth had
+already left the house and would not return, and finally announced that
+Lucretia's letters to a certain Prince Trautsmandorff were in his
+lordship's possession.
+
+A few days later, and Coningsby read in the papers of Lady Monmouth's
+departure to Kissingen. He called at Monmouth House, to find the place
+empty, and to learn from the porter that Lord Monmouth was about to
+occupy a villa at Richmond.
+
+Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the
+exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced
+nothing but kindness from Lord Monmouth. He determined to pay him a
+visit at Richmond.
+
+Lord Monmouth, who was entertaining two French ladies at his villa,
+recoiled from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds; but
+Coningsby so pleasantly impressed his fair visitors that Lord Monmouth
+decided to ask him to dinner. Thus, in spite of the combinations of
+Lucretia and Mr. Rigby, and his grandfather's resentment, within a month
+of the memorable interview at Monmouth House, Coningsby found himself
+once more a welcome guest at Lord Monmouth's table.
+
+In that same month other important circumstances also occurred.
+
+At a fete in some beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames,
+Coningsby and Edith Millbank were both present. The announcement was
+made of the forthcoming marriage of Lady Theresa Sydney to Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, a friend of Mr. Coningsby; and later, from the lips of Lady
+Wallinger herself, Miss Millbank's aunt, Coningsby learnt how really
+groundless was the report of Lord Beaumanoir's engagement.
+
+"Lord Beaumanoir admires her--has always admired her," Lady Wallinger
+explained to Coningsby; "but Edith has given him no encouragement
+whatever."
+
+At the end of the terrace Edith and Coningsby met. He seized the
+occasion to walk some distance by her side.
+
+"How could you ever doubt me?" said Coningsby, after some time.
+
+"I was unhappy."
+
+"And now we are to each other as before."
+
+"And will be, come what may," said Edith.
+
+
+_VI.--Lord Monmouth's Money_
+
+
+In the midst of Christmas-revels at the country house of Mr. Eustace
+Lyle, surrounded by the duke and duchess and their children--the
+Sydneys--Coningsby was called away by a messenger, who brought news of
+the sudden death of Lord Monmouth. The marquess had died at supper at
+his Richmond villa, with no persons near him but those who were very
+amusing.
+
+The body had been removed to Monmouth House; and after the funeral, in
+the principal saloon of Monmouth House, the will was eventually read.
+
+The date of the will was 1829; and by this document the sum of L10,000
+was left to Coningsby, who at that time was unknown to his grandfather.
+
+But there were many codicils. In 1832, the L10,000 was increased to
+L50,000. In 1836, after Coningsby's visit to the castle, L50,000 was
+left to the Princess Lucretia, and Coningsby was left sole residuary
+legatee.
+
+After the marriage, an estate of L9,000 a year was left to Coningsby,
+L20,000 to Mr. Rigby, and the whole of the residue went to issue by Lady
+Monmouth.
+
+In the event of there being no issue, the whole of the estate was to be
+divided equally between Lady Monmouth and Coningsby. In 1839, Mr. Rigby
+was reduced to L10,000, Lady Monmouth was to receive L3,000 per annum,
+and the rest, without reserve, went absolutely to Coningsby.
+
+The last codicil was dated immediately after the separation with Lady
+Monmouth.
+
+All dispositions in favour of Coningsby were revoked, and he was left
+with the interest of the original L10,000, the executors to invest the
+money as they thought best for his advancement, provided it were not
+placed in any manufactory.
+
+Mr. Rigby received L5,000, M. Villebecque L30,000, and all the rest,
+residue and remainder, to Flora, commonly called Flora Villebecque,
+step-child of Armand Villebecque, "but who is my natural daughter by an
+actress at the Theatre Francais in the years 1811-15, by the name of
+Stella."
+
+Sidonia lightened the blow for Coningsby as far as philosophy could be
+of use.
+
+"I ask you," he said, "which would you have rather lost--your
+grandfather's inheritance or your right leg?"
+
+"Most certainly my inheritance."
+
+"Or your left arm?"
+
+"Still the inheritance."
+
+"Would you have given up a year of your life for that fortune trebled?"
+
+"Even at twenty-three I would have refused the terms."
+
+"Come, then, Coningsby, the calamity cannot be very great. You have
+health, youth, good looks, great abilities, considerable knowledge, a
+fine courage, and no contemptible experience. You can live on L300 a
+year. Read for the Bar."
+
+"I have resolved," said Coningsby. "I will try for the Great Seal!"
+
+Next morning came a note from Flora, begging Mr. Coningsby to call upon
+her. It was an interview he would rather have avoided. But Flora had not
+injured him, and she was, after all, his kin. She was alone when
+Coningsby entered the room.
+
+"I have robbed you of your inheritance."
+
+"It was not mine by any right, legal or moral. The fortune is yours,
+dear Flora, by every right; and there is no one who wishes more
+fervently that it may contribute to your happiness than I do."
+
+"It is killing me," said Flora mournfully. "I must tell you what I feel.
+This fortune is yours. I never thought to be so happy as I shall be if
+you will generously accept it."
+
+"You are, as I have ever thought you, the kindest and most
+tender-hearted of beings," said Coningsby, much moved; "but the custom
+of the world does not permit such acts to either of us as you
+contemplate. Have confidence in yourself. You will be happy."
+
+"When I die, these riches will be yours; that, at all events, you cannot
+prevent," were Flora's last generous words.
+
+
+_VII.--On Life's Threshold_
+
+
+Coningsby established himself in the Temple to read law; and Lord Henry
+Sydney, Oswald Millbank, and other old Eton friends rallied round their
+early leader.
+
+"I feel quite convinced that Coningsby will become Lord Chancellor,"
+Henry Sydney said gravely, after leaving the Temple.
+
+The General Election of 1841, which Lord Monmouth had expected a year
+before, found Coningsby a solitary student in his lonely chambers in the
+Temple. All his friends and early companions were candidates, and with
+sanguine prospects. They sent their addresses to Coningsby, who, deeply
+interested, traced in them the influence of his own mind.
+
+Then, in the midst of the election, one evening in July, Coningsby,
+catching up a third edition of the "Sun," was startled by the word
+"Dartford" in large type. Below it were the headlines:
+
+"Extraordinary Affair! Withdrawal of the Liberal Candidate! Two Tory
+Candidates in the Field!"
+
+Mr. Millbank, at the last moment, had retired, and had persuaded his
+supporters to nominate Harry Coningsby in his place. The fight was
+between Coningsby and Rigby.
+
+Oswald Millbank, who had just been returned to parliament, came up to
+London; and from him, as they travelled to Dartford, Coningsby grasped
+the change of events. Sidonia had explained to Lady Wallinger the cause
+of Coningsby's disinheritance. Lady Wallinger had told Oswald and Edith;
+and Oswald had urged on his father the recognition of his friend's
+affection for his sister.
+
+On his own impulse Mr. Millbank decided that Coningsby should contest
+Dartford.
+
+Mr. Rigby was beaten; and Coningsby arrived at Dartford in time to
+receive the cheers of thousands. From the hustings he gave his first
+address to a public assembly; and by general agreement no such speech
+had ever been heard in the borough before.
+
+Early in the autumn Harry and Edith were married at Millbank, and they
+passed their first moon at Hellingsley.
+
+The death of Flora, who had bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the
+husband of Edith, took place before the end of the year, hastened by the
+fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days,
+haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the
+instrument of injuring the only being whom she loved.
+
+Coningsby passed his next Christmas in his own hall, with his beautiful
+and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart
+and his youth.
+
+The young couple stand now on the threshold of public life. What will be
+their fate? Will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the
+great truths, which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? Or
+will vanity confound their fortunes, and jealousy wither their
+sympathies?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Sybil, or the Two Nations
+
+
+      "Sybil, or the Two Nations" was published in 1845, a year
+     after "Coningsby," and in it the novelist "considered the
+     condition of the people." The author himself, writing in 1870
+     of this novel, said: "At that time the Chartist agitation was
+     still fresh in the public memory, and its repetition was far
+     from improbable. I had visited and observed with care all the
+     localities introduced, and as an accurate and never
+     exaggerated picture of a remarkable period in our domestic
+     history, and of a popular organisation which in its extent and
+     completeness has perhaps never been equalled, the pages of
+     "Sybil" may, I venture to believe, be consulted with
+     confidence." "Sybil," indeed, is not only an extremely
+     interesting novel; but as a study of social life in England it
+     is of very definite historical value.
+
+
+_I.--Hard Times for the Poor_
+
+
+It was Derby Day, 1837. Charles Egremont was in the ring at Epsom with a
+band of young patricians. Groups surrounded the betting post, and the
+odds were shouted lustily by a host of horsemen. Egremont had backed
+Caravan to win, and Caravan lost by half a length. Charles Egremont was
+the younger brother of the Earl of Marney; he had received L15,000 on
+the death of his father, and had spent it. Disappointed in love at the
+age of twenty-four, Egremont left England, to return after eighteen
+months' absence a much wiser man. He was now conscious that he wanted an
+object, and, musing over action, was ignorant how to act.
+
+The morning after the Derby, Egremont, breakfasting with his mother,
+learnt that King William IV. was dying, and that a dissolution of
+parliament was at hand. Lady Marney was a great stateswoman, a leader in
+fashionable politics.
+
+"Charles," said Lady Marney, "you must stand for the old borough, for
+Marbury. No doubt the contest will be very expensive, but it will be a
+happy day for me to see you in parliament, and Marney will, of course,
+supply the funds. I shall write to him, and perhaps you will do so
+yourself."
+
+The election took place, and Egremont was returned. Then he paid a visit
+to his brother at Marney Abbey, and an old estrangement between the two
+was ended.
+
+Marney Abbey was as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of
+accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. It had been a
+religious house. The founder of the Marney family, a confidential
+domestic of one of the favourites of Henry VIII., had contrived by
+unscrupulous zeal to obtain the grant of the abbey lands, and in the
+reign of Elizabeth came a peerage.
+
+The present Lord Marney upheld the workhouse, hated allotments and
+infant schools, and declared the labourers on his estate to be happy and
+contented with a wage of seven shillings a week.
+
+The burning of hayricks on the Abbey Farm at the time of Egremont's
+visit showed that the torch of the incendiary had been introduced and
+that a beacon had been kindled in the agitated neighbourhood. For misery
+lurked in the wretched tenements of the town of Marney, and fever was
+rife. The miserable hovels of the people had neither windows nor doors,
+and were unpaved, and looked as if they could scarcely hold together.
+There were few districts in the kingdom where the rate of wages was more
+depressed.
+
+"What do you think of this fire?" said Egremont to a labourer at the
+Abbey Farm.
+
+"I think 'tis hard times for the poor, sir," was the reply, given with a
+shake of the head.
+
+
+_II.--The Old Tradition_
+
+
+"Why was England not the same land as in the days of his light-hearted
+youth?" Charles Egremont mused, as he wandered among the ruins of the
+ancient abbey. "Why were these hard times for the poor?" Brooding over
+these questions, he observed two men hard by in the old cloister garden,
+one of lofty stature, nearer forty than fifty years of age, the other
+younger and shorter, with a pale face redeemed from ugliness by its
+intellectual brow. Egremont joined the strangers, and talked.
+
+"Our queen reigns over two nations, between whom there is no intercourse
+and no sympathy--the rich and the poor," said the younger stranger.
+
+As he spoke, from the lady chapel rose the evening hymn to the Virgin in
+tones of almost supernatural tenderness.
+
+The melody ceased; and Egremont beheld a female form, a countenance
+youthful, and of a beauty as rare as it was choice.
+
+The two men joined the beautiful maiden; and the three quitted the abbey
+grounds together without another word, and pursued their way to the
+railway station.
+
+"I have seen the tomb of the last abbot of Marney, and I marked your
+name on the stone, my father," said the maiden. "You must regain our
+lands for us, Stephen," she added to the younger man.
+
+"I can't understand why you lost sight of those papers, Walter," said
+Stephen Morley.
+
+"You see, friend, they were never in my possession; they were not mine
+when I saw them. They were my father's. He was a small yeoman,
+well-to-do in the world, but always hankering after the old tradition
+that the lands were ours. This Hatton got hold of him; he did his work
+well, I have heard. It is twenty-five years since my father brought his
+writ of right, and though baffled, he was not beaten. Then he died; his
+affairs were in great confusion; he had mortgaged his land for his writ.
+There were debts that could not be paid. I had no capital. I would not
+sink to be a labourer. I had heard much of the high wages of this new
+industry; I left the land."
+
+"And the papers?"
+
+"I never thought of them, or thought of them with disgust, as the cause
+of my ruin. Of Hatton, I have not heard since my father's death. He had
+quitted Mowbray, and none could give me tidings of him. When you came
+and showed me in a book that the last abbot of Marney was a Walter
+Gerard, the old feeling stirred again, and though I am but the
+overlooker at Mr. Trafford's mill, I could not help telling you that my
+fathers fought at Agincourt."
+
+They approached the station, entered the train, and two hours later
+arrived at Mowbray. Gerard and Morley left their companion at a convent
+gate in the suburbs of the manufacturing town.
+
+The two men made their way through the streets and entered a prominent
+public house. Here they sought an interview with the landlord, and from
+him got information of Hatton's brother.
+
+"You have heard of a place called Hell-house Yard?" said the publican.
+"Well, he lives there, and his name is Simon, and that's all I know
+about him."
+
+
+_III.--The Gulf Impassable_
+
+
+When it came to the point, Lord Marney very much objected to paying
+Egremont's election expenses, and proposed instead that he should
+accompany him to Mowbray Castle, and marry Earl Mowbray's daughter, Lady
+Joan Fitz-Warene.
+
+Lord Mowbray was the grandson of a waiter, who had gone out to India a
+gentleman's valet, and returned a nabob. Lord Mowbray's two daughters--
+he had no sons--were great heiresses. Lady Joan was doctrinal; Lady Maud
+inquisitive. Egremont fell in love with neither, and the visit was a
+failure. Lord Marney declined to pay the election expenses.
+
+The brothers parted in anger; and Egremont took up his abode in a
+cottage in Mowedale, a few miles outside the town of Mowbray. He was
+drawn to this by the knowledge that Walter Gerard and his daughter
+Sybil, and their friend Stephen Morley, lived close by. Of Egremont's
+rank these three were ignorant. Sybil had met him with Mr. St. Lys, the
+good vicar of Mowbray, relieving the misery of a poor weaver's family in
+the town, and at Mowedale he passed as Mr. Franklin, a journalist.
+
+For some weeks Egremont enjoyed the peace of rural life, and the
+intercourse with the Gerards ripened into friendship. When the time came
+for parting, for Egremont had to take his seat in parliament, it was a
+tender farewell on both sides.
+
+Egremont, embarrassed by his deception, could not only speak vaguely of
+their meeting again soon. The thought of parting from Sybil nearly
+overwhelmed him.
+
+When he met Gerard and Morley again it was in London, and disguise was
+no longer possible. Gerard and Morley came as delegates to the Chartist
+National Convention in 1839, and, deputed by their fellows to interview
+Charles Egremont, M.P., came face to face with "Mr. Franklin."
+
+The general misery in the country at that time was appalling. Weavers
+and miners were starving, agricultural labourers were driven into the
+new workhouses, and riots were of common occurrence. The Chartists
+believed their proposals would improve matters, other working-class
+leaders believed that a general stoppage of work would be more
+effective.
+
+Sybil, in London with her father, ardently supported the popular
+movement. Meeting Egremont near Westminster Abbey on the very day after
+Gerard and Morley had waited upon him, she allowed him to escort her
+home. Then, for the first time, she learnt that her friend "Mr.
+Franklin" was the brother of Lord Marney.
+
+It was in vain Egremont urged that they might still be friends, that the
+gulf between rich and poor was not impassable.
+
+"Oh, sir," said Sybil haughtily, "I am one of those who believe the gulf
+is impassable--yes, utterly impassable!"
+
+
+_IV.--Plotting Against Lord De Mowbray_
+
+
+Stephen Morley was the editor of the "Mowbray Phoenix," a teetotaler, a
+vegetarian, a believer in moral force. The friend of Gerard, and in love
+with Sybil, Stephen looked with no favour on Egremont. Although a
+delegate to the Chartist Convention, Stephen had not forgotten the
+claims of Gerard to landed estate, and had pursued his inquiries as to
+the whereabouts of Hatton with some success.
+
+First Stephen had journeyed to Woodgate, commonly known as Hell-house
+Yard, a wild and savage place, the abode of a lawless race of men who
+fashioned locks and instruments of iron. Here he had found Simon Hatton,
+who knew nothing of his brother's residence.
+
+By accident Stephen discovered that the man he sought lived in the
+Temple. Baptist Hatton at that time was the most famous of heraldic
+antiquaries. Not a pedigree in dispute, not a peerage in abeyance, but
+it was submitted to his consideration. A solitary man was Baptist
+Hatton, wealthy and absorbed in his pursuits. The meeting with Morley
+excited him, and he turned over the matter anxiously in his mind as he
+sat alone.
+
+"The son of Walter Gerard, a Chartist delegate! The best blood in
+England! Those infernal papers! They made my fortune; and yet the deed
+has cost me many a pang. It seemed innoxious; the old man dead,
+insolvent; myself starving; his son ignorant of all--to whom could they
+be of use, for it required thousands to work them? And yet with all my
+wealth and power what memory shall I leave? Not a relative in the world,
+except a barbarian. Ah! had I a child like the beautiful daughter of
+Gerard. I have seen her. He must be a fiend who could injure her. I am
+that fiend. Let me see what can be done. What if I married her?"
+
+But Hatton did not offer marriage to Sybil. He did much to make her stay
+in London pleasant; but there was something about the maiden that awed
+while it fascinated him. A Catholic himself, Hatton was not surprised to
+hear from Gerard of Sybil's wish to enter a convent. "And to my mind she
+is right. My daughter cannot look to marriage; no man that she could
+marry would be worthy of her."
+
+This did not deter Hatton from considering how the papers relating to
+Gerard's lost estates could be recovered.
+
+The first move was an action entered against Lord de Mowbray, and this
+brought that distinguished peer to Mr. Hatton's chambers in the Temple,
+for Hatton was at that time advising Lord de Mowbray in the matter of
+reviving an ancient barony. Hatton easily quieted his client.
+
+"Mr. Walter Gerard can do nothing without the deed of '77. Your
+documents you say are all secure?"
+
+"They are at this moment in the muniment room of the tower of Mowbray
+Castle."
+
+"Keep them; this action is a feint."
+
+As for Mr. Baptist Hatton, the next time we see him a few months had
+elapsed. He is at the principal hotel in Mowbray in consultation with
+Stephen Morley.
+
+A great labour demonstration had taken place the previous night on the
+moors outside the town, and Gerard had been acclaimed as a popular hero.
+
+"Documents are in existence," said Hatton, "which prove the title of
+Walter Gerard to the proprietorship of this great district. Two hundred
+thousand human beings yesterday acknowledged the supremacy of Gerard.
+Suppose they had known that within the walls of Mowbray Castle were
+contained the proofs that Walter Gerard was the lawful possessor of the
+lands on which they live? Moral force is a fine thing, friend Morley,
+but the public spirit is inflamed here. You are a leader of the people.
+Let us have another meeting on the Moor! you can put your fingers in a
+trice on the man who will do our work. Mowbray Castle in their
+possession, a certain iron chest, painted blue, and blazoned with the
+shield of Valence, would be delivered to you. You shall have L10,000
+down and I will take you back to London besides."
+
+"The effort would fail," said Stephen Morley. "Wages must drop still
+more, and the discontent here be deeper. But I will keep the secret; I
+will treasure it up."
+
+
+_V.--Liberty--At a Price_
+
+
+While Mr. Baptist Hatton and Stephen Morley discussed the possible
+recovery of the papers, much happened in London. Gerard became a marked
+man in the Chartist Convention, a member of a small but resolute
+committee. Egremont, now deeply in love with Sybil, declared his suit.
+
+"From the first moment I beheld you in the starlit arch of Marney, your
+image has never been absent from my consciousness. Do not reject my
+love; it is deep as your nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those
+prejudices that have embittered your existence. If I be a noble, I have
+none of the accidents of nobility. I cannot offer you wealth, splendour,
+and power; but I can offer you the devotion of an entranced being,
+aspirations that you shall guide, an ambition that you shall govern."
+
+"These words are mystical and wild," said Sybil in amazement. "You are
+Lord Marney's brother; I learnt it but yesterday. Retain your hand, and
+share your life and fortunes! You forget what I am. No, no, kind
+friend--for such I'll call you--your opinion of me touches me deeply. I
+am not used to such passages in life. A union between the child and
+brother of nobles and a daughter of the people is impossible. It would
+mean estrangement from your family, their hopes destroyed, their pride
+outraged. Believe me, the gulf is impassable."
+
+The Chartist petition was rejected by the House of Commons
+contemptuously. Riots took place in Birmingham. Sybil grew anxious for
+her father's safety.
+
+Egremont's speech in parliament on the presentation of the national
+petition created some perplexity among his aristocratic relatives and
+acquaintances. It was free from the slang of faction--the voice of a
+noble who had upheld the popular cause, who had pronounced that the
+rights of labour were as sacred as those of property, that the social
+happiness of the millions should be the statesman's first object.
+
+Sybil, enjoying the calm of St. James's Park on a summer morning, read
+the speech with emotion, and while she still held the paper the orator
+himself stood before her. She smiled without distress, and presently
+confided to Egremont that she was unhappy, about her father.
+
+"I honour your father," said Egremont "Counsel him to return to Mowbray.
+Exert every energy to get him to leave London at once--to-night if
+possible. After this business at Birmingham the government will strike
+at the convention. If your father returns to Mowbray and is quiet, he
+has a chance of not being disturbed."
+
+Sybil returned and warned her father. "You are in danger," she cried,
+"great and immediate. Let us quit this city to-night."
+
+"To-morrow, my child," Walter Gerard assured her, "we will return to
+Mowbray. To-night our council meets, and we have work of utmost
+importance. We must discountenance scenes of violence. The moment our
+council is over I will come back to you."
+
+But Walter Gerard did not return. While Sybil sat and waited, Stephen
+Morley entered the room. His manner was strange and unusual.
+
+"Your father is in danger; time is precious. I can endure no longer the
+anguish of my life. I love you, and if you will not be mine, I care for
+no one's fate. I can save your father. If I see him before eight
+o'clock, I can convince him that the government knows of his intentions,
+and will arrest him to-night. I am ready to do this service--to save the
+father from death and the daughter from despair, if she would but only
+say to me: 'I have but one reward, and it is yours.'"
+
+"It is bitter, this," said Sybil, "bitter for me and mine; but for you
+pollution, this bargaining of blood. In the name of the Holy Virgin I
+answer you--no!"
+
+Morley rushed frantically from the room.
+
+Sybil, in despair, made her way to a coffee-house near Charing Cross,
+which she knew had been much frequented by members of the Chartist
+Convention. Here, after some delay, she was given the fatal address in
+Hunt Street, Seven Dials.
+
+Sybil arrived at the meeting a few minutes before the police raided the
+premises. She was found with her father, and taken with him and six
+other men to Bow Street Police Station. A note to Egremont procured her
+release in the early hours of the morning.
+
+Walter Gerard in due time was sent to trial, convicted and sentenced to
+eighteen month's confinement in York Castle.
+
+
+_VI.--Within the Castle Walls_
+
+
+In 1842 came the great stoppage of work. The mills ceased; the miners
+went "to play," despairing of a fair day's wage for a fair day's work;
+and the inhabitants of Woodgate--the Hell-cats, as they were called--
+stirred up by a Chartist delegate, sallied forth with Simon Hatton,
+named the "liberator," at their head to deal ruthlessly with all
+"oppressors of the people."
+
+They sacked houses, plundered cellars, ravaged provision shops,
+destroyed gas-works and stormed workhouses. In time they came to
+Mowbray. There the liberator came face to face with Baptist Hatton
+without recognising his brother.
+
+Stephen Morley and Baptist Hatton were in close conference.
+
+"The times are critical," said Hatton.
+
+"Mowbray may be burnt to the ground before the troops arrive," Morley
+replied.
+
+"And the castle, too," said Hatton quietly. "I was thinking only
+yesterday of a certain box of papers. To business, friend Morley. This
+savage relative of mine cannot be quiet. If he does not destroy
+Trafford's Mill it will be the castle. Why not the castle instead of the
+mill?"
+
+Trafford's Mill was saved by the direct intervention of Walter Gerard.
+All the people of Mowbray knew the good reputation of the Traffords, and
+Gerard's eloquence turned the mob from the attack.
+
+While the liberator and the Hell-cats hesitated, a man named Dandy Mick,
+prompted by Morley, urged that a walk should be taken in Lord de
+Mowbray's park.
+
+The proposition was received with shouts of approbation. Gerard
+succeeded in detaching a number of Mowbray men, but the Hell-cats, armed
+with bludgeons, poured into the park and on to the castle.
+
+Lady de Mowbray and her friends made their escape, taking Sybil, who had
+sought refuge from the mob, with them.
+
+Mr. St. Lys gathered a body of men in defence of the castle, but came
+too late to prevent the entrance of the Hell-cats. Singularly enough,
+Morley and one or two of his followers entered with the liberator.
+
+The first great rush was to the cellars, and the invaders were quickly
+at work knocking off the heads of bottles, and brandishing torches.
+Morley and his lads traced their way down a corridor to the winding
+steps of the Round Tower, and forced their way into the muniment room of
+the castle. It was not till his search had nearly been abandoned in
+despair that he found the small blue box blazoned with the arms of
+Valence. He passed it hastily to a trusted companion, Dandy Mick, and
+bade him deliver it to Sybil Gerard at the convent.
+
+At this moment the noise of musketry was heard; the yeomanry were on the
+scene.
+
+Morley, cut off from flight by the military, was shot, pistol in hand,
+with the name of Sybil on his lips. "The world will misjudge me," he
+thought--"they will call me hypocrite, but the world is wrong."
+
+The man with the box escaped through the window, and in spite of the
+fire, troopers, and mob, reached the convent in safety.
+
+The castle was burnt to the ground by the torches of the Hell-cats.
+
+Sybil, separated from her friends, found herself surrounded by a band of
+drunken ruffians. She was rescued by a yeomanry officer, who pressed her
+to his heart.
+
+"Never to part again," said Egremont.
+
+Under Egremont's protection, Sybil returned to the convent, and there in
+the courtyard they found Dandy Mick, who had refused to deliver his
+charge, and was lying down with the blue box for his pillow. He had
+fulfilled his mission. Sybil, too agitated to perceive all its import,
+delivered the box into the custody of Egremont, who, bidding farewell to
+Sybil, bade Mick follow him to his hotel.
+
+While these events were happening, Lord Marney, hearing an alarmed and
+exaggerated report of the insurrection, and believing that Egremont's
+forces were by no means equal to the occasion, had set out for Mowbray
+with his own troop of yeomanry.
+
+Crossing the moor, he encountered Walter Gerard with a great multitude,
+whom Gerard headed for purposes of peace.
+
+His mind inflamed, and hating at all times any popular demonstration,
+Lord Marney hastily read the Riot Act, and the people were fired on and
+sabred. The indignant spirit of Gerard resisted, and the father of Sybil
+was shot dead. Instantly arose a groan, and a feeling of frenzy came
+over the people. Armed only with stones and bludgeons they defied the
+troopers, and rushed at the horsemen; a shower of stones rattled without
+ceasing on the helmet of Lord Marney, nor did the people rest till Lord
+Marney fell lifeless on Mowbray Moor, stoned to death.
+
+The writ of right against Lord de Mowbray proved successful in the
+courts, and his lordship died of the blow.
+
+For a long time after the death of her father Sybil remained in helpless
+woe. The widowed Lady Marney, however, came over one day, and carried
+her back to Marney Abbey, never again to quit it until the bridal day,
+when the Earl and Countess of Marney departed for Italy.
+
+Though the result was not what Mr. Hatton had once anticipated, the idea
+that he had deprived Sybil of her inheritance had, ever since he had
+become acquainted with her, been the plague-spot of Hatton's life, and
+there was nothing he desired more than to see her restored to those
+rights, and to be instrumental in that restoration.
+
+Dandy Mick was rewarded for all the dangers he had encountered in the
+service of Sybil, and was set up in business by Lord Marney. A year
+after the burning of Mowbray Castle, on the return of the Earl and
+Countess of Marney to England, the romantic marriage and the enormous
+wealth of Lord and Lady Marney were still the talk in fashionable
+circles.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Tancred, or the New Crusade
+
+
+      "Tancred," published in 1847, completes the trilogy, which
+     began with "Coningsby" in 1844, and had its second volume in
+     "Sybil" in 1845. In these three novels Disraeli gave to the
+     world his political, social, and religious philosophy.
+     "Coningsby" was mainly political, "Sybil" mainly social, and
+     in "Tancred," as the author tells us, Disraeli dealt with the
+     origin of the Christian Church of England and its relation to
+     the Hebrew race whence Christianity sprang. "Public opinion
+     recognized the truth and sincerity of these views," although
+     their general spirit ran counter to current Liberal
+     utilitarianism. Although "Tancred" lacks the vigour of "Sibyl"
+     and the wit of "Coningsby," it is full of the colour of the
+     East, and the satire and irony in the part relating to
+     Tancred's life in England are vastly entertaining. As in
+     others of Disraeli's novels, many of the characters here are
+     portraits of real personages.
+
+
+_I.--Tancred Goes Forth on His Quest_
+
+
+Tancred, the Marquis of Montacute, was certainly strangely distracted on
+his twenty-first birthday. He stood beside his father, the Duke of
+Bellamont, in the famous Crusaders' gallery in the Castle of Montacute,
+listening to the congratulations which the mayor and corporation of
+Montacute town were addressing to him; but all the time he kept his eyes
+fixed on the magnificent tapestries from which the name of the gallery
+was derived. His namesake, Tancred of Montacute, had distinguished
+himself in the Third Crusade by saving the life of King Richard at the
+siege of Ascalon, and his exploits were depicted on the fine Gobelins
+work hanging on the walls of the great hall. Oblivious of the gorgeous
+ceremony in which he was playing the principal part, the young Marquis
+of Montacute stared at the pictures of the Crusader, and a wild,
+fantastical idea took hold of him.
+
+He was the only child of the Duke of Bellamont, and all the high
+nobility of England were assembled to celebrate his coming of age.
+Everything that fortune could bestow seemed to have been given to him.
+He was the heir of the greatest and richest of English dukes, and his
+life was made smooth and easy. His father had got a seat in parliament
+waiting for him, and his mother had already selected a noble and
+beautiful young lady for his wife. Neither of them had yet consulted
+their son, but Tancred was so sweet and gentle a boy that they did not
+dream he would oppose their wishes. They had planned out his life for
+him ever since he was born, with the view to educating him for the
+position which he was to occupy in the English aristocracy, and he had
+always taken the path which they had chosen for him.
+
+In the evening, the duke summoned his son into his library.
+
+"My dear Tancred," he said, "I have a piece of good news for you on your
+birthday. Hungerford feels that he cannot represent our constituency now
+that you have come of age, and, with great kindness, he is resigning his
+seat in your favour. He says that the Marquis of Montacute ought to
+stand for the town of Montacute, so you will be able to enter parliament
+at once."
+
+"But I do not wish to enter parliament," said Tancred.
+
+The duke leant back from his desk with a look of painful surprise on his
+face.
+
+"Not enter parliament?" he exclaimed. "Every Lord Montacute has gone
+into the House of Commons before taking his seat in the House of Lords.
+It is an excellent training."
+
+"I am not anxious to enter the House of Lords either," said Tancred.
+"And I hope, my dear father," he added, with a smile that lit up his
+young, grave, beautiful face, "that it will be very, very long before I
+succeed to your place there."
+
+"What, then, do you intend to do, my boy?" said Bellamont, in intense
+perplexity. "You are the heir to one of the greatest positions in the
+state, and you have duties to perform. How are you going to fit yourself
+for them?"
+
+"That is what I have been thinking of for years," said Tancred. "Oh, my
+dear father, if you knew how long and earnestly I have prayed for
+guidance! Yes, I have duties to perform! But in this wild, confused, and
+aimless age of ours, what man can see what his duties are? For my part,
+I cannot find that it is my duty to maintain the present order of
+things. In nothing in our religion, our government, our manners, do I
+find faith. And if there is no faith, how can there be any duty? We have
+ceased to be a nation. We are a mere crowd, kept from utter anarchy by
+the remains of an old system which we are daily destroying."
+
+"But what would you do, my dear boy?" said the duke, pale with anxiety.
+"Have you found any remedy?"
+
+"No," said Tancred mournfully. "There is no remedy to be found in
+England. Oh, let me save myself, father! Let me save our people from the
+corruption and ruin that threaten us!"
+
+"But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?" said the duke.
+
+"I want to go to God!" cried the young nobleman, his blue eyes flaming
+with a strange light "How is it that the Almighty Power does not send
+down His angels to enlighten us in our perplexities? Where is the
+Paraclete, the Comforter Who was promised us? I must go and seek him."
+
+"You are a visionary, my boy," said the duke, gazing at him in blank
+astonishment.
+
+"Was the Montacute that fought by the side of King Richard in the Holy
+Land a visionary?" said Tancred. "All I ask is to be allowed to follow
+in his footsteps. For three days and three nights he knelt in prayer at
+the tomb of his Redeemer. Six centuries and more have gone by since
+then. It is high time that we renewed our intercourse with the Most High
+in the country of His chosen people. I, too, would kneel at that tomb.
+I, too, surrounded by the holy hills and groves of Jerusalem, would lift
+my voice to Heaven, and ask for inspiration."
+
+"But surely God will hear your prayers in England as well as in
+Palestine?"
+
+"No," said his son. "He has never raised up a prophet or a great saint
+in this country. If we want Him to speak to us as He spoke to the men of
+old, we must go, like the Crusaders, to the Holy Land."
+
+Finding that he could not turn his son from the strange course on which
+he was bent, the duke got a great prelate to try and persuade him that
+all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
+
+"We live in an age of progress," reasoned the philosophic bishop.
+"Religion is spreading with the spread of civilisation. How all our
+towns are growing! We shall soon see a bishop in Manchester."
+
+"I want to see an angel in Manchester," replied Tancred.
+
+It was no use arguing with a man who talked in this way, and the duke
+gave Tancred permission to set out on his new crusade.
+
+
+_II.--The Vigil by the Tomb_
+
+
+The moon sank behind the Mount of Olives, leaving the towers, minarets,
+and domes of Jerusalem in deep shadow; the lamps in the city went out,
+and every outline was lost in gloom; but the Church of the Holy
+Sepulchre still shone in the darkness like a beacon light. There, while
+every soul in Jerusalem slumbered, Tancred knelt in prayer by the tomb
+of Christ, under the lighted dome, waiting for the fire from heaven to
+strike into his soul.
+
+His strange vigil was the talk of Syria. It is remarkable how quickly
+news travels in the East.
+
+"Do you know," said Besso, Rothschild's agent, to his foster-son
+Fakredeen, an emir of Lebanon, as they sat talking in a house near the
+gate of Sion, "the young Englishman has brought me such a letter that if
+he were to tell me to rebuild Solomon's temple, I must do it!"
+
+"He must be fabulously rich!" said Fakredeen, with a sigh. "What has he
+come here for? The English do not come on pilgrimages. They are all
+infidels."
+
+"Well, he has come on a pilgrimage," said Besso, "and he is the greatest
+of English princes. He kneels all night and day in the church over
+there."
+
+Yes, after a week of solitude, fasting, and prayer, Tancred was keeping
+vigil before the empty Sepulchre, where Tancred of Montacute had knelt
+six hundred years before. Day after day, night after night, he prayed
+for inspiration, but no divine voice broke in upon his impassioned
+reveries. It was for him that Alonzo Lara, the prior of Terra Santa,
+kept the light burning all night long at the Holy Sepulchre, for the
+Spaniard had been moved by the deep faith of the young English nobleman.
+And one day he said to him:
+
+"Sinai led to Calvary. I think it would be wise for you to trace the
+path backward from Calvary to Sinai."
+
+It was extremely perilous at that time to adventure into the great
+desert, for the wild Bedouin tribes were encamped there. But, in spite
+of this, Tancred made arrangements with an Arabian chief, Sheikh Hassan,
+and set out for Sinai at the head of a well-armed band of Arabs.
+
+"Ah!" said the sheikh, as they entered the mountainous country, after a
+three days' march across the wilderness. "Look at these tracks of horses
+and camels in the defile. The marks are fresh. See that your guns are
+primed!" he cried to his men.
+
+As he spoke a troop of wild horsemen galloped down the ravine.
+
+"Hassan," one of them shouted, "is that the brother of the Queen of the
+English with you? Let him ride with us, and you may return in peace."
+
+"He is my brother, too," said Hassan. "Stand aside, you sons of Eblis,
+or you shall bite the earth."
+
+A wild shout from every height of the defile was the answer. Tancred
+looked up. The crest on either side was lined with Bedouins, each with
+his musket levelled.
+
+"There is only one thing for us to do," said Tancred to Hassan. "Let us
+charge through the defile, and die like men!"
+
+Seizing his pistols, he shot the first horseman through the head, and
+disabled another. Then he charged down the ravine, and Hassan and his
+men followed, and scattered the horsemen before them. The Bedouins fired
+down on them from the crests, and, in a few moments, the place was
+filled with smoke, and Tancred could not see a yard around him. Still he
+galloped on, and the smoke suddenly drifted, and he found himself at the
+mouth of the defile, with a few followers behind him. A crowd of
+Bedouins were waiting for him.
+
+"Die fighting! Die fighting!" he shouted. Then his horse stumbled,
+stabbed from beneath by a Bedouin dagger, and fell in the sand. Before
+he could get his feet out of the stirrups, he was overpowered and bound.
+
+"Don't hurt him," said the Bedouin chief. "Every drop of his blood is
+worth ten thousand piastres."
+
+Late that night, as Amalek, the great Rechabite Bedouin sheikh, was
+sitting before his tent, a horseman rode up to him.
+
+"Salaam," he cried. "Sheikh of sheikhs, it is done! The brother of the
+Queen of England is your slave!"
+
+"Good!" said Amalek. "May your mother eat the hump of a young camel! Is
+the brother of the queen with Sheikh Salem?"
+
+"No," said the horseman, "Sheikh Salem is in paradise, and many of our
+men are with him. The brother of the Queen of the English is a mighty
+warrior. He fought like a lion, but we brought his horse down at last
+and took him alive."
+
+"Good!" said Amalek. "Camels shall be given to all the widows of the men
+he has killed, and I will find them new husbands. Go and tell Fakredeen
+the good news!"
+
+Amalek and Fakredeen would not have cared had they lost a hundred men in
+the affair. The Bedouin chief and the emir of Lebanon could bring into
+the field more than twenty thousand lances, and the capture of Tancred
+was part of a political scheme which they were engineering for the
+conquest of Syria. They knew from Besso that the young English prince
+was fabulously rich, and, as they wanted arms, they meant to hold him to
+the extraordinary ransom of two million piastres.
+
+"My foster father will pay it," said Fakredeen. "He told me that he
+would have to rebuild Solomon's temple if the English prince asked him
+to. We will get him to help us rebuild Solomon's empire."
+
+
+_III.--The Vision on the Mount_
+
+
+On the wild granite scarp of Mount Sinai, about seven thousand feet
+above the blue seas that lave its base, is a small plain hemmed in by
+pinnacles of rock. In the centre of the plain are a cypress tree and a
+fountain. This is the traditional scene of the greatest event in the
+history of mankind. It was here that Moses received the divine laws on
+which the civilisation of the world is based.
+
+Tancred of Montacute knelt down on the sacred soil, and bowed his head
+in prayer. Far below him, in one of the green-valleys sloping down to
+the sea, Fakredeen and a band of Bedouins pitched their tents for the
+night, and talked in awed tones of their strange companion. Wonderful is
+the power of soul with which a great idea endues a man. The young emir
+of Lebanon and his men were no longer the captors of Tancred, but his
+followers. He had preached to them with the eyes of flame and the words
+of fire of a prophet; and they now asked of him, not a ransom, but a
+revelation. They wanted him to bring down from Sinai the new word of
+power, which would bind their scattered tribes into a mighty nation,
+with a divine mission for all the world.
+
+What was this word to be? Tancred did not know any more than his
+followers, and he knelt all day long under the Arabian sun, waiting for
+the divine revelation. The sunlight faded, and the shadows fell around
+him, and he still remained bowed in a strange, quiet ecstasy of
+expectation. But at last, lifting up his eyes to the clear, starry sky
+of Arabia, he prayed:
+
+"O Lord God of Israel, I come to Thine ancient dwelling-place to pour
+forth the heart of tortured Europe. Why does no impulse from Thy
+renovating will strike again into the soul of man? Faith fades and duty
+dies, and a profound melancholy falls upon the world. Our kings cannot
+rule, our priests doubt, and our multitudes toil and moan, and call in
+their madness upon unknown gods. If this transfigured mount may not
+again behold Thee, if Thou wilt not again descend to teach and console
+us, send, oh send, one of the starry messengers that guard Thy throne,
+to save Thy creatures from their terrible despair!"
+
+As he prayed all the stars of Arabia grew strangely dim. The wild peaks
+of Sinai, standing sharp and black in the lucid, purple air, melted into
+shadowy, changing masses. The huge branches of the cypress-tree moved
+mysteriously above his head, and he fell upon the earth senseless and in
+a trance.
+
+It seemed to Tancred that a mighty form was bending over him with a
+countenance like an oriental night, dark yet lustrous, mystical yet
+clear. The solemn eyes of the shadowy apparition were full of the
+brightness and energy of youth and the calm wisdom of the ages.
+
+"I am the Angel of Arabia," said the spectral figure, waving a sceptre
+fashioned like a palm-tree, "the guardian spirit of the land which
+governs the world; for its power lies neither in the sword nor in the
+shield, for these pass away, but in ideas which are divine. All the
+thoughts of every nation come from a higher power than man, but the
+thoughts of Arabia come directly from the Most High. You want a new
+revelation to Christendom? Listen to the ancient message of Arabia!
+
+"Your people now hanker after other gods than the God of Sinai and
+Calvary. But the eternal principles of that Arabian faith, which moulded
+them from savages into civilised men when they descended from their
+northern forests fifteen hundred years ago, and spread all over the
+world, can alone breathe new vigour into them, now that they are
+decaying in the dust and fever of their great cities. Tell them that
+they must cease from seeking in their vain philosophies for the solution
+of their social problems. Their, longing for the brotherhood of mankind
+can only be satisfied when they acknowledge the sway of a common father.
+Tell them that they are the children of God. Announce the sublime and
+solacing doctrine of theocratic equality. Fear not, falter not. Obey the
+impulse of thine own spirit, and find a ready instrument in every human
+being."
+
+A sound as of thunder roused Tancred from his trance. Above him the
+mountains rose sharp and black in the clear purple air, and the Arabian
+stars shone with undimmed brightness; but the voice of the angel still
+lingered in his ear. He went down the mountain; at its base he found his
+followers sleeping amid their camels. He aroused Fakredeen, and told him
+that he had received the word which would bind together the warring
+nations of Arabia and Palestine, and reshape the earth.
+
+
+_IV.--The Mystic Queen_
+
+
+"It has been a great day," said Tancred to Fakredeen, as they were
+sitting some months afterwards in the castle of the young emir of
+Lebanon, where all the princes of Syria had assembled to discuss the
+foundation of the new empire. "If your friends will only work together
+as they promise, Syria is ours."
+
+"Even Lebanon," said Fakredeen, "can send forth more than fifty thousand
+well-armed footmen, and Amalek is gathering all the horsemen of the
+desert, from Petraea to Yemen, under our banner. If we can only win over
+the Ansarey," he continued, "we shall have all Syria and Arabia as a
+base for our operations."
+
+"The Ansarey?" exclaimed Tancred. "They hold the mountains around
+Antioch, which are the key of Palestine, don't they? What is their
+religion? Do you think that the doctrine of theocratic equality would
+appeal to them as it did to the Arabians?"
+
+"I don't know," said the emir. "They never allow strangers to enter
+their country. They are a very ancient people, and they fight so well in
+their mountains that even the Turks have not been able to conquer them."
+
+"But can't we make overtures?" said Tancred.
+
+"That is what I have done," said Fakredeen. "The Queen of the Ansarey
+has heard about you, and I have arranged that we should go and see her
+as soon as the Syrian assembly was over. Everything is ready for our
+journey, so, if you like, we will start at once."
+
+It was a difficult expedition, as the Queen of the Ansarey was then
+waging war on the Turkish pasha of Aleppo. Happily, the travellers came
+upon a band of Ansareys who were raiding the Turkish province, and were
+led by them through their black ravines to the fortress palace of the
+queen.
+
+She received them, sitting on her divan, clothed in a purple robe, and
+shrouded in a long veil. This she took off when Tancred came towards
+her, and he marvelled at the strangeness of her beauty. There was
+nothing oriental about her. She was a Greek girl of the ancient type,
+with violet eyes, fair cheeks, and dark hair.
+
+"Prince," she said, "we are a people who wish neither to see nor to be
+seen. We do not care what goes on in the world around. Our mountains are
+wild and barren, but while Apollo dwells among us, we do not care for
+gold, or silk, or jewels."
+
+"Apollo!" cried Tancred. "Are the gods of Olympus still worshipped on
+earth?"
+
+"Yes, Apollo still lives among us, and another greater than Apollo,"
+said the young queen, looking at Tancred long and earnestly. "Follow me,
+and you shall now behold the secret of the Ansarey."
+
+Her maidens adorned her with a garland of roses, and put a garland on
+the head of Tancred, and she led him through a portal of bronze, down an
+underground passage, into an Ionic temple, filled with the white and
+lovely forms of the gods of ancient Greece.
+
+"Do you know this?" said the queen to Tancred, looking at a statue in
+golden ivory, and then at the young Englishman, whose clear-cut features
+and hyacinthine locks curiously resembled those of the carven image.
+
+"It is Phoebus Apollo," said Tancred, and, moved by admiration at the
+beauty of the figure, he murmured some lines of Homer.
+
+"Ah, you know all!" cried the queen. "You know our secret language. Yes,
+this is Phoebus Apollo. He used to stand in Antioch in the ancient days
+before the Christians drove us into the mountains. And look," she said,
+pointing to the statue beside Apollo, "here is the Syrian goddess before
+whom the pilgrims of the world once knelt. She is named Astarte, and I
+am called after her."
+
+"Oh, angels watch over me!" said Tancred to himself as Queen Astarte
+fixed her violet eyes upon him with a glance of love that could not be
+mistaken, and led him back into the hall of audience.
+
+There he saw Fakredeen bending over a maiden with a flower-like face,
+and large, dark, lustrous eyes.
+
+"She is my foster-sister, Eva," said Fakredeen. "The Ansareys captured
+her on the plain of Aleppo."
+
+Tancred had met Eva at the house of Besso in Jerusalem, but she did not
+then exercise over him the strange charm which now drew him to her side.
+It seemed to him that the beautiful Jewish girl had been sent to help
+him in his struggle against the heathen spells of Astarte. As he was
+meditating how he could rescue her, a messenger came in, and announced
+that the pasha of Aleppo had invaded the mountains at the head of 5,000
+troops.
+
+"Ah!" cried Astarte. "Few of them will ever see Aleppo again. I have
+25,000 men under arms, and you, my prince," she said, turning to
+Tancred, "shall command them."
+
+Tancred had learnt something of the arts of mountain warfare from Sheikh
+Amalek. He allowed the Turkish troops to penetrate into the heart of the
+wild hills, and then, as they were marching down a long defile, he
+attacked them from the crests above, shooting them down like sheep and
+burying them in avalanches of rolling rock. Instead of returning to the
+fortress palace, he sent his men on ahead, and rode out alone into the
+desert, and went through the Syrian wilderness back to Jerusalem.
+
+Riding up to the door of Besso's house by Sion gate, he asked if there
+were any news of Eva. A negro led him into a garden, and there, sitting
+by the side of a fountain, was the lovely Jewish maiden.
+
+"So Fakredeen brought you safely away, Eva," he said tenderly. "I was
+afraid that Astarte meant to harm you."
+
+"She would have killed me," said Eva, "if she could. I am afraid that
+your faith in your idea of theocratic equality has been destroyed by the
+Ansareys. How can you build up an empire in a land divided by so many
+jarring creeds? Do you still believe in Arabia?"
+
+"I believe in Arabia," cried Tancred, kneeling down at her feet,
+"because I believe in you. You are the angel of Arabia, and the angel of
+my life. You cannot guess what influence you have had on my fate. You
+came into my life like another messenger from God. Thanks to you, my
+faith has never faltered. Will you not share it, dearest?"
+
+He clasped her hand, and gazed with passionate adoration into her face.
+As her head fell upon his shoulder, the negro came running to the
+fountain.
+
+"The Duke of Bellamont!" he said to Tancred.
+
+Tancred looked up, and saw the Duke of Bellamont coming through the
+pomegranate trees of the garden.
+
+"Father," he said, advancing towards the duke, "I have found my mission
+in life, and I am going to marry this lady."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+ALEXANDRE DUMAS
+
+
+
+Marguerite de Valois
+
+
+      Alexandre Dumas, _pere_ (to distinguish him from his son of
+     the same name), early became known as a talented writer, and
+     especially as a poet and dramatist. His first published work
+     appeared in 1823; then came volumes of poems in 1825, 1826,
+     and the drama of "Henry III." in 1828. In "Marguerite de
+     Valois," published in 1845, the first of the "Valois" series
+     of historical romances, Dumas takes us back from the days of
+     Richelieu and the "Three Musketeers" to the preceding century
+     and the early struggles of Catholic and Huguenot. It was a
+     stirring time in France, full of horrors and bloodshed, plots
+     and intrigues, when Marguerite de Valois married Henry of
+     Navarre, and Alexandre Dumas gives us, in his wonderfully,
+     vivid and attractive style, a great picture of the French
+     court in the time of Charles IX. Little affection existed
+     between Henry and his bride, but strong ties of interest and
+     ambition bound them together, and for a long time they both
+     adhered loyally to the treaty of political alliance they had
+     drawn up for their mutual advantage. Dumas died on December 5,
+     1870, after experiencing many changes of fortune. His son also
+     won considerable reputation as a dramatist and novelist.
+
+
+_I.--Henry of Navarre and Marguerite_
+
+
+On Monday, August 18, 1572, a great festival was held in the palace of
+the Louvre. It was to celebrate the marriage of Henry of Navarre and
+Marguerite de Valois, a marriage that perplexed a good many people, and
+alarmed others.
+
+For Henry de Bourbon, King of Navarre, was the leader of the Huguenot
+party, and Marguerite was the daughter of Catherine de Medici, and the
+sister of the king, Charles IX., and this alliance between a Protestant
+and a Catholic, it seemed, was to end the strife that rent the nation.
+The king, too, had set his heart on this marriage, and the Huguenots
+were somewhat reassured by the king's declaration that Catholic and
+Huguenot alike were now his subjects, and were equally beloved by him.
+Still, there were many on both sides who feared and distrusted the
+alliance.
+
+At midnight, six days later, on August 24, the tocsin sounded, and the
+massacre of St. Bartholomew began.
+
+The marriage, indeed, was in no sense a love match; but Henry succeeded
+at once in making Marguerite his friend, for he was alive to the dangers
+that surrounded him.
+
+"Madame," he said, presenting himself at Marguerite's rooms on the night
+of the wedding festival, "whatever many persons may have said, I think
+our marriage is a good marriage. I stand well with you--you stand well
+with me. Therefore, we ought to act towards each other like good allies,
+since to-day we have been allied in the sight of God! Don't you think
+so?"
+
+"Without question, sir!"
+
+"I know, madame, that the ground at court is full of dangerous abysses;
+and I know that, though I am young and have never injured any person, I
+have many enemies. The king hates me, his brothers, the Duke of Anjou
+and the Duke D'Alencon, hate me. Catherine de Medici hated my mother too
+much not to hate me. Well, against these menaces, which must soon become
+attacks, I can only defend myself by your aid, for you are beloved by
+all those who hate me!"
+
+"I?" said Marguerite.
+
+"Yes, you!" replied Henry. "And if you will--I do not say love me--but
+if you will be my ally I can brave anything; while, if you become my
+enemy, I am lost."
+
+"Your enemy! Never, sir!" exclaimed Marguerite.
+
+"And my ally."
+
+"Most decidedly!"
+
+And Marguerite turned round and presented her hand to the king. "It is
+agreed," she said.
+
+"Political alliance, frank and loyal?" asked Henry.
+
+"Frank and loyal," was the answer.
+
+At the door Henry turned and said softly, "Thanks, Marguerite; thanks!
+You are a true daughter of France. Lacking your love, your friendship
+will not fail me. I rely on you, as you, for your part, may rely on me.
+Adieu, madame."
+
+He kissed his wife's hand; and then, with a quick step, the king went
+down the corridor to his own apartment. "I have more need of fidelity in
+politics than in love," he said to himself.
+
+If on both sides there was little attempt at fidelity in love, there was
+an honourable alliance, which was maintained unbroken and saved the life
+of Henry of Navarre from his enemies on more than one occasion.
+
+On the day of the St. Bartholomew massacre, while the Huguenots were
+being murdered throughout Paris, Charles IX., instigated by his mother,
+summoned Henry of Navarre to the royal armoury, and called upon him to
+turn Catholic or die.
+
+"Will you kill me, sire--me, your brother-in-law?" exclaimed Henry.
+
+Charles IX. turned away to the open window. "I must kill someone," he
+cried, and firing his arquebuse, struck a man who was passing.
+
+Then, animated by a murderous fury, Charles loaded and fired his
+arquebuse without stopping, shouting with joy when his aim was
+successful.
+
+"It's all over with me!" said Henry to himself. "When he sees no one
+else to kill, he will kill me!"
+
+Catherine de Medici entered as the king fired his last shot. "Is it
+done?" she said, anxiously.
+
+"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. "No; the
+obstinate blockhead will not consent!"
+
+Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and
+which said, "Why, then, is he alive?"
+
+"He lives," said the king, "because he is my relative."
+
+Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend.
+
+"Madame," he said, addressing her, "I can see quite clearly that all
+this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles. It was you who
+planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us
+all. It was you who made your daughter the bait. It has been you who
+have separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed
+before her eyes!"
+
+"Yes; but that shall not be!" cried another voice; and Marguerite,
+breathless and impassioned, burst into the room.
+
+"Sir," said Marguerite to Henry, "your last words were an accusation,
+and were both right and wrong. They have made me the means for
+attempting to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you
+were going to destruction. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very
+night they all but killed me in seeking you. Directly I knew of your
+danger I sought you. If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if
+they imprison you they shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will
+also die!"
+
+She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly.
+
+"Brother," cried Marguerite to Charles IX., "remember, you made him my
+husband!"
+
+"Faith, Margot is right, and Henry is my brother-in-law," said the king.
+
+
+_II.--The Boar Hunt_
+
+
+As time went on, if Catherine's hatred of Henry of Navarre did not
+diminish, Charles IX. certainly became more friendly.
+
+Catherine was for ever intriguing and plotting for the fortune of her
+sons and the downfall of her son-in-law, but Henry always managed to
+evade the webs she wove. At a certain boar-hunt Charles was indebted to
+Henry for his life.
+
+It was at the time when the king's brother D'Anjou had accepted the
+crown of Poland, and the second brother, D'Alencon, a weak-minded,
+ambitious man, was secretly hoping for a crown somewhere, that Henry
+paid his debt for the king's mercy to him on the night of St.
+Bartholomew.
+
+Charles was an intrepid hunter, but the boar had swerved as the king's
+spear was aimed at him, and, maddened with rage, the animal had rushed
+at him. Charles tried to draw his hunting-knife but the sheath was so
+tight it was impossible.
+
+"The boar! the boar!" shouted the king. "Help, D'Alencon, help!"
+
+D'Alencon was ghastly white as he placed his arquebuse to his shoulder
+and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, felled the king's
+horse.
+
+"I think," D'Alencon murmured to himself, "that D'Anjou is King of
+France, and I King of Poland."
+
+The boar's tusk had indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an
+iron glove dashed itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife was
+plunged into its shoulder.
+
+Charles rose with difficulty, and seemed for a moment as if about to
+fall by the dead boar. Then he looked at Henry of Navarre, and for the
+first time in four-and-twenty years his heart was touched.
+
+"Thanks, Harry!" he said. "D'Alencon, for a first-rate marksman you made
+a most curious shot."
+
+On Marguerite coming up to congratulate the king and thank her husband,
+Charles added, "Margot, you may well thank him. But for him Henry III.
+would be King of France."
+
+"Alas, madame," returned Henry, "M. D'Anjou, who is always my enemy,
+will now hate me more than ever; but everyone has to do what he can."
+
+Had Charles IX. been killed, the Duke d'Anjou would have been King of
+France, and D'Alencon most probably King of Poland. Henry of Navarre
+would have gained nothing by this change of affairs.
+
+Instead of Charles IX. who tolerated him, he would have had the Duke
+d'Anjou on the throne, who, being absolutely at one with his mother,
+Catherine, had sworn his death, and would have kept his oath.
+
+These ideas were in his brain when the wild boar rushed on Charles, and
+like lightning he saw that his own existence was bound up with the life
+of Charles IX. But the king knew nothing of the spring and motive of the
+devotion which had saved his life, and on the following day he showed
+his gratitude to Henry by carrying him off from his apartments, and out
+of the Louvre. Catherine, in her fear lest Henry of Navarre should be
+some day King of France, had arranged the assassination of her son-in-
+law; and Charles, getting wind of this, warned him that the air of the
+Louvre was not good for him that night, and kept him in his company.
+Instead of Henry, it was one of his followers who was killed.
+
+
+_III.--The Poisoned Book_
+
+
+Once more Catherine resolved to destroy Henry. The Huguenots had plotted
+with D'Alencon that he should be King of Navarre, since Henry not only
+abjured Protestantism but remained in Paris, being kept there indeed by
+the will of Charles IX.
+
+Catherine, aware of D'Alencon's scheme, assured her son that Henry was
+suffering from an incurable disease, and must be taken away from Paris
+when D'Alencon started for Navarre.
+
+"Are you sure that Henry will die?" asked D'Alencon.
+
+"The physician who gave me a certain book assured me of it."
+
+"And where is this book? What is it?"
+
+Catherine brought the book from her cabinet.
+
+"Here it is. It is a treatise on the art of rearing and training falcons
+by an Italian. Give it to Henry, who is going hawking with the king
+to-day, and will not fail to read it."
+
+"I dare not!" said D'Alencon, shuddering.
+
+"Nonsense!" replied Catherine. "It is a book like any other, only the
+leaves have a way of sticking together. Don't attempt to read it
+yourself, for you will have to wet the finger in turning over each leaf,
+which takes up so much time."
+
+"Oh," said D'Alencon, "Henry is with the court! Give me the book, and
+while he is away I will put it in his room."
+
+D'Alencon's hand was trembling as he took the book from the
+queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear he entered Henry's
+apartment and placed the volume, open at the title-page.
+
+But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who found
+the book and carried it off to his own room. D'Alencon found the king
+reading.
+
+"By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cried Charles. "Only it seems
+as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the
+wonders it contains."
+
+D'Alencon's first thought was to snatch the book from his brother, but
+he hesitated.
+
+The king again moistened his finger and turned over a page. "Let me
+finish this chapter," he said, "and then tell me what you please. I have
+already read fifty pages."
+
+"He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thought
+D'Alencon. "He is a dead man!"
+
+The poison did its deadly work. Charles was taken ill while out hunting,
+and returned to find his dog dead, and in its mouth pieces of paper from
+the precious book on falconry. The king turned pale. The book was
+poisoned! Many things flashed across his memory, and he knew his life
+was doomed.
+
+Charles summoned Rene, a Florentine, the court perfumer to Catherine de
+Medici, to his presence, and bade him examine the dog.
+
+"Sire," said Rene, after a close investigation, "the dog has been
+poisoned by arsenic."
+
+"He has eaten a leaf of this book," said Charles; "and if you do not
+tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by
+red-hot pincers."
+
+"Sire," stammered the Florentine, "this book belongs to me!"
+
+"And how did it leave your hands?"
+
+"Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house."
+
+"Why did she do that?"
+
+"I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked
+for a book on hawking."
+
+"Ah," said Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room.
+It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to
+Rene, "this poison does not always kill at once?"
+
+"No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time."
+
+"Is there no remedy?"
+
+"None, sire, unless it be instantly administered."
+
+Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This
+book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de Medici.--Rene,"
+and then dismissed him.
+
+Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in
+the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the
+physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth.
+
+Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his
+disease.
+
+"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"
+
+"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity.
+
+"Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An
+enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible
+conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it,
+perhaps, but I know it for a certainty."
+
+"I never doubt what you tell me," replied the king sarcastically. "I am
+curious to know how they have sought to kill me."
+
+"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of
+yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden
+stars, and over this a royal mantle.
+
+"See, it has on its head a crown," said Catherine, "and there is a
+needle in its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"
+
+"Myself?"
+
+"Yes, in your royal robes, with the crown on your head."
+
+"And who made this figure?" asked-the king, weary of the wretched farce.
+"The King of Navarre, of course!"
+
+"No, sire; he did not actually make it, but it was found in the rooms of
+M. de la Mole, who serves the King of Navarre."
+
+"So, then, the person who seeks to kill me is M. de la Mole?" said
+Charles.
+
+"He is only the instrument, and behind the instrument is the hand that
+directs it," replied Catherine.
+
+"This, then, is the cause of my illness. And now what must I do--for I
+know nothing of sorcery?"
+
+"The death of the conspirator destroys the charm. Its power ends with
+his life. You are convinced now, are you not, of the cause of your
+illness?"
+
+"Oh, certainly," Charles answered ironically. "And I am to punish M. de
+la Mole, as you say he is the guilty party?"
+
+"I say he is the instrument, and," muttered Catherine, "we have
+infallible means for making him confess the name of his principal."
+
+Catherine left hurriedly without understanding the sardonic laughter of
+the king, and as she went out Marguerite appeared.
+
+"Oh, sire--sire," cried Marguerite, "you know what _she_ says is false.
+It is terrible to accuse anyone's own mother, but she only lives to
+persecute the man who is devoted to you, Henry--your Henry--and I swear
+to you that what she says is false!"
+
+"I think so, too, Margot. But Henry is safe. Safer in disgrace in
+Vincennes than in favour at the Louvre."
+
+"Oh, thanks, thanks! But there is another person in whose welfare I am
+interested, whom I hardly dare mention to my brother, much less to my
+king."
+
+"M. de la Mole, is it not? But do you know that a figure dressed in
+royal robes and pierced to the heart was found in his rooms?"
+
+"I know it; but it was the figure of a woman, not of a man."
+
+"And the needle?"
+
+"Was a charm not to kill a man, but to make a woman love him."
+
+"What was the name of this woman?"
+
+"Marguerite!" cried the queen, throwing herself down and bathing the
+king's hand in her tears.
+
+"Margot, what if I know the real author of the crime? For a crime has
+been committed, and I have not three months to live. I am poisoned, but
+it must be thought I die by magic."
+
+"You know who is guilty?"
+
+"Yes; but it must be kept from the world, and so it must be believed I
+die of magic, and by the agency of him they accuse."
+
+"But it is monstrous!" exclaimed Marguerite. "You know he is innocent.
+Pardon him--pardon him!"
+
+"I know it, but the world must believe him guilty. Let your friend die.
+His death alone can save the honour of our family. I am dying that the
+secret may be preserved."
+
+M. de la Mole, after enduring excruciating tortures at the hand of
+Catherine, without making any admissions, died on the scaffold.
+
+
+_IV--"The Bourbon Shall Not Reign_!"
+
+
+Before he died Charles showed Catherine the poisoned book, which he had
+kept under lock and key.
+
+"And now burn it, madame. I read this book too much, so fond was I of
+the chase. And the world must not know the weaknesses of kings. When it
+is burnt, please summon my brother Henry. I wish to speak to him about
+the regency."
+
+Catherine brought Henry of Navarre to the king, and warned him that if
+he accepted the regency he was a dead man.
+
+Charles, however, though on his death-bed, declared Henry should be
+regent.
+
+"Madame," he said, addressing his mother, "if I had a son he would be
+king, and you would be regent. In your stead, did you decline, the King
+of Poland would be regent; and in his stead, D'Alencon. But I have no
+son, and therefore the throne belongs to D'Anjou, who is absent. To make
+D'Alencon regent is to invite civil war. I have therefore chosen the
+fittest person for regent Salute him, madame; salute him, D'Alencon. It
+is the King of Navarre!"
+
+"Never," cried Catherine, "shall my race yield to a foreign one! Never
+shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives!"
+
+She left the room, followed by D'Alencon.
+
+"Henry," said Charles, "after my death you will be great and powerful.
+D'Anjou will not leave Poland--they will not let him. D'Alencon is a
+traitor. You alone are capable of governing. It is not the regency only,
+but the throne I give you."
+
+A stream of blood choked his speech.
+
+"The fatal moment is come," said Henry. "Am I to reign, or to live?"
+
+"Live, sire!" a voice answered, and Rene appeared. "The queen has sent
+me to ruin you, but I have faith in your star. It is foretold that you
+shall be king. Do you know that the King of Poland will be here very
+soon? He has been summoned by the queen. A messenger has come from
+Warsaw. You shall be king, but not yet."
+
+"What shall I do, then?"
+
+"Fly instantly to where your friends wait for you."
+
+Henry stooped and kissed his brother's forehead, then disappeared down a
+secret passage, passed through the postern, and, springing on his horse,
+galloped off.
+
+"He flies! The King of Navarre flies!" cried the sentinels.
+
+"Fire on him! Fire!" said the queen.
+
+The sentinels levelled their pieces, but the king was out of reach.
+
+"He flies!" muttered D'Alencon. "I am king, then!"
+
+At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, and Henry d'Anjou
+galloped into the court, followed by four knights, crying, "France!
+France!"
+
+"My son!" cried Catherine joyfully.
+
+"Am I too late?" said D'Anjou.
+
+"No. You are just in time. Listen!"
+
+The captain of the king's guards appeared at the balcony of the king's
+apartment. He broke the wand he held in two places, and holding a piece
+in either hand, called out three times, "King Charles the Ninth is
+dead!"
+
+King Charles the Ninth is dead! King Charles the Ninth is dead!"
+
+"Charles the Ninth is dead!" said Catherine, crossing herself. "God save
+Henry the Third!"
+
+All repeated the cry.
+
+"I have conquered," said Catherine, "and the odious Bourbon shall not
+reign!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Black Tulip
+
+      "The Black Tulip," published in 1850, was the last of
+     Alexandre Dumas' more famous stories, and ranks deservedly
+     high among the short novels of its prolific author. Dumas
+     visited Holland in May, 1849, in order to be present at the
+     coronation of William III. at Amsterdam, and according to
+     Flotow, the composer, it was the king himself who told Dumas
+     the story of "The Black Tulip," and mentioned that none of the
+     author's romances were concerned with the Dutch. Dumas,
+     however, never gave any credit to this anecdote, and others
+     have alleged that Paul Lacroix, the bibliophile, who was
+     assisting Dumas with his novels at that time, is responsible
+     for the plot. The question can never be answered, for who can
+     disentangle the work of Dumas from that of his army of
+     helpers? A feature of "The Black Tulip" is that in it is the
+     bulb, and not a human being, that is the real centre of
+     interest. The fate of the bulb is made of first importance,
+     and the fortunes of Cornelius van Baerle, the tulip fancier,
+     of Boxtel, and of Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, exciting though
+     they are, take second place.
+
+
+_I.--Mob Vengeance_
+
+
+On the 20th of August, 1672, the city of The Hague was crowded in every
+street with a mob of people, all armed with knives, muskets, or sticks,
+and all hurrying towards the Buytenhof.
+
+Within that terrible prison was Cornelius de Witt, brother of John de
+Witt, the ex-Grand Pensionary of Holland.
+
+These brothers De Witt had long served the United Provinces of the Dutch
+Republic, and the people had grown tired of the Republic, and wanted
+William, Prince of Orange, for Stadtholder. John de Witt had signed the
+Act re-establishing the Stadtholderate, but Cornelius had only signed it
+under the compulsion of an Orange mob that attacked his house at
+Dordrecht.
+
+This was the first count against the De Witts--their objection to a
+Stadtholder. The second count was that the De Witts had always done
+their best to keep at peace with France. They knew that war with France
+meant ruin to Holland, but the more violent Orangists still believed
+that such a war would bring honour to the Dutch.
+
+Hence the popular hatred against the De Witts. A miscreant named
+Tyckelaer fanned the flame against Cornelius by declaring that he had
+bribed him to assassinate William, the newly-elected Stadtholder.
+
+Cornelius was arrested, brought to trial, and tortured on the rack, but
+no confession of guilt could be wrung from the innocent, high-souled
+man. Then the judges acquitted Tyckelaer, deprived Cornelius of all his
+offices, and passed sentence of banishment. John de Witt had already
+resigned the office of Grand Pensionary.
+
+On the 20th of August, Cornelius was to leave his prison for exile, and
+a fierce Orangist populace, incited to violence by the harangues of
+Tyckelaer, was rushing to the Buytenhof prepared to do murder, and
+fearful lest the prisoner should escape alive. "To the gaol! To the
+gaol!" yelled the mob. But outside the prison was a line of cavalry
+drawn up under the command of Captain Tilly with orders to guard the
+Buytenhof, and while the populace stood in hesitation, not daring to
+attack the soldiers, John de Witt had quietly driven up to the prison,
+and had been admitted by the gaoler.
+
+The shouts and clamour of the people could be heard within the prison as
+John de Witt, accompanied by Gryphus the gaoler, made his way to his
+brother's cell.
+
+Cornelius learnt there was no time to be lost, but there was a question
+of certain correspondence between John de Witt and M. de Louvois of
+France to be discussed. These letters, entirely creditable though they
+were to the statesmanship of the Grand Pensionary, would have been
+accepted as evidence of treason by the maddened Orangists, and
+Cornelius, instead of burning them, had left them in the keeping of his
+godson, Van Baerle, a quiet, scholarly young man of Dordrecht, who was
+utterly unaware of the nature of the packet.
+
+"They will kill us if these papers are found," said John de Witt, and
+opening the window, they heard the mob shouting, "Death to traitors!"
+
+In spite of fingers and wrists broken by the rack, Cornelius managed to
+write a note.
+
+      DEAR GODSON: Burn the packet I gave you, burn without opening
+     or looking at it, so that you may not know the contents. The
+     secrets it contains bring death. Burn it, and you will have
+     saved both John and Cornelius.
+
+     Farewell, from your affectionate
+
+     CORNELIUS DE WITT.
+
+Then a letter was given to Craeke, John de Witt's faithful servant, who
+at once set off for Dordrecht, and within a few minutes the two brothers
+were driving away to the city gate. Rosa, the gaoler's daughter, unknown
+to her father, had opened the postern, and had herself bidden De Witt's
+coachman drive round to the rear of the prison, and by this means the
+fury of the mob was, for the moment, evaded.
+
+And now the clamour of the Orangists was at the prison door, for Tilly's
+horse had withdrawn on an order signed by the deputies in the town hall,
+and the people were raging to get within the Buytenhof.
+
+The mob burst open the great gate, and yelling, "Death to the traitors!
+To the gallows with Cornelius de Witt!" poured in, only to find the
+prisoner had escaped. But the escape was but from the prison, for the
+city gate was locked when the carriage of the De Witts drove up, locked
+by order of the deputies of the Town Hall, and a certain young man--who
+was none other than William, Prince of Orange--held the key.
+
+Before another gate could be reached the mob, streaming from the
+Buytenhof, had overtaken the carriage, and the De Witts were at its
+mercy.
+
+The two men, whose lives had been spent in the welfare of their country,
+were massacred with unspeakable savagery, and their bodies, stripped,
+and hacked almost beyond recognition, were then strung up on a hastily
+erected gibbet in the market-place.
+
+When the worst had been done, the young man, who had secretly watched
+the proceedings from the window of a neighbouring house, returned the
+key to the gatekeeper.
+
+Then the prince mounted a horse which an equerry held in waiting for
+him, and galloped off to camp to await the message of the States. He
+galloped proudly, for the burghers of The Hague had made of the corpses
+of the De Witts a stepping stone to power for William of Orange.
+
+
+_II.--Betrayed for his Bulbs_
+
+
+Doctor Cornelius van Baerle, the godson of Cornelius de Witt, was in his
+twenty-eighth year, an orphan, but nevertheless, a really happy man. His
+father had amassed a fortune of 400,000 guilders in trade with the
+Indies, and an estate brought him in 10,000 guilders a year. He was
+blessed with the love of a peaceful life with good nerves, ample wealth,
+and a philosophic mind.
+
+Left alone in the big house at Dordrecht, he steadily resisted all
+temptations to public life. He took up the study of botany, and then,
+not knowing what to do with his time and money, decided to go in for one
+of the most extravagant hobbies of the time--the cultivation of his
+favourite flower, the tulip. The fame of Mynheer van Baerle's tulips
+soon spread in the district, and while Cornelius de Witt had roused
+deadly hatred by sowing the seeds of political passion, Van Baerle with
+his tulips won general goodwill. Yet, all unknowingly, Van Baerle had
+made an enemy, an implacable, relentless enemy. This was his neighbour,
+Isaac Boxtel, who lived next door to him in Dordrecht.
+
+Boxtel, from childhood, had been a passionate tulip-grower. He had even
+produced a tulip of his own, and the Boxtel had won wide admiration. One
+day, to his horror, Boxtel discovered that his next-door neighbour, the
+wealthy Mynheer van Baerle, was also a tulip-grower. In bitter anguish
+Boxtel foresaw that he had a rival who, with all the resources at his
+command, might equal and possibly surpass the famous Boxtel creations.
+He almost choked with envy, and from the moment of his discovery lived
+under continual fear. The healthy pastime of tulip growing became, under
+these conditions, a morbid and evil occupation for Boxtel, while Van
+Baerle, on the other hand, totally unaware of the enmity brewing, threw
+himself into the business with the keenest zest, taking for his motto
+the old aphorism, "To despise flowers is to insult God."
+
+So fierce was the envy that seized Boxtel that though he would have
+shrunk from the infamy of destroying a tulip, he would have killed the
+man who grew them. His own plants were neglected; it was useless and
+hopeless to contend against so wealthy a rival. Then Boxtel, fascinated
+by his evil passion, bought a telescope, and, perched on a ladder,
+studied Van Baerle's tulip beds and the drying-room, the tulip-grower's
+sacred place.
+
+One night he lost all moral control, and tying the hind legs of two cats
+together with a piece of string, he flung the animals into Van Baerle's
+garden. To Boxtel's bitter mortification the cats, though they made
+havoc of many precious plants before they broke the string, left the
+four finest tulips untouched.
+
+Shortly afterwards the Haarlem Tulip Society offered a prize of 100,000
+guilders to whomsoever should produce a large black tulip, without spot
+or blemish. Van Baerle at once thought out the idea of the black tulip.
+He had already achieved a dark brown one, while Boxtel, who had only
+managed to produce a light brown one, gave up the quest as impossible,
+and could do nothing but spy on his neighbour's activities.
+
+One evening in January 1672, Cornelius de Witt came to see his grandson,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and went with him alone into the sacred drying-
+room, the laboratory of the tulip-grower. Boxtel, with his telescope,
+recognised the well-known features of the statesman, and presently he
+saw him hand his godson a packet, which the latter put carefully away in
+a cabinet. This packet contained the correspondence of John de Witt and
+M. de Louvois.
+
+Cornelius drove away, and Boxtel wondered what the packet contained. It
+could hardly be bulbs; it must be secret papers.
+
+It was not till August, as we know, that Craeke was despatched to Van
+Baerle with the note bidding him destroy the packet.
+
+Craeke arrived just when Van Baerle was nursing his precious bulbs--the
+bulbs of the black tulip--and his sudden entrance rudely disturbed the
+tulip-grower. He had not time to read the note; indeed, he was too much
+concerned with the welfare of his three particular bulbs to trouble
+about it, before a magistrate and some soldiers entered to arrest him.
+Van Baerle wrapped up the bulbs in the note from his godfather, and was
+sent off under close custody to The Hague. The magistrate carried off
+the packet from the cabinet.
+
+All this was Boxtel's work. It was he who had reported to the magistrate
+the visit of De Witt and the placing of the packet in a cabinet. And
+now, with Van Baerle out of the house as a prisoner, Boxtel in the dead
+of night broke into his neighbour's house, to secure the priceless bulbs
+of the black tulip. He had made out where they were growing, and he
+plunged his hands into the soft soil--only to find nothing. Then the
+wretched man guessed that the bulbs had gone with the prisoner to The
+Hague, and decided to go in pursuit. Van Baerle could only keep them
+while he was alive, and then--they should be his, Isaac Boxtel's.
+
+
+_III.--The Theft of the Tulip_
+
+
+Van Baerle was placed in the cell occupied by Cornelius de Witt in the
+Buytenhof. Outside, in the market-place, the bodies of the De Witts were
+hanging, and Van Baerle read with horror the inscription, "Here hang
+that great rascal John de Witt and the little rascal Cornelius de Witt,
+enemies of their country."
+
+Gryphus laughed when the prisoner asked him what it meant, and replied,
+"That's what happens to those that write secret letters to the enemies
+of the Prince of Orange."
+
+A terrible despair fell on Van Baerle, but he refused to escape when
+Rosa, the gaoler's beautiful daughter, suggested it to him. He was
+brought to trial, and though he denied all knowledge of the
+correspondence, his goods were confiscated, and he was condemned to
+death. He bequeathed his three tulip bulbs to Rosa, explained how she
+must get a certain soil from Dordrecht, and went out calmly to die. On
+the scaffold Van Baerle was reprieved and sentenced to perpetual
+imprisonment, for the Prince of Orange shrank from further bloodshed.
+
+One spectator in the crowd was bitterly disappointed. This was Boxtel,
+who had bribed the headsman to let him have Van Baerle's clothes,
+believing that he would thus obtain the priceless bulbs.
+
+Van Baerle was sent to the prison of Loewenstein, and in February 1673,
+when he was thinking his tulips lost for ever, he heard Rosa's voice.
+Gryphus had applied for the gaolership of Loewenstein, and had been
+appointed.
+
+Nothing could persuade him that if Van Baerle was not a traitor he was
+certainly in league with the devil, like all learned men, and he did all
+he could to mortify and annoy his prisoner. But Rosa would come every
+night when her father, stupefied by gin, was asleep, and talk to
+Cornelius through the barred grating of his cell door.
+
+He taught her to read, and together they planned how the tulip bulbs
+should be brought to flower. One bulb Rosa was to plant, the second Van
+Baerle would cultivate in his cell with soil placed in an old water jug,
+and the third was to be kept in reserve.
+
+Once more hope revived in Baerle's mind, but Rosa often suffered
+vexation because Cornelius thought more of his black tulip than of her.
+
+In the meantime Boxtel, under the assumed name of Jacob Gisels, had made
+his way to Loewenstein in pursuit of the bulbs, and had ingratiated
+himself with Gryphus, offering to marry his daughter. Rosa's tulip had
+to be guarded from Gisels, who was always spying on her movements. She
+kept it in her room for safety, but Boxtel had a key made, and the day
+the tulip flowered, and arose a spotless black, he resolved to take it
+at once, and rush to Haarlem and claim the prize.
+
+The day came. Rosa described to Cornelius the wonderful black tulip, and
+they drew up a letter to the president of the Horticultural Society at
+Haarlem, begging him to come and fetch the wonderful flower.
+
+That very night while Cornelius and Rosa rejoiced as lovers--for now
+even Rosa was convinced of the prisoner's love for her--over the
+happiness of the flowering tulip, Boxtel crept into her room, and
+carried off the black tulip to Haarlem.
+
+As for Van Baerle, he was beside himself with the rage of desperation
+when Rosa told him that the black tulip had been stolen. Rosa, bent on
+recovering the tulip, and certain in her own mind as to the thief,
+hastened away from Loewenstein the next day without a word, Gryphus was
+mad when he learnt his daughter was nowhere to be found, and put down
+the mysterious disappearance of Jacob Gisels and Rosa to the work of the
+devil, and was convinced that Van Baerle was the devil's agent.
+
+The third day after the theft Gryphus, armed with a stick and a knife,
+attacked Cornelius, calling out, "Give me back my daughter." Cornelius
+got hold of the stick, forced Gryphus to drop the knife, and then
+proceeded to give the gaoler a thrashing. The noise brought in turnkeys
+and guards, who speedily carried off the wounded gaoler and arrested Van
+Baerle. To comfort the prisoner they assured him he would certainly be
+shot within twelve hours.
+
+Then an officer, an aide-de-camp of the Prince of Orange, entered,
+escorted Van Baerle to the prison gate, and bade him enter a carriage.
+Believing himself about to die, he thought sadly of Rosa and of the
+tulip he was never to see again. The carriage rolled off, and they
+travelled all that day and night until the journey ended at Haarlem.
+
+
+_IV.--The Triumph of the Tulip_
+
+
+Rosa reached Haarlem just four hours after Boxtel's arrival, and she
+went at once to seek an interview with Mynheer van Systens, the
+President of the Horticultural Society. Immediate admittance was granted
+on her mentioning the magic words "black tulip."
+
+"Sir, the black tulip has been stolen from me," said Rosa.
+
+"But I only saw it two hours ago!" replied the president.
+
+"You saw it--where?"
+
+"Why, at your master's! Are you not in the service of Mynheer Isaac
+Boxtel?"
+
+"I, sir? Certainly not! But this Isaac Boxtel, is he a thin,
+bald-headed, bow-legged, crook-backed, haggard-looking man?"
+
+"You have described him exactly."
+
+"He is the thief; he stole the black tulip from me."
+
+"Well, go and find Mynheer Boxtel--he is at the White Swan Inn, and
+settle it with him." And with that the president took up his pen and
+went on writing, for he was busy over his report.
+
+But Rosa still implored him, and while she was speaking the Prince of
+Orange entered the building. Rosa told everything, how she had received
+the bulb from the prisoner at Loewenstein, and how she had first seen
+the prisoner at The Hague. Then Boxtel was sent for. He was ready with
+his tale. The girl had plotted with her lover, the state prisoner,
+Cornelius van Baerle, and had stolen his--Boxtel's--black tulip, which
+he had unwisely mentioned. However, he had recovered it.
+
+A thought struck Rosa.
+
+"There were three bulbs. What has become of the others?" she asked.
+
+"One failed, the second produced the black tulip, and the third is at
+home at Dordrecht," said Boxtel uneasily.
+
+"You lie; it is here!" cried Rosa. And she drew from her bosom the third
+bulb, still wrapped in the same paper Van Baerle had so hastily put
+round the bulbs on his flight. "Take it, my lord," she said, handing it
+to the prince. And then, glancing at the paper for the first time, she
+added, "Oh, my lord, read this!"
+
+William passed the third bulb to the president, and read the paper
+carefully. It was Cornelius de Witt's letter to his godson, exhorting
+him to burn the packet without opening it. It was the proof of Van
+Baerle's innocence and of his ownership of the bulbs.
+
+"Go, Mynheer Boxtel; you shall have justice. And you, Mynheer van
+Systens, take care of this maiden and of the tulip," said the prince.
+
+That same evening the prince summoned Rosa to the town hall, and talked
+to her. Rosa did not deny her love for Cornelius.
+
+"But what is the good of loving a man condemned to live and die in
+prison?" the prince asked.
+
+"I can help him to live and die," came the answer.
+
+The prince sealed a letter, and sent it off to Loewenstein by Colonel
+van Deken. Then he turned to Rosa, and said, "The day after to-morrow is
+Sunday, and it will be the festival of the tulip. Take these 500
+guilders, and dress yourself in the costume of a Friesland bride, for I
+want it to be a grand festival for you."
+
+Sunday came, May 15, 1673, and all Haarlem gathered to do honour to the
+black tulip. Boxtel was in the crowd, feasting his eyes on the sacred
+flower, which was born aloft in a litter. The procession stopped, and
+the flower was placed on a pedestal, while the people cheered with wild
+enthusiasm. At the solemn moment when the Prince of Orange was to
+acclaim the triumphant owner of the black tulip and present the prize of
+100,000 guilders, the coach with the unhappy prisoner Cornelius van
+Baerle drew up in the market-place.
+
+Cornelius, hearing that the celebration of the black tulip was actually
+proceeding, besought his guard to let him have one glimpse of the
+flower; and the petition was granted by the Prince of Orange.
+
+From a distance of six paces Van Baerle gazed at the black tulip, and
+then he, with the multitude, turned his eyes towards the prince. In dead
+silence the prince declared the occasion of the festival, the discovery
+of the wonderful black tulip, and concluded, "Let the owner of the black
+tulip approach."
+
+Cornelius made an involuntary movement. Boxtel and Rosa rushed forward
+from the crowd.
+
+The prince turned to Rosa. "This tulip is yours, is it not?" he said.
+
+"Yes, my lord," she answered softly. And general applause came from the
+crowd.
+
+"This tulip will henceforth bear the name of its producer, and will be
+called _Tulipa nigra Rosa Baerttensis_, because Van Baerle is to be the
+married name of this damsel," the prince announced; and at the same time
+he took Rosa's hand and placed it within the hand of the prisoner, who
+had rushed forward at the words he had heard.
+
+Boxtel fell down in a fit, and when they raised him up he was dead.
+
+The procession returned to the town hall, the prince declared Rosa the
+prizewinner, and informed Cornelius that, having been wrongfully
+condemned, his property was restored to him. Then he entered his coach,
+and was driven away.
+
+Cornelius and Rosa departed for Dordrecht, and Van Baerle remained ever
+faithful to his wife and his tulips.
+
+As for old Gryphus, after being the roughest gaoler of men, he lived to
+be the fiercest guardian of tulips at Dordrecht.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Corsican Brothers
+
+
+      "The Corsican Brothers" is one of the most famous of Dumas'
+     shorter stories. It was published in 1845, when the author was
+     at the height of his powers, and is remarkable not only for
+     its strong dramatic interest, but for its famous account of
+     old Corsican manners and customs, being inspired by a visit to
+     Corsica in 1834. The scenery of the island, and the life of
+     the inhabitants, the survival of the vendetta, and the fierce
+     family feuds, all made strong appeal to his imaginative mind.
+     Several versions of the story have been dramatised for the
+     English stage, and as a play "The Corsican Brothers" has
+     enjoyed a long popularity; but Dumas himself, who was fond of
+     adapting his works to the stage, never dramatised this story.
+
+
+_I.--The Twins_
+
+
+I was travelling in Corsica early in March 1841. Corsica is a French
+department, but it is by no means French, and Italian is the language
+commonly spoken. It is free from robbers, but it is still the land of
+the vendetta, and the province of Sartene, wherein I was travelling, is
+the home of family feuds, which last for years and are always
+accompanied by loss of life.
+
+I was travelling alone across the island, but I had been obliged to take
+a guide; and when at five o'clock we halted on a hill overlooking the
+village of Sullacro, my guide asked me where I would like to stay for
+the night. There were, perhaps, one hundred and twenty houses in
+Sullacro for me to choose from, so after looking out carefully for the
+one that promised the most comfort, I decided in favour of a strong,
+fortified, squarely-built house.
+
+"Certainly," said my guide. "That is the house of Madame Savilia de
+Franchi. Your honour has chosen wisely."
+
+I was a little uncertain whether it was quite the right thing for me to
+seek hospitality at a house belonging to a lady, for, being only
+thirty-six, I considered myself a young man. But I found it quite
+impossible to make my guide understand my feelings. The notion that my
+staying a night could give occasion for gossip concerning my hostess, or
+that it made any difference whether I was old or young, was
+unintelligible to a Corsican.
+
+Madame Savilia, I learnt from the guide, was about forty, and had two
+sons--twins--twenty-one years old. One lived with his mother, and was a
+Corsican; the other was in Paris, preparing to be a lawyer.
+
+We soon arrived at the house we sought. My guide knocked vigorously at
+the door, which was promptly opened by a man in velvet waistcoat and
+breeches and leather gaiters. I explained that I sought hospitality, and
+was answered in return that the house was honoured by my request. My
+luggage was carried off, and I entered.
+
+In the corridor a beautiful woman, tall, and dressed in black, met me.
+She bade me welcome, and promised me that of her son, telling me that
+the house was at my service.
+
+A maid-servant was called to conduct me to the room of M. Louis, and as
+supper would be served in an hour, I went upstairs.
+
+My room was evidently that of the absent son, and the most comfortable
+in the house. Its furniture was all modern, and there was a well-filled
+bookcase. I hastily looked at the volumes; they denoted a student of
+liberal mind.
+
+A few minutes later, and my host, M. Lucien de Franchi, entered. I
+observed that he was young, of sunburnt complexion, well made, and
+fearless and resolute in his bearing.
+
+"I am anxious to see that you have all you need," he said, "for we
+Corsicans are still savages, and this old hospitality, which is almost
+the only tradition of our forefathers left, has its shortcomings for the
+French."
+
+I assured him that the apartment was far from suggesting savagery.
+
+"My brother Louis likes to live after the French fashion," Lucien
+answered. He went on to speak of his brother, for whom he had a profound
+affection. They had already been parted for ten months, and it was three
+or four years before Louis was expected home.
+
+As for Lucien, nothing, he said, would make him leave Corsica. He
+belonged to the island, and could not live without its torrents, its
+rocks, and its forests. The physical resemblance between himself and his
+brother, he told me, was very great; but there was considerable
+difference of temperament.
+
+Having completed my own change of dress, I went into Lucien's room, at
+his suggestion. It was a regular armoury, and all the furniture was at
+least 300 years old.
+
+While my host put on the dress of a mountaineer, for he mentioned to me
+that he had to attend a meeting after supper, he told me the history of
+some of the carbines and daggers that hung round the room. Of a truth,
+he came of an utterly fearless stock, to whom death was of small account
+by the side of courage and honour.
+
+At supper, Madame de Franchi could not help expressing her anxiety for
+her absent son. No letter had been received, but Lucien for days had
+been feeling wretched and depressed.
+
+"We are twins," he said simply, "and however greatly we are separated,
+we have one and the same body, as we had at our birth. When anything
+happens to one of us, be it physical or mental, it at once affects the
+other. I know that Louis is not dead, for I should have seen him again
+in that case."
+
+"You would have told me if he had come?" said Madame de Franchi
+anxiously.
+
+"At the very moment, mother."
+
+I was amazed. Neither of them seemed to express the slightest doubt or
+surprise at this extraordinary statement.
+
+Lucien went on to regret the passing of the old customs of Corsica. His
+very brother had succumbed to the French spirit, and on his return would
+settle down as an advocate at Ajaccio, and probably prosecute men who
+killed their enemies in a vendetta. "And I, too, am engaged in affairs
+unworthy of a De Franchi," he concluded. "You have come to Corsica with
+curiosity about its inhabitants. If you care to set out with me after
+supper, I will show you a real bandit."
+
+I accepted the invitation with pleasure.
+
+
+_II.--M. Luden de Franchi_
+
+
+Lucien explained to me the object of our expedition. For ten years the
+village of Sullacro had been divided over the quarrel of two families,
+the Orlandi and the Colona--a quarrel that had originated in the seizure
+of a paltry hen belonging to the Orlandi, which had flown into the
+poultry-yard of the Colonas. Nine people had already been killed in this
+feud, and now Lucien, as arbitrator, was to bring it to an end. The
+local prefect had written to Paris that one word from De Franchi would
+end the dispute, and Louis had appealed to him.
+
+To-night Lucien was to arrange matters with Orlandi, as he had already
+done with Colona, and the meeting-place was at the ruins of the Castle
+of Vicentello d'Istria. It was a steep ascent, but we arrived in good
+time, and while we sat and waited, Lucien told me terrible stories of
+feuds and vengeance. Orlandi made his appearance exactly at nine
+o'clock, and after some discussion agreed to Lucien's terms. I found
+that I was expected to act as surety for Orlandi, and accepted the
+responsibility.
+
+"You will now be able to tell my brother, on your return to Paris, that
+it's all been settled as he wished," said Lucien.
+
+On our way home Lucien showed wonderful marksmanship with his gun, and
+admitted he was equally skillful with the pistol. His brother Louis, on
+the other hand, had never touched either gun or pistol.
+
+Next morning came the grand reconciliation of Orlandi and Colona, in the
+market square in the presence of the mayor and the notary. The mayor
+compelled the belligerents to shake hands, a document was signed
+declaring the vendetta at an end, and everybody went to mass.
+
+Later in the day I was compelled to bid good-bye to Madame de Franchi
+and her son, and set out for Paris; but before I left Lucien told me how
+in his family his father had appeared to him on his death-bed, and that,
+not only at death, but at any great crisis in life, an apparition
+appeared. He was certain by his own depression that his brother Louis
+was suffering.
+
+Lucien told me his brother's address, 7, Rue du Helder, and gave me a
+letter which I undertook to deliver personally.
+
+We parted with great cordiality, and a week later I was back in Paris.
+
+
+_III.--The Fate of Louis_
+
+
+I was startled by the extraordinary resemblance of M. Louis de Franchi,
+whom I had at once called upon, to his brother.
+
+I was relieved to find that he was not suffering from illness, and I
+told him of the anxiety of his family concerning his health. M. de
+Franchi replied that he had not been ill, but that he had been suffering
+from a very bitter disappointment, aggravated by the knowledge that his
+own suffering caused his brother to suffer, too. He hoped, however, that
+time would heal the wound in his heart.
+
+We agreed to meet the following night at the opera ball at midnight, on
+the young lawyer's suggestion. I rallied him on his recovery from his
+sorrow, but Louis only said mournfully that he was driven by fate,
+dragged against his will.
+
+"I am quite sure," he said, "that it would be better for me not to go,
+but nevertheless I am going."
+
+Louis was too pre-occupied to talk when we met at the masked ball, and
+he suddenly left me for a lady carrying violets. Later he rejoined me,
+and together we set off to supper at three o'clock in the morning. It
+was my friend D----'s supper party, and he had included Louis in the
+invitation.
+
+We found our friends waiting supper, and D---- announced that the only
+person who had not arrived was Chateau-Renard. It seemed there was a
+wager on that M. de Chateau-Renard would not arrive with a certain lady
+whom he had undertaken to bring to supper.
+
+Louis, who was as pale as death, implored D---- not to mention the
+lady's name, and our host acceded to the request.
+
+"Only as her husband is at Smyrna, or in India or Mexico or somewhere,
+and in such a case it's the same as if the lady wasn't married," D----
+observed.
+
+"I assure you her husband is coming back soon, and he is such a good
+fellow he would be horribly mortified to hear his wife had done anything
+silly in his absence."
+
+Chateau-Renard had till four o'clock to save his bet. At five minutes to
+four he had not arrived, and Louis smiled at me over his wine. At that
+very moment the bell rang. D---- went to the door, and we could hear
+some argument going on in the hall.
+
+Then a lady entered with obvious reluctance, escorted by D---- and
+Chateau-Renard.
+
+"It's not yet four," said Chateau-Renard to D----.
+
+"Quite right, my boy," the other answered. "You've won your bet."
+
+"No, hardly yet, sir," said the unknown lady. "Now I know why you were
+so persistent. You have wagered to bring me here to supper, and I
+supposed you were taking me to sup with one of my own friends."
+
+Both Chateau-Renard and D---- besought the lady to stay, but the fair
+unknown, after expressing her thanks to D---- for his welcome, turned to
+M. Louis de Franchi, and asked him to escort her home. Louis at once
+sprang forward.
+
+Chateau-Renard, furious, insisted that he would know whom to hold
+accountable.
+
+"If I am the person meant," said Louis, with great dignity, "you will
+find me at home at 7, Rue du Helder all day to-morrow."
+
+Louis departed with his fair companion, and though Chateau-Renard was
+ostentatiously cheerful, the end of the supper-party was not at all a
+festive business.
+
+At ten o'clock the same morning I arrived at the rooms of M. Louis de
+Franchi. The seconds of Chateau-Renard had already called, and I passed
+them on the stairs.
+
+Louis had written me a note; with another friend, Baron Giordano
+Martelli, the affair was to be arranged with Baron de Chateaugrand, and
+M. de Boissy, the gentleman I had met on the stairs.
+
+I looked at the cards of these two men, and asked Louis if the matter
+was of any great seriousness.
+
+Louis replied by telling the story of the quarrel. A friend of his, a
+sea captain, had married a beautiful woman, so beautiful and so young
+that Louis could not help falling in love with her. As an honourable man
+he had kept away from the house, and then on being reproached by his
+friend, had frankly told him the reason.
+
+In return, his friend, who was just setting off for Mexico, commended
+his wife, Emilie, whom he adored and trusted absolutely, to his care,
+and asked his wife to consider Louis de Franchi as her brother. For six
+months the captain had been away, and Emilie had been living at her
+mother's. To this house, among other visitors, had come M. de Chateau-
+Renard, and from the first, this typical man of the world had been an
+object of dislike to Louis. Emilie's flirtations with Chateau-Renard at
+last provoked a remonstrance from Louis, and in return the lady told him
+that he was in love with her himself, and that he was absurd in his
+notions. After that Louis had left off calling on Emilie, but gossip was
+soon busy with the lady's name.
+
+An anonymous letter had made an appointment for Louis with the lady of
+the violets at the masked ball, and from this person he was informed
+again not only of Emilie's infidelity, but further, that M. de
+Chateau-Renard had wagered he would bring her to supper at D----'s.
+
+The rest I knew, and I could only assent mournfully that things must go
+on, and that the proposals of Chateau-Renard's seconds could not be
+declined.
+
+But M. Louis de Franchi had never touched sword or pistol in his life!
+However, there was nothing for it but to return M. de Chateaugrand's
+call.
+
+Martelli and I found that Chateau-Renard's two supporters were both
+polite men of the world. They were as indifferent as Louis was to the
+choice of weapons, and by a spin of a coin it was decided that pistols
+were to be used.
+
+The place agreed upon for the duel was the Bois de Vincennes, and the
+time nine o'clock the following morning.
+
+I called in the evening on Louis to ask him if he had any instructions
+for me; but his only reply was "Counsel comes with the night," so I
+waited on him next morning.
+
+He was just finishing a letter when I entered, and he bade his servant
+Joseph leave us undisturbed for ten minutes.
+
+"I am anxious," said Louis, "that my friend Giordano Martelli, who is a
+Corsican, should not know of this letter. But you must promise to carry
+out my wishes, and then my family may be saved a second misfortune. Now,
+please read the letter."
+
+I read the letter Louis had written. It was to his mother, and it said
+that he was dying of brain fever. Her son, writing in a lucid interval,
+was beyond hope of recovery. It would be posted to her a quarter of an
+hour after his death. There was an affectionate postscript to Lucien.
+
+"What does this mean? I don't understand it," I said.
+
+"It means that at ten minutes past nine I shall be dead. I have been
+forewarned, that is all. My father appeared to me last night and
+announced my death."
+
+He spoke so simply of this visit, that if it was an illusion it was as
+terribly convincing as the truth.
+
+"There is one thing more," said Louis. "If my brother was to hear that I
+had been killed in a duel, he would at once leave Sullacro to come and
+fight the man who had killed me. And then if he were killed in his turn
+my mother would be thrice widowed. To prevent that I have written this
+letter. If it is believed that I have died of brain fever no one can be
+blamed." He paused. "Unless, unless--but no, that must not be."
+
+I knew that my own strange fear was his.
+
+On the way to Vincennes Baron Giordano stopped to get a case of pistols,
+powder, and balls, and we arrived at our destination just as M. de
+Chateau-Renard's carriage drove up. At M. de Chateaugrand's suggestion
+we all made our way to a certain glade away from the public pathway.
+
+Martelli and Chateaugrand measured, the distance together, while Louis
+bade me farewell, asking me to accept his watch, and begging me to keep
+the duel out of the papers, and to prevail upon Giordano not to let any
+word of the matter reach Sullacro.
+
+M. Chateau-Renard was at his post. Baron Giordano gave Louis his pistol.
+
+Chateaugrand called out, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Then he clapped his
+hands "One, two, three."
+
+Two shots went off at the same moment, and Louis de Franchi fell. His
+opponent was unhurt. I rushed to Louis and raised him up. Blood came to
+his lips. It was useless to send for a surgeon.
+
+Chateau-Renard had withdrawn, but his seconds hastened to express their
+horror at the fatal ending of the combat.
+
+Chateaugrand added that he hoped M. de Franchi bore no malice against
+his opponent.
+
+"No, no, I forgive him!" said Louis. "But tell him to leave Paris. He
+must go."
+
+The dying man spoke with difficulty. He reminded me of my promise, and
+asked me, as he fell back, to look at my watch.
+
+It was exactly ten minutes past nine, and Louis was dead.
+
+We carried the body back to the house, and Giordano made the required
+statement to the District Commissioner of Police. Then the house was
+sealed by the police, and Louis de Franchi was laid to rest in
+Pere-La-chaise. But M. de Chateau-Renard could not be persuaded to leave
+Paris, though MM. de Boissy and de Chateaugrand both did their best to
+induce him to go.
+
+
+_IV.--Lucien Takes Vengeance_
+
+
+One night, five days after the funeral, I was working late at my
+writing-table, when my servant entered, and told me in a frightened tone
+that M. de Franchi wanted to speak to me.
+
+"Who?" I said, in astonishment.
+
+"M. de Franchi, sir, your friend--the gentleman who has been here once
+or twice to see you."
+
+"You must be out of your senses, Victor! Don't you know that he died
+five days ago?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and that's why I am so upset. I heard a ring at the bell, and
+when I opened the door, he walked in, asked if you were at home, and
+told me to tell you that M. de Franchi desired to speak with you."
+
+"Are you out of your mind, my good man? I suppose the hall is badly lit,
+and you were half-asleep and heard the name wrong. Go back and ask the
+name again."
+
+"No, sir, I will swear that I'm not mistaken. I'm sure I heard and saw
+perfectly."
+
+"Very well, then, show him in."
+
+Victor went back to the door, trembling all the time, and said, "Please
+step in, sir."
+
+My hasty sensation of terror was quickly dispelled. It was Lucien who
+was apologising to me for disturbing me at such an hour.
+
+"The fact is," he said, "I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will
+understand how impossible it was not to come and see you at once."
+
+I at once thought of the letter I had sent. In five days it could not
+have reached Sullacro.
+
+"Good heaven!" I cried. "Nothing is known to you?"
+
+"Everything is known," he said quietly.
+
+Lucien mentioned that on going to his brother's house, the people were
+so panic-stricken that they refused the door to him.
+
+"Tell me," I said, when we were alone. "You must have been on your way
+here when you heard the fatal news?"
+
+"On the contrary, I was at Sullacro. Have you for-forgotten what I told
+you about the apparitions in my family?"
+
+"Has your brother appeared to you?" I cried.
+
+"Yes. He told me he had been killed in a duel by M. de Chateau-Renard. I
+saw my brother in his room the day he was killed," Lucien went on, "and
+that night in a dream I saw the place where the duel was fought, and
+heard the name of M. de Chateau-Renard. And I have come to Paris to kill
+the man who killed my brother. My brother had never touched a pistol in
+his life, and it was as easy to kill him as to kill a tame stag. My
+mother knows why I have come. She is a true Corsican, and she kissed me
+on the forehead and said 'Go!'"
+
+The next morning Lucien wrote to Giordano and sent a challenge to
+Chateau-Renard. Then he went with me to Vincennes, and, though he had
+never been there in his life before, Lucien walked straight to the spot
+where his brother had fallen. He turned round, walked twenty paces, and
+said, "This is where the villain stood, and to-morrow he will lie here."
+
+Lucien predicted with absolute confidence the death of Chateau-Renard.
+The challenge was accepted, the same seconds acted, and on the morrow we
+assembled in the fatal glade. Chateau-Renard was obviously uneasy. The
+signal was given, both men fired, and, sure enough, Chateau-Renard fell,
+shot through the temple as Lucien had foretold.
+
+Then, for the first time since Louis' death, Lucien burst into tears. He
+dropped his pistol and threw himself into my arms. "My brother, my dear
+brother!" he cried.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Count of Monte Cristo
+
+
+      "The Count of Monte Cristo" appeared in 1844, when Dumas had
+     been writing plays and stories for twenty years, and at a
+     period when he was most extraordinarily prolific. In that
+     year, assisted by his staff of compilers and transcribers, he
+     is said to have turned out something like forty volumes!
+     "Monte Cristo" first gave Dumas' novels a world-wide audience.
+     Its unflagging spirit, the endless surprises, and the air of
+     reality which was cast over the most extravagant situations
+     made the work worthy of the popularity it enjoyed in almost
+     every country in the world. The island from which it takes its
+     name is a barren rock rising 2,000 feet out of the sea a few
+     miles south of Elba. Dumas attempted to emulate Scott, and
+     built a chateau near St. Germain, which he called Monte
+     Cristo, costing over $125,000. It was afterwards sold for a
+     tenth of that sum to pay his debts.
+
+
+_I.--The Conspiracy of Envy_
+
+
+On February 28, 1815, the three-masted Pharaon arrived at Marseilles
+from Smyrna, commanded by the first mate, young Edmond Dantes, the
+captain having died on the voyage. He had left a package for the
+Marechal Bertrand on the Isle of Elba, which Dantes had duly delivered,
+conversing with the exiled Emperor Napoleon himself.
+
+The shipowner, M. Morrel, confirmed young Dantes in the command, and,
+overjoyed, he hastened to his father, and then to the village of the
+Catalans, near Marseilles, where the dark-eyed Mercedes, his betrothed,
+impatiently awaited him.
+
+But his good fortune excited envy. Danglars, the supercargo of the
+Pharaon, wanted the command for himself, and Fernand, the Catalan cousin
+of Mercedes, hated Dantes because he had won her heart. Fernand's
+jealousy so took possession of him that he fell in willingly with a
+scheme which the envious Danglars proposed. Making use of Dantes'
+compromising visit to Elba, they addressed an anonymous denunciation to
+the _procureur du roi_, which, in this period of Bonapartist plots, was
+indeed a formidable matter. Caderousse, a boon companion, was at first
+taken into their confidence, but as he came to think it a dangerous
+trick to play the young captain, he refused to take part in it.
+
+On the morrow the wedding-feast took place, and at two o'clock Dantes,
+radiant with joy and happiness, prepared to accompany his bride to the
+hotel de ville for the civil ceremony. But at that moment the measured
+tread of soldiery was heard on the stairs, and a magistrate presented
+himself, bearing an order for the arrest of Edmond Dantes. Resistance or
+remonstrance was useless, and Dantes suffered himself to be taken to
+Marseilles, where he was examined by the deputy _procureur du roi,_ M.
+de Villefort. To him, on demand, he recounted the story of his visit to
+Elba.
+
+"Ah!" said Villefort, "if you have been culpable it was imprudence. Give
+up this letter you have brought from Elba, and go and rejoin your
+friends."
+
+"You have it already," cried Dantes.
+
+Villefort glanced at it, and sank into his seat, stupefied. It was
+addressed to M. Noirtier, a staunch Bonapartist.
+
+"Oh, if he knew the contents of this," murmured he, "and that Noirtier
+is father of Villefort, I am lost!" He approached the fire, and cast the
+fatal letter in.
+
+"Sir," said he, "I shall detail you till this evening in the Palais de
+Justice. Should anyone else interrogate you do not breathe a word of
+this letter."
+
+"I promise."
+
+It was Villefort who seemed to entreat, and the prisoner to reassure
+him.
+
+But the doom of Edmond Dantes was cast. Sacrificed to Villefort's
+ambition, he was lodged the same night in a dungeon of the gloomy
+fortress-prison of the Chateau d'If, while Villefort posted to Paris to
+warn the king that the usurper Bonaparte was meditating a landing in
+France.
+
+Napoleon returned. There followed the Hundred Days, and Louis XVIII.
+again mounted the throne. M. Morrel's intercessions during Napoleon's
+brief triumph for the release of Dantes but served, on the restoration
+of Louis, to compromise further the unhappy prisoner, who languished in
+a foul prison in the depths of the Chateau d'If.
+
+In the cell next to Dantes was another political prisoner, the Abbe
+Faria. He had been in the chateau four years when Dantes was immured,
+and, with marvellously contrived tools and incredible toil, had burrowed
+a tunnel through the rock fifty feet long, only to find that, instead of
+leading to the outer wall of the chateau, whence he could have flung
+himself into the sea, it led to the cell of another prisoner--Dantes. He
+penetrated it after Dantes had been solitary six years.
+
+The prisoners met every day between the visits of their gaolers. Faria
+showed Dantes the products of his industry and ingenuity--his books,
+written on the linen of shirts, his fish-bone pens and needles, knives,
+and matches, all accomplished secretly; and beguiled much of the
+weariness of confinement by educating Dantes in the sciences, history,
+and languages. Dantes possessed a prodigious memory, combined with
+readiness of conception, and his studies progressed rapidly. Soon Dantes
+told the abbe his story, and the abbe had little difficulty in opening
+the eyes of the astonished Dantes to the villainy of his supposed
+friends and the deputy _procurer_. Thus was instilled into his heart a
+new passion--vengeance.
+
+
+_II.--The Cemetery of the Chateau d'If_
+
+
+More than seven years passed thus when coming into the abbe's dungeon
+one night, Dantes found him stricken with paralysis. His right arm and
+leg remained paralysed after the seizure. When Dantes next visited him
+the abbe showed him a paper, half-burnt, and rolled in a cylinder.
+
+"This paper," said Faria, "is my treasure; and if I have not been
+allowed to possess it, you will. Who knows if another attack may not
+come, and all be finished?"
+
+The abbe had been secretary to the last of the Counts of Spada, one of
+the most powerful families of mediaeval Italy, and he, dying in poverty,
+had left Faria an old breviary, which had been in the family since the
+days of the Borgias. In this, by chance, Faria found a piece of yellowed
+paper, on which, when put in the fire, writing began to appear. From the
+remains of the paper he made out during the early days of his
+imprisonment, that a Cardinal Spada, at the end of the fifteenth
+century, fearing poisoning at the hands of Pope Alexander VI., had
+buried in the Island of Monte Cristo, a rock between Corsica and Elba,
+all his ingots, gold, money, and jewels, amounting then to nearly two
+million Roman crowns.
+
+"The last Count of Spada made me his heir," said the abbe. "The treasure
+now amounts to nearly thirteen millions of money!"
+
+The abbe remained paralysed, and had given up all hope of enjoying the
+treasure himself; and presently another seizure took him, and one night
+Dantes was alone with the corpse.
+
+Next morning the preparations for burying the dead man were made, the
+body being placed in a sack and left in the cell till the evening.
+Dantes came into the cell again.
+
+"Ah!" he muttered. "Since the dead leave this dungeon, let me assume the
+place of the dead!"
+
+Opening the sack, he took out the dead body of his friend, and dragged
+it through the tunnel to his own cell. Placing it on his own bed, he
+covered it with the rags he wore himself. Then he sewed himself in the
+sack with one of the abbe's needles. In his hand he held the dead man's
+knife, and with palpitating heart awaited events.
+
+Slowly the hours dragged on, until at length he heard the heavy
+footsteps of the gaolers descending to the cell. They lifted the sack,
+and carried him on a bier through the castle passages, until they came
+to a door, which was opened. On passing through this, the noise of the
+waves was heard as they dashed on the rocks below.
+
+Then Dantes felt that they took him by the head and by the heels, and
+flung him into the sea, into whose depths he was dragged by a thirty-
+six-pound shot tied to his feet. The sea is the cemetery of Chateau
+d'If!
+
+Although giddy, and almost suffocated, he had yet sufficient presence of
+mind to hold his breath; and as his right hand held his knife, he
+rapidly ripped up the sack, extricated his arm, and then, by a desperate
+effort, severed the cord that bound his legs at the moment he was
+suffocating. With a vigorous spring he rose to the surface, paused to
+breathe, and then dived again, in order to avoid being seen. When he
+rose again, he struck boldly out to sea, and, fortunately, was picked up
+by a sailing-vessel.
+
+Now at liberty, fourteen years after his arrest, he renewed an oath of
+implacable vengeance against Danglars, Fernand, and Villefort. Nor was
+it long before he had discovered the secret cave in the island of Monte
+Cristo, with all its dazzling wealth, as the Abbe Faria had truly
+foretold. He now stood possessed of such means of vengeance as never in
+his wildest dreams had any innocent prisoner hoped to be able to
+command.
+
+
+_III.--Vengeance Begins_
+
+
+Some two years later Caspar Caderousse, the keeper of an inn near
+Beaucaire, was lounging listlessly at his door, when a traveller on
+horseback dismounted at his door and entered. The visitor--Monte
+Cristo--gave the name of Abbe Busoni, and astonished Caderousse by
+showing a minute knowledge of his earlier history. The abbe explained
+that he had been present at the death of Edmond Dantes in prison, and
+said that even in his dying moments the prisoner had protested he was
+utterly ignorant of the cause of his imprisonment.
+
+"And so he was!" exclaimed Caderousse. "How should he have been
+otherwise?"
+
+The abbe had heard of the death of Edmond's aged father, and now he was
+told the old man had died of starvation.
+
+"Thus Heaven recompenses virtue," said Caderousse. "I am in destitution
+and shall die of hunger, as old Dantes did, whilst Fernand and Danglars
+roll in wealth. All their malpractices have turned to luck. Danglars
+speculated and made a fortune. He is a millionaire, and now Count
+Danglars. Fernand played traitor at the battle of Ligny, and that served
+for his recommendation to the Bourbons. Afterwards he became Count de
+Morcerf, and got a considerable sum by the betrayal of Ali Pasha in the
+Greek war of independence."
+
+The abbe, making an effort, said, "And Mercedes--she disappeared?"
+
+"Yes, as the sun, to rise next day with more splendour. She is rich, the
+Countess de Morcerf--she waited two hopeless years for Dantes--and yet I
+am sure she is not happy."
+
+"And M. de Villefort?" asked the abbe.
+
+"Some time after having arrested Dantes, he married and left Marseilles;
+no doubt but he has been as lucky as the rest."
+
+"God may seem sometimes to forget for a time," said the abbe, "while His
+justice reposes, but there always comes a moment when He remembers."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in 1838 a certain Count of Monte Cristo became a great figure in
+the life of Paris. His name awakened thoughts of romance and dazzling
+wealth in the minds of all. It was Albert, the son of the Count de
+Morcerf, who first introduced the Count of Monte Cristo to the high
+society of Paris. They had become acquainted at Rome, where Monte Cristo
+had been able to render a great service to the Viscount Albert de
+Morcerf and his friend, the Baron Franz d'Epinay.
+
+All sorts of stories were afloat in Paris as to the history of this
+Count of Monte Cristo. When he went to the opera he was accompanied by a
+beautiful Greek girl, named Haidee, whose guardian he was.
+
+But nothing ruffled Monte Cristo. Calmness and deliberation marked all
+his movements; in some respects he was more like a machine than a human
+being. Everything he said he would do was done precisely. And now the
+schemes he had long studied in secret he had begun to carry through as
+certainly and relentlessly as Fate.
+
+M. de Villefort, now _procureur du roi,_ had a daughter by his first
+wife, for he had married a second time. Her name was Valentine, and at
+the command of her father, but not by her own wish, she was engaged to
+the Baron Franz d'Epinay. She loved a young military officer named
+Maximilian Morrel, a son of the Marseilles shipowner. But neither of
+them had dared to avow their affection for each other to Valentine's
+father.
+
+Meanwhile, the tide of fortune seemed to have turned with Baron
+Danglars. His business had suffered many losses, but his greatest loss
+of all was due to some false news about the price of shares which had
+been telegraphed to Paris by means which Monte Cristo could have
+explained.
+
+The baron's daughter was engaged to Albert de Morcerf, but the Count of
+Morcerf had now come under a cloud, for his betrayal of Ali Pasha had
+been made public; and perhaps the Count of Monte Cristo could have told
+how the truth came out at last. So the baron did not hesitate to break
+the engagement, and to accept as the suitor for his daughter a dashing
+young man known as Count Cavalcanti, who had been introduced to Paris by
+Monte Cristo, but concerning whose antecedents nothing seemed to be
+known.
+
+The Count de Morcerf was tried for his betrayal of Ali, and seemed
+likely to be acquitted, when a veiled woman was brought to the place of
+trial, and testified before the committee that she was the daughter of
+Ali Pasha, and that Morcerf had not only betrayed her father to the
+Turks, but had sold her and her mother into slavery. The veiled woman
+was Haidee, the ward of Monte Cristo. The count was now a ruined man,
+and when his son Albert discovered the part that Monte Cristo had
+played, he publicly insulted the count at the opera.
+
+A duel was averted, for Albert publicly apologised to the count when he
+learned the reasons for his actions. Furious that he had not been
+avenged by his son, Morcerf rushed to the house of Monte Cristo.
+
+"I came to tell you," said Morcerf, "that as the young people of the
+present day will not fight, it remains for us to do it."
+
+"So much the better," said Monte Cristo. "Are you prepared?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and witnesses are unnecessary, as we know each other so
+little."
+
+"Truly they are unnecessary," said Monte Cristo, "but for the reason
+that we know each other well. Are you not the soldier Fernand who
+deserted on the eve of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who
+served as guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the
+Captain Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali?"
+
+"Oh," cried the general, "wretch, to reproach me with my shame! Tell me
+your real name that I may pronounce it when I plunge my sword through
+your heart."
+
+At this Monte Cristo, bounding to a dressing room near, quickly pulled
+off his coat, and waistcoat, and, donning a sailor's jacket and hat, was
+back in an instant.
+
+Gazing for a moment in terror at this man who seemed to have risen from
+the dead to avenge his wrongs, Morcerf turned, seeking the wall to
+support him, and went out by the door uttering the cry--"Edmond Dantes!"
+
+Events marched rapidly now, and Paris had scarcely ceased talking of the
+suicide of the Count de Morcerf, when Cavalcanti, identified as a former
+galley-slave named Benedetto, was arrested for the murder of a fellow-
+convict.
+
+Danglars fled from France, his great business in ruin. With him he took
+a large sum of money belonging to Paris hospitals, which, however, was
+taken from him near Rome by brigands controlled by Monte Cristo.
+
+
+_IV.--Vengeance is Complete_
+
+
+In the household of Villefort, Monte Cristo had done nothing to bring
+vengeance on that evil man. He had seen from the first that Villefort's
+second wife was studying the art of poisoning, and he felt that revenge
+was already at work here. There had already been three mysterious deaths
+in the house, and now the beautiful Valentine seemed to be suffering
+from the early effects of some slow poison. Maximilian Morrel, in
+despair of Valentine's life, rushed to Monte Cristo for his advice and
+assistance.
+
+"Must I let one of the accursed race escape?" Monte Cristo asked
+himself, but decided, for Maxmilian's sake, that he would save
+Valentine. He had bought the house adjoining that of Villefort, and,
+clearing out the tenants, had engaged workmen to remove so much of the
+old wall between the two houses that it was a simple matter for him to
+take out the remaining stones and pass into a large cupboard in
+Valentine's room. Here the count watched while Valentine was asleep, and
+saw Madame de Villefort creep into the room and substitute for the
+medicine in Valentine's glass a dose of poison.
+
+He then entered the room and threw half the draught into the fireplace,
+leaving the rest in the glass. When Valentine awoke he gave her a pellet
+of hashish, which made her sink into a deathlike sleep.
+
+Next morning the doctor declared that Valentine was dead. In the glass
+he discovered poison, and as the same poison was found in madame's
+laboratory, there was no doubt of her guilt. She admitted all, and
+confessed that her object had been to make her own son sole heir to
+Villefort's fortune.
+
+Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He addressed her with
+passionate words of reproach as he turned to leave her.
+
+"Think of it, madame," he said; "if on my return justice has not been
+satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my
+own hands! I am going to the court to pronounce sentence of death on a
+murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in
+gaol."
+
+Madame sighed, her nerves gave way, and she sank on the carpet.
+
+But Villefort little knew at the moment he spoke these burning words to
+the woman who was his wife that he himself was not going out to condemn
+a fellow-sinner, but to be himself condemned. For the man to whom he
+referred as a murderer was the so-called Count Cavalcanti, really
+Benedetto, who now turned out to be an illegitimate son of Villefort's
+whom he had endeavoured to bury alive as an infant in the garden of a
+house at Auteuil. The night before the criminal had had a long interview
+with Monte Cristo's steward, who had disclosed to the prisoner the
+secret of his birth, and in court he declared his father was Villefort,
+the public prosecutor! This statement made a great commotion in the
+court, and all eyes were on Villefort, while Benedetto continued to
+answer the questions of the president, and proved that he was the child
+whom Villefort would have buried alive years before. The public
+prosecutor himself confirmed the prisoner's story by admitting his
+guilt, and staggering from the court.
+
+When Villefort arrived at his own house he found everything in
+confusion. Making his way to his wife's apartments, he had the horror of
+meeting her while she still lived, just at the very instant when the
+poison she had taken did its work, and of finding a moment or two after
+that she had poisoned his little son Edward.
+
+This was more than the brain of man could endure, and Villefort turned
+from the tragic scene a raving madman, rushing wildly to the garden, and
+beginning to dig with a spade.
+
+The vengeance of Edmond Dantes, so long delayed, so carefully and
+laboriously planned, was now complete, and it only remained for him to
+perform the last of his marvels, at the same time giving proof of his
+boundless generosity. Valentine de Villefort had been buried, and
+Maximilian was in despair; but Monte Cristo urged the young man to have
+patience and hope.
+
+It seemed a strange thing to ask a lover whose sweetheart had been
+placed within the tomb to have hope and to come to Monte Cristo in one
+month. But this was the bargain they made.
+
+When the month had passed, Maximilian came to the isle of Monte Cristo.
+
+"I have your word," he said to the count, "that you would help me die or
+give me Valentine!"
+
+"Ah! A miracle alone can save you--the resurrection of Valentine! Thus
+do I fulfil my promise!"
+
+Monte Cristo turned to a jewelled cabinet, and took from it a tube of
+greenish paste. Maximilian swallowed some of the mysterious substance,
+which was but hashish. He sat down and waited.
+
+"Monte Cristo," he said, "I feel that I am dying--good-bye!"
+
+Meanwhile, Monte Cristo had opened a door from which a great light
+streamed. Maximilian opened his eyes, looked towards the light; and
+then--he saw Valentine!
+
+Then Monte Cristo spoke. "He calls you, Valentine, even as he thinks he
+dies by his own will. But even as I saved you from the tomb, so have I
+saved him. I feared for his reason if he saw you, except in a trance--
+from his trance he will wake to happiness!"
+
+Next morning Valentine and Maximilian were walking on the beach, when
+Jacopo, the captain of Monte Cristo's yacht, gave them a letter. As they
+looked on the superscription they cried, simultaneously, "Gone!"
+
+In his letter, Monte Cristo, said: "All that is in this grotto, my
+friend, my house in the Champs Elysees, and my chateau at Treport, are
+the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantes upon the son of his old
+master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share them with you; for
+I entreat her to give to the poor the immense fortune reverting to her
+from her father, now a madman, and her brother, who died last September
+with his mother."
+
+"But where is the count?" asked Morrel eagerly. Jacopo pointed towards
+the horizon, where a white sail was visible.
+
+"And where is Haidee?" asked Valentine. Jacopo still pointed towards the
+sail.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Three Musketeers
+
+
+      It was not till the publication of "The Three Musketeers," in
+     1844, that the amazing gifts of Dumas were fully recognised.
+     From 1844 till 1850, the literary output of novels, plays, and
+     historical memoirs was enormous, and so great was the demand
+     for Dumas' work that he made no attempt to supply his
+     customers single-handed, but engaged a host of assistants, and
+     was content to revise and amend--or in some cases only to
+     sign--their productions. "The Three Musketeers" was followed
+     by its sequel, "Twenty Years After," in 1845, and the story
+     was continued still further in the "Vicomte de Bragelonne."
+     The "Valois" series of novels, "Monte Cristo," and the
+     "Memoirs of a Physician," were all published before 1850, in
+     addition to many dramatised versions of stories.
+
+
+_I.--The Musketeer's Apprenticeship_
+
+
+D'Artagnan was without acquaintances in Paris, and now on the very day
+of his arrival he was committed to fight with three of the most
+distinguished of the king's musketeers.
+
+Coming from Gascony, a youth with all the pride and ambition of his
+race, D'Artagnan had brought no money; with him, but only a letter of
+introduction from his father to M. de Treville, captain of the
+musketeers. But he had been taught that by courage alone could a man now
+make his way to fortune, and that he was to bear nothing, save from the
+cardinal--the great Cardinal Richelieu, or from the king--Louis XIII.
+
+It was immediately after his interview with M. de Treville that
+D'Artagnan, well trained at home as a swordsman, quarrelled with the
+three musketeers.
+
+First, on the palace stairs, he ran violently into Athos, who was
+suffering from a wounded shoulder.
+
+"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry."
+
+"You are in a hurry?" said the musketeer, pale as a sheet. "Under that
+pretence, you run against me; you say 'Excuse me!' and you think that
+sufficient. You are not polite; it is easy to see that you are from the
+country."
+
+D'Artagnan had already passed on, but this remark made him stop short.
+
+"However far I may come it is not you, monsieur, who can give me a
+lesson in manners, I warn you."
+
+"Perhaps," said Athos, "you are in a hurry now, but you can find me
+without running after me. Do you understand me."
+
+"Where, and when?" said D'Artagnan.
+
+"Near the Carmes-Deschaux at noon," replied Athos. "And please do not
+keep me waiting, for at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your ears
+if you run."
+
+"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "I will be there at ten minutes to twelve."
+
+At the street gate Porthos was talking with the soldiers on guard.
+Between the two there was just room for a man to pass, and D'Artagnan
+hurried on, only to find himself enveloped in the long velvet cloak of
+Porthos, which the wind had blown out.
+
+"The fellow must be mad," said Porthos, "to run against people in this
+manner! Do you always forget your eyes when you happen to be in a
+hurry?"
+
+"No," replied D'Artagnan, who, in extricating himself from the cloak,
+had observed that the handsome cloth of gold coat worn by Porthos was
+only gold in front and plain buff at the back, "no, and thanks to my
+eyes, I can see what others cannot see."
+
+"Monsieur," said Porthos angrily, "you stand a chance of getting
+chastised if you run against musketeers in this fashion. I shall look
+for you, at one o'clock behind the Luxembourg."
+
+"Very well, at one o'clock then," replied D'Artagnan, turning into the
+street.
+
+A few minutes later D'Artagnan annoyed Aramis, the third musketeer, who
+was chatting with some gentleman of the king's musketeers. As D'Artagnan
+came up Aramis accidentally dropped an embroidered pocket-handkerchief
+and covered it at once with his foot to prevent observation. D'Artagnan,
+conscious of a certain want of politeness in his treatment of Athos and
+Porthos, and determined to be more obliging in future, stooped and
+picked up the handkerchief--much to the vexation of Aramis, who denied
+all claim to the delicate piece of cambric.
+
+D'Artagnan not taking the rebukes of Aramis in good part, they fixed two
+o'clock as the hour of meeting.
+
+The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis going up the street which
+led to the Luxembourg, whilst D'Artagnan, finding that it was near noon,
+took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, "Decidedly I
+can't draw back; but at least if I am killed, I shall be killed by a
+musketeer."
+
+Knowing nobody in Paris, D'Artagnan went to his appointment without a
+second.
+
+It was just striking twelve when he arrived on the ground, and Athos,
+still suffering from his old wound on the shoulder, was already waiting
+for his adversary.
+
+Athos explained with all politeness that his seconds had not yet
+arrived.
+
+"If you are in great haste, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "and if it be
+your will to despatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself. I am
+ready. But if you would wait three days till your shoulder is healed, I
+have a miraculous balsam given me by my mother, and I am sure this
+balsam will cure your wound. At the end of three days it would still do
+me a great honour to be your man."
+
+"That is well said," said Athos, "and it pleases me. Thus spoke the
+gallant knights of Charlemagne. Monsieur, I love men of your stamp, and
+I can tell that if we don't kill each other, I shall enjoy your society.
+But here comes my seconds."
+
+"What!" cried D'Artagnan as Porthos and Aramis appeared. "Are these
+gentlemen your seconds?"
+
+"Yes," replied Athos. "Are you not aware that we are never seen one
+without the others, and that we are called the three inseparables?"
+
+"What does this mean?" said Porthos, who had now come up and stood
+astonished.
+
+"This is the gentleman I am to fight with," said Athos, pointing to
+D'Artagnan and saluting him.
+
+"Why I am also going to fight with him," said Porthos.
+
+"But not before one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan.
+
+"Well, and I also am going to fight with that gentleman," said Aramis.
+
+"But not till two o'clock," said D'Artagnan calmly.
+
+"And now you are all assembled, gentleman, permit me to offer you my
+excuses."
+
+At this word "excuses" a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty
+smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of
+Aramis.
+
+"You do not understand me, gentleman," said D'Artagnan, throwing up his
+head. "I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my
+debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first. And now,
+gentleman, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and--guard!"
+
+At these words D'Artagnan drew his sword, and at that moment so elated
+was he that he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in
+the kingdom.
+
+Scarcely had the two rapiers sounded on meeting, when a company of the
+cardinal's guards appeared on the scene. At that time there was not only
+a standing feud between the king's musketeers and the guards of Cardinal
+Richelieu, there was also a prohibition against duelling.
+
+"The cardinal's guards! The cardinal's guards!" cried Aramis and Porthos
+at the same time. "Sheathe swords, gentlemen! Sheathe swords!" But it
+was too late.
+
+Jussac, commander of the guards, had seen the combatants in a position
+which could not be mistaken.
+
+"Hullo, musketeers," he called out; "fighting, are you, in spite of the
+edicts? Well, duty before everything. Sheathe your swords, please, and
+follow us."
+
+"That is quite impossible," said Aramis politely. "The best thing you
+can do is to pass on your way."
+
+"We shall charge upon you, then," said Jussac. "if you disobey."
+
+"There are five of them," said Athos, "and we are but three. We shall be
+beaten, and must die on the spot, for on my part I will never face my
+captain as a conquered man."
+
+Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly closed in, and Jussac drew up his
+soldiers.
+
+In that short interval D'Artagnan determined on the part he was to take;
+it was a decision of life-long importance. He had to choose between the
+king and the cardinal, and the choice made, it must be persisted in. He
+turned towards Athos and his friends. "Gentlemen," said he, "allow me to
+correct your words. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we
+are four. I do not wear the uniform, but my heart is that of a
+musketeer."
+
+"Withdraw, young man, and save your skin!" cried Jussac.
+
+The three musketeers thought of D'Artagnan's youth, and dreaded his
+inexperience.
+
+"Try me, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "and I swear to you that I will
+never go hence if we are conquered."
+
+Athos pressed the young man's hand, and exclaimed, "Well, then! Athos,
+Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, forward!"
+
+The nine combatants rushed upon each other with fury, and the battle
+ended in the utter discomfiture of the cardinal's guards, one of whom
+was slain and three badly wounded. The musketeers returned walking arm
+in arm. D'Artagnan marched between Athos and Porthos, his heart full of
+delight.
+
+"If I am not yet a musketeer," said he to his new friends, "at least, I
+have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven't I?"
+
+
+_II.--The Queen's Diamonds_
+
+
+The king, always jealous of Richelieu's guards, was extremely pleased
+when he heard from M. de Treville of the fight that had taken place. He
+gave D'Artagnan a handful of gold, and promised him a place in the ranks
+of the musketeers at the first vacancy; in the meantime he was to join a
+company of royal guards. From this time the life of the four young men
+became common, for D'Artagnan fell quite easily into the habits of his
+three friends.
+
+Athos, who was scarcely thirty years old, was of great personal beauty
+and intelligence of mind. He never spoke of women, he never laughed,
+rarely smiled, and his reserved and silent habits seemed to make him a
+much older man.
+
+Porthos was exactly the opposite of Athos. He not only talked much, but
+he talked loudly, not caring whether anyone listened to him. He would
+talk about anything except the sciences, alleging that from childhood
+dated his inveterate hatred of learning. The physical strength of
+Porthos was enormous, and with all the vanity of a child he was a
+thoroughly loyal and brave man.
+
+As for Aramis, he always gave out that he intended to take orders in the
+Church, and was merely a musketeer for the time being. Aramis revelled
+in intrigues and mysteries.
+
+What the real names of his comrades were D'Artagnan had no idea. That
+the names they bore had been assumed was all he knew.
+
+The motto of the four was "all for one, one for all." D'Artagnan had
+already earned the dislike of Cardinal Richelieu by his part in the
+fight with the cardinal's guards; it was not long before his daring gave
+greater cause for offence.
+
+The king suspected his wife, Anne of Austria, of being in love with the
+Duke of Buckingham, and the cardinal suspected the queen of intriguing
+with Buckingham against France. Now, a secret interview had taken place
+at the palace between Buckingham and the queen, and the cardinal, who
+employed spies everywhere, found out this as he found out everything,
+and determined to destroy the queen's reputation, for there was deadly
+enmity between Anne of Austria and Richelieu.
+
+Buckingham had received from the queen a set of diamond studs--a present
+from the king--as a keepsake; so the cardinal despatched a certain lady,
+a woman of rare beauty, known as "Milady," to England, to get hold of
+two of these studs.
+
+Then the cardinal, by fostering the royal suspicion, persuaded the king
+to give a grand ball whereat the queen should wear the diamond studs. By
+this means Louis would be convinced of Buckingham's visit, for the set
+of studs would be incomplete.
+
+The queen was in dispair. It was D'Artagnan and the three musketeers
+who saved her honour. D'Artagnan loved Madame Bonacieux, a confidential
+dressmaker of the queen's; and this woman, devoted to her royal
+mistress, gave D'Artagnan a secret note from the queen to Buckingham.
+
+D'Artagnan went at once to M. de Treville, obtained leave of absence for
+himself and his friends, and set out for England. It was not a minute
+too soon, for the cardinal had already made plans to prevent any such
+counter-move, giving orders that no one was to sail from France without
+a permit.
+
+Between Paris and Calais, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos were all left
+behind, wounded by Richelieu's guards, and D'Artagnan only effected a
+passage to Dover by fighting and nearly killing a young noble who held a
+permit from the cardinal to leave France.
+
+Once in England, D'Artagnan hastened to find Buckingham. The latter
+discovered, to his horror, that Milady had already become possessed
+cunningly of two of the precious studs, and D'Artagnan had to wait while
+the skill of the first English jeweller made good the loss beyond
+detection.
+
+He returned to Paris with the twelve studs in time for the royal ball.
+Milady had already given the two she had stolen to the cardinal, who had
+passed them on to the king.
+
+"What does this mean, Monsieur le Cardinal?" said the king severely,
+when in the middle of the ball he found, to his joy, that the queen was
+already wearing twelve diamonds.
+
+"It means, sire," the cardinal replied, with vexation, "that I was
+anxious to present her majesty with two studs, but did not dare to offer
+them myself."
+
+"I am very grateful," said Anne of Austria, fully alive to the
+cardinal's defeat, "only I am afraid these two studs must have cost your
+eminence as much as all the others cost his majesty."
+
+The man, D'Artagnan, to whom the queen owed this extraordinary triumph
+over her enemy, stood unknown in the crowd that gathered round the
+doors. It was only when the queen retired that someone touched him on
+the shoulder and bade him follow. He readily obeyed; D'Artagnan waited
+in an ante-room of the queen's apartments; he could hear voices within,
+and presently a hand and an arm, marvellously white and beautiful, came
+through the tapestry.
+
+D'Artagnan felt that this was his reward. He dropped on his knees,
+seized the hand, and touched it modestly with his lips. Then the hand
+was withdrawn, and in his own a ring was left. The tapestry closed, and
+his guide, no other than Bonacieux, reappeared and escorted him hastily
+to the corridor.
+
+
+_III.--The Musketeers at La Rochelle_
+
+
+The siege of La Rochelle was an important affair, one of the chief
+political events of the reign of Louis XIII.
+
+For a time D'Artagnan was separated from his friends, for the musketeers
+were escorting the king to the seat of war, and our intrepid Gascon was
+with the main army. It was now that D'Artagnan began to realise that he
+had attracted, not only the displeasure of the cardinal, but also the
+deadly hatred of Milady, the cardinal's secret agent, whose overtures at
+friendship, made in the cardinal's interest, he had insulted before
+leaving Paris, and whose secret shame he had discovered.
+
+Twice his life was nearly taken by hired assassins, and the third time a
+present of wine turned out to be poisoned.
+
+To add to his natural discomfort, Madame Bonacieux had disappeared from
+Paris, and probably was in prison.
+
+The arrival of the musketeers restored his spirits, and the four were
+again inseparable. One drawback to their intercourse was the fact that
+the cardinal and his spies were all over the camp, and that,
+consequently, it was difficult to talk confidentially without being
+overheard.
+
+In order to secure privacy for a conference, they decided to go and
+breakfast in a bastion near the enemy's lines, and wagered with some
+officers they would stay there an hour. It was a position of terrible
+danger, but the feat was accomplished, and the wild undertaking of the
+musketeers was acclaimed with tremendous enthusiasm in the French camp.
+
+The noise reached the cardinal's ears, and he inquired its meaning.
+
+"Monseigneur," said the officer, "three musketeers and a guard laid a
+wager that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and
+they breakfasted and held it for two hours against the enemy, killing I
+don't know how many Rochellais."
+
+"Did you inquire the names of those three musketeers?"
+
+"Yes, monseigneur. MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis."
+
+"Still the three braves!" muttered the cardinal. "And the guard?"
+
+"M. D'Artagnan!"
+
+"Still my reckless young friend! I must have these four men as my own."
+
+That same night the cardinal spoke to M. de Treville of the episode of
+the bastion, and gave permission for D'Artagnan to become a musketeer,
+"for such men should be in the same company," he said.
+
+One night during the siege, the three musketeers, seeking D'Artagnan,
+were met in a country lane by the cardinal, travelling, as he often did,
+with a single attendant. Athos recognised him, and the cardinal bade the
+three men escort him to a lonely inn. At the door they all alighted. The
+landlord of the inn received the cardinal, for he had been expecting an
+officer to visit a lady who was within. The three musketeers were
+accommodated in a large room on the ground floor, and the cardinal
+passed up the staircase as a man who knew his road. Porthos and Aramis
+sat down at the table to dice, while Athos walked up and down the room
+in a thoughtful mood. To his astonishment, Athos found that, the
+stovepipe being broken, he could hear all that was passing in the room
+above.
+
+"Listen, Milady," the cardinal was saying, "this affair is of utmost
+importance. A small vessel is waiting for you at the mouth of the river.
+You will go on board to-night and set sail to-morrow morning for
+England. Half an hour after I have gone, you will leave here. When you
+reach England, you will seek the Duke of Buckingham, explain to him that
+I have proofs of his secret interviews with the queen, and tell him that
+if England moves in support of the besieged in La Rochelle, I will at
+once ruin the queen."
+
+"But what if he persists in spite of this in making war?" said Milady.
+
+"If he persists? Why, then he must be got rid of. Some woman doubtless
+exists, handsome, young, and clever, who has a grievance against the
+duke; and some fanatic can be found to be her instrument."
+
+"The woman exists, and the fanatic will be found," returned Milady. "And
+now, will monseigneur permit me to speak of my enemies, as we have
+spoken of yours?"
+
+"Your enemies? Who are they?" asked Richelieu.
+
+"First, there is a meddlesome little woman called Bonacieux. She was in
+prison at Nantes, but has been conveyed to a convent by an order which
+the queen obtained from the king. Will your eminence find out where that
+convent is?"
+
+"I don't object to that."
+
+"Then I have a much more dangerous enemy than the little Bonacieux, and
+that is her lover, the wretch D'Artagnan. I will get you a thousand
+proofs that he has conspired with Buckingham."
+
+"Very well; get me proof, and I will send him to the Bastille."
+
+For a few seconds there was silence while the cardinal was writing a
+note.
+
+Athos at once got up and told his companions he would go out to see if
+the road was safe, and left the house.
+
+The cardinal gave his final instructions to Milady, and departed with
+Porthos and Aramis. No sooner had they turned an angle of the road than
+Athos re-entered the inn, marched boldly upstairs, and before he had
+been seen, had bolted the door.
+
+Milady turned round, and became exceedingly white.
+
+"The Count de la Fere!" she said.
+
+"Yes, Milady, the Count de la Fere in person. You believed him dead, did
+you not, as I believed you to be?"
+
+"What do you want? Why do you come here?" said Milady in a hollow voice.
+
+"I have followed your actions," said Athos sternly. "It was you who had
+Madame Bonacieux carried off; it was you who sent assassins after
+D'Artagnan, and poisoned his wine. Only to-night you have agreed to
+assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, and expect D'Artagnan to be slain in
+return. Now, I care nothing about the Duke of Buckingham; he is an
+Englishman, but D'Artagnan is my friend."
+
+"M. D'Artagnan insulted me," said Milady.
+
+"Is it possible to insult you?" said Athos. He drew out a pistol and
+cocked it. "Madame, you will instantly deliver to me the paper you have
+received from the cardinal; or, upon my soul, I will blow out your
+brains."
+
+Athos slowly raised his pistol until the weapon almost touched the
+woman's forehead. Milady knew too well that with this terrible man death
+would certainly come unless she yielded. She drew the paper out of her
+bosom and handed it to Athos. "Take it," she said, "and be accursed."
+
+Athos returned the pistol to his belt, unfolded the paper, and read:
+
+      It is by my order, and for the good of the state, that the
+     bearer of this has done what he has done.
+
+     Dec. 3rd, 1627.
+
+     RICHELIEU.
+
+Athos, without looking at the woman, left the inn, mounted his horse,
+and galloping across country, managed to get in front, on the road,
+before the cardinal had passed.
+
+For a second, Milady thought of pursuing the cardinal in order to
+denounce Athos; but unpleasant revelations might be made, and it seemed
+best to carry out her mission in England, and then, when she had
+satisfied the cardinal, to claim her revenge.
+
+
+_IV.--The Doom of Milady_
+
+
+Milady accomplished the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham at
+Portsmouth, and Richelieu was relieved of the fear of English
+intervention at La Rochelle.
+
+But the doom of Milady was at hand.
+
+The king, weary of the siege, had gone to spend a few days quietly at
+St. Germains, taking for an escort only twenty of the musketeers, and at
+Paris the four friends had obtained from M. de Treville a few days'
+leave of absence.
+
+Aramis had discovered the convent where Madame Bonacieux was confined;
+it was at Bethune, and thither the musketeers hastened. Unfortunately,
+Milady reached Bethune first. She had come there to await the cardinal's
+orders, and having ingratiated herself with the abbess, learnt that
+D'Artagnan was on his way with an order from the queen to take Madame
+Bonacieux to Paris. Milady immediately dispatched a messenger to the
+cardinal, and at the very moment when the musketeers were at the front
+entrance, she poured a powder into a glass of wine and bade Madame
+Bonacieux drink.
+
+"It is not the way I meant to avenge myself," said Milady, as she
+hastily left the convent by the back gate, "but, _ma foi_, we do what we
+must!"
+
+The deadly poison did its work. Constance Bonacieux expired in
+D'Artagnan's arms.
+
+Then the four musketeers, joined by Lord de Winter, who had arrived from
+England in hot pursuit of Milady, his sister-in-law, set out to overtake
+the woman who had wrought so much evil.
+
+They came up with Milady at a solitary house near the village of
+Erquinheim.
+
+The four servants of the musketeers guarded the house; Athos,
+D'Artagnan, Aramis, Porthos, and De Winter entered.
+
+"What do you want?" screamed Milady.
+
+"We want Charlotte Backson, first called Countess de la Fere, and
+afterwards Lady de Winter," said Athos. "M. D'Artagnan, it is for you to
+accuse her first."
+
+"I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, and of
+having attempted to poison me, and I accuse her of having engaged
+assassins to shoot me," said D'Artagnan.
+
+"I accuse this woman of having procured the assassination of the Duke of
+Buckingham," said Lord de Winter. "Moreover, my brother, who made her
+his heiress, died suddenly of a strange disease."
+
+"I married this woman and gave her my name and wealth, and found
+afterwards she was branded as a felon," said Athos.
+
+The musketeers and Lord de Winter passed sentence of death upon the
+miserable woman.
+
+She was taken out to the river bank, and beheaded, and her body dropped
+into the middle of the stream.
+
+"Let the justice of Heaven be done!" they cried in a loud voice.
+
+Within three days the musketeers were back in Paris, ready to return
+with the king to La Rochelle. Then the cardinal summoned D'Artagnan to
+his presence.
+
+"You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of France,
+with having surprised state secrets, and with having attempted to thwart
+the plans of your general," said the cardinal.
+
+"The woman who charges me--a branded felon--Milady de Winter, is dead,"
+replied D'Artagnan.
+
+"Dead!" exclaimed the cardinal. "Dead!"
+
+"We have tried her and condemned her," said D'Artagnan. Then he told the
+cardinal of the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux, and of the subsequent
+trial and execution.
+
+The cardinal shuddered before he answered quietly, "You will be tried
+and condemned."
+
+"Monseigneur," said D'Artagnan, "though I have the pardon in my pocket I
+am willing to die."
+
+"What pardon?" said the cardinal, in astonishment. "From the king?"
+
+"No, a pardon signed by your eminence." D'Artagnan produced the precious
+paper which Athos had forced Milady to give him before her journey to
+England.
+
+For a time the cardinal sat looking at the paper before him. Then he
+slowly tore it up.
+
+"Now I am lost." thought D'Artagnan. "But he shall see how a gentleman
+can die."
+
+The cardinal went to a table, and wrote a few lines on a parchment.
+
+"Here, monsieur," he said; "I have taken away from you one paper; I give
+you another. Only the name is wanting in this commission, and you must
+fill that up."
+
+D'Artagnan took the document with hesitation. He looked at it, saw it
+was a lieutenant's commission in the musketeers, and fell at the
+cardinal's feet.
+
+"Monseigneur, my life is yours. Dispose of it as you will. But I do not
+deserve this. I have three friends, all more worthy----"
+
+The cardinal interrupted him.
+
+"You are a brave young man, D'Artagnan. Fill up this commission as you
+will."
+
+D'Artagnan sought out his friends, and offered the commission to them in
+turn.
+
+But each declined, and Athos filled in the name of D'Artagnan on the
+commission.
+
+"I shall soon have no more friends. Nothing but bitter recollections!"
+said D'Artagnan, thinking of Madame Bonacieux.
+
+"You are young yet," Athos answered. "In time these bitter recollections
+will give way to sweet remembrances."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Twenty Years After
+
+
+      In this first-rate romance, which is a sequel to "The Three
+     Musketeers," and was published in 1845, we have D'Artagnan and
+     the three musketeers in the prime of middle life. Their
+     efforts on behalf of Charles I. are amazing, worthy of
+     anything done when they were twenty years younger. All the
+     characters introduced are for the most part historical, and
+     they are all drawn with spirit, so that our interest in them
+     never flags. A remarkable point in regard to these historical
+     romances of Dumas is that, in spite of their enormous length,
+     no superfluous dialogue or long descriptions prolong them.
+     Dumas took considerable liberties with the facts of history in
+     several places, as, for instance, in the introduction of
+     D'Artagnan and his friends to Charles I., and in making his
+     trial and execution follow as quickly on his surrender as we
+     are made to believe in "Twenty Years After." The story is
+     further continued in "The Vicomte de Bragelonne."
+
+
+_I.--The Parsimony of Mazarin_
+
+
+The great Richelieu was dead, and his successor, Cardinal Mazarin, a
+cunning and parsimonious Italian, was chief minister of France. Paris,
+torn and distracted by civil dissension, and impoverished by heavy
+taxation, was seething with revolt, and Mazarin was the object of
+popular hatred, Anne of Austria, the queen-mother (for Louis XIV. was
+but a child), sharing his disfavour with the people.
+
+It was under these circumstances that the queen recalled how faithfully
+D'Artagnan had once served her, and reminded Mazarin of that gallant
+officer, and of his three friends. Mazarin sent for D'Artagnan, who for
+twenty years had remained a lieutenant of musketeers, and asked him what
+had become of his friends.
+
+"I want you and your three friends to be of use to me," said the
+cardinal. "Where are your friends?"
+
+"I do not know, my lord. We parted company long ago; all three have left
+the service."
+
+"Where can you find them, then?"
+
+"I can find them wherever they are. It would be my business."
+
+"And what are the conditions for finding them?"
+
+"Money, my lord; as much money as the undertaking may require.
+Travelling is dear, and I am only a poor lieutenant in the musketeers."
+
+"You will be at my service when they are found?" asked Mazarin.
+
+"What are we to do?"
+
+"Don't trouble about that. When the time for action arrives you shall
+learn all that I require of you. Wait till that comes, and find out
+where your friends are."
+
+Mazarin gave D'Artagnan a bag of money, and the latter withdrew, to
+discover in the courtyard that the bag contained silver and not gold.
+
+"Crown pieces only, silver!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "I guessed as much.
+Ah, Mazarin, Mazarin, you have no real confidence in me. So much the
+worse for you!"
+
+But the cardinal was rubbing his hands, and congratulating himself that
+he had discovered a secret for a tenth of the coin Richelieu would have
+spent on the matter.
+
+D'Artagnan first sought for Aramis, who was now an abbe, and lived in a
+convent and wrote sermons. But the heart of Aramis was not in religion,
+and when D'Artagnan found him, and the two had sat talking for some
+time, D'Artagnan said, "My friend, it seems to me that when you were a
+musketeer you were always thinking of the Church, and now that you are
+an abbe you are always longing to be a musketeer."
+
+"It's true," said Aramis. "Man is a strange bundle of inconsistencies.
+Since I became an abbe I dream of nothing but battles, and I practise
+shooting all day long here with an excellent master."
+
+Aramis indeed had both retained his swordsmanship and his interest in
+public affairs. But when D'Artagnan mentioned Mazarin, and the serious
+crisis in the state, Aramis declared that Mazarin was an upstart with
+only the queen on his side; and that the young king, the nobles, and
+princes, were all against him. Aramis was already on the side of
+Mazarin's enemies. He could not pledge himself to anyone, and the two
+separated.
+
+D'Artagnan went on to find Porthos, whose address he had learnt from
+Aramis. Porthos, who now called himself De Valon after the name of his
+estate, lived at ease as a country gentleman should; he was a widower
+and wealthy, but he was mortified because his neighbours were of ancient
+family and ignored him. He received D'Artagnan with open arms, and when
+at breakfast he confessed his weariness, D'Artagnan at once invited him
+to join him again and promised that he would get a barony for his
+services.
+
+"Go into harness again!" cried D'Artagnan. "Gird on your sword, and win
+a coronet. You want a title; I want money; the cardinal wants our help."
+
+"For my part," said the gigantic Porthos, "I certainly want to be made a
+baron."
+
+They talked of Athos, who lived on his estate at Bragelonne, and was now
+the Count de la Fere. And Porthos mentioned that Athos had an adopted
+son.
+
+"If we can get Athos, all will be well," said D'Artagnan. "If we cannot,
+we must do without him. We two are worth a dozen."
+
+"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of their old exploits;
+"but we four would be equal to thirty-six."
+
+"I have your word, then?" said D'Artagnan.
+
+"Yes. I will fight heart and soul for the cardinal; but--but he must
+make me a baron."
+
+"Oh, that's settled already!" said D'Artagnan. "I'll answer for your
+barony."
+
+With that he had his horse saddled, and rode on to the castle of
+Bragelonne. Athos was visibly moved at the sight of D'Artagnan, and
+rushed towards him and clasped him in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally
+moved, held him closely, while tears stood in his eyes. Athos seemed
+scarcely aged at all, in spite of his eight-and-forty years; but there
+was a greater dignity about his face. Formerly, too, he had been a heavy
+drinker, but now no signs of excess disturbed the calm serenity of his
+countenance. The presence of his son, whom he called Raoul--a boy of
+fifteen--seemed to explain to D'Artagnan the regenerated existence of
+Athos.
+
+Deeply as the heart of Athos was stirred at meeting his old
+comrade-in-arms, and sincere as his attachment was to D'Artagnan, the
+Count de la Fere would have nothing to do with any plan for helping
+Mazarin.
+
+D'Artagnan returned alone to await Porthos in Paris. The same night
+Athos and his son also left for Paris.
+
+
+_II.--The Four Set Out for England_
+
+
+Queen Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV. of France and wife of
+King Charles I., was lodged in the Louvre, while her husband lost his
+crown in the civil war. The queen had appealed to Mazarin either to send
+assistance to Charles I., or to receive him in France, and the cardinal
+had declined both propositions. Then it was that an Englishman, Lord de
+Winter, who had come to Paris to get help, appealed to Athos, whom he
+had known twenty years earlier, to come to England and fight for the
+king.
+
+Athos and Aramis at once responded, and waited on the queen, who
+received them in the large empty rooms--left unfurnished by the avarice
+of the cardinal--allotted to her in the Louvre.
+
+"Gentlemen," said the queen, "a few years ago I had around me knights,
+treasure, and armies. To-day look around, and know that in order to
+accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have only Lord de
+Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I see for
+the first time, and whom I know but as my countrymen."
+
+"It is enough," said Athos, bowing low, "if the life of three men can
+purchase yours, madame."
+
+"I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me. My husband, King of England, is
+leading so wretched a life that death would be a welcome exchange for
+him. He has asked for the hospitality of France, and it has been refused
+him."
+
+"What is to be done?" said Athos. "I have the honour to inquire from
+your majesty what you desire Monsieur D'Herblay (as Aramis was named)
+and myself to do in your service. We are ready."
+
+"I, madame," said Aramis, "follow M. de la Fere wherever he leads, even
+to death, without demanding any reason; but when it concerns your
+majesty's service, no one precedes me."
+
+"Well, then, gentlemen," said the queen, "since it is thus, and since
+you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess
+whom everybody has forsaken, this is what must be done for me. The king
+is alone with a few gentlemen whom he may lose any day, and he is
+surrounded by the Scotch, whom he distrusts. I ask much, too much,
+perhaps, for I have no title to ask it. Go to England, join the king, be
+his friends, his bodyguard; be with him on the field of battle and in
+his house. Gentlemen, in exchange I can only promise you my love; next
+to my husband and my children, and before everyone else, you will have
+my prayers and a sister's love."
+
+"Madame," said Athos, "when must we set out? we are ready!"
+
+The queen, moved to tears, held out her hand, which they kissed, and
+then, after receiving letters for the king, they withdrew.
+
+"Well," said Aramis, when they were alone, "what do you think of this
+business, my dear count?"
+
+"Bad!" replied Athos. "Very bad!"
+
+"But you entered on it with enthusiasm."
+
+"As I shall ever do when a great principle is to be defended. Kings are
+only strong by the aid of the aristocracy; but aristocracy cannot exist
+without kings. Let us then support monarchy in order to support
+ourselves."
+
+"We shall be murdered there," said Aramis. "I hate the English--they are
+so coarse, like all people who drink beer."
+
+"Would it be better to remain here?" said Athos. "And take a turn in the
+Bastille, by the cardinal's order? Believe me, Aramis, there is little
+left to regret. We avoid imprisonment, and we take the part of heroes--
+the choice is easy!"
+
+While Athos and Aramis were preparing to go to England on behalf of the
+king, Mazarin had decided to employ D'Artagnan and Porthos as his envoys
+to Oliver Cromwell.
+
+"Monsieur D'Artagnan," said the cardinal, "do you wish to become a
+captain?"
+
+"Yes, my lord."
+
+"Your friend wishes to be made a baron?"
+
+"At this very moment, my lord, he's dreaming that he is one."
+
+"Then," said Mazarin, "take this dispatch, carry it to England, and when
+you get to London, tear off the outer envelope."
+
+"And on our return, may we, my friend and I, rely on getting our
+promotion--he his barony, I my captaincy?"
+
+"On the honour of Mazarin, yes."
+
+"I would rather have another sort of oath than that," said D'Artagnan to
+himself as he went out.
+
+Just as they were leaving Paris, a letter came from Athos, who had
+already gone.
+
+"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Porthos,--My friends, perhaps this is the last
+time you will hear from me. I entrust certain papers which are at
+Bragelonne to your keeping; if in three months you do not hear of me,
+take possession of them. May God and the remembrance of our friendship
+support you always.--Your devoted friend, Athos."
+
+
+_III.--In England_
+
+
+Athos and Aramis were with Charles I. at Newcastle. The king had been
+sold by the Scotch to the English Parliament, and on the approach of
+Cromwell's army the king's troops refused to fight. Only fifteen men
+stood round the king when Cromwell's cavalry came charging down. Lord de
+Winter was shot dead by his own nephew, who was in Cromwell's army.
+
+"Come, Aramis, now for the honour of France," said Athos, and the two
+Englishmen who were nearest to them fell mortally wounded.
+
+At the same instant a tremendous shout filled the air, and thirty swords
+flashed before them. Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks,
+fell upon Athos, wound his muscular arms round him, and tearing his
+sword from him, said in his ear, "Silence! Yield--you yield to me, don't
+you?"
+
+A giant from the English ranks at the same moment seized Aramis by the
+wrists, who struggled in vain to get free.
+
+"I yield myself prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to Porthos.
+
+"D'Art----" exclaimed Athos; but the musketeer covered his mouth with
+his hand.
+
+The ranks opened. D'Artagnan held the bridle of Athos' horse, and
+Porthos that of Aramis, and they led their prisoners off the field.
+
+"We are all four lost if you give the least sign you know us," said
+D'Artagnan.
+
+"The king--where is the king?" Athos exclaimed anxiously.
+
+"Ah! We have got him!"
+
+"Yes," said Aramis; "through a base act of treachery!"
+
+Porthos pressed his friend's hand, and answered, "Yes; all is fair in
+war--stratagem as well as force. Look yonder!"
+
+The squadron, which ought to have protected the king, was advancing to
+meet the English regiments.
+
+The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked alone on foot. He caught
+sight of Athos and Aramis, and greeted them.
+
+"Farewell, messieurs. The day has been unfortunate, but it is not your
+fault, thank God! But where is my old friend Winter?"
+
+"Look for him with Strafford," said a voice.
+
+Charles shuddered. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was Winter's.
+
+That hour messengers were sent off in every direction over England and
+Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was now the prisoner of Oliver
+Cromwell. D'Artagnan not only accomplished the release of the prisoners,
+he also joined with his friends in a bold attempt to rescue Charles from
+his captors.
+
+D'Artagnan at first naturally assumed they would all four return to
+France as quickly as possible; but Athos declared that he could not
+abandon the king, and still meant to save him if it were possible.
+
+"But what can you do in a foreign land; in an enemy's country?" said
+D'Artagnan. "Did you promise the queen to storm the Tower of London?
+Come, Porthos, what do you think of this business?"
+
+"Nothing good," said Porthos.
+
+"Friend," said Athos, "our minds are made up! Ah, if we had you with us!
+With you, D'Artagnan, and you, Porthos--all four, and reunited for the
+first time for twenty years--we would dare, not only England but the
+three kingdoms together!"
+
+"Very well," cried D'Artagnan furiously, "very well, since you wish it,
+let us leave our bones in this horrible land, where it is always cold,
+where the fine weather comes after a fog, and the fog after rain; in
+truth, whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must
+die sooner or later."
+
+"But your future career, D'Artagnan? Your ambition, Porthos?" said
+Athos.
+
+"Our future, our ambition!" replied D'Artagnan bitterly. "What do we
+need to think of that for, if we are to save the king? The king saved,
+we shall assemble our friends together, reconquer England, and place him
+securely on the throne."
+
+"And he shall make us dukes and peers," said Porthos joyfully at this
+cheerful prospect.
+
+"Or he will forget us," added D'Artagnan.
+
+"Then," said Athos, offering his hand to D'Artagnan, "I swear to you, my
+friend, by the God who hears us, I believe there is a power watching
+over us, and I look forward to our all meeting in France again."
+
+"So be it!" said D'Artagnan; "but I confess I have quite a contrary
+conviction. However, 'tis settled; but I stay in England only on one
+condition, that I don't have to learn the language."
+
+The attempt to rescue Charles from his guards on the way to London was
+only frustrated by the sudden arrival of General Harrison, with a large
+body of soldiers, and D'Artagnan and his friends made their escape by a
+hasty flight, and followed to London.
+
+"We must see this tragedy played out to the end," said Athos. "Do not
+let us leave England while any hope remains."
+
+And the others agreed.
+
+
+_IV.--At Whitehall_
+
+
+The intrepid four were present at the trial of Charles I., and it was
+the voice of Athos that called out, "You lie!" when the prosecutor
+declared that the accusation against the king was put forward by the
+English people.
+
+Fortunately, D'Artagnan managed to get Athos out of the court quickly,
+and then, followed by Porthos and Aramis, they mingled in the crowd
+outside undetected.
+
+Sentence having been pronounced against the king, the only thing to be
+done by the four was to get rid of the London executioner; this meant at
+least a few days delay while another executioner was being procured.
+D'Artagnan undertook this difficult task, while Aramis was to personate
+Bishop Juxon, the royal chaplain, and explain to Charles the attempt
+being made to save him. Athos engaged to get everything ready for
+leaving England.
+
+On the very night before the execution Aramis brought the king a message
+from D'Artagnan, "Tell the king that to-morrow, at ten o'clock at night,
+we shall carry him off." Aramis added, "He has said it, and he will do
+it."
+
+The scaffold was already being constructed in Whitehall as he spoke, but
+D'Artagnan had the London executioner fast bound under lock and key in a
+cellar, and Athos had a light skiff waiting at Greenwich. Not only this,
+but at midnight these four wonderful men, thanks to Athos, who spoke
+excellent English, were also at work at the scaffold--having bribed the
+carpenter in charge to let them assist--and at the same time boring a
+hole in the wall. The scaffold, which had two lower stories, and was
+covered with black serge, was at the height of twenty feet, on a level
+with the window in the king's room; and the hole communicated with a
+narrow loft, between the floor of the king's room, and the ceiling of
+the one below it.
+
+The plan was to pass through the hole into the loft, and cut out from
+below a piece of the flooring of the king's room, so as to form a kind
+of trap-door. The king was to escape through this on the following
+night, and, hidden by the black covering of the scaffold, was then to
+change his dress for that of a workman, and so pass the sentinels on
+duty, and reach the skiff that was waiting for him at Greenwich.
+
+At nine o'clock in the morning Aramis, this time in attendance on Bishop
+Juxon, was once more in the king's room.
+
+"Sire," he said, "you are saved! The London executioner has vanished,
+and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol. The Count de la
+Fere is two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace, and
+strike three times on the floor. He will answer you. He has the path
+ready for your majesty to escape by."
+
+The king did as Aramis suggested, and in reply came three dull knocks
+from below.
+
+"The Count de la Fere," said Aramis.
+
+All was ready; nothing as far as D'Artagnan and Athos could see, had
+been overlooked; twenty-four hours hence would see the king beyond the
+reach of his adversaries.
+
+And then just as Charles had satisfied himself that his life was saved,
+a Parliamentary officer and a file of soldiers entered the king's room
+to announce his immediate execution.
+
+"Then it is for to-day?" asked the king.
+
+"Were not you warned that it was to take place this morning?"
+
+"Then I must die like a common criminal by the hand of the London
+executioner?"
+
+"The London executioner has disappeared, but a man has offered his
+services instead. The execution will, therefore, take place at the
+appointed hour."
+
+A fanatical Puritan, nephew of Lord de Winter--whom he slew at
+Newcastle--and a trusted lieutenant of Cromwell's did the work of the
+headsman, and upon Athos, waiting in concealment beneath the scaffold,
+fell drops of the king's blood.
+
+When all was over the four hastened away in deep dejection to the skiff
+at Greenwich, and so to France. But when they had landed at Dunkirk it
+was plain to D'Artagnan that their troubles were not yet at an end.
+
+"Porthos and I were sent by Cardinal Mazarin to fight for Cromwell;
+instead of fighting for Cromwell, we have served Charles I.; that's not
+the same thing at all."
+
+However, D'Artagnan and Porthos, on their return to Paris, rendered such
+signal service to Mazarin and to the queen, by guarding them from the
+violence of the mob, and by quelling a riot, that D'Artagnan received
+his commission as captain of musketeers, and Porthos his barony.
+
+The four old friends met once more in Paris before they separated.
+Aramis was returning to his convent, Athos and Porthos to their estates.
+As war had just broken out in Flanders, D'Artagnan made ready to go
+thither.
+
+Then all four embraced, with tears in their eyes. And after that they
+departed on their various ways, not knowing whether they were ever to
+see each other again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The World's Greatest Books, Vol III
+by Arthur Mee and J.A. Hammerton, Eds.
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