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diff --git a/44560-0.txt b/44560-0.txt index 6592186..bf38d42 100644 --- a/44560-0.txt +++ b/44560-0.txt @@ -1,39 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Courses and a Dessert, by Anonymous - -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: Three Courses and a Dessert - Comprising Three Sets of Tales, West Country, Irish, and - Legal, and a Melange - -Author: Anonymous - -Illustrator: George Cruikshank - -Release Date: January 1, 2014 [EBook #44560] -Last Updated: February 28, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44560 *** THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT: @@ -17412,358 +17377,4 @@ state.” End of Project Gutenberg's Three Courses and a Dessert, by Anonymous -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT *** - -***** This file should be named 44560-0.txt or 44560-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/5/6/44560/ - -Produced by David Widger - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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-Three Courses and a Dessert. by Anonymous
-</title>
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-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Courses and a Dessert, by Anonymous
-
-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: Three Courses and a Dessert
-Comprising Three Sets of Tales, West Country, Irish, and
-Legal, and a Melange
-
-Author: Anonymous
-
-Illustrator: George Cruikshank
-
-Release Date: January 1, 2014 [EBook #44560]
-Last Updated: February 28, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-<div style="height: 8em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h1>
-THREE COURSES AND A DESSERT:
-</h1>
-<h2>
-Comprising <br />
-<i>Three Sets Of Tales</i>,<br /> West Country, Irish, And
-Legal, And A Melange
-</h2>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-<h2>
-With Fifty Illustrations By GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
-</h2>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-<h4>
-1867.
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-
-<h4>"Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table."<br />
-<i>As you like it.</i>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/frontispieces.jpg" alt="frontispieces " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/frontispiecem.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/titlepages.jpg" alt="titlepages " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/titlepage.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/titlepagem.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<p>
-<b>CONTENTS</b>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0001"> INDUCTION. </a>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <b>FIRST COURSE: WEST COUNTRY CHRONICLES.</b>
-</a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0009"> SIR MATHEW ALE. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE COUNTERPART COUSINS. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0011"> CADDY CUDDLE. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE BRAINTREES. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE SHAM FIGHT. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE BACHELOR'S DARLING. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE LOVES OF HABAKKUK BULLWRINKLE, GENTLEMAN.
-</a>
-</p>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0016"> <b>SECOND COURSE: THE NEIGHBOURS OF AN OLD IRISH
-BOY.</b> </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_INTR2"> INTRODUCTION. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0018"> JIMMY FITZGERALD. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE NATIVE AND THE ODD FISH. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0020"> TIMBERLEG TOE-TRAP. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0021"> BAT BOROO. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE WITCH'S SWITCH. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE WEED WITNESS. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0024"> ME AND MY GHOST-SHIP. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0025"> THE NEST EGG. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0026"> UNDER THE THUMB. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0027"> OUR TOMMY. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THE DENTIST. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE MUSHROOM. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0030"> THE DILLOSK GIRL. </a>
-</p>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0031"> <b>THIRD COURSE: MY COUSIN'S CLIENTS.</b> </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_INTR3"> INTRODUCTION. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0033"> ADAM BURDOCK. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0034"> THE MATHEMATICIAN. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0035"> THE LITTLE BLACK PORTER. </a>
-</p>
-<p>
-<br />
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0036"> <b>THE DESSERT.</b> </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_INTR4"> INTRODUCTION. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0038"> THE DEAF POSTILION. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0039"> CONJUGATING A VERB. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0040"> POSTHUMOUS PRAISE. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0041"> THE DOS-A-DOS TETE-A-TETE. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0042"> A TOAD IN A HOLE. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0043"> THE PAIR OF PUMPS. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0044"> WANTED A PARTNER. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0045"> HANDSOME HANDS. </a>
-</p>
-<p class="toc">
-<a href="#link2H_4_0046"> MISLED BY A NAME. </a>
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-INDUCTION.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he purveyor of the ensuing apology for a “feast of reason,” takes leave
-to greet his guests with a hearty, but respectful, welcome. It would be in
-bad taste for him to dilate at his threshold upon what he has provided for
-their entertainment: his brief bill of fare will presently be laid before
-them.
-</p>
-<p>
-He ventures to indulge a hope, that his repast will prove obnoxious to
-none, and, in some degree, gratifying to many; that those who may discover
-nothing to their taste in one course, will meet with something piquant in
-another; that no one
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Will drag, at each remove, a lengthening chain;”
- </pre>
-<p>
-and, that even if the <i>dishes</i> be disliked, the <i>plates</i>, at
-least, will please: but he feels bound to state, that whatever faults the
-decorations may be chargeable with, on the score of invention, he, alone,
-is to blame, and not Mr. George Cruikshank; to whom he is deeply indebted
-for having embellished his rude sketches in their transfer to wood, and
-translated them into a proper pictorial state, to make their appearance in
-public. They have necessarily acquired a value, which they did not
-intrinsically possess, in passing through the hands of that distinguished
-artist; of whom it may truly, and on this occasion especially, be said, <i>Quod
-tetigit, ornavit</i>.
-</p>
-<p>
-Having thus, perhaps rashly, presented himself at the bar of public
-opinion, conscious as he feels of his own demerits, he can only throw
-himself on the liberality of his judges, and plead for a lenient sentence.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-FIRST COURSE: WEST COUNTRY CHRONICLES.
-</h2>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/018s.jpg" alt="018s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/018.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/018m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-INTRODUCTION.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he true old English squire is now nearly extinct: a few admirable
-specimens of the class flourished a few years ago in the western counties;
-from the discourse and memoranda of one of the most excellent of these,
-the substance of the following narratives was gleaned. For my introduction
-to, and subsequent acquaintance with, the worthy old gentleman. I was
-indebted to the delinquency of a dog. Carlo was most exemplary in his
-punctuation; he would quarter and back in the finest style imaginable; no
-dog could be more staunch, steady, and obedient to hand and voice, while
-there was no living mutton at hand: but no sooner did he cross a
-sheep-track, break into view of a fleece, or even hear the tinkling bell
-(a dinner bell to him) of a distant flock, than he would bolt away, as
-rectilinearly as the crow flies, towards his favourite prey, in spite of
-the most peremptory commands, or the smack of a whip, with the flavour of
-which his back was intimately acquainted. I had been allowed a very fair
-trial of the dog; but, unfortunately, no opportunity occurred, previously
-to his becoming my property, of shooting over him near a sheep-walk. His
-behaviour was so excellent in Kent, that I never was more astonished in my
-life, than when I beheld him severely shaking a sheep by the haunch, the
-first time we went out together in Somerset. Unable to obtain a
-substitute, and hoping that his vice would not prove incurable, I was
-compelled, most indignantly and unwillingly, to put up with his offences
-for three days. On the morning of the fourth, he suddenly broke forward
-from heel, and went off at full speed before me: aware, by experience, of
-what was about to take place, I lifted the piece to my shoulder, and
-should, most assuredly, have tickled his stern, had he not dashed over the
-brow of a little hillock, so rapidly, that it was impossible to cover him
-with my Manton. On reaching the brow of the acclivity, I saw him, in the
-valley below, with his teeth entangled in the wool of a wether; and a
-sturdy old person, in the garb of a sportsman, belabouring him over the
-back with an enormous cudgel. The individual, who inflicted this wholesome
-castigation on the delinquent, offered to cure him for me of his
-propensity. I gratefully accepted the offer; and thus became acquainted
-with that fine specimen of the old-fashioned gentlemen of England, Sir
-Mathew Ale, of Little Redland Hall, Baronet,-(whose grounds I was
-crossing, on my way to a manor over which I had the privilege of
-shooting,)-by means of a rascally dog, that had a fancy for killing his
-own mutton.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/019s.jpg" alt="019s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/019.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/019m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-SIR MATHEW ALE.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a question, even with my friend the Baronet himself, whether, as
-some of the genealogists asserted, his respectable ancestors were related
-to the illustrious judge, who, with the exception of an aspirate, was his
-namesake: but if, as the old gentleman said, he had none of the eminent
-lawyer's blood flowing in his veins, a fact of much greater importance was
-indisputable;—he possessed, without the shadow of a doubt, that
-great man's mug,—the capacious vessel from which he was wont to
-quaff huge and inspiring draughts of the king of all manly beverages,
-“nut-brown ale.” The pitcher,—to which appellation its size entitled
-it,—“filled with the foaming blood of Barleycorn” from ten to
-fifteen years of age, invariably graced my friend's old oaken table,
-during our frequent festive meetings. There was a strong likeness, in the
-outline of Sir Mathew's mug, when full of the frothing liquor in which he
-delighted, to his “good round belly,” his ruddy face, and his flowing wig.
-It was highly valued by the old gentleman, while he lived; and is looked
-upon with a kind of reverential love, by those to whom he endeared himself
-by his good qualities, as the only likeness of him extant, now that he is
-dead.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sir Mathew was an enthusiastic admirer of the customs of merry old
-England, and especially attached to those of “the West-Countrie.” Bom in
-Devon, and living, as he said, with one foot in Gloucester and the other
-in Somerset, he had acquired a greater knowledge of the qualities, habits,
-and feelings of the people who dwelt in two or three of the “down-a-long”
- shires, than most men of his day. He was well versed in their
-superstitions, their quaint customs, and their oddities;—an adept in
-their traditionary lore, and acquainted with most of the heroes who had
-figured in their little modern romances of real life. A large portion of
-his time had been absorbed in making collections for a System of Rustic
-Mythology, a Calendar of West Country Customs, and in perfecting his
-favourite work,—the Apotheosis of John Barleycorn. The ensuing pages
-are devoted merely to a few circumstances which fell under his own
-observation; with the characters in the narratives, he was, personally,
-more or less acquainted: the auto-biography of the obese attorney,
-Habakkuk Bullwrinkle, is faithfully transcribed from the original
-manuscript, in Sir Mathew's possession.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sir Mathew frequently declared, that nearly all the superstitions of the
-people, relating to charms and tokens, were, as he knew by experience,
-founded in truth. He had, at one time, been a staunch believer in the
-power of the “dead man's candle” to prevent those, who are sleeping in the
-house where it is lighted, from waking until it is burned out, or
-extinguished: but latterly Sir Mathew thought proper to intimate that his
-belief in the efficacy of the charm had been, in some degree, staggered. A
-malicious wag, in the neighbourhood, propagated a tale, which, if true,
-accounts naturally enough for the change in Sir Mathew's opinion upon this
-point. Whenever an eminent burglar happened to be imprisoned in either of
-the neighbouring gaols, it was the Baronet's custom, for a number of years
-past, as the story went, to consult the criminal, as a high authority, on
-the virtue of the mystic light in house-breaking. The result of his
-inquiries induced him to repose so much faith in the charm, that, in order
-to set the question beyond a doubt, he determined on making a midnight
-entry into the house of a dear friend; who, he knew, neither kept
-fire-arms, nor would, for a moment, suspect him, even if discovered and
-taken in the fact, of being actuated by burglarious motives. With the
-assistance of a lecturer on anatomy, who lived in a neighbouring town, and
-a clever journeyman-tallow-chandler, Sir Mathew made “a dead man's
-Candle,” <i>secundum artem</i>; armed with which, he penetrated into his
-friend's pantry, regaled himself very heartily on some cold beef, and a
-bottle of stout ale, and finding that his proceedings had not caused the
-least alarm, he daringly made a great deal of unnecessary noise. His
-friend and the servants were at length roused: in his hurry to get off
-undetected, Sir Mathew's candle was extinguished; and during the darkness,
-his dear friend, and Jacob, his dear friend's butler, thrashed him so
-unmercifully, that, although his fears endowed him with sufficient agility
-to effect a retreat, he could scarcely crawl home; and was confined to his
-bed, by a very mysterious indisposition, for more than a week.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sir Mathew stoutly denied the truth of this impeachment: he admitted that
-he was a practical man,—an experimentalist in such matters; but he
-indignantly pleaded “not guilty” to being so enthusiastic a simpleton as
-his jocose calumniator had represented him. The wag, in reply, said “that
-it was very natural, right or wrong, for Sir Mathew to deny the
-correctness of the story. Although the old gentleman is certainly quite
-simple enough to do the deed,” added he, “I must needs own, I never
-suspected him of being such a blockhead as to confess it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-After this, Sir Mathew treated the tale as an ingenious and venial
-invention, and always enjoyed it highly whenever it was subsequently
-related in his hearing. He would have laughed heartily at it, perhaps, if
-he could; but he had long been compelled to drill his features,
-periodically, into a state of almost inflexible gravity. “People who know
-but little of me,” he would say, “call me 'the man without a smile;' I
-pass, with many, for a very surly fellow; unfortunately, I am often
-misrepresented, and my real character is mistaken, through, what others
-would deem, a trifling affliction: the bane of my life is, that, very
-frequently, for a month together, I can't laugh, and don't dare even to
-indulge in my habitual smirk, because I have an apparently incurable and
-terrifically susceptible little crack in my lip.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Sir Mathew was a most zealous supporter of the ancient customs of the
-country. He patronised the sports of a neighbouring village fair, at a
-considerable expense, until its frequenters almost abused him for not
-giving two pigs with greasy tails to be caught, instead of one. He
-entertained the cobblers of the surrounding villages, annually, with a
-barrel of strong ale, in order to keep up the good old custom of Crispin's
-sons draining a horn of malt liquor, in which a lighted candle was placed,—without
-singeing their faces, if they could,—on the feast of their patron
-saint: nor did he discontinue this practice, even after some of them had
-despoiled him of a favourite pair of boots; until a party of the gentle
-craft, on one occasion, emboldened by beer, stormed his inmost cellar,
-tapped a barrel which he did not intend to have broached for half a score
-of years, and, as he asserted, thickened the beer in three others, by
-their tremendous uproar! Sir Matthew's housekeeper, whose two sons were
-cordwainers, ventured to hint that the beer in those barrels had never
-been fine; and that, even after the fatal feast day, although certainly a
-little thick, it was far from ropy. Sir Mathew vowed, on the contrary,
-that it was ropy enough to hang the whole scoundrelly squad; and that he
-only wished they would give him an opportunity of making the experiment.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sir Mathew was a decided enemy to duelling; and most vehemently abused the
-practice of two people popping at each other with pistols. “If gentlemen
-must fight,” he would exclaim, “in the name of all that's old English and
-manly, why not make use of the national quarter-staff,—as I did,
-when Peppercorn Vowler called me out, and gave me my choice of weapons?”
- </p>
-<p>
-According to tradition, Sir Mathew was almost a stranger to his opponent
-when the bout between them took place; and much to his astonishment,
-Peppercorn Vowler gave him an elaborate cudgelling. It was whispered, that
-the Baronet felt so indignant at the result of the quarter-staff conflict,
-that he sent his adversary an invitation, which was politely declined, to
-renew the fight with pistols. Peppercorn Vowler, it appears, felt even a
-greater aversion to fire-arms than Sir Mathew, and had given the latter
-his choice of weapons, because he was sure, from the inquiries he had
-made, that Sir Mathew would most certainly choose the quarter-staff; in
-the exercise of which Peppercorn Vowler was quite a proficient.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Baronet adopted the old rustic mode of curing my dog of his propensity
-to mutton: he turned him into a barn, with a couple of very powerful and
-evil-disposed rams. “I'll warrant,” said he, as he closed the door, “that
-the animal will never look a sheep in the face again.” He was certainly
-right in his prediction; for half an hour afterwards, the dog died under
-the extraordinary discipline of the battering rams to which Sir Mathew had
-zealously subjected him.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/023s.jpg" alt="023s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/023.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/023m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE COUNTERPART COUSINS.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>lmost every house, in a little village situate in the lower part of
-Somersetshire, near the borders of Devon, was tenanted, two or three
-generations back, either by a Blake or a Hickory. Individuals, of one or
-the other of these names, occupied all the best farms, and all the minor
-lucrative posts, in the parish. The shoemaker, the carpenter, the
-thatcher, and the landlord of the public house, were Blakes; and the
-parish clerk, the glazier, the tailor, and the keeper of “the shop,” where
-almost every thing was sold, Hickories. Numerous matrimonial alliances
-were formed among the young people of the two families. As the Blakes were
-manly, and the Hickories handsome, it happened, rather luckily, that the
-children of the former were, for the most part, boys, and those of the
-latter, girls. If a male child were bom among the Hickories, he grew up
-puny in frame and womanly in features; and there was not an individual,
-among the few females of the Blake family, who did not bear the strongly
-marked features and robust frame, characteristic of the race from which
-she sprang. The young men of the house of Hickory were too much like their
-sisters, to be good-looking fellows; and the damsels of the other name
-resembled their brothers too closely, to be beautiful women; they were,
-apparently, stout enough in form, and sufficiently bold in heart, had not
-the days of chivalry been past, to have been esquires to “mettlesome
-knights of hie renown;” while the striplings of the other family were more
-adapted, from their lady-like limbs and gentle looks, to be bower-pages to
-those high-born dames, for whose honour and amusement, their chivalric
-lords occasionally broke each other's pates in the tourney.
-</p>
-<p>
-Notwithstanding these disparities, some strong attraction seemed to exist
-between the blood of the two families; not only did the “manly Blakes”
- take unto themselves wives from among the “handsome Hickories,”—-this
-was natural enough,—but the young yeomen of the tribe of Hickory,
-intermarried with the spinsterhood of the Blakes. Perhaps it was Hobson's
-choice with the youths,—these or none;—there being scarcely
-another name in the village except those of the “two great houses”—Hickory
-and Blake; and in those days, but few of its young folks travelled far
-beyond the landmarks of their native place.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Blakes and Hickories, at length, grew so numerous, that the village
-did not offer sufficient resources for their support, and several of them
-emigrated;—some to the neighbouring towns, but the greater part to
-the metropolis, where they were soon lost in its mighty tide of
-population, which is constantly recruited by “supplies from the country,”
- as the river, whose banks it ennobles, is supported by the tributary
-streams which eternally flow into its huge bed. A great number of the
-descendants of those females of the Blake family, who had intermarried
-with Hickories, still remained; but it was in vain to seek for the fine
-Herculean forms, which tradition had assigned to the Blakes, or the
-surpassing beauty, which, according to old tales, was once possessed by
-the female Hickories. It is true, that the features of each family were to
-be seen, scattered among various individuals; but no perfect specimen, in
-the prime of life, of either race, could be found. Two or three gaunt
-fellows, the oldest men in the parish, who were issue of the first unions
-between the two houses, still stalked about, with melancholy countenances,
-thinking but little of the present, and more often of the past than the
-future; but as their fathers had been Hickories, and their mothers Blakes,
-it was said that they did not possess those excellencies of form or
-feature, which their cousins, who were Blakes by the father's side, and
-Hickories by the mother's, were reported to have been endowed.
-</p>
-<p>
-A single individual of the Blake family, in whose veins none of the
-Hickory blood flowed, remained alive; that individual was a woman,
-fettered by age and infirmities, to a chair on the kitchen hearth of one
-of her descendants. Dame Deborah was venerated as a relic of old times,
-rather than beloved. The beings about her had come into the world when she
-was aged; and those, to whom she had given life, had passed away before
-her; leaving their mother to the care of a third generation. To her, those
-little acts of kindness, which are so endearing in the first stage of
-human decay through “length of days,” were rarely performed, because she
-was too withered in mind and feeling to appreciate them. She lived among
-relations, but had no friends. All her wants were scrupulously provided
-for; but the attentions, which her grand-children and great-grand-children
-paid her, were acts of duty rather than affection. The days of her glory,
-even as an old woman were over: she had ceased to become a domestic
-adviser; the last child she had nursed, for one of her daughters, was now
-“a stout and stalwart” young fellow, nearly six feet high; and those, to
-whom she had told tales of other times, when her memory and breath were
-both equal to the task, were getting old themselves, and beginning to
-relate the same chronicles, round the kitchen fire, on winter nights;
-generally without acknowledging, and often forgetting, to whom they were
-indebted for that legendary lore, the possession of which so exalted them
-in the opinions of the young.
-</p>
-<p>
-From the dark cloud, which usually obscured Dame Deborah's mental
-faculties, a gleam of youthful memory occasionally shot up, which much
-amazed many of her descendants. One evening, a warm discussion took place
-in the kitchen where she sat, as to the precise ages of Ralph Hickory and
-his cousin Harry. After a world of talk, without an atom of conclusion,
-Dame Deborah placed her hand upon the arm of one of the disputants, and
-said, in a tremulous but distinct tone: “Susanna Hickory, who was big
-Anthony Blake's seventh child, and only daughter, and married one of the
-young Hickories of Hickory Hatch, was brought to bed of a boy on the
-second day of our Whitsun revel, the same hour that her cousin Polly had
-twins,—both boys,—but only one of them lived to be christened.
-I stood godmother to the two babes. Susey's boy was called Ralph, after my
-first husband, and Polly's after my second goodman, Harry. That was the
-year when lightning struck the steeple, and Matty Drew, the witch, was
-drowned. She told the children's fortunes, and said of them,—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-'Merry meeting—sorry parting;
-Second greeting—bitter smarting;
-Third struggle—'”
- </pre>
-<p>
-Dame Deborah could not finish Matty Drew's prediction; and this was the
-seventh time, within as many years, that she had attempted to do so, but
-in vain; a fit of coughing or abstraction invariably seizing her on these
-occasions, before she could articulate the remainder of the line. The
-debaters stared with wonder on each other at the old dame's unusual
-fluency; for she had not spoken, except in monosyllables, during many
-preceding months; and they looked upon it as an omen of Deborah's death,
-or some great calamity to one of her living descendants. On examining the
-church books, they found her account to be correct, so far as regarded the
-baptism of the two boys, and the interment of one of Polly's twins; and
-some of her neighbours recollected that the church was struck, as Deborah
-had related, in the same year that Matty Drew was drowned, by a farmer and
-his two sons, who supposed she had bewitched them, and their cattle; and
-ducked her, under the idea that, if she were a witch, she could not be
-drowned; little thinking of the consequences to themselves, if she did not
-survive the ordeal. Two of them afterwards fled the country; the third was
-taken and tried. He stated, in his defence, that he had reason to believe
-Matty was a witch, for her predictions were always verified by events; and
-that once, when his mother could not succeed in her churning, he and his
-father twisted a hazel switch, as tight as their strength would permit,
-about the chum, and behold, at last, in came Matty, shrieking and
-writhing, as if in agony, and beseeching them to unloose the gad; which,
-she admitted, was sympathetically torturing her own waist. He called no
-witnesses to this fact; and, notwithstanding the ingenious argument which
-his counsel had written out for him, wherein it was stated that “an
-unlettered clown” might well be forgiven for entertaining the same
-opinions as some of the kings of England, and one of her most eminent
-judges, in old days, the young man was convicted and executed, for acting
-under an impression that those powers existed, for the possession of
-which, a century before, helpless old women were found guilty by twelve of
-their fellow countrymen, and doomed, by a strong-minded judge, to be
-burned;—more than one of the old creatures having crawled, it is
-said, when led from the cold dungeon, to warm their chilled limbs by the
-fire that was kindling to consume them.
-</p>
-<p>
-Ralph Hickory and Harry Hickory, the objects of Matty Drew's doggrel
-prophecy, are the heroes of our tale—the Counterpart Cousins;—rather
-alike in disposition, but bearing no resemblance to each other in outward
-appearance. Ralph inherited all the strength and height of the Blakes,
-without their fine form, or the handsome features of the Hickories. His
-shoulders were broad, but round, and his neck did not seem to rise exactly
-in their centre: his arms were long, muscular, and well shaped; but his
-legs were crooked, and too brief in proportion to his body. His maternal
-ancestor's features were rather of the Roman order, and the wags of the
-village said, that Ralph had a Blake's nose run to seed:—it was
-thin, sharp, and disagreeable. Every body confessed that he had the
-Hickories' merry black eyes;—but his mouth gaped, and looked like a
-caricature of their pouting and slightly ported lips. The Hickories' teeth
-were brilliant and pearly; the Blakes' quite the contrary:—the lips
-of the former delicately exhibited their dental treasures; while those of
-the latter were so close and clenched, that it was difficult to obtain a
-glance at the awkward squad which they concealed. Ralph unfortunately
-inherited the bad teeth of the Blakes, and the open lips of the Hickories;
-as well as the fair hair of the former, and the dark eyes and long black
-lashes of the latter: so that Ralph was rather a singular looking being;—but
-precisely, or nearly such a person as the reader must have occasionally
-met with;—exhibiting an union of some of the beauties, and many of
-the deformities, of two or three of the tribes of man.
-</p>
-<p>
-Harry was very different in person, but not a jot more beautiful than
-Ralph. His body was broader and more robust than that of a Blake, when the
-family was in a flourishing state; but it was remarkably short, and
-shapeless as a log. His head seemed to be squeezed into his shoulders by
-some giant hand, and his light but well-proportioned Hickory legs
-exhibited a striking contrast to the clumsy bulk of his huge trunk. The
-butcher said, that Harry would resemble his big block, with a calf's head
-on its surface, only that it stood on three legs, and Harry possessed but
-two. His arms were thick, bony and stunted; and his hands of such an
-immense size, that he was often called “Molepaw” by his competitors in the
-wrestling ring. Harry had the large blue eyes of the Blake family, and a
-thick, short, snub nose; which, the good gossips said, could be traced to
-nobody. There was a striking resemblance in his other features to the
-by-gone Hickories: his mouth and chin were really handsome; but an
-unmeaning smile usually played about his lips; and he had a vacant sort of
-look, that betokened good humour allied to silliness. But when Harry's
-blood was warmed by an angry word or two and an extra cup of drink, though
-he did not “look daggers,” he frowned furiously, and looked, as well as
-talked, broomsticks, cudgels, kicks on the shin-bone, and various other
-“chimeras dire.” In such a mood, Harry was dangerous to deal with, and
-avoided by all those who were peaceably disposed.
-</p>
-<p>
-In this particular, Ralph was his counterpart There was not a more kind or
-sociable being in three counties than Ralph Hickory, when he was sober;
-but liquor made him quarrelsome and rash; it whetted his appetite to give
-and receive kicks and bruises; and if he could not rouse any one, by
-insults and taunting, to wrestle, fight, or play a bout at back-sword, or
-cudgels with him,—he lashed himself up into a fury, attacked, and
-either scattered those who were about him like chaff, or got felled by a
-sturdy thwack of fist or cudgel, and fastened down until reason returned
-hand-in-hand with shame and remorse. To both of the cousins liquor was
-pure Lethe; they never remembered any thing that occurred, from the time
-of their passing the rubicon of intoxication, until the moment of their
-waking the next day.
-</p>
-<p>
-Ralph and Harry considered themselves as relations to each other, on the
-credit of certain of the gossiping oral genealogists of the village, who
-proved, in a very roundabout way, to their auditors, but entirely to their
-own conviction, that Ralph and Harry were, what are called, in the West
-Country,—second and third cousins. Each of them was the offspring of
-a match between a male Hickory and a female Blake; and both were bad
-specimens of the two fine families, whose more gifted descendants, in
-regard to personal appearance, the issue of those unions which had been
-formed between “the manly Blakes” and “the handsome Hickories,” were the
-individuals who had quitted the village, impelled by a spirit of
-adventure, when they felt themselves too crowded in their native place, on
-account of the increase of its population.
-</p>
-<p>
-Hickory was now the paramount name in the parish; there was not a single
-Blake in its little community, except old Dame Deborah, whose boast it had
-been, when she could babble apace, that she was the last of either of the
-pure stocks left. She had often stated, in the autumn of her life,—that
-season when the mind yields its richest fruits of memory,—that the
-good old Blakes began to lose the ascendant, from the time of the battle
-of Culloden. It will appear strange, that the downfall of the Pretender's
-forces in the north, should be associated, in Deborah's mind, with that of
-her family, whose abiding place was in the west. We will explain this
-nearly in the old dame's own words: “On the 16th of April, in the
-forty-six, my brother Gilbert,”—thus her story ran,—“who was
-then an officer in the Duke of Cumberland's dragoons, which rank he had
-attained, partly by money, partly by merit, did such service under the
-great Hawley, against the lads in tartans, that he was promised promotion
-by the famous Duke, who gave him his pistols, in the field, as an earnest
-of more favours to come. A few days after, while the dragoons were
-scouring the country, in quest of prisoners of consequence, it was
-whispered, by some who envied him, that Gilbert had been won by the
-honeyed words and rich jewels of a noble northern lady, to let her
-husband, whom he had taken, escape. This report reached Gilbert's ears;
-and the next day, while he was mounting his horse, an orderly came with
-commands for him to attend the Duke with all speed. Gilbert directly drew
-out his men; gave some orders of importance, which were afterwards
-executed, and proved very beneficial to the service, and directed his
-junior officer to lead the soldiers off to perform it: he then stepped
-aside, and, with one of the pistols the Duke had given him on the
-sixteenth, blew out his brains! On the very evening the news arrived of my
-brother's death by his own hands, a sad disaster happened to the Blakes:—my
-father was, that afternoon, beating an apprentice, rather too severely,
-perhaps, in a field where some of his labourers were hacking-in wheat;
-when one who was among them,—a little fellow who was not much more
-than five feet high, but remarkable for his good features and fine form,—left
-his work, and advancing to my tall and powerful father, reproached him, in
-so insolent a manner, for beating the boy, who was a favourite with the
-labourer, that the bad blood of the Blakes became immediately roused, and
-he inflicted a blow or two on the man's shoulders with his stick: the
-fellow stepped back a few paces, and then running against my father at
-full speed, drove his head into the pit of the old man's stomach with such
-violence, that it laid him dead upon the spot I don't know why, or
-wherefore, but true it is, that the labourer was acquitted of blame on his
-trial; and he was the first of the Hickories known in these parts. The
-same evening, my aunt Elinor, the widow of Frank Cooper, who had sailed
-round the world with Anson, died away in her chair, without any previous
-illness. Had my father been killed an hour later, he would have heard of
-the suicide of his son; and had not my aunt Elinor died before sunset, she
-would have known, that both her brother and her nephew had gone before her
-to the grave: but both of them were saved from the bitterness of such news
-on their dying day. From that time, the Blakes dwindled, and the Hickories
-rose. They have matched and mated much since; but it is said, perhaps
-truly, that the Hickories are doomed to root out the Blakes, and then
-destroy themselves;—they met in the valley of death, and blood will
-be mixed in their stirrup-cup. My grandson Ralph has now more of the
-Blakes in him than any other man; and thick Harry, although he has a
-double dash of us in his veins, is more of a Hickory than any other I
-know. They are both Hickories in name, but not truly so in nature. Ralph
-looks upon himself, and is looked up to, as the head of the poor remnant
-of my father's race; and Harry is in the same situation, as a descendant
-of the labourer, who took his master's life, on that master's own land.
-They have both a great many of the bad qualities, and but few of the
-virtues, of the two families;—and I, for one, say—God keep
-them from drinking deep out of the same cup!—for liquor is likely to
-be their bane.”
- </p>
-<p>
-This sort of language was too frequently repeated, and the witch Matty
-Drew's prophecy too often alluded to, by old Deborah, in those days when
-her tongue still talked triumphantly, although her limbs were incapable of
-motion, not to produce a deep and lasting impression upon her hearers. One
-half of the village was in a constant state of alarm, after Ralph had
-returned, a man, from the “up-along” counties, to which he had departed, a
-boy, in order to learn some improved mode of cultivating land, lest the
-two cousins should meet and quarrel in their cups. If they were seen in
-the village, passing a few moments in friendly chat, a scout immediately
-acquainted the parties most interested with the circumstance; and, in a
-short time, one of them was drawn off, by a fictitious story, of lambs
-tumbling into ditches, cows getting their legs entangled in hurdles, or
-children fallen into fits.
-</p>
-<p>
-Ralph and Harry both loved the pastimes of their native place; they could
-wrestle, and play at back-sword, in very laudable style; but Ralph was the
-better wrestler, and Harry surpassed in the use of the single-stick. Devon
-being noted for its wrestlers, and Somerset for its single-stick players,
-the cousins were attracted in different directions, to enjoy that pastime
-in which each excelled; so that, up to the fortieth year of their lives,—and
-they were, as it will be remembered, precisely of the same age,—they
-had never, much to the satisfaction of their friends, met in the ring as
-rivals. Especial care had always been taken that they did not join the
-same convivial parties; they often attempted to make merry together, for
-Ralph and Harry really felt an affection for each other's society, but the
-women invariably out-manoeuvred them, and the two cousins were greater
-strangers to each other, than either of them was to any man else in the
-village, of his own age and station.
-</p>
-<p>
-Their forty-first birth-day arrived: Ralph attended a review of the
-yeomanry-cavalry, in which he was a corporal, and Harry went to market for
-the purpose of selling some steers. On returning home, they were obliged
-to cross each other's track. They dwelt at opposite ends of the long,
-straggling village; which were approached by two different lanes: of
-these, the letter X will serve as a tolerably good substitute for a ground
-plan;—the market town being situate at the top of the left, and the
-common, on which the review was held, on that of the right, limb of the
-letter; at the lower end of which the village meandered along through
-meadows and corn-fields; Harry's abode being at the right, and Ralph's at
-the left end of it. The two lanes were crossed, at the point of
-intersection, by a third, which, on account of its being two or three
-yards wider, and a little more frequented than either of them, was
-dignified with the title of “the high road;” and in this “undeniable
-situation,” as George Robins would say, stood a snug public house, called
-Sawney's Cross; the front of which commanded a view, across the high road,
-for some distance up the lanes which led to the market town and common.
-</p>
-<p>
-Harry was proceeding down one lane, at a speedy, shuffling pace, betwixt a
-gallop and trot, on a powerful blind galloway; while Ralph approached the
-line of intersection, from the common, by the other, on a gaunt, half-bred
-horse, nearly sixteen hands high, a strong galloper, and quite
-ungovernable when put upon his mettle. The galloway and the tall horse
-were both “homeward bound;” and “sniffing the manger from afar,” each of
-them was going along, impatient of check, and at, what jockies would call,
-“a tip-top pace.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Ned Creese, the landlord of Sawney's Cross, stood at his door, and beheld
-the ominous approach of the two travellers: he was mathematician enough to
-discover, that equi-distant as they were, from the point where their lines
-of direction intersected each other in the middle of the main road, and
-approaching toward such point with equal speed, something unpleasant must
-needs occur to one of the parties, at the transit. He beckoned, and called
-out to each of them as loudly as he could: but Harry was short sighted,
-and could not see his motions; and Ralph was rather hard of hearing, and
-could not make out what he meant; so that neither of them pulled up; and,
-as they were concealed from each other by the high hedges of the lanes,
-neither Harry nor Ralph was aware of the danger that menaced them, until
-they emerged from the bottom of the lanes. Ralph foresaw the event first,
-and, with might and main, attempted to pull his horse out of the way: he
-partly succeeded, but by checking his steed, and making him swerve from
-the direct line in which he was going, he gave Harry a decided advantage
-in the ensuing shock. The cousins had just time to ejaculate “Hoy, Ralph!”
- and “Hilloa, Harry!” when the blind galloway bore his off-shoulder against
-the tall troop-horse's hind quarters, and just such a catastrophe took
-place as Creese had anticipated:—Harry was thrown over his
-galloway's head; and Ralph, with his horse, and the galloway at his heels,
-were carried to the brink of a horse-pond by the road side. Ralph fell in
-the mud, and the horses went over him into the water; where they lay
-struggling together for a few moments; they then got up without
-assistance, and each limped homeward, leaving their owners to come after
-them as well as they could.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Hoy, Ralph!” and “Hilloa, Harry!” were the first words the cousins
-uttered.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Art hurt, lad?” asked Ralph.—“No,” was the reply;—“Art thee?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sound as oak; only a bloody nose, and a bump on the forehead.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's right, then; I don't feel much the matter myself; but dowl take
-thy blind galloway, for all that!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He's worth his weight in gold;—didn't'ee see how he capsized you
-and your troop horse?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You charged me in flank when I was filing off;—if I had met'ee full
-butt, Harry, I should ha' sent thee and thy galloway clean into the muck,
-and gone on without abating pace, or feeling a jerk in my balance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, and not ha' turned round to say 'Hilloa, Harry?'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Odd! yes, to be sure,—I'd say 'Hilloa, Harry!'—and what
-will'ee drink, besides.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well,—and what <i>shall</i> we?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't mind;—but let's ha' something, and make merry together for
-once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wi' all my heart!—Here we be, safe from busy meddlers; and dash me
-if I don't feel inclined to make a day of it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Give me your hand;—this capsize was a bit of luck, weren't it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aye, to be sure,—brought two good fellows together. What shall we
-have?—It's cold.—What d'ye say to Hopping John, made Tom
-Nottle's fashion?—Landlord, mix pint of brandy wi' half a gallon of
-your best cider, sugared to your own taste; and,—d'ye mind?—pop
-in about a dozen good roasted apples, hissing hot, to take the chill off.”
- </p>
-<p>
-In a short time, the two cousins were seated by the fire, in a little room
-behind the bar of the Sawney's Cross, with a smoking bowl of liquor on the
-table before them, and Ned Creese assisting them to empty it. By degrees,
-the cousins became elevated, and their chat was enlivened by budding jokes
-and choice flowers of rustic song. Harry's forehead frequently reminded
-him, in the midst of his glee, of the adventure in the road; and he
-recurred to it, for the fifth time, since the sitting, as Ned brought in a
-second brewage of hot Hopping John:—“I'd lay a wager I know where my
-blind galloway is, just about now,” quoth he; “it's odd to me if he isn't
-stopping at the Dragon's Head, where he always pulls up, and tempts me to
-call for a cup of cider and a mouthful of hay.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gentlemen,” said Creese, “I'll give you a toast—a Devonshire one—and
-it's this:—A back fall, or a side fall, or any fall but a fall out.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For my part,” continued Ned, after his toast was duly honoured,—“I
-expected no less than a fight, if you were able to stand, after what I saw
-would happen;—but I hardly hoped to see both get on your legs, with
-nothing but one bloody nose between the pair of you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I must say, landlord, I fell very comfortably, indeed, considering,” said
-Harry.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And I came down very much to my own satisfaction,” quoth Ralph, “only
-that I soiled my uniform.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It struck me,” observed Ned Creese, “that you must have gone over head
-and ears into the pond, which is deeper than it should be in the middle;
-but I consoled myself;—for, thinks I,—if so be that he should,
-the <i>frogs</i> on his dragoon jacket will save him, if swimming can do
-it If you'd both broke your necks I couldn't but giggle to see you. It's
-my belief 'twould have made a horse laugh; as my sign says, it was truly
-'good entertainment for man and beast.'—Don't be hipped because I'm
-jocular: joking's a malady with many a man, and here stands one of'em; we
-can no more help it than an ague fit. But come, folks; here's 'The West
-Country Orchards!'—and then let's rouse the crickets with the old
-apple-tree hymn.—I'll begin.” So saying, Creese commenced, and,
-assisted by Ralph and Harry, chaunted forth the following rhymes, in a
-manner that would have amazed Mozart, although it gladdened the hearts of
-the rustic guests in the Sawney's Cross kitchen.
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-1.
-
-The white rose was, aye, a dainty flower,
-And the hawthorn a bonny tree;
-A grove of oaks is a rich dame's dower;
-But the barley-straw for me!
-
-2.
-
-From his acorn-cup let the Elfin sip,
-And the oak-fruit be munched by swine;
-The thrush may have both the haw and hip;
-Give me but the jolly vine!
-
-3.
-
-Ale you may brew, from the barley-straw;
-Neither ale, nor grape-juice for me;
-I care not for acorn, hip, nor haw;—
-Give me but the apple-tree!
-</pre>
-<p>
-After they had all three repeated the last verse together, and applauded
-their performance by sundry exclamations of approval, and thwacks on the
-table, Ralph observed, “Oddsheart! cousin, we're getting as we should be;
-a fig for a fell after this.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Da capo, say I to it,” exclaimed Creese; “da capo, I say to it, heartily:
-da capo, as it is written in the score-book we sing the psalms by, in the
-gallery, at church.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wasn't frightened a trifle, landlord, when thee saw'st us coming?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is the approach of a good bone likely to alarm a hungry dog?—I knew
-well enough you'd fall; and if you fell, the fall must bring me grist, in
-meal or malt:—a 'quest jury, if death had been done; board and
-lodging, in case of broken limbs; and a brace of guests for an hour, if
-you were only bruised. I shall be much obliged, when you knock one another
-down again, if you'll do it before my door. Success to cross-roads, blind
-galloways, helter-skelter dragooning, and blink-eyed farmers!—Ha!
-ha!—You'll excuse me gentlemen; we're all friends; I hope no
-offence.—What are your commands?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There's one thing I'd wish thee to do, landlord,” said Ralph; “if any
-body should enquire for us,—don't say we be here.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, truly,” added Harry; “an' thou dost, thou'lt lose a couple of good
-customers, and get thy head broke to boot, perhaps.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Never fear—never fear!” replied Ned; “a secret's safe with me, as
-though 'twaa whispered in the ear of an ass. Thank heaven, I haven't had a
-woman in the house these seven yean; so all's snug.—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“A forester slept beneath the beech.
-Heigh! norum snorum!
-His full flask lay within his arm's reach;
-Heigh! horum jorum!
-
-A maiden came by with a blooming face,
-Heigh! rosy posey!
-She ask'd him the way to Berrywell Chase,—
-With its wine so old,
-And its pasties cold;—
-</pre>
-<p>
-Forester, what has froze ye?
-</p>
-<p>
-“A long song is out of place over good liquor; so I'll not sing the other
-eighteen verses of that one; its moral is, that a woman can't keep a
-secret, even when the possession of what she desires depends on it; but
-that her babbling often proves her salvation. A friar comes in sight,
-while the forester is wooing, and he packs the maid off, for appearance'
-sake;—telling her, if she'll meet him there the next day, provided
-she don't reveal his promise to mortal, that he'll give her 'a gown of the
-richest green,' besprinkled with dewy pearls, or pearly dew, I forget
-which: but the maiden was so delighted, that when she got to the Chase,
-she told the warden's niece, and the warden's niece told the maiden's
-aunt, and the maiden's aunt locked her up for a week: so she saved her
-reputation, but lost her present, by babbling.—Gentlemen, you don't
-drink!”
- </p>
-<p>
-We must here leave the cousins to the care of Creese—they could not
-have fallen into better hands for the mood in which they met—and
-remind our readers, that the horses, after extricating themselves from the
-pond, proceeded homeward as well as the injuries they had received would
-permit. Their arrival at the village, spread consternation among its
-inhabitants: parties went forth, in different directions, to seek Ralph
-and Harry;—the women predicting that they had met and killed each
-other, and the men endeavouring to stifle their own apprehensions on the
-subject. Creese, on being asked if he knew any thing of the matter,
-replied, that “he had seen the horses, without riders, gallop by his door,
-down the lanes;” and as no one had witnessed the meeting of the cousins
-but himself and they were kept close in the back parlour, no information
-could be obtained from any one else. Lights were burnt, in almost every
-house in the village, nearly all night; and toward day-break the last
-party returned without any tidings of the lost sheep. Old Dame Deborah,
-confiding in the predictions of Matty Drew, said, as well as she could,
-“Bad is this—there's worse to come;—it will prove to be but a
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Merry meeting—sorry parting.”
- </pre>
-<p>
-We must now return to the cousins. On the morning after their concussion
-in front of Sawney's Cross, Ralph, with whom we shall begin, awoke at day
-break, and on taking a hasty survey of his apartment, found, to his
-surprise, that he was not at home. He recollected very well that he had
-usually worn, for many years past, corduroy small-clothes; and, when he
-joined the volunteer yeomanry, white doe-skin pantaloons. “Whose black
-nether garments can those be, then,” thought he, “which I see dangling
-from yonder peg?”—He leaped out of bed, threw open the lattice, and
-the first object that attracted his notice was the horse-pond; on the miry
-edge of which, he remembered having been thrown the day before. This
-accounted for the colour of his doe-skins. “But, how the dickens,” thought
-he, “got I this tremendous black eye? Where's my front tooth? And who the
-deuce has been bruising my ear?—I recollect, well enough, seeing
-Creese, the landlord, bring in a third brewing of Hopping John, and my
-singing, 'Creeping Jenny,' or part of it, afterwards but what's come of
-Harry?”
- </p>
-<p>
-While these and similar reflections were passing in Ralph's mind, he
-proceeded to dress himself, which he found a task of considerable
-difficulty, for he was stiff and sore in every limb. Impatient to resolve
-the mystery in which he found himself involved, Ralph, before he was
-completely attired in his soiled uniform, hobbled down stairs, and found
-Harry, staring at the landlord, as though Creese had just been telling him
-some very marvellous story.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, Ralph,—cousin Ralph,” said Harry, as Ralph entered the
-kitchen, “what be this the landlord says?—He vows and protests
-'twere you that ha' been tearing my clothes to tatters and rags, and
-beating my face to a jelly!—I han't a sound inch in my skin!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Before I do answer any questions, it be my wish to know of you,
-landlord,” said Ralph, in an angry tone, and taking Creese by the collar;
-“and what's more, I insist you do tell me, who took the advantage of me
-last night—who it were that knocked my tooth out, when I were
-overcome?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I've lost a tooth myself,—be dashed if I han't!” exclaimed Harry,
-whose attention was so distracted by his other injuries, that he had not
-discovered the important fact before this moment; “I'll swear I had it in
-my mouth last night,” pursued he, grasping Creese, with his huge paw, by
-the collar; “and I'll be told, why and wherefore you've let me be used
-like a dog, when I were drunk:—answer!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, answer, or I'll shake thy life out!” cried Ralph, looking as if he
-really meant to “suit the action to the word.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gentlemen,—guests,” said Creese, apparently not in the least
-alarmed, but putting himself in a strong attitude, and calmly collaring
-the cousins; “be mild, and you shall hear all; or one at a time, and I'm
-for the first fair fall, who shall pay last night's smart, with the best,
-or both of you,—one down t'other come on: but if you'll put your
-hands in your pockets and be peaceable, I'll employ mine to produce your
-teeth;—that is, if I can.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The cousins now relinquished their holds, and Ned drew out a drawer of the
-dresser, and requested they would look into it. “Here,” said he, “you will
-find the fragments of your feast of fisty-cuffs; perhaps, among the bits
-of lace, linen, broad-cloth, frogs and buttons, which I carefully swept up
-last night, after I had put you both to bed, you may find your teeth; if
-not, I know nothing about them:—send for a constable, and search me,
-if you like.”
- </p>
-<p>
-At this offer, the cousins turned to each other and were going to smile;
-but immediately they were face to face, they stared in so rueful a manner,
-that Creese was amazingly amused. It was the first time, since Ralph had
-come down stairs, that the cousins had closely inspected each other's
-countenances, which might, with propriety enough, as the landlord said, be
-called “maps of mischance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But it's all your own doings,” quoth he; “the credit and honour belong to
-nobody but yourselves;—I must say you're both downright dapsters at
-disfiguration.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But how were it, d'ye say, landlord?” asked Ralph.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, truly, how happened it all, according to your story?”—said
-Harry.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, gentlemen,” replied Creese, “after I found you were going to drink
-more than I could well bear,—when it was high tide almost in my
-head, and my frail wits began to rock to and fro, pitching me about, when
-I moved, like a barge in a hurricane,—I very wisely anchored in the
-bar, and attended, as well as I could, to my business: a nap or two
-between whiles, as I tended my customers, and one cool pipe, brought me
-round, and it was calm sailing with me again.—All this time you were
-getting louder and louder; at last, the short gentleman, my worthy friend,
-Mr. Harry, persuaded you, Mr. Ralph, to try a friendly back-fall with him.
-There wasn't much harm in that;—though, I promise you, I tried to
-prevent it, but couldn't. So I cleared away the crockery, and stood by, as
-'twas my duty, to see fair. Harry was, clearly, in my mind, the best
-wrestler; but, somehow, Ralph got the in-lock, and laid him upon the
-planchin, flat as a pancake.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Did I, by jingo?” eagerly exclaimed Ralph.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No,—it's all his lies;—it couldn't be!” quoth Harry; looking
-very incredulous and displeased.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I have said it, and I'll stand to it;”—continued Ned; “and when you
-got up, as you did, with my help, you went over to Ralph, patted him on
-the back, and, said you,—'Well done, cousin,—I didn't think it
-was in thee!' You added, with an oath, it was the best and fairest fall
-you had seen for years past;—that it nearly drove the breath out of
-your body; and then you patted him on the back again. After this, you both
-sat down, talked, sung, and,—by-and-bye,—began to broach
-something about back-sword.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Likely enough, an't it, Harry?” said Ralph.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I don't believe a word o' the story,” replied Harry;—“but I'll hear
-it out.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I did not ask you to believe it,” said Creese; “but there's special
-evidence on your head, as well as on your cousin's, that you played at it,
-long and lustily.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And which won?” enquired Ralph.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Both of you lost blood, as well as temper, at last,” replied Creese;
-“but, I remember, Harry gave you the first broken head.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Never!” replied Ralph, “it never lay in his shoes: he may be as good a
-wrestler, or better; but scores of men, that my cousin Harry have often
-and often given his head to, never could touch me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! be that as it may,” said the landlord, “he certainly had you last
-night, Ralph, or I'm out of my senses. Why, I remember it as well as if it
-was but a minute ago:—you broke open the glass buffet, in which the
-two sticks my uncle and father won the grand match with—Wilts
-against Somerset—was stuck up, among the china, with silver
-mountings, and decorated with green ribbons, cut out like laurel-leaves;—and
-you said they were the best sticks you ever broke a head with: and when
-Harry cut your ear, and I cried out 'A bout, a bout!' and put the poker
-between you, you shook Harry's hand, and said you admired him, for he had
-done what no man ever had attempted—namely—hit you under your
-best guard.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ha! ha! ha!” shouted Harry. “Odds buttons! Ralph, but there seems to be
-some truth in this though, for your ear is cut up, sure enough then, clean
-as a whistle; it must ha; been done as Creese says.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Ralph put his hand up to his ear, and, like Lord Burleigh, in The Critic,
-shook his head and said nothing.
-</p>
-<p>
-“All this,” continued the landlord, “was friendly and civil: you then
-ordered a double quantity of brandy in the brewage—if you don't
-believe me, look in the bill,—and, in about half an hour, I found
-you fighting in downright earnest, and in all manner of ways;—kicking,
-cudgelling, wrestling, pulling, punching, tearing one another to pieces
-very ungentlemanly, and so forth, and clearly bent on destruction. You had
-cracked the looking-glass, broke the table, 'shod the liquor, and tore the
-porringer,' as the man said; or, in other words, shed the cider and
-brandy, and broke the bowl; all which you'll find I've made correct
-memorandums of in the bill. Then I called in the blacksmiths, from next
-door, our ostler, and three waggoners who were drinking outside;—we
-all pitched into you, and, at last, got you asunder: but not before the
-mischief you see and feel was done; and to shew what minds you were in,
-when we pulled you, by main force, apart, each of you carried away his
-hold, like a couple of bull-dogs:—Harry brought off a piece of
-Ralph's sleeve and his shoulder-belt, and Ralph the forepart of Harry's
-coat, full two-thirds of his waistcoat, and a pattern of his linen. We
-then contrived to get you to bed—as you'll see in the bill; and—and—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aye,—and here we be,” added Ralph; “nice objects for a wife and
-family to look at!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thou'rt quite a scarecrow, cousin Ralph,” said Harry. “Do get him a
-glass, and let him look at himself, landlord,” said Ralph. “I'm sorry for
-thee, Harry;—it's my belief 't'ant exactly as the landlord says; but
-we can't belie the story he has told us, so where's the use of disputing?
-The question is,—what shall we do?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Be dashed if I bean't ashamed to go home,” replied Harry; “I sha'n't be
-able to look my wife in the face.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! that's touching a sore place, Harry.'Tisn't my bruises, nor thine,
-that I care much about—after all; but frightening the women, poor
-dear souls!—thy Jane and my Grace, Harry—by staying out all
-night, eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't talk about it,—but let's get some drink.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Small ale, or leek broth, let it be, then, and we'll start while we be
-sober and solid. We'll get a couple of carts—you shall go to my
-wife, and smooth her over, and I'll go to thine; and then, at night,
-let'em come and fetch each of us home.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! so be it, Ralph; but sha'n't we have a stirrup-cup?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, not this time.—Your hand, Harry—I like thee, cousin; but
-it strikes me there's some truth in old women and witches. I wouldn't pass
-another evening with thee, for half the land from here to Axminster.”
- </p>
-<p>
-A week after the rencounter at Sawney's Cross, each of the cousins was
-lying at his own home,—a-bed, bandaged, and still suffering from the
-bruises which they had conferred on each other. They soon, however,
-recovered: the watchful care of their friends was doubled; neither of them
-evinced much inclination for the other's company, and a whole year passed
-away, without any thing remarkable occurring between them.
-</p>
-<p>
-The birth-day of the cousins was, however, again unlucky.—Harry,
-perhaps on account of his success in the bout he had with Ralph, at
-Sawney's Cross, or, it might be, from mere whim, practised
-back-sword-playing, and became a frequent attendant at the various
-single-stick matches in the neighbourhood. Some capital pastime having
-been expected, at a revel, about ten miles up the country, Harry and
-Ralph, on their forty-second birth-day, totally unaware of each other's
-intentions, set off to see and join in the sport. The malice or curiosity
-of some of the parties present, or, perhaps, mere accident, brought the
-cousins on the stage as opponents. Ralph was going to descend; but Harry
-whispered in his ear, “If we don't have a bout or two, Ralph, they'll jeer
-us, and say we be old women.” Ralph still evinced an inclination to
-retire; when his cousin said aloud, “Now, Ralph, here's a chance for
-getting the head you lost to me at Sawney's Cross.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aye, true,—true,” replied Ralph, taking a stick, and preparing for
-the play. They shook hands; both, as usual, said,—“God save our
-eyes!”—they threw themselves into attitude; and one minute had
-scarcely elapsed, before Harry received a blow from Ralph's stick, which
-totally deprived him of sight, in one eye, for the remainder of his
-existence.
-</p>
-<p>
-An inflammation of so violent a nature ensued, that Harry's life was, for
-some time, considered in danger. One day, when his wife came to Ralph's
-house, weeping, and exclaiming that little hope was left of her husbands
-recovery, Dame Deborah, in a low, broken tone, said to her, “The day's not
-come; it is but—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Second greeting—bitter smarting.”
- </pre>
-<p>
-“Bide a while—there's no fear yet”
- </p>
-<p>
-Deborah was right: Harry recovered his health and strength, and none ever
-heard him regret the loss of his eye; about which, he said, poor Ralph
-“took on” unnecessarily, for it was purely an accident The forty-third and
-forty-fourth birth-days had passed; and the minds of the relations of
-Ralph and Harry grew more composed; although they still continued on the
-alert, to prevent them getting together over “a cup of drink.” It happened
-that Harry had a heavy crop of oats, in a large field, which were
-dead-ripe; and bad weather being expected, it was an object of importance
-with him to get the crop “cut and carried” as quickly as possible.
-According to the custom of the village, every farmer, who was not in a
-similar predicament, came, with such servants as he could spare, to assist
-his neighbour in distress. Ralph was one of the first in the field, and
-set so fine an example to his companions, that the oats were all down,
-long before sun-set The work was severe, the weather sultry, and the
-hospitable Harry did not grudge his cider during the day. Deep draughts
-had been quaffed, and Harry could not suffer his guests to depart, without
-a cup round of his best As they were about to quit the field, a
-grey-headed man unfortunately remarked, that they were standing on the
-spot where, on that day and hour, a great many years before, little Dick
-Hickory had killed old Reuben Blake. This produced a string of
-observations from various individuals of the party: the merits and
-demerits of the action were freely canvassed; the debate grew hot, and
-more cider was brought from the house. Ralph and Harry, naturally enough,
-joined in, and, at length, led the discussion. Ralph blamed Dick Hickory,
-and Harry applied several harsh epithets, in the warmth of the moment, to
-Reuben Blake. The cheeks of the spectators grew pale, as the cousins
-abruptly broke from the original argument, to abuse each other: a
-well-meant interference increased, rather than allayed, their rage; they
-cast the alarmed mediators aside, flew toward each other, and grappled:—as
-Ralph was rushing in, Harry crouched, lifted his cousin off the ground,
-and threw him completely over his head,—never to rise again!
-</p>
-<p>
-When his sorrowful companions brought home the body of poor Ralph, they
-found old Deborah repeating, in a low, shrill, and, as they afterwards
-said, unearthly tone, the rhymes of Matty Drew: but the last words of the
-third line died away on her lips; and when some of the family ceased, for
-a moment, to gaze on the livid face of Ralph, and turned toward the
-kitchen-hearth, they saw that Dame Deborah was dead in her chair.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/043s.jpg" alt="043s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/043.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/043m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-CADDY CUDDLE.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the second anniversary of their wedding-day, the Honourable Charles
-Caddy, and Lady Letitia, his high-born and beautiful wife, entertained a
-large party of guests at Caddy Castle. Until a few months previously to
-this event, the old building had been left nearly desolate, for a period
-of eleven or twelve years: a few domestics were its only inhabitants,
-except old Squire Caddy Caddy, its unfortunate owner, who had lost his
-wits, and was confined in one of its comfortable turrets, under the care
-of a couple of stout and wary keepers.
-</p>
-<p>
-The castle had recently been put in order for the reception of the
-Honourable Charles Caddy, a distant relation of, but next heir to, the
-lunatic, who was entrusted with the care of Caddy Caddy's property. He
-came down to Caddy Castle, with a determination of making himself popular
-in the neighbourhood; and began by giving invitations to all the gentlemen
-and ladies of respectability, within a circuit of several miles. A number
-of his own personal friends, and those of Lady Letitia, had followed them,
-shortly after their departure from town, to spend the Christmas holidays
-at Caddy Castle; so that the ancient edifice was by far more gay than it
-had ever been, even during the time when the once jovial Caddy Caddy was
-lord paramount in the halls of his ancestors.
-</p>
-<p>
-Among the guests assembled in honour of the day, was Mr. Caddy Cuddle, a
-quiet elderly bachelor, of small fortune, related, on his mother's side,
-to the Caddy family, who had been one of Caddy Caddy's most intimate
-associates, in former times. By order of the medical gentlemen who
-attended on Caddy Caddy, Mr. Cuddle, as well as all his old friends, had
-been denied access to the lunatic, from very proper motives, at the outset
-of his confinement Caddy Cuddle's cottage was eleven miles distant; the
-Castle had lost its chief attraction; and this was the first time he had
-been near it, for several years.
-</p>
-<p>
-In his younger days, Caddy Cuddle was of a very active and enterprising
-spirit; he shared the perils of his father's three last voyages, and
-would, in all probability, have made as good a seaman as old Herbert
-Cuddle himself, had it not been for the solicitude of his mother; who,
-losing her other two children rather suddenly, persuaded young Caddy that
-a life of ease, with sufficient to satisfy the desires of a moderate
-person, was preferable by far to the dangers attendant upon a chace after
-Fortune, on the perilous ocean. Caddy then amused himself by studying the
-learned languages; and, at length, as some of his simple neighbours said,
-had got them so completely at his fingers' ends, that it was a pity his
-parents had not made him a parson.
-</p>
-<p>
-He was simple, kind, and innocent of evil intentions, as it was possible
-for a man to be; but it was his misfortune, owing to his ignorance of that
-most useful of all sciences, a knowledge of the world, to touch the
-feelings of his host rather smartly, on several occasions, during the
-discourse that took place, over the bottle, among the guests at the
-Castle. Cuddle was naturally taciturn; but two or three extra glasses of
-wine produced their usual effect upon such a temperament, and rendered him
-too loquacious to be pleasant. The happiest hours of his life, were those
-which he had passed, above a dozen years before, at Caddy Castle; and he
-repeatedly alluded to his unhappy friend, poor Caddy Caddy,—the
-feats they had performed, the jokes they had cracked, the simple frolics
-they had enacted, and the songs they had sung together, over their ale and
-tobacco, in the good old days.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Honourable Charles Caddy felt particularly annoyed at the fact of his
-lunatic relation's confinement in the Castle,—which, perhaps rather
-in bad taste, he had made the scene of festivity,—being thus
-abruptly revealed to his fashionable visitors; but he was too well-bred to
-display the least symptom of his feelings. Watching, however, for an
-opportunity, when he might break in upon Cuddle's narratives, without
-palpably interrupting him, the Honourable Charles Caddy, adroitly, as he
-thought, started a subject, which, he imagined, would be at once
-interesting to his neighbours, and turn two or three of his metropolitan
-friends from listeners to talkers.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I have been looking over the common, this morning,” said he, “and it
-occurs to me, that, in a neighbourhood so opulent as ours, races might be
-established without much difficulty. The common would afford as pretty a
-two-mile course as any gentleman could desire. If such a thing were set on
-foot, I should be happy to lend it all the support in my power. I would
-take leave to offer a cup, to commence with; and I think I could answer
-for a plate from the county members. Indeed, it surprises me, rather, that
-the idea has not before occurred to some gentleman in the vicinity.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Cousin Caddy, it has!” exclaimed Cuddle; “our respected friend and
-relation, up stairs, gave away a dozen smock-frocks and a bundle of
-waggon-whips, for seven successive years; and would, doubtless, have done
-so to this day, had not his misfortune deprived him of the power. The
-prizes were contested for, regularly, on the second day of the fair,—which
-then took place on the common,—immediately after the pig with the
-greasy tail was caught; and the boys had eaten the hot rolls, sopped in
-treacle; and the women had wrestled for the new gown; and—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Women wrestle!” exclaimed one of the Honourable Charles Caddy's friends.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Cuddle is quite correct, sir,” replied young Tom Horner, who had
-lately come into possession of a snug estate in the neighbourhood; “I have
-seen them wrestle, in various other parts of the county, as well as on our
-common.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Never heard of such savages since the day I drew breath! Egad!—never,
-I protest!” said the gentleman who had interrupted Caddy Cuddle.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, it's bad enough, I must admit,” said Homer; “but I think I heard you
-boast that you were a man of Kent, just now, sir; and, as I am told, the
-women of that county play cricket-matches very frequently. Now, in my
-opinion, there is not a very great difference between a female match at
-cricket, on a common, and a feminine bout at wrestling, in a ring. In
-saying this, I beg to observe that I mean no offence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I take none; I protest I see no occasion,—no pretence for my taking
-umbrage.—I am not prepared to question the fact,”—added the
-speaker, turning toward his host; “not prepared to question the fact, you
-observe, after what has dropped from the gentleman; although, with
-permission, on behalf of the women of Kent, I take leave to declare, that
-I never heard of their indulging in such an amusement, before the
-gentleman mentioned it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, sir,” said Caddy Cuddle, who had been very impatient, all this
-time, to blazon the generosity and spirit of his friend, Caddy Caddy; “I
-was going on to state, that, after the gold-laced hat was grinned for,
-through a horse-collar; the pig was caught, and so forth,—the
-expense of all which pastimes Caddy Caddy bore;—the
-waggon-horse-race was run, for the whips and frocks.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A waggon-horse-race!” said the gentleman of Kent; “I beg pardon; did I
-hear you correctly?—Am I to understand you, as having positively
-said—a waggon-horse-race?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Certainly, sir,” said Tom Homer; “and capital sport it is: I have been
-twice to Newmarket, and once to Doncaster; I know a little about racing; I
-think it a noble, glorious, exhilarating sport; but, next to the first run
-I saw for the St Leger, I never was half so delighted with any thing, in
-the shape of racing, as when Billy Norman, who now keeps the west gate of
-Caddy Park here, exactly sixteen years ago, come August, won the whips on
-the common.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed!” simpered the gentleman of Kent, gazing at Tom Horner, as though
-he were a recently imported nondescript “Billy, on that occasion, rode
-most beautifully;” continued Horner; “he carried the day in fine style,
-coming in, at least seven lengths, behind all his competitors.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If I may be allowed,” observed the gentleman of Kent, “you would say, <i>before</i>.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not at all, sir; not at all;” exclaimed Caddy Cuddle; “draught horses are
-not esteemed as valuable in proportion to their speed: in the
-waggon-horse-race no man is allowed to jockey his own animal; the riders
-are armed with tremendous long whips; their object is to drive all their
-companions before them; he that gets in last, wins: and so, sir, they
-slash away at each other's horses;—then, sir, there's such shouting
-and bellowing; such kicking, rearing, whinnying, galloping, and
-scrambling, that it would do a man's heart good to look at it. Poor Caddy
-Caddy used to turn to me, and say, as well as his laughter would let him,—'What
-are your Olympic games,—your feats, and fine doings at the tombs of
-your old Greek heroes, that you prate about, compared with these, cousin
-Cuddle?'”
- </p>
-<p>
-The Honourable Charles Caddy smiled, and bit the inner part of his lip
-with vexation: he now tried to give the conversation another turn, and
-introduced the chase; thinking that it was a very safe subject, as Caddy
-Caddy had never kept a pack of hounds. “I feel very much inclined,” said
-he, “anxious as I am to forward the amusement of my neighbours, to run up
-a kennel, beyond the rookery, at the north end of the park,—where
-there is very good air, and a fine stream of water,—and invite my
-friend, Sir Harry Parton, to hunt this country, for a couple of months
-during the season. One of my fellows says, that there are not only numbers
-of foxes in the neighbourhood, but what is still better, a few,—a
-very few,—of those stags, about which we have heard so much. I think
-I have influence enough with Sir Harry to persuade him; at all events,
-I'll invite him; and if he should have other existing engagements, I
-pledge myself,—that is, if such a step would be agreeable,—to
-hunt the country myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Our respected and unfortunate friend, cousin Caddy,” said Cuddle, “had a
-little pack of dogs—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A pack of <i>dogs</i>, indeed, they were, Mr. Cuddle,” interrupted young
-Horner; “five or six couple of curs, that lurked about the Castle,
-gentlemen, which we used sometimes to coax down to the river, and spear or
-worry an otter; and, now and then, wheedle away to the woods, at midnight,
-for a badger-hunt, after drinking more ale than we well knew how to carry.
-I was a boy then, but I could drink ale by the quart.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay!” exclaimed Caddy Cuddle, “those were famous times! 'Tis true, I
-never went out with you, but 1 recollect very well how I enjoyed poor
-Caddy Caddy's animated descriptions of the badger-hunt, when he came
-back.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! then you hunted <i>badgers</i>, did you?” said the gentleman of Kent
-to Tom Horner, in a sneering tone, that produced a titter all round the
-table. “Yes, sir,—we hunted badgers,” replied Tom; “and capital
-sport it is, too, in default of better.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I dare say it is,” said the gentleman of Kent.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Allow me to tell you then, sir, that there is really good sport in
-badger-hunting; it is a fine, irregular sort of pastime, unfettered by the
-systematic rules of the more aristocratic sports. The stag-hunt and the
-fox-chase, are so shackled with old ordinances and covert-side statutes,
-that they remind me of one of the classical dramas of the French: a
-badger-hunt is of the romantic school;—free as air, wild as mountain
-breezes;—joyous, exhilarating, uncurbed, and natural as one of our
-Shakspeare's plays. Barring an otter-hunt, (and what's better still,
-according to Caddy Cuddle's account, who has been in the North Seas, the
-spearing of a whale,) there are few sports that suit my capacity of
-enjoyment, so well as badger-bagging.—Just picture to yourself, that
-you have sent in a keen terrier, no bigger than a stout fitchet, or
-thereabouts, to ascertain that the badger is not within; that you have
-cleverly bagged the hole, and stuck the end of the mouth-line in the fist
-of a patient, but wary and dexterous clod-hopper; (an old, lame,
-broken-down, one-eyed gamekeeper, is the best creature on earth for such
-an office;)—and then, what do you do?—Why, zounds! every body
-takes his own course, with or without dogs, as it may happen; hunting,
-yelping, hallooing, and beating every brake for half a mile, or more,
-round, to get scent of the badger. Imagine the moon, 'sweet huntress of
-yon azure plain,' is up, and beaming with all her brilliancy; the trees
-beautifully basking in her splendour; her glance streaming through an
-aperture in an old oak, caused by the fall of a branch, by lightning, or
-bluff Boreas, and fringing the mallow-leaf with silver; the nightingale,
-in the brake, fascinating your ear; the glow-worm delighting your eye:—you
-stand, for a moment, motionless;—the bat whirrs above your head and
-the owl, unaccustomed to the sight of man, in such deep solitudes, flaps,
-fearless, so near as to fan your glowing forehead with his wings:—when
-suddenly you hear a shout,—a yell,—two or three such
-exclamations as—'There a' ees!'—'Thic's he!'—'At'un,
-Juno!'—'Yonder a goath!'—'Hurrah!'—'Vollow un up!'—'Yaw
-awicks!' and 'Oh! my leg!'—You know by this, that 'the game's a
-foot;'—you fly to the right or left, as the case may be, skimming
-over furzy brake, like a bird, and wading through tangled briar, as a pike
-would, through the deeps of a brook, after a trout that is lame of a fin.
-You reach the scene of action; the badger is before, half a score of tykes
-around, and the yokels behind you.—'Hark forward! have at him!' you
-enthusiastically cry; your spirits are up;—you are buoyant—agile
-as a roe-buck;—your legs devour space—you—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dear fellow, allow me to conclude,” interrupted Caddy Cuddle, “for
-your prose Pegasus never can carry you through the hunt at this rate. To
-be brief, then,—according to what I have heard from my
-never-to-be-sufficiently-lamented friend, Caddy Caddy,—the badger,
-when found, immediately makes for his earth: if he reach it without being
-picked up and taken, he bolts in at the entrance; the bag receives him;
-its mouth is drawn close by the string; and thus the animal is taken.—But,
-odds! while I talk of those delights, which were the theme of our
-discourse in the much-regretted days of Caddy Caddy, I forget that time is
-on the wing.—I suppose no one is going my way.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am,” replied Tom Homer, “in about three hours' time.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay! you're younger, friend Homer, than I have been these fifteen
-years,” said Cuddle; “time was, before Caddy Caddy lost his wits, when he
-and I have sat over midnight together, as merry as crickets; but since his
-misfortune, I have become a very altered man. '<i>Primâ nocte domum claude</i>—that
-has been my motto for years past Mrs. Watermark, my good housekeeper, is,
-I feel convinced, already alarmed; and it would not become me, positively
-to terrify her: besides, I am not on very intimate terms with my horse,
-which I borrowed from my friend, Anthony Mutch, of Mallow Hill, for this
-occasion: the roads, too, have been so cut and carved about, by the
-Commissioners,—doubtless, for very wise purposes,—since poor
-Caddy Caddy's time, that I had much ado to find my way in the broad
-day-light; and these spectacles, I must needs say, although I reverence
-the donor, are not to be depended on, so implicitly as I could wish. Let
-me see—ay—'tis now twelve years ago, from my last birth-day,
-since they were presented to me; and, believe me, I 've never had the
-courage to wear them before. I hate changing,—especially of
-spectacles; I should not have put them on now—confound them!—had
-it not been for Mrs. Watermark, who protested my others were not fit to be
-seen in decent society.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Under the circumstances you have mentioned,” said the Honourable Charles
-Caddy, “I must press you to accept of a bed. Pray, make the Castle your
-own; you will confer an obligation on me by remaining.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Cousin Caddy,” replied Cuddle, rising from his seat, and approaching his
-host, whose hand he took between both his own; “I rejoice to find so
-worthy a successor of poor Caddy Caddy, master of Caddy Castle. It would
-be most pleasing to me, if it were possible, to remain; and, I do protest,
-that I positively would, were it not for the feelings of Mrs. Watermark,—a
-most worthy and valuable woman,—who is now, perhaps, sitting on
-thorns on my account But I feel so grateful to you,—so happy in your
-society, that I will actually quaff another bumper, previously to taking
-my stirrup-cup; yea, and truly, were honest Jack Cole—old king Cole,
-as we used to cadi him, in Caddy Caddy's days,—were Jack here, with
-his fine bass voice, I would actually proffer a stave or so,—say,
-for instance, the Dialogue between Time and the Drinkers,—if Tom
-Horner would chime in, as he used to do when a boy, here, in this very
-room, with honest Jack, poor Caddy Caddy, and my-self, in times past—Honest
-Jack! most excellent Jack! rare king Cole! would he were here!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I should be sorry, cousin,” said the Honourable Charles Caddy, “to have
-omitted, in my invitation-list, the name of so respectable and staunch a
-friend of our family, as Mr. Cole, of Colebrook. If I do not mistake, he
-sits immediately below my friend Wilmot, at the next table; I regret that
-I have not had an opportunity of making myself more known to him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Jack! honest Jack!” exclaimed Cuddle; “old king Cole, here, and I not
-know it?—Little Jack, that's silent as the grave, except when he
-thunders in a glee!—Where, cousin? Oddsbird! eh?—Jack, where
-are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Here am I, Caddy,” replied a diminutive old gentleman, with a remarkably
-drowsy-looking eye; “I thought you were not going to accost me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The deep and sonorous tone in which these words were spoken, startled
-those who sat near old Cole: they gazed at him, and seemed to doubt if the
-sounds they had heard really emanated from the lungs of so spare and puny
-a personage. Cuddle crossed his arms on his breast, and exclaimed, “And is
-it, indeed, my friend Jack Cole?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't you know me, when I speak even?” growled old Cole, “or d'ye think
-somebody has borrowed my voice?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“'Tis Jack, himself!” cried Cuddle; “honest Jack! and I did not see him!—These
-glasses I cannot help stigmatizing as an egregious nuisance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, Mr. Cole, what say you, will you join us?” inquired Homer.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No, sir,” replied Cole; “sing by yourself; one ass at a time is bad
-enough; but three braying together, are insupportable.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The same man,—the same man as ever;” exclaimed Cuddle, apparently
-very much pleased;—“begin, Homer;—you know his way;—he
-can't resist, when his bar comes. He had always these crotchets;—begin,
-my boy; I will pledge myself that he falls in with the stream of the
-tune.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Horner and Cuddle now commenced the glee; and, as the latter had
-predicted, Cole, after closing his eyes, throwing himself back in his
-chair, and making sundry wry faces, trowled forth the first reply, and
-afterwards, all the other responses of old Father Time, in the following
-verses.—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Whither away! old Father Time?
-Ah! whither dost thou run?”—
-“Low,—low,
-I've a mob to mow;
-My work is never done.”
-
-“Tarry awhile with us, old Time,
-And lay thy scythe aside!”—
-“Nay!—nay!
-'Tis a busy day;
-My work it lieth wide.”
-
-“Tell us, we pray thee, why, old Time,
-Thou look'st so pale and glum?”—
-Fie!—fie!
-“I evermore sigh,
-'Eternity, oh! come!'”
-
-“Art thou, then, tired, old Father Time?
-Thy labour dost thou rue?”—
-“Long,—long,
-Has it been my song,—
-'Could I but die like you!'”
-
-“Tell us, then, when, old Father Time,
-We may expect thy death!”—
-“That morn Eternity's born,
-Receives my parting breath.”
-
-“And what's eternity, Father Time?
-We pray thee, tell us now!”—
-“When men
-Are dead, it is then Eternity they know.”
-
-“Come, fill up thy glass, old Father Time,
-And clog its sands with wine!”—
-“No, no;
-They would faster flow,
-And distil tears of brine!”
- </pre>
-<p>
-Caddy Cuddle, at the conclusion of these verses, took possession of a
-vacant chair, by the side of old Cole, and soon forgot that there was such
-a being as Mrs. Watermark in existence. He quaffed bumper after bumper
-with honest Jack;—an hour passed very pleasantly away in talking of
-old times;—and Cuddle wondered to find himself slightly intoxicated.
-He immediately rose, took his leave rather uncourteously, and went out,
-muttering something about “eleven miles,” and “Mother Watermark.” In a few
-minutes, he was mounted, and trotting toward the park gate which opened on
-the high road. “A fine night, Billy Norman;—a fine night, Billy;”
- said Cuddle, as he rode through, to the old gatekeeper; “pray, Billy, what
-say you? Don't you think they have cut the roads up cruelly, of late
-years?—Here's half a crown, Billy.—What with planting, and
-enclosing, and road-making, I scarcely know the face of the country; it's
-as puzzling as a labyrinth.—Good night, Billy!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Cuddle, who was a tolerably bold rider, for a man of his years, now struck
-his horse rather forcibly, with his heels, and urged him at once into a
-brisk hand-gallop.
-</p>
-<p>
-“He hath a spur in his head,” said Billy Norman to himself, as Cuddle
-disappeared down the road; “I hope nought but good may happen him; for
-he's one of the right sort, if he had it.” The roads were dry and hard,
-the air serene, and Billy stood listening, for a few minutes, to the
-sounds of the horse's feet; he soon felt convinced, by the cadences, that
-Caddy Cuddle was increasing, rather than diminishing, his speed. The beat
-of the hoofs became, at length, barely audible; it gradually died away;
-and Norman was going in to light his pipe, when he thought he heard the
-sounds again. He put his hand behind his ear, held his breath, and, in a
-few moments, felt satisfied that Caddy Cuddle had taken the wrong turning,
-and was working back, by a circular route, toward Caddy Castle again. As
-he approached nearer, Norman began to entertain apprehensions that
-Cuddle's horse had run away with him, in consequence of the violent pace,
-at which, it was clear, from the sound of its feet, that the animal was
-going. Norman stepped off the pathway into the road, and prepared to hail
-Cuddle, as he passed, and ascertain, if possible, what really was the
-matter. The horse and his rider came on nearly at full speed, and Norman
-shouted, with all his might,—“Holloa! hoy! stop!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I carry arms! I carry arms!” cried Cuddle, urging his horse forward with
-all his might.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Zauns!” exclaimed Norman, “he takes I for a highwayman!—He must ha'
-mistook the road, that's certain; the horse can't ha' run away wi' un, or
-a'uldn't kick un so.—Sailor, you be out o' your latitude.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The circle, which Caddy Cuddle had made, was about two miles in
-circumference: he went precisely in the same direction again, without, in
-the least, suspecting his error; and having, as he thought, mastered four
-miles of his road homeward, and given his horse a tolerable breathing, he
-began to pull up by degrees, as he, for the second time, approached the
-little rustic lodge of Caddy Park, from which he had issued at his
-departure. Norman again hailed him, for he felt tolerably satisfied that
-Caddy carried no other arms than those with which Nature had endowed him.
-Caddy now knew the voice, and pulled up:—“Who's there?” said he; “A
-friend, I think; for I remember your tone.—Who are you, honest man?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Heaven help us, Mr. Cuddle!” exclaimed Norman, “Are'ee mad, sir, or how?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, nipperkins! Norman, is it you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, truly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how got you here?—I thought nothing had passed me on the road.
-Where are you going, honest Norman?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Going!—I be going no-where,” replied the gate-keeper; “I be here,
-where you left me. Why, doant'ee know, that you ha' been working round and
-round, just like a horse in a mill?—And after all this
-helter-skelter work, here you be, just where you were!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“D—n the spectacles, then!” said Cuddle; “and confound all
-innovators!—Why couldn't they let the country alone?—I've
-taken the wrong turning, I suppose?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yeas,—I reckon't must be summat o' that kind:—there be four
-to the right, out o' the strait road, across the common; the three first
-do bring'ee round this way, t'other takes'ee home:—but, odds! Muster
-Cuddle! do'ee get off!—Here be a girth broke,—and t'other as
-old as my hat, and half worn through, as'tis.—Oh! you must go back;
-you must, truly, go back to the stables, and put the tackle in order.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Cuddle seemed rather loath to return, but old Norman was inflexible: he
-led the horse inside the gate, which he safely locked, and put the key in
-his pocket, and then hobbled along, by the side of Caddy, toward the
-stables. As he passed the outer door of the house, he whispered to the
-porter, his fears for Cuddle's safety, if he were suffered to depart
-again, and begged that the porter would contrive to let his master be made
-acquainted with the circumstance of Caddy's ride.
-</p>
-<p>
-The information was immediately conveyed to the dining-room, and
-half-a-dozen gentlemen, with the Honourable Charles Caddy at their head,
-immediately proceeded to the stables, where they found Cuddle, perspiring
-very copiously, and endeavouring to obtain information for his guidance,
-in his contemplated journey, from those, who were, from the same cause, as
-incapable of giving, as Cuddle was of following, correct directions. The
-Honourable Charles Caddy, in spite of his good breeding, could not help
-laughing, when he heard Cuddle's account of the affair; but he very
-judiciously insisted on Cuddle's remaining at the Castle until morning.
-Caddy vowed that he would acquiesce only on one condition; which was, that
-a servant should be immediately dispatched to his cottage, to allay the
-fears of Mrs. Watermark; and that such servant should be specially
-enjoined, not to blab a word of his mishap, to the good old gentlewoman.
-“If he should,” said Cuddle, “Mrs. Watermark will be terrified, and we
-shall have her here before morning, even if she walk all the way.”
- </p>
-<p>
-It was in vain that the Honourable Charles Caddy and his visitors
-entreated Caddy Cuddle to return to the table; he preferred retiring to
-rest at once. “You must put up with one of the ancient bed-rooms, cousin
-Cuddle,” said the Honourable Charles Caddy; “but you fear no ghosts, I
-apprehend?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nipperkins! not I!” replied Cuddle. “If I am to sleep out of my own bed,
-I care not if you place me in the most alarming room in the Castle. To
-confess the truth,—but this under the rose, cousin,—I feel a
-touch of the influence of Bacchus, and '<i>dulce periculum est,</i>' you
-know, when that's the case.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The bed-chamber to which Cuddle was consigned, still retained its tapestry
-hangings; and the good man quivered, either with cold, or at the solemn
-appearance of the room, when he entered it. A very prominent figure in the
-arras actually appeared to move, as Cuddle sat down in a capacious old
-chair, at the right-hand side of the bed, to undress himself. After gazing
-earnestly at it, for a moment, with his stockings half drawn off, he
-corrected himself for indulging in so ridiculous a fancy:—“None of
-these Pygmalion freaks,” said he; “none of your Promethean tricks, Mr.
-Imagination of mine: and yet, perhaps, I am accusing you wrongfully, and
-these mischievous glasses have endowed yonder figure with seeming
-vitality; I hope I may not break them, in a-pet, before I get home.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Caddy Cuddle was one of those unfortunate beings who accustom themselves
-to read in bed; and who, from long habit, can no more compose themselves
-to sleep, without perusing a few pages, in their night-gear, than some
-others can without a good supper, or a comfortable potation. Caddy
-discovered two or three old, worm-eaten books, in a small table drawer,
-and selected that one which was printed in the largest type, for his
-perusal, when recumbent. It was a volume of tracts, on geomancy,
-astrology, and necromancy. Cuddle read it with avidity, and by the time
-the small piece of candle, with which he had been furnished, was burnt
-out, he had filled his brain with images of imps and familiars. Finding
-himself, suddenly, in utter darkness, he laid down the book; and then,
-turning himself on his back, very soon fell asleep No man, perhaps, ever
-kept a log-book of his dreams; ant yet, such an article would certainly be
-more amusing than many an honest gentleman's diary; for there are persons
-in the work whose waking adventures are as dull and monotonous as the
-ticking of a clock, while their biography in bed,—their nightly
-dreams,7—if correctly narrated, would, in some cases, be exceedingly
-droll; and, in others, insupportably pathetic. The happiest people by
-day-light, often suffer agonies by night; a man who would not harm a worm,
-with his eyes open, sometimes commits murder, and actually endures all the
-misery of being taken, tried, convicted, and half executed, in
-imagination, while he lies snug, snoring, and motionless, beneath a pair
-of Witney blankets. It is rash to say that any individual is, or, at
-least, ought to be, happy, until we ascertain how he dreams. A very
-excellent country 'squire, in the west of England, was once told, by a
-person of discrimination, that he appeared to be the most comfortable man
-in existence:—“Your desires are within your means;”—thus the
-squire was addressed;—“your wife is most charming in temper,
-manners, and person; your affection is mutual; your children are every
-thing that a parent could wish; your life has been so irreproachable, that
-you must be as easy in mind as it is possible for a man to be: no one
-bears you malice; on the contrary, every body blesses you: your house and
-your park are delightful; you are most felicitous, even in your servants
-and cattle; you are naturally—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“True, true, to the letter,” impatiently interrupted the 'squire; “but
-what's all the world to a man who, without why or wherefore, dreams that
-he's with old Nick every night of his life?” Caddy Cuddle was not much
-addicted to dreaming; but, on the night he slept in the ancient room, at
-Caddy Castle, he felt satisfied, as he afterward said, that in the course
-of a few hours, his imagination was visited with fantasies enough to fill
-a volume; although he could not recollect, with any distinctness, even one
-of them, half an hour after he awoke. The moon was shining full upon the
-window, and making the chamber almost as light as day, with her radiance,
-when Caddy opened his eyes, after his first sleep, to satisfy himself, by
-the view of some familiar object, that he was not among the strange
-creatures of whom he had been dreaming. Perched upon his nose,—threatening
-it with whip, as Caddy saw, and galling it with spur, as Caddy felt,—he
-beheld an imp, whose figure was, at once, more grotesque and horrible,
-than any of those which had flitted before his mind's eye, during his
-slumbers! The creature seemed to be staring at him with terrific
-impudence, and jockeying his feature, as though it were actually capable
-of running a race. Caddy's eye-balls were almost thrust out of their
-sockets with dismay; his nether-jaw dropped, and he groaned deeply, under
-the influence of the visible nose-night-mare with which he was afflicted.
-For more than a minute, Caddy was incapable of moving either of his limbs;
-but he summoned up resolution enough, at last, to close his eyes, and make
-a clutch at the fiend, that rode his nose in the manner above described.
-With a mingled feeling of surprise, mortification, and joy, he found the
-nose-night-mare to be his spectacles!—He had gone to sleep without
-removing them from his nose; and, by tumbling and tossing to and fro, in
-his dreams, he had displaced, and twisted them, sufficiently, to assume a
-position and form, that might have alarmed a man of stouter nerves than
-Caddy Cuddle, on awaking in the middle of a moonlight night, after
-dreaming of more monsters than the German authors have ever located on
-Walpurgis Night in the Hartz.
-</p>
-<p>
-Caddy tried to compose himself to sleep again; but grew restless,
-feverish, and very uncomfortable: he beat up his pillow, shook his bed,
-smoothed his sheets, walked several times up and down the room, and then
-lay down again;—determined, at least, to doze. But Morpheus had
-taken leave of him; and Caddy, at last, resolved on dressing himself,
-going down to the kitchen, and, as he had tobacco about him, to smoke a
-pipe, if he could find one, clean or dirty. He attributed his want of rest
-to not having indulged in his usual sedative luxury, before going to bed;
-and very resolutely taxed himself with the commission of an egregious
-folly, for having drank more than he ought. Anthony Mutch's horse, and the
-Commissioners of the roads, he very copiously abused, while dressing
-himself: the spectacles were, however, the grand objects of his
-indignation; but, bad as they were, he conceived that it was necessary to
-coax them into shape again, and mount them on his nose, previously to
-attempting, what he deemed, the perilous descent, from his chamber, which
-was on the third floor, to the kitchen below. Caddy, however, was too well
-acquainted with the topography of the house, to incur much danger:
-moreover, the moon beamed with such brilliancy, through the glass dome
-that lighted the great circular staircase of Caddy Castle, that a man,
-much more short-sighted than our hero, might have gone safely from the top
-to the bottom, without the assistance of glasses.
-</p>
-<p>
-In a hole in the kitchen chimney, Caddy found two or three short pipes; he
-congratulated himself on the discovery, and immediately filled one of them
-from his pouch. The Castle was now as quiet as the grave; and no soul, but
-Caddy himself, seemed to be stirring. He felt rather surprised to see the
-stone floor of the kitchen, for above a yard from the chimney, covered
-with embers of expiring logs, while the hearth itself was “dark as
-Erebus.” Caddy Cuddle, however, did not trouble himself much about this
-circumstance: he had often seen the kitchen in a similar condition, after
-a frolic, in Caddy Caddy's time; and very gravely lighting his pipe, he
-deposited himself on a warm iron tripod,—which had been standing on
-the hearth, probably, the whole evening,—in preference to a cold oak
-chair. The kitchen was comfortable, notwithstanding it was dark, (for the
-embers, as we have already stated, were expiring, and Caddy was without a
-candle,) and he smoked the pipe so much to his satisfaction, that he
-determined to enjoy another. Kicking the bits of burning wood together, as
-he sat, in order to light his tobacco, he, unintentionally, produced a
-little blaze, which proved rather disastrous to him:—as he stooped
-to light the pipe, he heard a noise, that attracted his attention; Caddy
-looked about, and, on the spacious hearth, beheld something, that bore a
-rude similitude to a human figure!
-</p>
-<p>
-Caddy was rather alarmed; and he uttered an exclamation, which seemed to
-rouse the object of his fears. It raised itself on its hands, and after
-staring Caddy full in the face, as he afterwards stated, began to uncoil
-itself, and, at length, rose, and stood, tolerably terrified, to judge
-from appearances, gazing at the odd-looking figure which Caddy cut, with
-his night-cap, spectacles, and pipe, on the large iron tripod. Cuddle now
-perceived that his companion, although of masculine frame, was arrayed in
-female habiliments, which were black as the exterior of an old stew-pan.
-It was Martha Jones, the scullion, a Welsh girl, who, whenever she could,
-indulged herself with a night's rest, in her clothes, on the warm hearth
-of Caddy Castle kitchen, instead of a comfortable bed in one of its
-turrets. On these occasions, she previously swept the embers from the
-hearth to the stone floor; as Caddy Cuddle had found them, on entering to
-smoke his pipe. She was indulged in these and a few other odd vagaries, on
-account of her excellence as an under-strapper to the cook, who frequently
-said, that she could, and would, do more work in one day, than a brace of
-the ordinary run of scullions did in a week. Martha possessed a pair of
-immense muscular arms, which resembled, in hue, the outer leaf of a
-frost-bitten red cabbage: her cheeks were of the same colour, when clean;
-and shone, after a recent ablution, as though they had been smeared with
-bees-wax and turpentine, and polished by means of a furniture-brush. Caddy
-Cuddle, in his subsequent description of Martha, said, that her hair was
-jetty as a black cart-horse's tail;—her lips pouted like a pair of
-black puddings; and her eye,—for truth to say, she had but one,—was
-as fiery and frightful as that of a Cyclops. Martha's features were,
-however, though large, remarkably well-formed; and more than one
-ploughman, in the neighbourhood, already sighed to make her a bride.
-</p>
-<p>
-After Martha had gazed, for more than a minute, at Caddy Cuddle, who
-ceased to puff, and almost to breathe, from the moment the scullion had
-first begun to move, she burst out into a loud fit of laughter, in which
-she indulged for some time;—occasionally stirring and raking the
-embers on the floor together, to create a better blaze, in order that she
-might enjoy a full view of Caddy Cuddle, who was now quite as ludicrous in
-her estimation, as she had been terrible in his. Cuddle, at last, waxed
-wroth; threw his pipe on the floor; thrust one of his hands beneath the
-breast of his waistcoat; placed the other behind him, under the tail of
-his coat, which he considerably elevated by the action; and, in this, as
-he deemed, most imposing attitude, asked Martha how she dared to insult
-one of her master's guests in that manner.—“Stand aside,” continued
-he, “and let me withdraw to my chamber, woman!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ooman!” cried the scullion, ceasing to laugh in an instant, and putting
-on rather an alarming frown:—“Ooman!—her name is Martha Jones,
-and no more a—Yes, her is a ooman, though, tat's true;—but
-Martha Jones is her name, and her will not be called ooman py nopoty, look
-you; that is what her will not—Ooman, inteet! Cot pless her! To live
-six long years in the kitchen of 'Squire Morgan, and one pesides, at
-'Squire Caddy's, with a coot character, and her own aunt a laty, to be
-called 'ooman,' py a little man in a white night-cap! look you, I sall tie
-first!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Caddy Cuddle's experience with the woman-kind, at our excellent friend,
-Jonathan Oldbuck ycleps the fair part of the creation, was very limited:
-he had read of heroines, in the Latin and Greek authors; spoken to a few
-demi-savages, when a boy, during his nautical adventures in foreign parts;
-occasionally chucked a dairymaid under the chin, when <i>Bacchi plenus</i>,
-in the reign of Caddy Caddy, at Caddy Castle; and had a few quarrels with
-his housekeeper, Mrs. Watermark. He was of opinion, from what he had
-witnessed, that a little flattery was of sovereign virtue with the sex;
-and, in order to escape from Martha's clutches, of which he felt in
-considerable awe, Caddy Cuddle essayed to soothe and allay the fever into
-which he had thrown the scullion by calling her a woman, with a few
-compliments. But, like all inexperienced persons, Caddy Cuddle could not
-hit the golden mean; he overstepped the mark so much, as to make honest
-Martha imagine that he really admired her. Caddy was not aware to what an
-extent his flattery was leading him: he plumed himself on his tact and
-discretion, when Martha's face began to relax into a smile; launched
-boldly into hyperbole, as soon as she curtsied at his compliments; and, in
-order to effect a dashing retreat, by a bold <i>coup-de-main</i>, attacked
-the enemy with a brigade of classical metaphors. The scullion could hold
-out no longer; she strode over the intervening embers; clutched Cuddle in
-her colossal grasp; and, in an instant, she was seated on the tripod which
-he had previously occupied, with the very alarmed little gentleman perched
-upon her knee.
-</p>
-<p>
-The nose-night-mare was a trifle, in Cuddle's estimation, compared with
-what he now endured: he struggled, and roared with all his might-called
-Martha Jones, “Circe, Canidia, Scylla, Medea, Harpy, Polyphemus, and Witch
-of Edmonton,” without the least effect: she seemed to consider all these
-appellatives as endearing epithets, and kissed Caddy, so vehemently, that
-he thought his heart would break.
-</p>
-<p>
-And it was not merely the warmth of the scullion's gratitude or affection—whichever
-it might be—that so discomposed Caddy Cuddle; Martha, in striding
-across the blazing embers, had ignited her greasy, and, consequently, very
-combustible apparel; and although she, in her raptures, seemed to be quite
-unconscious of the circumstance, Caddy Cuddle felt that the incipient
-flame had begun to singe his stockings. At length, Mistress Martha
-herself, became, somehow or other, cognizant of the fact; and she
-instantly threw Caddy Cuddle off her knee, shrieked like an infuriated
-maniac, snatched up the kitchen poker, and flourished it about Caddy's
-head, threatening him, by her actions, with immediate annihilation; as
-though he, good innocent man, had been the cause of the combustion.
-</p>
-<p>
-Luckily for Caddy and the scullion, their <i>tete-a-tete</i> had been so
-boisterous, as to have alarmed the Castle; and the French cook, with two
-or three other men-servants, burst into the kitchen at a very critical
-instant both for Caddy and Miss Jones. A bucket of water, dexterously
-applied by the coachman, quenched the blazing petticoats, and somewhat
-allayed the fiery heart of the scullion; who retreated behind a pile of
-pots and kettles. While Caddy apostrophized the cook, Martha was loud in
-vituperation; the men-servants were noisy as Bedlamites; and the <i>cuisinier</i>
-himself, a recently imported Frenchman, imprecated, very loudly, in his
-own language,—consigning Caddy, the scullion, coachman, and his
-fellow-domestics, with all other the English people, past, present, and to
-come, in one lot, to the care of King Pluto and his sable adherents.
-Alarmed at the uproar, the guests at Caddy Castle came in by twos and
-threes, and, in a few minutes, the kitchen was thronged.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Honourable Charles Caddy had scarcely closed his eyes, when the
-exclamations, from Caddy Cuddle and the scullion, reached his ears; the
-lovely Lady Letitia having amused herself by giving him a curtain lecture,
-of some two hours' duration, after they had retired, on his gross and most
-apparent gallantry to the plainest woman among the visitors at the Castle.
-He leaped out of bed, on hearing the noise, rather to escape from the
-dulcet abuse of his beautiful better-half, than from any strong feelings
-of interest or curiosity; and, as soon as he could make himself fit to be
-seen, hurried toward the place of declamation. There he found Caddy
-Cuddle, encircled by twenty or thirty people, (who, although they were his
-guests, and had dined with him, he positively did not know in their
-night-caps,) exclaiming, prodigiously, against the scullion, and
-endeavouring, by dint of vociferation, to prove that he was not at all to
-blame.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Honourable Charles Caddy soon cleared the kitchen, when he found that
-nothing of consequence had occurred: the guests and servants retired; and
-Caddy Cuddle, after making several apologies and protestations of
-innocence, whatsoever the scullion might say of him, to his cousin, took
-up a candle, which somebody had left on the dresser, and marched off to
-the staircase. The Honourable Charles Caddy, who had detained the cook,
-now inquired who and what the creature of darkness was behind the
-saucepans; and while the cook was explaining, and Martha Jones was giving
-most excellent account of herself, Caddy Cuddle proceeded toward his
-bed-chamber. As he passed Lady Letitia's door, he knocked, and whispered,
-through the key-hole, a long string of apologies, in which he was
-interrupted by the lady's husband; who, after politely marshalling him to
-his room, made him a most ceremonious and courtly bow, and wished him a
-very excellent good night.
-</p>
-<p>
-Caddy paced two or three times up and down the room, lamenting his
-misfortunes, and inwardly vowing never to quit his cottage for a castle
-again. He was so anxious not to disturb the household, that he neither
-stamped on the floor, nor groaned audibly; but rather “stepped a-tip-toe,”
- from the window to the fire-place, and thence to the window again,
-scarcely breathing as he moved. Finding but little relief from this state
-of constraint, he threw himself on the old chair that stood on the
-right-hand side of the bed, and began to recover a little of his usual
-good humour. He reviewed the circumstances which had happened during the
-night; and they now presented themselves in so droll a light to Caddy's
-mind, that he could not help smiling at his mishaps, and proceeded to
-unbutton his waistcoat All at once, the remembrance of the moving tapestry
-flashed across him, and his eye was instantly fixed on the figure that had
-alarmed him, previous to his retiring to rest “Surely,” thought he, “it
-could not have been imagination, for it moveth, even now, most palpably!—or
-my visionary organs are singularly impaired;—or these new spectacles
-lead me into very unpleasant errors. Would that I had never accepted
-them!” He removed the suspected offenders from his nose, wiped them
-carefully with the tail of his coat, and was going to put them on again,
-when a tall, stout-built person, slipped out from behind the arras, and
-advanced, with hasty steps, toward him, exclaiming, “Soho! friend Caddy
-Cuddle, you're come at last!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, in the name of all that's good, art thou?” exclaimed Caddy, feeling
-surprised that he was not more frightened;—“who art thou?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't you know me, Caddy?” said the intruder, laying his hand on Cuddle's
-arm; who was very much pleased to feel that his visitor possessed the
-property of tangibility, and was, therefore, no ghost.—“Don't you
-know me, Caddy?” repeated the figure, in rather a reproachful tone.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I dare say I should, sir, if you would permit me to put on my spectacles,—bad
-as they are,” replied Caddy; “and if you'd step back a yard or two, so as
-to get, as it were, at the proper focus of my sight:—suppose you
-take a chair.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The tall man retreated some paces, and Caddy put on his spectacles:—“Now,
-sir,” said he, “we shall see:—Where are you?—Oh! I perceive—Why,
-bless my soul, sir—is it—can it be? Are these glasses really
-playing me tricks? or have I, in truth, leaped out of the frying-pan into
-the fire?—You surely can't be my very unfortunate and most respected
-friend, Caddy Caddy, of Caddy Castle!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The same,” replied the tall old man, with a sigh:—“Caddy Caddy,
-sir, of Caddy Castle.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how the nipperkins did you break loose?” cried Cuddle, rising from
-the chair, and advancing two or three steps.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Where now, where now, sir?” said Caddy Caddy, taking a gentle hold of
-Cuddle's arm:—“Where now, friend Cuddle?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Where?—why, to the door, doubtless!—Am I doomed to do nothing
-but alarm the castle?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Alarm the castle!” exclaimed Caddy Caddy; “are you out of your senses?
-why, they'd lock me up, man, if you did.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be sure they would, and that's precisely what I want them to do.—My
-dear sir, I beg pardon; I wouldn't give offence I'm sure,—neither to
-you nor the people of the Castle; but I can't help it.—You must
-allow me to give the alarm.—I cannot submit to be shut up with a
-madman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So, then, you join in the slander, do you?” said Caddy Caddy; “Cuddle,
-you hurt me to the soul!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, well,—my dear friend,—my respected friend,—I am
-sorry I said so;—it was but in joke.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Cuddle,” replied Caddy, “I was ruined by a joke:—somebody called me
-a madman, in jest; the rest of the world joined in the cry, though it was
-a fool who gave tongue; and, at last, they ran me down; proved, to their
-own satisfaction, that I was out of my wits, for being in a passion with,
-and turning upon, those who were hunting me. Nothing is more easy than to
-prove a man mad:—begin, by throwing a slur upon his mental sanity;
-watch him narrowly; view all he does with a jaundiced eye; rake up a score
-of facts, which occurred a year apart,—facts that are really
-frolics, freaks, whims, vagaries, or what you will, of the like nature;
-place them all together, and the business is done; you make as fine a
-picture of lunacy as a man would wish to look at. I assure you, Caddy
-Cuddle, I am no more a lunatic than you are,—take my word for it; so
-sit down and tune the fiddle.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Fiddle! what?—where?—which fiddle?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! they allow me my fiddle; I should go crazy in earnest without that I
-left it behind the arras;—come—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come! come where?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come and fetch it,” said Caddy, dragging Cuddle toward the place from
-which he had issued.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Nipperkins, cousin!” cried Cuddle, “go and get it yourself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no,” replied the other, with a knowing look; “If I were to do so,
-you'd slip out, while my back was turned, and raise the Castle. I've had
-trouble enough to elude their vigilance, during the bustle, to lose my
-liberty so easily again. By-and-bye, we'll go down stairs together, and
-break open the cellar;—it's all my own, you know, if right was cock
-of the walk. I'm for gamocks and junketting, I forewarn you, and we'll
-have a jolly night of it.” By this time, Caddy had approached the arras,
-with Cuddle fast in his clutch; he stooped down, and drawing forth an old
-fiddle and stick, put them into the hands of Cuddle; who, as may readily
-be imagined, was by no means enamoured of his situation.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Now,” said Caddy, “in the first place, my friend, play Rowley Waters. I
-have been trying to recollect the two last bars of it for these three
-years, but I cannot. Do you remember how beautifully my drunken old
-butler, Barnaby, used to troul it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, those were merry days, cousin,” said Cuddle; “poor Barnaby! his
-passion for ale laid him low, at last.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And many a time, before.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What! was it in time of your sanity? I beg pardon—Do you remember,
-then, our finding him, flat on his back, by the side of an untapped vat of
-the stoutest beer that ever Caddy Castle could boast?—Methinks I can
-see him now, with the gimlet in his hand, with which he had made an
-aperture in the cask, and sucked the blood of barley-corn, to such an
-abominable extent—the old beast did—that—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't asperse him, Cuddle,” said Caddy; “he put a peg in the hole before
-he died. He was the best of butlers; if he always drank a skinful, he
-never wasted a noggin. But now for Rowley Waters;—play up, and I'll
-jig.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no,” said Cuddle, laying down the instrument; “I'll do no such thing;—I
-won't, by Jupiter!—that's resolute.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, then, I'll play, and you shall dance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't make me swear,” said Cuddle; “don't, Caddy Caddy!—What! raise
-a riot again?—You don't know, perhaps, that I have, already, sinned
-egregiously;—although, I protest, without the least evil intention.
-Besides, it would produce that very effect which you wish to—Eh!
-what was I saying?—Well, I don't mind if I <i>do</i> give you <i>one</i>
-tune.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you, kindly, cousin Cuddle,” said Caddy, taking up the fiddle; “but
-you have raised an objection, which I admit to be of great weight. Oh!
-cousin Cuddle! Did you want to betray me?—I thank you for the hint:—we
-should, indeed, alarm my enemies. You overreached yourself, and saved me,
-cousin.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, I scorn a lie,” replied Cuddle; “such a thought as you suspect did
-occur to me; for I protest I am not very comfortable in your company, much
-as I respect you. Go back to your bed; do, pr'ythee now, be ruled—oblige
-me, cousin;—for your own sake, go.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! what a thing self-interest is!” exclaimed Caddy; “'for your own sake,
-go,' quoth he, when it is solely for his! Cousin Cuddle, I shall not;—that's
-a plain answer for you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Caddy now placed a chair immediately opposite to that one on which he had
-found Cuddle sitting, on his entrance; he forced the alarmed little
-gentleman into his seat; and, in a few moments, resumed the conversation.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Cuddle,” said he, looking very seriously, “as the world goes, I take you
-to be an honest man, and my friend. Now, I'll confide something to your
-ear that will perfectly astonish you. The people about me, don't know a
-syllable of the matter; I kept it snug from them; if I had not, they would
-have restricted me to one room, instead of allowing me the liberty and use
-of three.—Draw your chair close.—About three years' since, I
-broke loose.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So I heard,” said Cuddle, trembling as he remembered what had been
-related of Caddy's violence on that occasion. The great staircase of the
-better part of Caddy Castle, was circular, and surmounted by a magnificent
-dome, which lighted it completely down to the hall; Caddy had thrown
-himself over the banisters, and must, inevitably, have been dashed to
-pieces, had it not been for a scaffolding, which some workmen had erected
-within the circle of the staircase, for the purpose of repairing some part
-of the masonry, a few days before. Caddy fell among the people on the
-temporary platform, and was taken up, apparently, lifeless; but, in the
-course of a couple of months, his bodily health was restored,—his
-mental malady remaining nearly in its former state.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You know,” continued Caddy, “of my leap; I gave them the slip, then,
-cousin, in good earnest I fell a terrific depth, and did the business at
-once. I recollect the moment of my near approach to the scaffolding, of
-the erection of which, I was ignorant; but, as it happened, it did not
-frustrate my intentions.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I feel very ailing—very indisposed, indeed,” said Cuddle; “pray,
-cousin Caddy, permit me to—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nonsense!” exclaimed Caddy; “you are as well as ever you were in your
-life; I am sure of it; so hear me out:—of course, you heard their
-account of restoring me to health;—but they know nothing of the
-matter, cousin Cuddle:—when I seemed to them to revive, I felt that
-I was <i>disembodied!</i>”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Disembodied!” cried Cuddle, staring wildly at Caddy.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, disembodied, cousin,” said Caddy; “and my sole with, except for
-liberty, now is, to obtain a disembodied companion, who—”
- </p>
-<p>
-Cuddle could hear no more. To describe his thoughts or feelings at this
-moment, would be a task beyond the power of our feeble pen. We shall
-attempt, only, to relate his actions.—He threw himself back in the
-capacious chair which he had hitherto occupied, but by no means filled;
-brought his knees on a level with, and as near as he possibly could to,
-his face; and then, suddenly throwing out his legs, with all the energy he
-possessed, struck Caddy in the breast with his feet so violently, as, in
-an instant, to turn him and his chair topsy-turvy on the floor. He
-exhibited a specimen of that agility for which he had been famed in his
-younger days, as well in this, as in his subsequent proceedings. Skipping
-over Caddy and the chair, he flew to the door, and made for the staircase
-at full speed. It is useless to conceal that Cuddle was dreadfully
-frightened; he heard Caddy striding after him at a fearful rate; and felt
-satisfied, by the evidence of his ears, that his dreaded pursuer would
-very speedily overtake him. People in similar situations adopt plans for
-escaping, which men, sitting calmly over their coffee, would never dream
-of. Cuddle knew that he should have no chance in a grapple with Caddy: it
-was ridiculous to hope for help if he cried out; for, before any one could
-come to his assistance, Caddy would have sufficient time to disembody his
-spirit; and his pursuer was evidently an over-match for him in speed.
-Cuddle was desperate: he suddenly determined on attempting to evade his
-enemy by a bold and dangerous manouvre. He leaped upon the banisters,
-which were massive and broad enough for a man to stand upon with ease;
-caught hold of the rope, by which the dinner bell, above the cupola, was
-rung by the porter, in the hall below; and threw himself upon it,—in
-a style which would have done honour to a thorough-bred seaman,—at
-the moment the tops of Caddy's fingers touched his heels. We cannot wait
-to describe the consternation into which the ringing of the dinner bell,
-at that time of the night, threw all the inmates of Caddy Castle;—our
-hero claims our undivided attention; for his position was most perilous—at
-least, in Cuddle's own opinion.
-</p>
-<p>
-Having descended, with moderate haste, for a few yards, he felt, by
-certain jerks of the rope, that Caddy had followed his example, and was
-pursuing him down the rope,—with such hair-brained velocity too, as
-he very speedily ascertained, that he was in greater danger than ever. The
-rope was swung to and fro, by his own exertions and those of his enemy,—bumping
-him against the banisters with considerable force; but the blows he thus
-received were beneath his notice; he thought only of escaping. Finding
-that Caddy gained upon him, he contrived, as the rope swung toward the
-side of the staircase, to catch hold of one of the stout iron rails of the
-banister;—secure in his clutch, he quitted the rope with
-considerable dexterity, and had the satisfaction, while he dangled, of
-seeing Caddy slide by him. He now began to roar lustily; but his efforts
-were needless, for almost every living creature in the house was already
-on the alert; the watch dogs were barking without, and the lap-dogs
-within; the ladies were shrieking; the gentlemen calling the servants, and
-the latter wondering, and running here and there, exceedingly active, but
-not knowing what to do or what was the matter. By degrees, the male
-portion of the inhabitants of the Castle became concentrated in the hall:
-lights were procured; and while the ladies and their attendants peeped
-over the rails of the great staircase, in their night-caps, to watch the
-proceedings of the party below, Martha, armed with the kitchen poker,
-volunteered to search every hole and corner in the Castle: but her master
-forbade her on pain of his displeasure; “For,” said he, “I feel satisfied
-that it is a disgraceful hoax of some scoundrel in the house, who shall
-certainly be ducked if ever I discover him.—Is any one absent?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“All the men servants are here, sir,” said the coachman; “and all the
-gentlemen, too, I think.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, they are not,” exclaimed Martha, with a ludicrous grin; “where is my
-sweetheart, can you tell?—I do not see him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! he's fast asleep, good man!” said the Honourable Charles Caddy.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I wish he were;—I do most sincerely wish he were!” quoth Cuddle,
-who had released himself, by his own exertions, from his pendent position,
-and was now hastening down the lowest flight of stairs. “You may stare, my
-good host,” continued he, “but to sleep in Caddy Castle is perfectly
-impossible!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So I find, to my cost,” replied the Honourable Charles Caddy; “and if I
-can find out the rascal who—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do not waste time in threats,” said 'Cuddle; “but fly—disperse, in
-quest of my respected, unhappy friend, poor Caddy Caddy, who has been with
-me this half hour, and would have disembodied me, if I hadn't given him a
-kick in the stomach, and put my trust in the bell-rope.”
- </p>
-<p>
-At the request of his host, Cuddle gave a hurried detail of what had taken
-place between himself and Caddy Caddy; while those domestics, who had the
-immediate care of the lunatic, hastened up to his rooms. They returned
-just as Cuddle had concluded, and stated that Caddy Caddy was undressed,
-and fast asleep in his bed;—that they found the doors locked, and
-every thing about the apartments in the precise state in which they had
-left them. One of the party said, that he slept in the next room to Caddy
-Caddy, and was quite certain that he should have been, as usual, roused,
-had the lunatic but merely moved: and as to the old Squire having been at
-large, the fellow swore that it was impossible.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was useless for Cuddle to vow and solemnly declare that Caddy Caddy had
-been with him, in the face of this evidence: the gentlemen shook their
-heads; the men grumbled; the ladies on the stair-case tittered; and their
-maids pronounced Mr. Cuddle's conduct to be altogether shocking.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It is a very distressing case,” said the Honourable Charles Caddy; “and I
-protest I never was in so awkward a situation before. I feel bound to
-apologize,” continued he, “to every lady and gentleman in the Castle, for
-the uproar, which my relation, Mr. Caddy Cuddle, has, doubtless,
-unintentionally, produced. I am bound to add, in justice to myself, that,
-upon my honour as a gentleman, I had not the most remote idea that either
-of my guests was a somnambulist.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it possible that you can allude to me?” exclaimed Caddy Cuddle. “Is my
-veracity impeached? Am I to be a martyr to our poor mad relation's freaks?—Or,
-possibly, you will tell me that I ought to doubt the evidence of my own
-senses?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I never presume,” was the reply, “to dictate to a gentleman on so
-delicate a point. Perhaps you will allow one of my servants to wait on you
-during the remainder of the night.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll do no such thing,” said Caddy Cuddle: “let the horse be saddled
-directly. I'll go home at once, and endeavour to make my peace with Mrs.
-Watermark, from whom I expect and merit a very severe lecture, for so
-cruelly cutting up her feelings as to stay out a whole night nearly.
-Cousin Caddy, good b'ye; ladies and gentlemen, your servant.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Caddy Cuddle immediately departed, vowing, <i>per Jovem</i>, as he went,
-never, after that morning, to bestride Anthony Mutch's horse,—to
-dine at Caddy Castle, or any where else out of his own house,—or to
-put on a strange pair of spectacles again.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/069s.jpg" alt="069s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/069.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/069m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE BRAINTREES.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the boast of old Samuel Gough, who, during a period of thirty-two
-years, had been landlord of The Chough and Stump,—a little,
-old-fashioned house, with carved oaken angels supporting the roof of its
-porch,—that, notwithstanding the largest road-side farm-house in the
-village had been licensed and beautified; though tiles had been
-substituted for its old thatch; a blue sign, with yellow letters, fixed
-over its entrance; and a finger-post erected at the top of the lane, about
-the middle of which his own tenement stood, directing travellers to The
-New Inn,—The Chough and Stump still “bore the bell.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Richard Cockle,” he would often say, “being twenty years butler to old
-'Squire Borfield, ha' made friends among the gentlefolks. The petty
-sessions is held in his best parlour, now and then; he hath a' got a pair
-of post-horses, and tidy tits they be, I must say; his house is made
-post-office; and excise-office, to the tail o' that—for this and the
-five nearest parishes; he pays for a wine license, and hath two or three
-gentlevolks, may be, once a month, for an hour or two; but not much
-oftener, as there be few do travel our cross-country road; and he do call
-one room in his house a tap:—but for all that, and his powdered head
-to boot, gi' me The Chough and Stump still.” Gough's boast was not
-altogether without warranty: his comfortable, old-fashioned kitchen, with
-its bacon-rack, broad hearth, dingy walls, and rude mantel-slab, enriched
-with strange hieroglyphical scratches, in which his neighbours traced, or
-affected to trace, the names of their grandfathers, was endeared to the
-inhabitants of the village;—there were old feelings, and pleasant
-associations connected with it Sam Gough was a jolly host, who regaled
-himself, among his guests, from morning till night; habitual drinking, for
-along time, having rendered him, as Abel Harris, the schoolmaster of the
-village, said, “invulnerable to intoxication he not only could, but often
-did, sing a good old song, and tell a good old story;—never
-repeating either the one or the other on the same day; for he was orderly
-in his entertainment, and had his Monday's songs and his Tuesday's songs,
-as well as his morning stories and his evening jokes: he never sponged
-upon a customer but paid his share of the reckoning to his wife, who
-officiated as mistress, while he appeared to be only a constant guest. His
-ale was generally clear as amber, sweet as milk, and strong as brandy.” In
-the tap of The New Inn, which was the name of the rival house, the company
-generally consisted of the postilion and ostler of the establishment, a
-few out-door servants from some of the neighbouring gentlemen's houses,
-and three or four of the gayest, youthful, village bucks: but the elderly
-and middle-aged men,—“the substantial,” as Abel Harris called them,
-usually congregated, to smoke their evening pipes, round the oak in front
-of The Chough and Stump, when the weather would permit, or in the kitchen
-settle, before a blazing fire of logs and turf, when the rustics sat up
-three or four hours after sunset Schoolmaster Abel, although he was one of
-the pair of parish constables, patronized The Chough and Stump, and
-grumbled mightily at being obliged to pay five shillings for a dinner,
-once a year, at the New Inn, with the churchwardens, and other official
-persons of the parish; which dinner had been instituted solely for the
-benefit of Richard Cockle, and much against the inclination of several of
-those, who were almost compelled, on account of their connexion with his
-wealthy supporters, to attend it. It was at The Chough and Stump that all
-the village news was to be heard; and if one of its customers were not
-found at his post, on the settle, at the usual hour, old Gough concluded,
-that he was either bad, busy, or gone to the rival tap, to glean gossip
-about the great families, from the servants, in order to retail it, the
-next night, to the grateful crew at The Chough and Stump.
-</p>
-<p>
-One winter's evening, although it was neither a Saturday, a holiday, nor a
-fast day, the settle was not only completely occupied, but several
-occasional visitors to the old kitchen were closely packed along a narrow
-bench that ran across the back wall. Many of the poorer inhabitants of the
-place were lurking about the porch, and several women, with their check
-aprons thrown over their red and almost frost-bitten elbows, stood peeping
-in at the window, and eagerly listening to an old dame, who had placed her
-ear to a little corner from which the glass had been broken, and
-occasionally repeated what she heard passing within.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I do pity the mother o' the lad, troth do I,” said a woman about
-twenty-five years of age; “her hath a got but one zon—no more have I—and
-truth to speak, I do pity her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And well thou may'st, Tabby Mudford,” said the old dame; “for constable
-Abel hath just a' told thy husband, that the boy's taken off in a cart,
-wi' 'Squire Stapleton's coachman a one side o' un, and constable Tucker o'
-t'other, hand-cuffed, and leg-fast, to the county gaol.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Poor Meg Braintree! poor soul!” cried several of the women, on hearing
-this, and one or two of them actually began to sob aloud.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Poor Meg Braintree, forsooth!” exclaimed a little sharpnosed female, with
-a high-cauled cap, and leathern stomacher;—“I don't zay no zuch
-ztuff—not I,” added she, in a shrill, disagreeable voice; “it hath
-a' come home to her now; and I said it would, two-and-twenty years agone
-come Candlemas, when she scoffed and vlouted poor Phil Govier, and took up
-wi' Zaul Braintree, a'ter she'd a' most a' promised, as I have heard tell,
-to marry Phil. In my mind, he loved her better, worse luck vor un, poor
-vellow, than ever this Zaul Braintree did, and took on zo for two or dree
-year a'ter, that there was some that thought he'd never ha' got over 't.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Vor shame, Aunt Dally,” said Tabby Mudford; “Meg Braintree never done you
-wrong.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't know that,” replied Dolly.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It be true, I ha' heard mother zay, you cocked your cap at Zaul,
-yourself; as you did to many more, though you never could trap any body to
-have'ee, aunt; but I never could believe it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The vellow did, once upon a time, look up to me,” said Dolly, lifting her
-chin, and curling her thin and slightly-bearded lip; “but I scorned'un. I
-wouldn't ha' had un if his skin were stuffed wi' gold.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And yet you do blame Meg vor scorning Phil Govier! Vor my part,—I
-were a child, to be zure,—but by what I do recollect of'em, I'd
-rather ha' had Zaul, wi'out a zhoe to's, voot, than Philip Govier, if
-every hair on the head o' un were strung wi' pearls.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't talk to me, Tab,” cried her now incensed aunt, flouncing off; “it
-don't become thee. I do zay it ha' come home to her;—her zon be zent
-to the county gaol, vor murdering the man whose heart she a'most broke
-more than twenty year agone:—get over that if you can. It ha' came
-home to her, and I'll bide by it;—wi' her blue clocked ztockings,
-and putting up her chit of a daughter to smirk wi' the young 'squire!—I
-ha'n't a' got patience wi' zuch pride.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The supervisor, who was going his rounds, and intended to sleep that night
-at The Chough and Stump, now rode up, on his sturdy little grey cob; and
-before he could alight, some of the loiterers about the porch had, in
-part, acquainted him with the cause of their being assembled round the
-inn-door. The old man, however, as he said, could make “neither head nor
-tail” of what he heard; and hastened, as well as his infirmities would
-allow, into the kitchen. The landlord rose on his appearance, and
-conducted the spare and paralytic old man, to the post of honour, in the
-settle, between his own seat and that of the exciseman,—a
-cunning-looking, thick-set, fat, or, to use an expressive West Country
-adjective, podgy, little man, between forty and fifty; with a round,
-sallow, bloated face, begemmed here and there with groups of pimply
-excrescences, resembling the warts that are occasionally seen on the cheek
-that is turned to the sun of a wounded pumpkin. One of the exciseman's
-eyes glared at his beholder, dull and void of expression, while the other
-was almost concealed beneath its lids;—a circumstance occasioned by
-an inveterate habit of winking, all his life, at every tenth word, with
-the latter; which operation he was totally unable to perform with the
-former.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Here hath been a sad to-do, sir,” said Gough, addressing the supervisor,
-as soon as the latter was comfortably seated; “a sad to-do, indeed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! so I hear, Gough,—so I hear;—but what is it?—No
-affray with the excise, I hope.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No—fear of—that, sir,” replied the exciseman, winking, and
-puffing the smoke from his lips thrice as he spoke; “we've no enemies
-here.—I'll tell you all—about it—sir, when—I have
-wetted—my lips.” He now raised the jug to his mouth, but before he
-had finished his draught, little Tailor Mudford, who sat by his side,
-taking advantage of the moment, placed his right elbow on his knee, and
-still keeping his pipe between his teeth, leaned forward, and bore away
-the glory of the announcement from the exciseman, by stating, that Philip
-Govier, 'Squire Stapleton's gamekeeper, had been killed; and young Robert
-Braintree committed for trial, as the perpetrator of the crime.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Robert Braintree! Robert Braintree!” calmly repeated the old man;
-“Preserve us from evil! Haven't I seen him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be sure you have, sir,” replied Gough; “a tall, straight-limbed chap,
-between eighteen and twenty, and as fine a young fellow as ever stood in
-shoe-leather. I shouldn't ha' thought it of him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I should,” said the exciseman; “a down-looking—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! I be zorry vor the lad,” said Mudford, again interrupting the
-exciseman, in the brief interval occupied by a puff and a wink; “nobody
-could zay harm o' un, except that his vather made un go out a poaching wi'
-un, and so vorth: but a zung in the choir o' Zindays; and' though he never
-were asked so to do, often joined in, wi' the rest o' th' neighbours, to
-reap a little varmer's bit o' wheat, or mow a tradesman's whoats he ha'
-done zo by me, many's the time, wi'out any thing but thanks, and a bit o'
-dinner and a drop o' drink, which he never wanted at home. He'd ha' been
-the last I should ha' zuzpected.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But the evidence,” said constable and schoolmaster Abel, “the
-circumstantial evidence, doth leave no doubt, either in the mind of me, or
-the magistrate, of his guilt.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You be d—d, Yeabel!” cried a bluff old fellow in a corner; “Who be
-you, I should like to know?—Marry come up, then! times be come to a
-vine pass, I trow, when a pig-vaced bit of a constable, two yards long,
-and as thin as a hurdle, do zet hi'zelf up cheek-by-jowl wi' the 'squire!—Who
-cares vor thy opinion, dost think?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Farmer Salter,” responded Abel, with affected humility; “I am educating
-your son and heir:—you are a freeholder, and ha' got a vote for the
-county—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I know that well enough, stupid! and zo had my vather avore me, and so
-shall my zon a'ter me.—Poor buoay! you ha' often licked un, Yeabel:—may
-be you be right—may be you bean't; but this I do know, tho' I ha'n't
-a told un zo, that I do vind, upon casting things over, whenzoever I do
-gie you a bit ov a clumzy wipe here, at The Chough and Stump, over night
-Jack's zure and zartin to get breeched in your school-room the next day:
-now that be odd, yean't it, Gough?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Farmer Salter,” pursued Abel, as Gough nodded in acquiescence, and Salter
-chuckled at what he had said; “I repeat, you are a freeholder:—you've
-a slip of land between the two 'squires' estates, upon which you and your
-forefathers ha' grazed a cow, raised a crop of wheat, hay and potatoes, to
-last'ee for the year; and built a small edifice for yourselves, and a sty
-for your pigs: you do wear a looped hat at all times, and, on Sundays, a
-blue coat, wi' a red collar and cuffs, and crown pieces of the reign of
-King Jacobus, for buttons; a flowered and flapped waistcoat; leather
-breeches, wi' seven-shilling pieces and silver buckles at the knees; and
-half a pack o' cards figured wi' colours in each o' your stockings: you do
-strut up to church, just as a 'squire would, and your father did,—whose
-finery you ha' saved for such service,—half a century ago:—but
-you know nothing either of law or good breeding for all that, fanner
-Salter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The freeholder was about to bristle up indignantly when Abel concluded,
-but Zachary Tickel, the hereditary herbalist, or, as he denominated
-himself, apothecary of the village, whose nick-name was “Bitter-Aloes,”—and
-there were few of his neighbours who were not as well known by some
-equally appropriate baptismal of the laity,—took him by the collar,
-and endeavoured to tranquillize, while he forcibly held him on his seat:—meantime,
-the supervisor inquired what had induced the constable to suspect Robert
-Braintree of the murder.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, zir,” said Mudford, cutting in, as a coachman would express it,
-before Abel and the exciseman, (each of whom intended to reply,) while the
-asthmatic constable was cleansing his throat by two or three hems, and the
-exciseman was puffing out a magazine of smoke, which, at that moment, he
-had drawn into his mouth, to be retailed and divided into a dozen or
-twenty whiffs;—“the vact, zir, is this,” said Mudford; “the body
-were vound, dead and stiff, this morning, in the copse, t'other zide o'
-the hill;—there was a nail or more of znow on the ground, and
-vootsteps ov a dog and a man were traced vrom the body to Braintree's
-cottage:—the dog's vootsteps were, likely enough, the vootsteps ov
-Ponto, a dog belonging to the Braintrees; a zort ov a crossbred pointer,
-az ztrong as a bull, and wi' more zense in his tail-end, as the zaying is,
-than many men ha' got in their whole bodies, head and all.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The shoe-marks, permit me to observe,” said Abel, “were decidedly made by
-the shoes of Bob Braintree:—I've sworn to't, because I compared'em;
-and I apprehended him wi' those identical shoes on his feet.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now, d'ye hear, volks?—d'ye hear?” exclaimed farmer Salter; “how
-Yeabel do belabour us wi' vine dixonary words? 'Apprehended,' and
-'identical,' quotha!—Why, I should be azhamed to talk zo-vashion.
-'Those identical zhoes!' zays he;—'those!'—Bless us, how vine
-we be!—'Those,' vorsooth!—Why doan't the vool zay 'they there
-zhoes,' like a man?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Abel cast a glance of contempt on the freeholder, but did not condescend
-to reply. A brief silence ensued, which was broken by the herbalist; who
-observed, after throwing himself back in the settle, “Bad bird, bad egg—that's
-all I've to zay. I bean't so compassionate, and all that, as zome volk.
-How hath Zaul Braintree ha' got his living vor eighteen year past, but by
-zmuggilin and poaching, and, may be, worse, vor what I know? Why wen he
-discharged by 'Zquire Ztapleton, but vor doing what he shon not do? Didn't
-poor Phil Govier, that's lying dead, when he wen under Zaul, detect and
-prove to the 'zquire, that instead o' Zaul' s doing his duty, as
-game-keeper, he were killing hares upon the zly, and zending'em to market?
-And when Phil got Zaul's place, have they ever met without looking at one
-another like a couple o' dogs that was longing vor a vight, and yet stood
-off, as though they were aveard to pitch into one another? What d'ye think
-Braintree hath instilled into Bob, but hatred and malice against Govier?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You may talk and talk, old Bitter-Aloes,” said Salter; “but vor my part,
-though the'zquire believed Govier's story, and turned away Zaul, in a way
-enough to nettle a parson, I didn't think it quite as it should be. I ha'
-zeen things o' Phil, what I won't tell ov, now he's gone, as I didn't
-while he were alive; but if I had to choose, vor all Phil's quiet tongue
-and humble looks,—which were all zlyness, in my mind,—gi'e me
-Zaul, I zay.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well,” quoth Gough, “I say nothing—why should I? But Bob was a good
-boy; and though he'd noose a hare, or decoy a vlock o' wild ducks, or
-stalk a covey, I don't think he'd any harm in him. He'd do what Zaul bid
-him, to be zure, but I don't think Zaul would ever tell him to commit
-murder; and if I must speak my mind—I don't agree wi' Abel Harris.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Abel—I must say,”—muttered the exciseman, “the constable, I
-mean;—he—he's no conjuror.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I can't make out,” growled Salter, “how he came to be made constable,
-zeeing az he's the most uncapable man in the parish. I ha' zeed un run, as
-if'twere vor his life, when he thought nobody were nigh, vrom my gander!—Poor
-Jack! thoult zuffer, may be, vor this to-morrow;—but I can't help
-speaking the truth. Yeabel, doan't thee baste un, or dang me if I doan't
-drash thee!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There is one thing,” remarked a spare, but hale-looking man, who sat next
-the herbalist, “one thing, or, may be, a thing or two, I'll make bold to
-observe, which is, namely, this:—though Zaul Braintree were never
-over and above vriendly to I—that be nothing—the man's a man—and
-I do zay, the'zquire were a bit too hard upon Zaul, to turn un off wi out
-more nor an hour's notice, and not gi'e un a good character:—and
-what vor, I wonder?—Because this here Phil Govier, a demure,
-down-looking twoad, zaid a' poached a bit! A'ter this, what were Zaul to
-do? Wi'out a character, he couldn't get a zarvice, and a poor man bean't
-to starve: zo a' poached, and that in downright earnest;—and it
-ztrikes I, no blame to un neither.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! fie! fie!” exclaimed the supervisor; “you should not preach so,
-friend; the practice of poaching is highly illegal.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Highly illegal,—indeed,—John,—that is,—James
-Cobb,” said the exciseman, in his usual manner; “we must not hear—this
-sort of a—thing; must we,—constable?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, it bean't treason, master exciseman, be it?” asked a tall old
-fellow, who stood at the end of the settle.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Do you hear—that?” said the exciseman, turning to his superior; “do
-you hear that?—and he an earth-stopper,—and gets his bread by—the
-game laws.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The supervisor looked aside toward the bottom of the narrow table, and
-while the ensuing conversation went on, took a deliberate view of the
-earth-stopper's person, apparel, and accoutrements. He was a
-squalid-looking figure, with half a week's growth of grey beard on his
-chin and cheeks; the edge of a red woollen night-cap, which he wore under
-a weather-beaten dog's-hair hat, was strained across his pale, wrinkled
-brow; his legs were thin, puny, and bent outward in such a manner, that
-they seemed to have been moulded on the carcase of a horse.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well,” quoth the earth-stopper, in reply to the exciseman's observation,
-shouldering his pick-axe and shovel, and lighting the candle in his
-lanthorn, as he spoke; “I zuppose a man may move his tongue, if a' be a
-yearth-stopper,—or else what be the use o't to un?—I were one
-o' the virst to lay hands on young Braintree, and always ha' ztood vorward
-on zuch like 'casions; but what o' that? I'd help to take up thee, or thy
-betters by the zide o' thee there, if thee wert zuzpected and accused; but
-vor all that, I'd speak up my own mind, and zay, I thought thee wert
-innocent, iv zo be as I did think thee zo—mind me:—and now you
-ha' put me up, I'll go vurther, and ask 'ee, what business had Phil Govier
-a' got in the copse that time o' night?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, that's true,” observed the landlord; “for it be well known the
-'squire's strict orders was, that the keepers shouldn't go out o' nights.
-'Let the poachers have a little o' their own way,' I have a heard un say;—'I'd
-rather lose a few head o' game, than ha' blood shed upon the manor; and
-meetings by night, betwixt poachers and keepers, often do end worse than
-either one or t'other a' looked for.'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It's true az I be here zitting,” said Mudford; “that the gamekeeper,—I
-mean Phil Govier, of course,—had a' got a hare in one pocket, and a
-cock pheasant in t'other;—I zeed'em myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come, come;—no ill o' the dead, pr'ythee, now,” quoth the
-herbalist.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No ill o' the dead!” cried the man who sat next to him; “I do zay yea, iv
-it be truth; and moorauver, in my mind, it be better to zay vorty <i>lies</i>,
-even, of them that be gone, than to tell one that may do harm to them that
-be living. Them wer'n't the virst Phil pocketed, by night or by day, vor
-his own profit, as I do think.'T'ant clear to I, that a' didn't play voul
-wi' Zaul, long ago;—I wouldn't lie down upon my back and zwear that
-a' didn't kill the game what he 'cuzed Zaul o' poaching, and zo got
-Braintree out of his place, and popped into't hi'zelf.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“This is going too far, landlord,” said the supervisor.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Do 'ee think so, sir?” asked Gough, with a knowing look, accompanied by a
-shake of the head, which finished in an acquiescent nod to the man who sat
-next the herbalist.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mudford asked the constable if Saul had seen his son after the committal
-of the latter. Abel replied, that an interview had been permitted by the
-magistrate, just previously to Robert's removal; “which interview,” added
-he, “took place in the presence of myself and colleague.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And what did 'em zay?” eagerly inquired three or four of the persons
-present.
-</p>
-<p>
-The constable replied, that it would be highly improper for him to divulge
-all that took place, even if he were capable of so doing; but there was
-much that he did not hear, and more that he had forgotten. One part of the
-brief dialogue he perfectly well remembered:—after having whispered
-for a short time, the youth said aloud, “But I be innocent, vather; you be
-zure I be.”—“Well, well!” replied Braintree, in a low, but
-nevertheless, audible tone; “zuppose things should go against thee, wou'lt
-thee die like a man, Bob?”—“I doan't know, vather,—I be but a
-boy! I'll try, iv it do come to that; I hope it won't, though; vor I be
-aveard I can't bear it—I can't, truly, vather.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Zo, thee dost call thyself a buoy, dost?” said Saul; “a vellow here
-within a head as high as I be, and gone eighteen these zix weeks!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You always tells me I be but a boy.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, and zo I do—thee'rt <i>my</i> boy; but a boy to nobody else.
-But I zay, Bob, woul't thee mind now, and speak up to the lord judge just
-what I told thee?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yeas, doan't be aveard.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! but woul't tell't cool and zober-vashion, Bob?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Never you vear,” replied Robert;—“bless'ee, I shall tell't out to
-un, just as iv I were telling out zixpenn'orth o' ha'pence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And Bob—” But here Braintree's voice subsided into a whisper again,
-and Abel heard no more of that part of the conversation.
-</p>
-<p>
-The parties in The Chough and Stump kitchen now ceased the regular sort of
-discussion which had hitherto been supported, and talked in couples. The
-earth-stopper and Abel Harris, by their looks and gestures, seemed to be
-maintaining a warm debate; the herbalist crossed over and took a place
-next the supervisor, which tailor Mudford relinquished in his favour, and
-sat down by the side of farmer Salter. So many persons speaking together,
-had not, for some time, been heard in The Chough and Stump; but though his
-customers made a great noise, as Gough observed to the exciseman, they
-drank but little. This was, indeed, the case; for the interest created by
-the subject of their discourse, made them almost forget their cups. Each
-of the speakers grew louder in his tone, in order to make himself heard
-and understood, amid the “hubbub,” by his listening neighbour; and thus
-the general noise was increased to such a degree, that the exciseman had
-already taken up his empty mug to strike the table, and call “order,”
- when, in an instant, every tongue was motionless, and every eye turned
-toward the door. A man, on the autumnal side of the prime of life,
-exceeding the middle stature, with rather handsome features, had just
-entered. He was dressed in a round, grey, frock coat, a deer-skin
-waistcoat, corduroy smallclothes, and jean gaiters. His frame was
-athletic, but by no means clumsy; he looked calmly about him, or, perhaps,
-rather affected to do so; for, as the herbalist afterwards remarked, his
-lips appeared as if they had just been blanched with boiling water. A very
-large, stout-built, liver-coloured dog, stood before him, wagging his
-tail, and looking up in his master's face, as the latter remained, for a
-moment, motionless, and with his eyes seeking for a vacant place on the
-settle. Every seat had its tenant, and no one moved for the newly-arrived
-guest, or spoke either to him or to any other person present.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, volks! you do all zeem dazed ov a zudden!” said the man, ironically;
-and then immediately assuming an angry expression of countenance, he
-turned to the landlady, who had just entered the kitchen, and, in a sharp,
-surly tone, called for “a pint o' drink.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I ha' been trying to squeeze room for thee, Zaul,” said the landlord,
-addressing his new guest; “but I can't.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't trouble thyself, Gough,” said farmer Salter, from the opposite side
-of the settle; “I be vor home, and Braintree can take my corner in a
-minute.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thankye, master Zalter,” replied Saul; “but Abel Harris ha' just stepped
-out, and, may be, won't come back; zo I'll zit down in his place; and iv
-a' do return, 1 can but gie't up to un again; and by that time, you can
-vinish your pipe wi' comfort” So saying, Braintree took possession of a
-nook in the settle, which Abel had quitted, in consequence of the landlady
-having beckoned him out, while Gough was speaking to Saul. Two or three of
-the guests attempted to strike out new subjects for conversation, but
-their efforts were ineffectual; and when Dame Gough came in, with Saul's
-ale, she found her customers, who had lately been so clamorous, silent as
-statues. Braintree lifted the cup to his lips, but immediately placed it
-on the table again, without swallowing a spoonful.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, what's the matter, Zaul?” said Gough; “have a mad dog bit'ee, that
-you do gasp and heave at the liquor so?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There were a bit o' hop got in my mouth,” replied Saul; “and your yeale
-bean't zo good to-night, I think, as'twere;—han't it got a
-strawberry smack?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no, Zaul; your mouth be out o' taste wi' trouble,—that be it;—there's
-no fault in the ale. You do want comfort in a closer compass; and if
-you'll ha'a drop o' Hollands, my wife will give'ee some and welcome.
-Though I don't sell spirits, I can't help Dame Gough's keeping a bottle in
-her bureau;—it stops her tooth-ache.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You be cruel good, master Gough,” replied Saul; “and I do thank'ee vor't;
-but I don't like to drink in a public-house, wi'out paying my penny for a
-landlord's penn'orth.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! that be folly,” said Gough; “but come; gi'e me your pint o' drink,
-and I'll treat you wi' a glass o' Hollands.—Dame, bring in a
-thimble-full.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Dame Gough bustled out, and soon returned with a small old-fashioned
-tea-cup, full of the liquor. Saul took the cup, and so far forgot his
-manners, as to swallow the spirits it contained, without a word, or even a
-nod, to Gough, or any of his guests. A dead silence succeeded.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Sharpish weather vor the young wheats,” at length observed Salter.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Main and sharp!” was the reply of the herbalist; and another pause took
-place.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I ha'n't a' zeed Jacob Wall lately;” was the next observation made: it
-came from the lips of tailor Mudford, but no one honoured it with a reply.
-</p>
-<p>
-Braintree now began to feel that he was in an unpleasant situation; and
-guessing on what subject the minds of those about him were brooding, he
-observed, with a sigh, “A bad job this, o' mine, neighbours!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bad, indeed, Braintree!” replied Gough; “but I hope your son may get over
-it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hope, did'ee zay, landlord? why, d'ye think there be any vear on't,
-then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Excuse me, friend,” observed the supervisor; “I am a stranger to you;
-but, in my opinion, that is,—speaking candidly,—I'm sorry to
-say—remember I've no ill-will toward your son—nor, understand
-me, do I wish to bear on a bruised reed; but its folly to buoy a man up
-with false hopes;—the case is, if what I've heard be true, most
-decisive against the young man.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And what have'ee heard, old gentleman?—what have'ee heard, zir?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That, Saul,”—said the exciseman, “that, it is—needless to
-repeat;—but the shoe-marks,—Saul—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, and what o' them?” interrupted Braintree; “mightn't my zon ha' gone
-that way avore Govier were killed? or mightn't he ha' vound un dead, and
-come whoam straight, intending to tell the news az zoon az he axed I how
-a' should act?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“True, Zaul, true,” replied Salter, who had not yet departed; “it do zeem
-ztrange that no vootsteps were vound in the snow 'proaching towards the
-zpot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I can easily account for that, I think,” said the supervisor, with a
-smile of self-complacency: “the snow—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But hark to this,” cried Saul, again interrupting the old man; “hark to
-this:—how be we to know, that they what zaid they vound the body
-wer'n't the criminals, eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Lord bless us and zave us, Zaul!” exclaimed the little tailor, starting
-up; “Bless us, Zaul! why, 'twere I, good now, what raised the hue and cry.
-I were coming vrom varmer Butt's, vive mile off, where I a' been dree days
-at work, making a coat; I'd a' started avore 'twere day, zo as to get to
-work about Jack Blake's new suit, what he's a going to be married in o'
-Zinday;—and zharp doings it will be to vinish it as'tis:—zo I
-took the path through the copse, because it zaves a mile, you do know; and
-anan, my little dog, rin into the hazels and back again in a minute,
-barking as iv he'd a' zeen a ghost I were a bit vrightened, you may judge,
-vor I'd a' got my zilver watch, and half-a-crown, (my dree days' wages,)
-wi' ten shillings bezides, what the varmer had paid me vor a pig he bought
-o' me last Zinday vort-night, when he comed over to church. Well, and
-anan, my little dog, rin into the copse again, and come back growling
-worse nor avore. Thirdly and lastly, I patted the back o' un, and away he
-rin again, and when he overtook me,—d'ye mind?—by the light'o
-the moon, I zeed there were blood upon the nose o' un!—Wi' that, I
-and the dog rin vit to break our necks, 'till we got whoam. Zo then I
-raised the hue and cry, and Phil's body were vound:—but I had no
-more hand in the death o' un than you, Zaul. I can handle a reap-hook, or
-a needle, wi' one here and there, but I never vired a gun off in my life—wish
-I may die if I did!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, well, Mudford,” said Braintree, advancing toward the tailor; “I
-didn't know 'twere thee; gi'e us thy hand;—there—we be
-vriends, bean't us?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I do hope zo, Zaul Braintree,” replied the still terrified tailor; “but
-you shouldn't—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There, do'ee hold your tongue and zit down,” interrupted Saul: “I were
-wrong; but,—d'ye mind?—Bob be my zon; and if counzel can zave
-un, he sha'n't lack; vor I'll zell my zhirt to zee un righted.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Braintree had scarcely reached his seat again, when constable Abel, pale,
-almost breathless looking very important, and bearing his staff of office
-in his hand, strode into the kitchen, and immediately laid hands on Saul.
-“Braintree, thou'rt my prisoner,” said he; “aid and assist, if need be—every
-body—but especially you,—earth-stopper,—in the King's
-name.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Saul was paralysed; he stared vacantly at Abel, and before he could
-recover his self-possession, the dexterous constable had handcuffed, and
-almost completed the task of tying his right wrist to the left arm of the
-earth-stopper.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Thy prisoner, Yeabel!” at length uttered Braintree; “thou bee'st joking,
-zure!—Dowl ha' me if I can make out—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You'll make it out well enough by-and-by, Saul,” interrupted Abel, as he
-pursued his task of knitting the earth-stopper fast to Saul; “I ha' been
-sent for by the 'squire, and I've got his warrant. Master Cockle, of The
-New Inn, churchwarden of the present year, ha' been making inquiries; and
-things ha come out, Saul, that do look black against thee.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What be'em, Yeabel?—What be'em, pr'ythee?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, <i>imprimis</i>,” replied the constable, pompously, “it is well
-known, Ponto never followed anybody but thee—nothing could make him
-do so; and he and Bob never were friends. Surgeon Castle saith, that the
-shot went horizontally into Phil Govier's forehead; and as he was not
-above five feet six, the gun that killed him must have been fired from the
-shoulder of a man as tall as you be:—if Bob had done it, seeing that
-he's shorter than Phil were, the shot would ha' gone almost upward; but,
-no, they didn't:—lastly, and most formidably, Saul, as the
-magistrate saith, the marks in the snow were printed there, by shoes made
-right-and-left fashion; and the right-foot shoe being marked o' the
-left-foot side, and the left o' t'other,—it don't seem likely they
-could ha' been worn by the feet they were made for.—So now you do
-know what you've a' got to answer, come along quietly.” In a few minutes
-The Chough and Stump kitchen was utterly deserted; even Gough himself
-followed his customers, who, without exception, accompanied the constable
-and his prisoner, to Stapleton Hall, the magistrate's residence. After a
-brief examination, Saul was ushered into an apartment, three stories above
-the ground floor, called “The Wainscot-room;”—which, on account of
-its peculiar situation and construction, although it had once been used
-for better purposes, was then appropriated to the reception of those who
-happened to be under the ban of the law, previously to their discharge, on
-finding “good and sufficient mampernors” for their appearance at the
-ensuing assizes or sessions, or their removal to the county gaol,
-according to the nature of the offence. For the honour of the village it
-is proper to remark, that “The Wainscot-room” was but seldom occupied. It
-was there Saul had, only an hour before, taken leave of Robert, who was
-now far on his road to an accused felon's cell. Braintree had just been
-told by the magistrate that, early on the ensuing morning, he must follow
-his son; but he suffered a strong rope to be fastened round his waist, by
-a slip-knot, and tied to an iron bar in the chimney, not only without
-murmuring or resisting, but actually joking with those who performed the
-operation. Although Mr. Stapleton considered that it was impossible for
-the prisoner to escape from his temporary prison, yet for better security,
-on account of the crime with which Saul was charged, he ordered the
-constable to keep watch, either in, or at the door of the room, during the
-night.
-</p>
-<p>
-Before the earth-stopper quitted “The Wainscot-room” to go on his solitary
-task, Saul had made him promise to acquaint Martin Stapleton, the
-'squire's only son, that he, Braintree, earnestly desired to see the young
-gentleman, before he went to bed. The old man so well performed his
-promise, and urged Braintree's request to young Stapleton with such
-warmth, that in less than an hour Martin entered the room.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Abel,” said he to the constable, as he came in, “you may go down stairs;
-I'll remain with Braintree while you get something for supper.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Abel, “nothing loath,” tripped down to the hall, and Martin, who was a
-fine young man, just verging on manhood, walked up, with a sorrowful
-countenance and a heart full of grief, toward the man, under whose humble
-roof he had passed some of his happiest hours. Martin's mother died in
-giving him birth, and Saul's wife had been his nurse. Although disgraced
-by 'Squire Stapleton, Saul Braintree had ever been a favourite companion
-of young Martin, not only on account of his intimate acquaintance with
-those sports in which Martin delighted, but because Saul had always
-testified a fondness for him from his boyhood upward; and, besides these
-attractions, the poacher's cottage contained a magnet, in the person of
-his pretty daughter, Peggy, which often drew Martin beneath its roof, when
-his father thought he was otherwise occupied.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, Master Martin,” said Saul, as the young 'squire approached; “here
-you be at last! I were vool enow to think, I shouldn't ha' been here vive
-minutes avore you'd ha' come, if it were only to zay 'How are'ee, Zaul?'—But
-there, why should I grumble? Hit a deer in the shoulder, and then put the
-dogs on his scent, and what will the herd do?—Why, vly vrom un, to
-be zure, and no vools, neither;—but come, vine preaching doant cure
-corns:—virst and voremost—will'ee get me a drop o' brandy,
-Master Martin?—I be zo low az the grave, az you may guess; get me a
-thimble-vull, and then we'll talk a bit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have brought my shooting-flask, Saul,” replied Martin; “there is not
-much left in it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! this be kind!—this be good of 'ee, Master Martin. What, you
-thought how it would be with me? You knowed me long enow, to be zure that
-I should want summat to cheer me up, did 'ee? Never mind the cork, Master
-Martin,” continued Saul, as Martin, with a trembling hand, fruitlessly
-endeavoured to extract the cork; “put it betwixt my teeth, and pull; I'll
-warrant I do hould vast enow; or knock off the neck o' un against my
-handcuffs. What, it bean't your leather vlask, be it? Odd! cut un open wi'
-a knife.—I be a choaking for it, Master Martin;—I be, truly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-By this time, Martin had pulled out part of the cork, and thrust the
-remainder of it through the neck. He handed the flask to Saul, who gulped
-down one half of its contents in a few seconds.
-</p>
-<p>
-“There is not enough to divide,” observed Martin, “you may as well finish
-it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, thank'ee, Master Martin,” replied Braintree, returning the flask;
-“you'll want a drop for yourself, presently.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I, Saul!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay! you, Martin!—Look thee, lad,—there be times when the best
-ov us would be glad ov it Brandy be a God-send; but we don't use it—that
-is, zuch as I be, doan't—as we should. There be times, I tell'ee,
-when it be needed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's true enough,” said Martin, endeavouring to force a smile; “I have
-often been glad of it, after a three hours' tramp through the stubble and
-turnips, on a cold day, under a heavy double-barrelled gun, with a belt
-brimful of shot, and no birds in my pocket.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That were for thy body, lad; but thoult want it, anan, for thy soul. I be
-gwain to vright—to terrify thee!—Thou'st a tightish heart, and
-thou'st need ov it now. Mind me, Martin, I bean't romancing. It ha' been
-smooth roads and no turnpikes wi' thee all thy life; there's a bit o'
-rough coming, thee doesn't dream of.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Good God! Braintree! your manner alarms me!—What do you mean?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Martin!—I zuppoze thee thinks, I ought to be obliged to thee, vor
-coming to me;—vor bringing a man accused as I be, brandy,—but
-I bean't. If thee hadst not a' come, I'd ha' brought thee, though a waggon
-and zix horses were pulling thee t'other way. There's my hand; I ha' put
-it to thee through a hole in the window at whoam, a'ter thou'st a' wished
-me good night, and the door were vast;—I do put it out to thee now
-through a velon's wristband—wou'st take it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Excuse me, Braintree!—I would do all I could;—I have even
-gone beyond the line that a sense of propriety dictates: but you must not
-take such advantage of the familiarity which commenced when I was a child,
-and has since, through peculiar circumstances, continued;—you must
-not, I say, presume upon that, to ask me, to shake hands with a man—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Accused ov murder! that's what thee means, yean't it?” asked Saul; and
-his brows were knit, and his lips slightly quivered, as he spoke. Martin
-stood silent.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Then I'll tell thee what, lad,” pursued Saul, vehemently; “that stomach
-o' thine shall come down:—I'll <i>make</i> thee!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Braintree,” said the young man seriously, but in considerable agitation;
-“what do you mean by this?—Are you mad?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Noa, noa;—not yet, not yet;—but handy to it—Not mad!”
- exclaimed Saul, striking the iron, which bound his wrists, against his
-head; “but don't trouble about I, lad; look to thy own wits, young chap.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Really, Saul, I cannot put up with a continuance of this:—you are
-not drunk; I know it by your manner. I have never seen you thus before. I
-pity you; and pray to God, that you may obtain a deliverance, by the
-verdict of a jury.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll never be tried!” exclaimed Saul in a loud whisper.—“I'll never
-be tried! Zaul Braintree ha'n't kept his wits brooding all these years, to
-be caught like a quail, and ha' his neck twisted! No, no; they ha' brought
-me to the wrong gaol for that; it's like putting a rat in a fishing-net.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't think, Saul, there is any probability of your escaping,” said
-young Stapleton; “and I advise you not to make the attempt.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't talk to I.—Ha'n't I, when you was a buoy, no bigger round
-than my thigh,—ha'n't I heard you read, when you zat a-top o' my
-knee, about the mouse gnawing the lion out o' the znare:—han't I?—Ah!
-you do recollect, do'ee?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I do, I do, too well, Saul,” replied Martin, as a tear trickled down his
-cheek; “and I am sorry—I am grieved—I feel more than you can
-imagine to see you here. But what has the fable to do with you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Every thing—I shall get out—strength can't do it for me, but—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Saul Braintree, I now see what you are driving at,” said Martin; “but do
-not flatter yourself with so vain a hope. You are accused of a crime, of
-which, I hope—nay, I think—you will prove yourself guiltless:
-but though I am but young, I feel that I ought not, dare not, cannot
-interfere between you and the laws of your country. My father—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now, doan't'ee preach; doan't'ee make a zimpleton o' your-zelf, I
-tell'ee:—but, can any body hear us?—be the constable nigh?”
- eagerly inquired Saul, dropping his voice to a low tone.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No,” said Martin, “you may be sure of that; or I would not have remained,
-thus long, exposed to the madness or insolence of your remarks;—I
-know not which to call it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, thou jackanapes!” said Saul, sneeringly, though his eye, at the same
-time, glared with an expression of the utmost fury on young Stapleton;
-“thou young jackanapes! dost thee tell I about insolence?—Thee shalt
-down on thy knees for this.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Braintree, good night,” said Martin, moving toward the door: “I did not
-expect this conduct.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, thee'rt gwain to leave me, then? Zurely, thee bean't in earnest?”
- Martin had, by this time, reached the door, and was evidently determined
-on quitting the room. The prisoner, perceiving his intention, immediately
-assumed a tone of supplication. “Now, doan't thee go, Master Stapleton,”
- said he; “doan't thee!—do come back—do hear me, if it be but
-vor a minute. I were wrong, I were, indeed. Doan't thee leave me yet—doan't
-thee—doan't thee—doan't thee! Come back, Master Martin;—on
-my knees I do but of thee:—do come back—for Peggy's zake.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Martin withdrew his hand from the door and returned. “Saul,” said he, as
-he approached, “I never felt till now, the truth of what you have often
-told me, namely,—that if I encouraged an affection for your
-daughter, I should rue it. I <i>do</i> now, most bitterly. Poor—poor
-Peggy!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! poor girl!—Come nearer, Master Martin—poor Peggy!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now, Saul, I'll hear you for one minute only; and this must—this
-shall be our last interview—unless—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Vor one minute, didst say?” exclaimed Saul triumphantly, as he clutched
-the wrist of Martin in his powerful grasp; “thou shalt hear me vor an
-hour;—thou sha' not quit me, till thou and I do leave this place,
-hand-in-hand, together. Ah! thou mayst struggle; but thou knowest the old
-zaying, 'A Braintree's grip is as zafe as a zmith's vice—if thee
-wast a horse I'd hold thee.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Scoundrel! villain!” exclaimed Martin, endeavouring, with all his might,
-to release himself; “let go your hold, or I'll—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! do—hit me now, do—now I ha' got the handcuffs on; any
-child might gi'e Zaul Braintree a zlap o' the face now. Hit me—why
-doan't 'ee,—wi' your t'other hand? There's no danger o' my
-drashing'ee vor't Hit me—doan't'ee unclench your vist—here's
-my head—hit me, Master Martin.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For heaven's sake, Saul!” exclaimed young Stapleton, “if you ever
-esteemed me, let me go!—If you do not, I must alarm the house.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! if you did, Martin!” replied Saul, “you'd ruin us both. I wouldn't
-have'ee do so, vor the hope I've a' got of living a week over the next
-zpring assize. If you did 'larm the house, Martin, you'd drop from a young
-'zquire into a poacher's zon, and hang your own vather to boot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hang my father!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! doan't'ee look round the room that vashion:—you be zure there
-be no one listening?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Positive!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then turn your eyes here, lad:—Meg Braintree was more than your
-nurse.—She's your own mother!—Now I'll let go thy wrist; for
-I've got a grip at thy heart. There, thee bee'st vree! Why doesn't go?—I
-doan't hold thee: go, if thee canst.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Saul, you surely are not in your senses!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“May be I bean't, for trouble turns a man's brain;—but you be,
-bean't'ee? You can't ha' vorgot how often I ha' pushed Bob off my knee to
-put you upon it. Why did I do so?—'cause thee wert my zon, and he
-were'Zquire Ztapleton's.—Haven't I hugged thee up to my breast,
-until thee'st a' squalled wi' the squeeze, when nobody was by?—I'd a
-grudge against the'zquire;—why, thee know'st well enough;—zo I
-made Meg, who nursed'ee both, change buoy for buoy. I thought to ha' made
-a vine vellow o' my zon at the'zquire's expence, little thinking I should
-ever want un to zave my life. I thought, when you was a man, to ha' comed
-up to'ee and zaid, 'Zquire, I be your vather,—zo and zo were the
-case,—make me comvortable, or I'll be a tell-tale.' That were my
-project; to zay nothing of having a bit of revenge upon the'zquire!—Lord,
-Lord! how I ha' chuckled to myzelf thinking on't Can any man zay I ever
-used Bob like my own zon? Answer me that. D—n un! I always hated un,
-vor his vather's zake: though the lad's a good lad, and, if he were mine,
-I should love un;—and I do, zometimes, I dunno' why:—but I ha;
-drashed un,—and while I were drashing un, I've a'most thought, I
-were drashing the vather o' un. But I ha' done un a good turn when he
-didn't know it. I ha' kissed un when he were asleep,—a'most upon the
-zly, like, even to myzelf. And when he broke his leg, I tended upon un, as
-you do know; and he's a' loved me zo, ever zince, that I ha' scores and
-scores o' times been zorry for it; for I do hate un because he's the zon
-of his vather:—but what be the matter wi' 'ee? What's amiss? Why
-d'ye stare and glower zo?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Saul Braintree,” said Martin, “whether your words are true or not—and
-what you mention, I have observed—you have made me the most wretched
-being on earth; for whatever comes to pass, I must still suspect—Margaret,
-my heart tells me, may be—Oh! that horrid <i>may</i>, which is worse
-than certainty—may be—nay, I cannot pronounce it! Oh! Saul! if
-I could but believe you—if I could but make up my mind, even to the
-worst, it would be a comfort.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Martin Braintree,—for that be your name,” said Saul, “didn't I
-warn'ee about Peggy? Didn't I—when I saw you were getting vond of
-her—didn't I try to offend'ee, zo az to keep'ee from coming to our
-cottage? Didn't I insult'ee?—but you wouldn't take it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You did, Saul, grossly insult me; but my love,—perhaps, my accursed
-love,—made me overlook it What a gulph of horror is opened before
-me! Peggy my sister! and you—you my father!—It cannot—it
-is not so, Saul. Unsay what you have said, and I will save you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I won't unsay it; it's out now, and I can't help it. If thou still
-doubt'st, Martin, go down and ask my wife—ask Meg; if thou still
-doubt'st, lad,—ask thy own heart—young as thee bee'st—if
-a vather could let a zon be hung for a crime of which thic zon bean't
-guilty!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And is Robert innocent, then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, lad, as thou art”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But you—surely, you—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Take a drop of brandy, and I'll tell thee all, buoy: thee'rt my own vlesh
-and blood, and I'll talk to thee as I would to my own heart. Now, do 'ee
-take the flask; halve it, and gi'e me the rest;—or take it all, if
-thee dost veel qualmish.—I be zad enough, but don't stint thyself,
-Martin.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The youth swallowed a mouthful of the liquor, and returned it to Saul,
-who, after draining the contents, resumed the conversation. “Martin,” said
-he, “Robert, poor lad, is az innocent az a lamb; and I know it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And will you—can you, then, permit him to—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hold thy tongue, buoy, and let me speak. Rob is innocent, but he's James
-Ztapleton's zon; and if I were to take his head out of the halter, and put
-my own into it, it wouldn't be many miles off self-murder. Rob is
-innocent; for he never harmed a worm, except I made un do't; and he can go
-up to his God without a blush:—I can't—may be, he couldn't, if
-he came to my years; for there's no one do know what may happen to the
-best ov us. I be zure I little thought, a score of years ago, when I were
-tip-top man here, and had az good a character az any body in the country,
-and there wer'n't a bad wish against mortal in my heart, that I should
-ever be tied up here, where I be, accused of any crime whatzoever—much
-less murder: but you zee I be; and there's no knowing, as I zaid avore,
-what any ov us may come to. Bob's zure of peace hereafter; and it be well
-vor un. I'd be hung willingly, to-morrow, if I were in the like case; but
-I bean't. Oh! Martin, my buoy! I ha' much to answer vor. I be brave,
-people zays, and zo I be; but there bean't a man within a days' ride, zo
-aveard of death as I be; and I'll tell'ee why:—it's because I ha'
-been zuch a viend—zuch a wretch, ov late years.—I wouldn't die
-vor all the world. I do want time vor repentance! and I must ha' it at any
-price!—Therefore, Bob must die vor me;—and, may be, I does un
-a good turn; at least, I do think zo,—by zending un to his grave
-avore he hath had temptation to be zinful.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your doctrine is most atrocious!” exclaimed Martin. “Oh! why—why
-was I reserved for this? From what you say, Saul, I fear—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That I killed Phil Govier?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope not!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hoping's no good:—he hit I over the head with the butt-end of his
-gun;—zee, here's the mark;—and when I came to myzelf, he was
-gwain to do't again; zo I ztepped back three paces, lifted my piece, and
-blew out his brains—bang!—Ay, Martin, it were your vather did
-it; and 'Zquire Ztapleton's zon must zuffer vor it I thought I had managed
-capitally; but things ha' come out I didn't dream of. Iv I be tried, I may
-be vound guilty, and that won't do. Bob's zure to zuffer, poor lad!—But
-I must not be tried.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But how do you make it appear that Robert is guiltless, when the proofs
-are so strong against him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! that be my deepness! I hope I zhall be pardoned vor't. Ill tell'ee
-just how 'twere. Bob were getting to bed, and he knowed I were gwain
-through the village, up the hill, toward the copse t'other zide o' the
-Nine Acres:—I'd a' promised a brace o' pheasants to Long Tom, the
-mail coachman, the day bevore,—he'd got an order vor'em,—and
-in the copse I were zure o' vinding'em, but nowhere else: zo Bob zays to
-I, 'Vather,' zays he, 'I wish you'd take my t'other pair o' zhoes and
-leave'em at Dick Blake's, as you do go along, and get he to heel-tap'em
-for me.' Zo, I zaid I would; and zure enough, I took'em; but Dick were
-a-bed when I come by, and I went on, with the zhoes in my pocket, to the
-copse. When I got there, I looked about, and Ponto,—you know Ponto—he'll
-point up—ay, if'twere a-top of a elm, as well as under his nose in a
-stubble,—Ponto stood; and just above my head, on the lowest branch
-of a beech, there were perched a cock pheasant wi' two hens,—one o'
-each zide o' un—all dree within reach. I hit the cock and one o' the
-hens down wi' the barrel o' my gun, and just as I were pouching'em, up
-come the keeper. Phil and I, as every one knows, hadn't been good vriends
-vor twenty long years. Zummat occurred betwixt us, and Phil was zoon on
-the ground under me. I wasn't as cool as I should be over a rasher of
-bacon—you may guess; but up he got again, and laid the butt-end of
-his piece over my head. I were stunned for a second, but when I came to,
-he'd a' got his gun by the muzzle, wi' the butt up over his head, and
-aiming at me again. If he'd a hit me, I shouldn't ha' been talking to you
-here now; zo I ztepped back, and to zave my own life, did as I told'ee.
-When I zeed un draw up his legs, and then quiver all over just avore a'
-died, all the blood in my body were turned into cold water. I thought I
-should ha' shivered to death; and there I stood, staring at Phil, where a'
-laid, as if I were 'mazed!—Just avore this, it begun to znow, and
-while I were looking at Phil, it thickened zo, that I were a'most
-zole-deep in it; zo then I begun to cast about how I should act, to zave
-myzelf vrom zuspicion. While I were thinking, the znow stopped vailing;
-and, thinks I, they'll vind out who 'twere by the vootmarks; and if there
-were no vootmarks to zuspect any one else, they'd guess 'twere I, vor
-vifty reasons: zo I took Bob's zhoes out o' my pocket, put mine in their
-place, squeezed my veet into the lad's zhoes as well as I could, walked
-straight whoam, and went to bed without a zoul hearing me. I were wicked
-enough to put Bob's zhoes close under his bed avore I went to my own; but
-I hope even that will be vorgiven me:—zo Bob were taken up, and most
-likely will be vound guilty, upon the evidence o' the zhoes. But vor vear
-of accidents, Martin, you must contrive to let me out; vor I won't be
-tried, d'ye mind? therefore, you must manage zo as I may 'scape, lad; and
-once out, I'll war'nt they doan't catch I again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Martin Stapleton stood, with his eyes earnestly fixed on Saul, for nearly
-a minute after the latter had finished his story of the death of Philip
-Govier; his faculties were benumbed by what he had heard; and he probably
-would have remained much longer motionless and speechless, had not Saul
-seized him with both hands, and given him two or three violent shakes.
-“Come, come,” said he, “doan't go to sleep like a horse, standing up!—This
-bean't a time for dozing!—Odd! if I'd a' got poor Bob here, I should
-ha' been vree half an hour ago. He'd ha' zet vire to the house, and come
-and ha' pulled me out o' the vlames, by this time, if he couldn't gi'e me
-my liberty any other way.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And yet, <i>you</i>, Saul,” said Martin reproachfully, “you scruple not
-to sacrifice him to save yourself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What be that to thee?—He'd do as I tell'ee, because I be his vather—that
-is, he thinks zo. I ha' done what I did do, because he yean't my zon;—but
-<i>thee</i> bee'st, Martin—<i>thee</i> bee'st—and thee knows
-it;—thy heart tells thee I ha'n't been lying to thee:—thee'rt
-my zon,—and I do expect that thou'lt do thy duty; thou canst do't,
-and no harm come to thee. Bob would risk all vor me, though I ha'n't been
-the best o' vathers to un.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What would you have me do?” asked Martin, rather petulantly. “How shall I
-act?—What do you wish of me?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Just to let I get t'other zide o' these walls,” replied Saul; “I doan't
-care how;—I leave that to you;—choose your own way; it doan't
-much matter to I,—doan't'ee zee?—zo as I gets out Why, you'd
-a' married Peggy, if zo be as I'd ha' let'ee—wouldn't 'ee, now?—in
-spite ov old Ztapleton, and the whole vlock of your ztiff-backed aunts—wouldn't'ee,
-now? answer me that!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I should—I should:—but mention it no more; you make my blood
-curdle.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, then,” pursued Saul, heedless of the passionate request of Martin;
-“you zee, I'd no vear ov your seducing the girl; and you can't think I
-should ha' put up a gate against my daughter's being a young'zquire's wife—if
-that young'zquire weren't what he were.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Talk to me no more on this subject:—I will—I do believe all
-you have said; only, I beseech you, don't—don't dwell on this,”
- exclaimed Martin, wiping large drops of “the dew of mental anguish” from
-his brow.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, well, Martin! cheer up, lad,” said Saul, fondling the youth; “cheer
-up, and I won't:—but, I zay, how shall we act?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! I know not—In assisting you to escape I become an accessary to
-Robert's death;—and if I refuse—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You do hang your vather,” interrupted Braintree; “an awkward place vor a
-body to stand in, Martin;—but blood's thicker than water;—I be
-your vather, and he yean't even one o' your kin. I won't dreaten'ee wi'
-blabbing and telling who you be, on my trial.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I care not, Saul, if you did.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I know,—I know;—but I doan't dreaten 'ee wi't, doan't'ee
-mind?—Keep znug, and be a'zquire.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed, I shall not. I will tell the whole story to-morrow; and if I can
-save poor Robert—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If't'an't at my expense, do zave un, and I'll thank 'ee; but I think it
-yean't possible. As to your up and telling old Ztapleton who you be, that
-will be zilly ov'ee;—but it be your business;—I've put'ee into
-a good nest, and if you do throw yourzelf out on't, 't'ean't my fault; my
-intention were good. Howsomever, Martin, gi'e me dree hours' law; and
-doan't give tongue, and zo get a hue and cry a'ter me, avore I can get
-clear.”
- </p>
-<p>
-At this moment a loud tapping was heard at the door; Martin started, and
-exclaimed,—“If that should be my father!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Vather, indeed!” said Saul; “you do vorget yourself; you must ha' lost
-your wits, to be vrighted zo-vashion; you ha'n't a' fastened the door,
-have'ee? and your vather, as you do call un, would hardly be polite enough
-to knock. There yean't much ceremony used wi' a prisoner. Why doan't 'ee
-zay, 'come in?'” Before Martin could utter the words, the door was opened,
-and a fair, curly-headed youth, who was Martin's immediate attendant and
-frequent companion, peeped in, and said, in a loud whisper,—“Master
-Martin! the 'squire is inquiring for you: where will you please to be?—in
-the fen, setting night-lines for eels, or up at Gorbury, seeing the earths
-well stopped? The fox-hounds throw off at Budford Copse, to-morrow, you
-know;—or shall I say you're here, or where?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You need not tell any lies about the matter, Sam, thank you,” said
-Martin; “I shall be in the parlour almost directly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Very well, sir,” replied Sam. “I wish you'd been down in the hall just
-now, though. Constable Abel has been making a speech about drink being the
-beginning of every thing bad; and, if he says true, Abel must be ripe for
-mischief, for he got three parts gone before he had done; and he's coming
-up stairs with the brass top of his long staff downward.—Eh! Why,
-this can't be he, surely, coming at this rate?”
- </p>
-<p>
-A series of sounds had struck Sam's ear which resembled those of three or
-four persons running up stairs in a hurry, and then galloping along the
-passage toward the place where he stood. A moment had scarcely elapsed,
-from the time he had done speaking, when the door was burst wide open, and
-Ponto, the prisoner's dog, dashed into the room. He had been howling round
-the house for a considerable time; and probably watched for an opportunity
-of stealing in to join his master. He flew toward Saul; gambolled round
-him; leaped up to his face, and exhibited, by his looks, his low barks,
-and his actions, the joy he felt at being again in the presence of his
-master.
-</p>
-<p>
-As soon as Sam, by the order of Martin, had retired from the door, Saul
-pointed to the dog, and, without uttering a word, gazed reproachfully at
-young Stapleton.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I understand you,” said Martin; “but you don't know what I may do yet;
-therefore, pray, spare me those looks.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wou'lt do't, then—wou'lt do't?” eagerly asked Saul: “Ah! I knew
-thee wouldst. Ponto yean't my zon, and yet—but, odd! there bean't a
-minute to lose. Abel will be here directly. Ponto, my dog, thou'lt zave us
-a mort o' trouble. Tell'ee what, Martin,—only cut the rope, and go
-to bed. Never mind the cuffs;—cut the rope vor me, and I be zafe out
-wi' your pocket-knife,—make haste,” continued Saul, in a hurried
-tone, as Martin searched his pockets with a tremulous hand;—“here,
-lad, let I veel vor un—here a' is—now cut—cut through:
-gi'e me dree hours' law, as I told'ee, and then do as you like.—Why,
-lad! thee'lt be a month; I'd ha' cut down an oak by this time.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What have I done?” exclaimed Martin, as he, at length, separated the
-rope.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Done! why, done your duty,” was Saul's reply; “kneel down there, Martin,
-and take a vather's blessing vor't;—a vather's blessing, lad, let un
-be ever zo bad a man, won't do thee hurt.” Martin, almost unconsciously,
-knelt, and the murderer, placing his hand on the young man's head,
-solemnly and most affectionately blessed him.
-</p>
-<p>
-When Abel entered, Martin had nearly reached the door; he pushed the
-constable aside, and rushed out of the room, in a manner that perfectly
-amazed the old man. “Well!” said he, as he endeavoured to strut, but in
-fact, staggered in rather a ludicrous manner, toward the prisoner;—“if
-that's behaviour to a parochial functionary—if any jury will say it
-is—I'll resign my staff of office. What do you think, Saul?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bad manners, Yeabel;—bad manners, in my mind,” replied Braintree;
-“but he be vexed like;—and I'll tell'ee why:—I ha' been trying
-to coax un over to help me out o' the house.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You ha'n't, surely, Saul!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I tell'ee I have, then—why not? Wouldn't you? answer me that!—but
-the young dog revuzed; zo then I abuzed un, and a' left me in a pet. But,
-I zay, Yeabel, you be drunk, or handy to't, bean't'ee?—You shouldn't
-do that! It's wrong ov'ee, Yeabel: every man, in my mind, should do his
-duty; and you bean't doing yours to get voggy wi' stout October, when
-you've a-got a prisoner in hand.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“None of your sneering, Saul; I am <i>compos</i> and capable,” said Abel.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You bean't, Yeabel! upon my life, you bean't!” replied Saul; “you
-shouldn't do so—no, truly. Why, now, suppose I were to 'scape.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Escape!” exclaimed Abel, cocking his hat; “elude my vigilance!—come,
-that's capital!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, you'll vall asleep avore half the night be over.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What! sleep upon my post!—never, Saul,—never.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You'll prance up and down there all night, I'll war'nt, then, and 20 keep
-me from getting a bit of rest:—you be aveard to lie down, ay, or
-zit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am afraid of nothing and nobody,” replied Abel, indignantly; “and you
-know it, neighbour Braintree: but no sneering of yours, will tempt me; I'm
-up to thee, Saul; so be quiet;—or say your prayers. I'm never so fit
-to serve my King and country, or the parochial authorities, as when my
-wits are sharpened by an extra cup or two.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Or dree, I z'pose?” added Saul.—“Poor zoul! thee wants a little
-spirit put into thee.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I want spirit! when did I lack it?” exclaimed Abel.—“Not a man in
-the parish ever attempts to raise a hand against me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, truly, Yeabel; I'll zay this vor thee, thou'rt such a weak, harmless,
-old body, that a man would as zoon think of wopping his grandmother as
-wopping thee.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Abel's wrath was now roused, and he began to speechify and swagger. Saul
-said no more, but stretched himself upon the mattress which the 'squire
-had humanely ordered to be placed on the floor, within reach of his
-tether, holding the rope under him, so that, without turning him over, it
-was impossible to discover that it had been severed. Just previously to
-the constable's entrance, Panto, in obedience to the command of Saul, had
-retreated beneath a large oak table, the flap of which altogether
-concealed him from observation; and there lay the well-trained animal,
-with his head resting on his fore-paws, and his eyes fixed on Saul,
-perfectly motionless, and watching for further commands.
-</p>
-<p>
-About an hour after midnight, when all seemed quiet below-stairs, Saul
-turned on his mattress, and beheld Abel still tottering to and fro, like
-an invalid grenadier upon guard. He waited for an opportunity, when the
-constable's back was toward him, to start up, seize Abel by the throat,
-and lay him flat upon the floor. “Yeabel,” said he, in a low tone, “I hope
-I ha'n't hurt thee much. I be zorry to harm thee at all, old buoy; but
-needs must. I be gwain off, Yeabel;—I doan't mean to put the county
-to the expense o' prosecuting me,—zo I be gwain.—Doan't be
-aveard,—I won't choke thee:—there,” added he, relaxing his
-powerful gripe; “I'll let thee breathe; but if thee speaks—remember,
-Yeabel,—I be a desperate man,—and I must zilence thee:—one
-knock o' the head'ud do't; zo keep thy peace, and do as I tells thee
-quietly;—I won't have a word, mind me. Take thic thingumbob out o'
-thy waistcoat pocket, and unvasten these bracelets thou'st put about my
-wrists. Iv thy conscience to thy King and country won't let thee do't
-wi'out being put in bodily vear, I'll trouble thee wi' another grip o' the
-droat But, I doant wish any thing o' the zort myzelf, unless needs must—Ponto,
-dog!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Ponto started up and was by his master's side in a moment.
-</p>
-<p>
-“That infernal dog here too!” ejaculated Abel.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, zure!—but zilence! It yean't wize vor I to let thee open thy
-lips: zo go to work like a dummy. Make haste, and dost hear, Yeabel? put
-down the handcuffs quietly. Now doan't tempt me to hurt thee, by making a
-vool o' thyzelf. Be ruled, that's a good vellow. I can get off,—doan't'ee
-zee?—spite o' the cuffs; but it will be more convenient and
-agreeable to leave'em behind.” By this time, Abel had set Braintree's arms
-completely at liberty.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Now, Yeabel,” continued Saul, still kneeling over the constable,—“now,
-old blade, I'll leave thee wi' Ponto; but doan't thee move or call out, if
-thee values thy old droat. He'll worry thee like a wolf'ud a wether, if
-thee moves or makes as much noise as a mouse: but be quiet—be still,
-and he'll ztand over thee and not harm thee vor hours. Thee knowest the
-dog; and thee know'st me well enough to be zertain I wouldn't leave thee,
-vit to make alarm, if I wer'n't zure o' the dog. I doan't want to hurt
-thee, zo I leaves thee wi' un: but, mind—he'll hold thy droat a
-little tighter than I did, if thee wags a hair.—Ponto!” added Saul,
-turning to the fine animal, who seemed to be listening to what he had
-said; “mind un, Ponto!—Steady, good dog!—Soho! and steady! but
-mind un!”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/098s.jpg" alt="098s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/098.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/098m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-To use a sporting phrase, Ponto immediately “stood;” he threw himself into
-an attitude that even Saul, as he departed, pronounced to be beautiful.
-His eye was keenly fixed upon Abel; the roots of his ears were elevated
-and brought forward; one of his fore-legs was held up, and curved so that
-the claws nearly touched his body; his tail no longer curled, but stood
-out straight on a level with his back; every muscle in his frame seemed,
-as it were, to be upon the alert; he appeared on the point of making a
-spring forward; but no statue ever stood more motionless on its pedestal,
-than Ponto did over the prostrate and terrified constable.
-</p>
-<p>
-Braintree lost no time after he left the room which had been his temporary
-prison: he descended cautiously to the ground-floor, and versed as he had
-been in his boyhood, and for several years after time had written man upon
-his brow, in the topography of the old Hall, he easily found an outlet,
-and escaped without creating any alarm.
-</p>
-<p>
-In a paddock adjoining the pleasure-grounds of the Hall, he caught a
-horse, which had been turned out on account of a sand-crack; twisted a
-hazel, from the hedge, into a halter and mouthpiece; leaped the fence;
-and, in less than half an hour, by dint of hard galloping across the
-country,—clearing every thing as though he was riding a
-steeple-chase,—Saul reached his own cottage. Meg and her daughter
-were still up, the wife weeping, and the child praying for Saul's safe
-deliverance. He beat at the door, and Meg clasped the girl to her breast
-and exclaimed, “Oh! what now?—what now? They're surely coming for
-thee, Peggy. They'll leave me to murder myself—childless!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Open the door, Meg—my own Meg!” said Saul, without; “'tis I, Meg;—thy
-poor Zaul.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Braintree was soon by his own hearth, with his wife and daughter weeping
-and hanging round his neck.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, and how is it, Saul?” inquired Meg, as soon as she could find
-utterance.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Art discharged, father?” said Peggy.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No, child,” replied Saul; “I be 'scaped! I shouldn't ha' zeen thee,
-wench, nor thy mother neither, but whoam laid in my road. I be zafe yet
-till day-light, if Ponto's as true as I've a' zeen un avore now. But I
-shouldn't zay <i>if</i> vor I be zure ov un.”
- </p>
-<p>
-In reply to the inquiries of his wife, Said briefly related the result of
-his conversation with Martin, the manner of his escape from old Abel, and
-his intention to fly the country for ever, if he could. “Not,” added he,
-“that I think they could bring aught whoam to me, upon trial; though I
-didn't think zo, when I were tied up by a rope to a chimney-bar, in the
-Hall; but now it ztrikes I, there wouldn't be much danger ov my getting
-acquitted—and vor why?—It's clear the man were killed by <i>one</i>—not
-<i>two</i>. Now, if Bob's vound guilty, I must be turned out innocent; and
-guilty a' will be vound, or else I've blundered blessedly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Heavens above us, Saul! what d'ye mean?” cried Meg. Braintree now frankly
-told his wife the circumstances relative to Robert's shoes; and concluded,
-with a forced smile, sighing deeply as he spoke,—“And zo, the young
-un be nicked for no-man's-land, wi'out a bit of a doubt;—that be
-certain, I reckon.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! Saul!” cried Meg, “Saul Braintree, what hast thee done?—thou
-hast murdered thy son!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Murdered my viddlestick! He's the'zquire's—Jemmy Ztapleton's buoy;—Martin
-be mine.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Martin Stapleton, father!” almost shrieked Peggy.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, wench; and he cut the cord vor me, like a Briton.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Said! Saul!” replied Meg, “doan't thee smile; my poor heart be bursting.
-I never thought I should see this night!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Woe's me, mother; I was almost killed wi' trouble before, and now such
-news as this!” sobbed Peggy, pressing her hands to her eyes.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What be the matter, missus?—All's right;—doan't be dashed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If thou didst kill Govier, Saul,” said Meg, “thou bee'st a vather, vor
-all that; and I do pity thee:—thou hast laid a trap vor thy own son.
-When thou went'st away a smuggling that time, just after the 'squire had
-discharged thee, and when we knowed he was looking out for another nurse—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, what then?” interrupted Saul.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, Saul, thou didst tempt me to change the children. I promised thee I
-would:—I tried, and I couldn't!—Thee thought'st to deceive
-'Squire Stapleton, but I deceived thee, Saul. I couldn't send away my own
-boy—my virst-born—my darling. If thee wert a mother, thee
-wouldst vorgive me. Oh! that I had done as thee told me! Saul, Saul, thee
-hast murdered thy child! Bob's thy own vlesh and blood,—and Martin
-Stapleton be no kin to thee.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! mother!” said Peggy, dropping on her knees; “I am almost ashamed to
-say how I thank you for those words; they have a'most saved my life;—but
-then, my brother—my poor, poor brother!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bob my own vlesh and blood!” said Saul, turning pale as a dying man while
-he spoke; “Bob my zon, a'ter all!—Tell'ee he an't! I won't believe
-thee:—dost hear?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“As I hope to be vorgiven vor all I've done here below, he is;” replied
-his wife.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Meg, Meg!” said Saul, dropping on a bench, and throwing himself back
-against the wall; “you ha' turned me zick as a dog.” Margaret and her
-daughter now threw themselves about Braintree's neck again, and began to
-weep and wail in the most violent and passionate manner: Saul remained
-motionless only for a few moments. “Gi'e me air,” said he, suddenly
-pushing them aside and leaping up; “I be choking! I'd gi'e the world now,
-if I had it, that instead o' zhooting Phil, Phil had zhot I!—Deceived!
-bevooled! in thic vashion!—Meg, doan't thee bide near me, or I shall
-lay hands on thee presently; I do know I shall.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't vear thee, Saul,” said Meg; “thee never didst lay a vinger in
-wrath on me yet. If thee'rt a' minded to kill me, do't!—I wont vly
-vrom the blow.—My Bobby in gaol, accused of murder, and my husband
-guilty of doing it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You lie, you vool!” vociferated Saul; “'twere no murder! We vought, hand
-to hand, vor life or vor death, and I got the best o't. If I hadn't a'
-killed he, he'd ha' killed I; zo how can'ee make it murder?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The lord judge will make it out so, I fear,” said Peggy; “won't he, think
-you, mother?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No doubt on't; and Saul knows it,” replied Meg. “Oh! Bob, my child—my
-dear—dear boy!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Good night, Meg!” interrupted Saul. “I be off;—you do know I can't
-abide to hear a woman howl.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But where art gwain, Saul?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No matter;—thou'lt hear time enough o' me:—good night!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nay, but what'll thee do?—Peggy, down on thy knees wi' me, girl,
-and beg him to tell us, what we be to do!—Oh! Saul—bide a bit;
-I woan't let thee see a tear—look, they be all scorched up.—I
-won't vex thee, any way, if thou'lt but bide and Comfort us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Doan't cling to me zo,” said Saul, struggling to rid himself of the
-embraces of his wife and daughter, who clung about his knees;—“it be
-no use; let go, or I'll hurt'ee!—There now,” continued he, as he
-freed himself, “once vor all, good night. It won't do vor I to bide here
-another minute.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Braintree now rushed out of the cottage, leaving his wife and daughter on
-their knees: each of them clasped the other to her breast, and listened,
-without a sob, until the receding footsteps of Saul were no longer
-audible. They then attempted alternately to solace each other; but the
-comforter of the moment was so violent in her own sorrow as to increase
-that of her whose grief she tried to allay; and thus the hours passed on
-with them till dawn. They felt the misery of seeing the sun rise and chase
-away the morning mists as usual; the autumnal song-bird,—the robin,—much
-loved of men, chirrupped merrily on their cottage-roof as he did a week
-before, when they were comparatively happy; and the sleek old cat, brushed
-his glossy sides against their garments, as if nothing was the matter.
-There are few persons in existence, whose lot it has been to pass a night
-of such extreme mental agony, as that was with Margaret Braintree and her
-daughter; and yet, strange to say, at six o'clock in the morning, Meg was
-raking together the embers of the turf fire, and piling fresh fuel on the
-hearth;—the kettle was, soon after, singing merrily above the blaze;
-and, before the church bells had chimed seven, Meg and her pretty
-daughter, miserable as they were, with swollen eyes and aching hearts, sat
-down to that womanly comfort,—a cup,—or as it is still called
-in the west—a <i>dish</i> of tea.
-</p>
-<p>
-We must now return to the Hall, which, before day-break, became a scene of
-uproar and alarm. Every body seemed to be in a bustle, but no pursuit was
-made, or plan of action determined on. The 'squire had sent for a
-neighbouring justice of the peace, who was so far stricken in years, that
-it was necessary for one of his own men, assisted by Stapleton's
-messenger, to lift him on horse-back, and hold him on the saddle, the
-whole distance between his own house and the Hall. The old man, although
-of a remarkably irritable disposition, was scarcely wide awake when he
-arrived. The 'squire, however, without waiting to inquire whether or no
-his auditor was in a proper state to receive his communications, began to
-give a minute history of the capture, brief imprisonment, and escape of
-Braintree. He had gone as far as Saul's seizing the constable, when old
-Justice Borfield, for the first time, interrupted him, by inquiring, with
-warmth, what they all meant by using him as they had done? “Here have I
-been,” added he—“Ay, now, I recollect—Yes—the scoundrels
-broke into my bed-room;—so I suppose, at least;—dragged me out
-of bed; and when I awoke,—for, odd! sir, and as I'm a gentleman, all
-this was hurry-skurry, and passed on like a dream,—but when I awoke,
-I found myself in my best wig, on the back of a high-trotting horse; and
-lo, and behold! I saw—for my miscreant of a man had fastened on my
-spectacles, though, as you see, he forgot my left shoe—I saw one of
-them on each side, holding me down to the saddle, by my waistband. I
-struggled and exclaimed; but the villains heeded me not!—Now, sir,
-what the devil does all this mean? What am I accused of? I insist upon
-being answered.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dear neighbour, my very worthy friend Borfield,” said Stapleton, “I
-need your assistance—your presence—your advice in this
-matter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You're very complimentary, indeed!—What! now you've made a blunder,
-you drag me into your counsels to bear half the blame!—Neighbour
-Stapleton, I'm a very ill-used man, and I won't put up with it. Talk of
-the liberty of the subject, and the power of a justice of the peace!—Why,
-I've been treated like a tetotum! At this rate, a magistrate's an old
-woman; or worse—worse by this band! Brute force beats the King's
-commission! I'm dragged out of my bed at midnight, by lawless ruffians—lifted
-into a saddle, when I haven't set foot in stirrup these twenty years—and
-brought here, on the back of a rough-trotting galloway, close prisoner, to
-sign some documents, I suppose, which wouldn't be legal without the
-formality of a second magistrate's name. I'll tell you what, James
-Stapleton, I don't like it—If I'm an old man, I'm not a machine.
-Your satellites have brought the horse to the brook, but you can't make
-him drink. I'll sign nothing; I'll die first:—for I'm hurt and
-insulted.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The old man now grew exhausted, and Stapleton once more attempted to
-pacify him. By dint of excuses, and a few flattering compliments on the
-freshness and vigour of his intellectual powers, and the value of the
-advice of a man who had so much experience, Stapleton, at length,
-prevailed upon him to hear the end of his statement relative to Saul's
-escape.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, well! then order coffee and dry toast,” said Borfield; “for if you
-need advice, I lack refreshment. Order coffee, and let the toast he cut
-thin, and baked by a steady hand—by-the-by, let my own miscreant do
-it,—and then we'll see what can be done.”
- </p>
-<p>
-It appeared that Braintree's escape had been discovered sooner than he
-expected. The old earth-stopper, on his return from Gorbury, where he had
-been following his vocation, saw somebody cross a field, at full speed, on
-a horse which he well knew to be Martin Stapleton's pie-bald hunter. He
-fancied, too, that the rider bore some resemblance to Braintree. But
-whether the man were Braintree or another, it was clear that all was not
-right. The earth-stopper, therefore, thought proper to put spurs to his
-poney, and, instead of turning down the next lane toward his own cottage,
-to push for the main road, and trot up to Stapleton Hall. As he passed the
-paddock he looked round it; but saw no horse. When he reached the gate-way
-leading to the house, he raised such a clatter, by ringing the bell and
-beating against the door, that several of the servants, and Stapleton
-himself were soon roused from their beds. Before the earth-stopper was
-admitted, Stapleton inquired from the window, what had occurred. “I beg
-your honour's pardon,” replied the old man; “I reckon I ha' zeed Zaul
-Braintree,—or iv 'tean't he, 'tis a man like un,—riding athirt
-tailor Mudford's 'tatee-patch, in Misletoe-lane, zaving your worship's
-presence, upon a zpringy zwitch-tailed pie-bald, a bloodlike weed ov a
-thing, zo var as I could zee; but I'll zwear he were a zwitch-tailed
-pie-bald; and the young'zquire's yean't in the paddock.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Stapleton threw on his dressing-coat, and hurried up stairs to the room
-where Saul had been confined. The lamp was still burning; and, by its
-light, he discovered, at a glance, that the prisoner had effected his
-escape. Abel's staff lay upon the mattress, and, at a little distance from
-it, Stapleton beheld the constable on the floor, apparently lifeless. “The
-villain has murdered him!” thought he; but his fears were instantly
-dispelled, and his indignation roused, by a sonorous snore, which
-evidently proceeded from the nostrils of Abel.
-</p>
-<p>
-Stapleton took up the staff of office, and turned the constable over with
-it two or three times, before he could wake him. In reply to the questions
-put to him by the 'squire, Abel gave a tolerably clear account of what had
-taken place: the last thing he recollected was seeing the eyes of Ponto
-glaring at him, as he lay on the floor. Search was immediately made for
-the dog, but without success: he had either effectually concealed himself
-in some part of the house, or made his escape. Abel begged for a warrant
-from his worship to apprehend and hang the animal. “He aided and abetted
-the prisoner,” said he, “in getting his liberty; and I am ready to swear,
-and what is more, with your worship's leave, I do insist upon swearing,
-that I lay in bodily fear o' the beast. But Ponto,” continued he, “was not
-the sole and only one that lent the delinquent a helping hand; he hath a
-friend in court: the rope was cut for him, that's dear; for he never could
-have done it himself. Your worship, this looks awkward against somebody.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The morning dawned through the eastern window of the library, as Stapleton
-finished his statement, and old Borfield his second cup of coffee. The
-latter now suggested that all the persons in the house should be rigidly
-examined, and the depositions of Abel and the earth-stopper formally
-prepared. The whole of the household, as well as the two last-mentioned
-worthies, were then called in; and after a few questions had been put to
-the domestics in a body, it came out, that somebody had heard Sam say,
-before he went to bed, that the poacher's dog had burst into the
-Wainscot-room when he (Sam) went up to call the young 'squire down to
-supper. Sam, upon being questioned, prevaricated and became confused.
-Perceiving this, Stapleton inquired for Martin. “He ha'n't left his room
-yet, sir,” said Sam; “I'll step and call him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no!” exclaimed Borfield; “by no means: stay you there, and let the
-constable go for him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I forgot to say,” said Abel, “that Master Martin did certainly condescend
-to be beadle over the prisoner while I took needful refreshment.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then you ought to be whipped for suffering him to do so,” quoth Borfield.
-“Mr. Stapleton, this begins to be serious,” continued he;—Stapleton
-turned pale as he proceeded, and now wished he had not sent for his
-brother magistrate;—“the youth's your son; but it is our duty, in
-such an investigation as this, to pay no respect to persons.—And so,
-when you returned,” he added, turning to the constable again, “the bird
-was flown, was he?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will be judged by any man here, if I said so!” replied Abel. “Saul and
-I had some chat after my return; he was there, and, seemingly, safe
-enough; but the cord must have been cut by somebody while I was away.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And who did you find in the room besides Saul?” was the next question put
-by old Borfield.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Sam ran against me, as I went up over the stairs, and the young 'squire
-did the like, more disagreeably, just after I had crossed the threshold.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Borfield shook his head, and said to Sam,—“Young man, consider
-yourself in custody; and, constable, fetch down Master Martin Stapleton;—it
-is strange, amidst all this uproar, he has not made his appearance!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Has no one seen him?” inquired Stapleton, in a tone of unusual solemnity:
-he looked anxiously round the circle, but no reply was made. “Open that
-window,” continued he, pointing to one near him, in the recess of which
-stood the earth-stopper, who obeyed him, as fast as his stiff joints would
-permit A perfect silence reigned through the room for nearly a minute,
-after Abel had quitted it, in obedience to Borfield's commands, when the
-old earth-stopper said that he heard a tired horse galloping up the
-high-road, about a mile distant, and he thought it was the young 'squire's
-pie-bald. Upon being asked what induced him to think so, he replied, “Why,
-your honour, Master Martin's horse were lame vrom a zand-crack in the near
-vore-voot, and the horse I do hear, don't ztrike the ground even; I be
-zure he's lame;—and az I do think—”
- </p>
-<p>
-The earth-stopper would have proceeded, but Abel and Martin now entered
-the room. The young man's dress was in disorder; his hair was matted; his
-eyes were swollen; and his whole appearance indicated that he had not
-passed the night asleep in his bed. “I understand,” said he, addressing
-himself to Stapleton and Borfield,—“I understand that—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You have but one question to answer, Martin,” interrupted Stapleton.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And answer it or not as you think fit,” said Borfield; “recollect, young
-gentleman, that you are not compelled to implicate yourself:—be
-careful!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The caution, sir,” said Stapleton, “is kind and well-meant, but, I am
-sure, needless. Martin—did you, or did you not, aid Saul Braintree
-in his escape?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Martin was silent.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Don't press him,” said Borfield, forgetting to whom he was speaking; “we
-have quite sufficient, without his own acknowledgment, to warrant us in
-concluding that he did.—The constable's evidence—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Borfield! Borfield!” cried Stapleton, casting on the old man a look of
-reproach that silenced him; “let him answer for himself. What say you,
-Martin? Acquit yourself, I insist—I entreat!—Did you cut the
-rope for Braintree?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“All that I have to say, sir,” replied Martin, firmly,—but his voice
-faltered, and he burst into tears, and hid his face in his hands as he
-concluded,—“All that I have to say, sir, is, that the man proved to
-me he was my own father!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Martin, you're mad!” exclaimed Stapleton, starting from his seat.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Braintree your father!” said Borfield, removing his spectacles, but
-speaking in a calm and unconcerned tone; “How's this?—Then where's
-Mr. Stapleton's son?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In the county gaol, abiding his trial for murder!” replied the young man.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Martin, your wits are wandering!” almost shrieked old Stapleton; “What do
-you mean?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is but too true, sir, I fear.—Meg Braintree changed us when
-children at her breast.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, zhe didn't, Master Martin,” said some one at the lower end of the
-room; “No, zhe didn't; worse luck!”
- </p>
-<p>
-To the amazement of all present, Saul Braintree, who had just entered, now
-walked up toward the justices, and stood within three paces of the table,
-behind which their chairs were placed. Old Stapleton was still on his
-legs; and, with a vacant and almost idiotic stare, turned from Martin, on
-whom he had been gazing, to the weather-beaten face of Saul.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Tis you ha' done all this mischief, 'zquire,” pursued Braintree; “Oh! you
-used I—but, it doan't matter—Meg, too, to play zuch a trick,
-and not tell me o't!—Master Martin, zhe didn't do as I tould her;
-but never, avore this night, did I know I'd been made zuch a vool ov!—Your
-horse vailed lame as a cat wi' me, coming back; but you'll vorgi'e me, I
-do know, vor bringing'ee zuch news. I bean't your vather;—there—there,
-it do zeem, he stands: 'zquire, this be, truly, your zon; mine be in irons;
-but I'll vree un! I'll vree un!” repeated he, raising his voice suddenly
-to a high pitch; “he sha'n't bide there long! I be bad enough, vor zure
-and zartin; but I can't let un die vor I!—Oh! I be beat out and out!—Tell
-ee I can't ztand it; zo, justice, take my convession.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Borfield touched the elbow of Stapleton, who was now totally inattentive
-to the scene before him, and affectionately embracing Martin. “Take the
-pen, sir,” said Borfield; “and, prisoner, reflect a moment on what you are
-about to do: you are in a state of great excitation; we are willing to
-hear you; but, I repeat,—be cautious!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Cautious!—cautious, d'ye zay?—No, I won't! Caution's been the
-ruin o' me. Caution doan't zeem to I to be any use in theze parts. I ha'
-zeed men wi' no more forecast than chilver hogs, do well all their lives,
-and keep out o' harm's way, vlourish-ing like trees:—now I ha' been
-as cautious as a cat, and you do zee what I be come to.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I cannot write, indeed, Mr. Borfield;—I cannot write a word:—you
-must excuse me,” said Stapleton, throwing down the pen.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, well, then, as we've no clerk, and I have written nothing but my
-name these seven years,” said Borfield, offering the pen to young
-Stapleton, “suppose, Master Martin, you take down the prisoner's
-confession.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pardon me, sir,” said Martin; “<i>that</i> I never will do.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then we must adjourn the examination for an hour,” said Borfield; “let
-the prisoner be searched, and conveyed to a place of security. I will
-specially swear in the earth-stopper and my man to assist you, Abel; my
-man shall remain in the room with you, and the earth-stopper may watch
-outside the door: be attentive, earth-stopper.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And above all things,” added Abel, “take care that his dog don't get in.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Doan't'ee be aveard o' he, Yeabel,” said Saul, “I ha' killed un, poor
-blade!—It were the last zhot I shall zhoot. He ha' done much
-mischief vor I, poor dumb beast, and he might ha' done more vor a worser
-man;—vor I reckon I bean't zo bad az zome be, and that's a comvort.—I
-knocked up varmer Zalter, and borrowed his double-barrelled gun, to gi'e
-the dog his dose. Ponto knowed what a gun were, well enough; but he zeemed
-to vancy I were in vun like, when I pointed the muzzle o't to un; vor ay
-wagged his tail and looked as pleasant up in my vace, that be dashed iv I
-weren't vorced to zhut my eyes avore I could pull the trigger. But, oh!
-Master Martin, iv you had but heard his one zhort deep howl, you'd ha'
-gone 'mazed—that is—iv you were I. Truly, I do think, I zhould
-ha' zhot myzelf iv 'tweren't vor two things:—Virst, I couldn't ha'
-vreed poor dear Bob, bless un! iv I had; and next, I'd a' given my word
-and hand to varmer Zalter, I wouldn't harm myzelf avore he'd lend me his
-gun.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Martin now asked his father's permission to offer Saul a little
-refreshment; the 'squire immediately acceded to his request, and the
-kind-hearted young gentleman whispered Sam, in Saul's hearing, to get a
-little brandy from the housekeeper. Braintree, however, much to Martin's
-surprise, requested that no liquor might be brought for his use. “Master
-Martin,” said he, “it yean't wi' me, as'twere last night I be past the
-help o' brandy, now:—I be done vor. Ponto's gone, and I zhall zoon
-vollow un; he did'nt deserve it,—nor I neither, may be;—but I
-zhall ba't though, vor all that But Bob zhall be vreed—no offence,
-justices; but, d'ye hear?—Bob zhall be vree! My buoy zhan't never
-zuffer vor I. No, no, that wouldn't be like Zaul Braintree;—eh
-Master Martin?—would it, neighbours?—My wife zhan't say to I
-again, as zhe did, poor zoul, last night, 'Zaul, thee hast murdered my zon—'tean't
-pleasant—Your servant, Justice Borfield: you ha' been my ruin,
-'zquire Ztapleton; but I doan't bear malice; I do vorgive'ee wi' all my
-heart—Will'ee be zo good as to make vriends, zir, and think o' Meg,
-if aught zhould happen to me?—will'ee, zir—will'ee—will'ee!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Saul stretched forth his hand across the table, and Stapleton, apparently
-without knowing what he did, or, possibly, actuated by a return of those
-kind feelings which he had entertained for Saul, twenty years before, so
-far forgot his own character and situation and those of the prisoner, that
-he put forth his hand towards that of Braintree; a short but hearty mutual
-squeeze ensued, and Braintree immediately left the room, closely followed
-by Abel Harris, the earth-stopper, and Justice Borfield's man. He had
-scarcely proceeded a dozen steps from the door, when, as if something of
-importance had suddenly occurred to him, he turned about, and earnestly
-inquired for the young 'squire. Martin was soon by his side. “Master
-Martin,” said Saul, “there be one thing I've a' got to zay to'ee—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your wife, I suppose, Braintree—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no, not zhe; I zpoke to 'zquire about zhe:—besides, Bob will be
-vree, and won't zee poor Meg lack pine zhe will—but he can't help
-that.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Can I do any thing for you?” inquired Martin.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Not vor I—not vor I,” replied Saul. “I ha' got but a vew words to
-zay to thee, lad, and I'll zpeak 'em vreely. Peggy yean't your zister,
-now:—when I be gone, iv you can't do her no good, doan't do her no
-harm, vor my zake, lad; doan't, pr'ythee now!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I never will, you may depend, Saul.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then God bless thee, and good bye!—Now, Yeabel!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Saul now followed Abel into the Wainscot-room again, and resumed his
-handcuffs. Old Borfield, who had been roused to unusual energy, and even
-displayed a portion of that acuteness, for which he had been famed in the
-county twenty or thirty years before, sank into a doze. Long before he
-opened his eyes again, Stapleton had received Saul Braintree's confession;
-which, coupled with other circumstances, while it convicted Saul, clearly
-exculpated his son from any participation in the offence. The father and
-son were tried together; the former was found guilty, and the latter
-acquitted. Saul, however, evaded the execution of the law: a strong fear
-of death came over him, after his conviction; he made a bold attempt to
-escape, the particulars of which it would be needless to enumerate;
-suffice it to say, that he was not only unsuccessful, but perished in a
-most resolute struggle with some of the gaoler's attendants, who
-intercepted his progress. Another paragraph will finish our tale.
-</p>
-<p>
-Old Stapleton, who had long been in a declining state, died within a few
-days after Martin came of age: the young 'squire shortly after sold off
-his estates, and, as it was confidently said by some, but disbelieved by
-others, dwelt happy and contented, as it falls to the lot of most men to
-be, in a distant part of England, with his old nurse under his roof;
-Robert Braintree, the tenant of a capital farm, within a morning's ride of
-his mansion: and pretty Peggy his wife.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/111s.jpg" alt="111s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/111.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/111m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE SHAM FIGHT.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ell, Jones,—who's gone?—any body?” This was the first
-question which the excellent hostess of The New Passage Inn put to the
-waiter, as she descended one morning, rather later than usual, to her
-breakfast. Jones replied, “Every body's gone, ma'am: two parties, and one
-single gentleman, went across in the boat, without breakfasting—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Without breakfasting, Jones! I hope they've taken no offence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! no! I'm pretty sure of that, ma'am:—they went away very
-comfortable, on rum and milk.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Rum and milk!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, ma'am; glasses round, with biscuits.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! well! come!—And how did the ladies in number nine go?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In the yellow chaise; and the people in the back drawingroom, went with
-Tom Davis, in the green coach; and what with one and another, there isn't
-a turn-boy but Sam, in the yard:—he's got no chaise, you know,
-ma'am; and his hand-horse won't be fit to work, the blacksmith says, till
-Tuesday.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! well! come!” replied the hostess. “Then we've no company left.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! yes,” said Jones; “one gentleman came over in the boat, this morning,
-too late for a chaise; and there's a traveller got down from Bristol, on
-horseback, too late for the boat.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And where have you put them, Jones?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“They haven't come in-doors yet, ma'am.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What are they doing then, Jones?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“One of them is throwing stones into the water, and the other is looking
-at him, seemingly, ma'am.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pretty amusement!” said the landlady, shaking her head as she peeped
-through the bar-window, and saw the two gentlemen, at a little distance
-from the house, amusing themselves as Jones had stated. The active party
-was a man advanced in years, stout and squat in person, wearing a
-profusion of powder, and having the appearance of a respectable tradesman.
-He did not seem to be aware that he was observed, and continued to exert
-himself very strenuously in throwing pebbles into the water; until the
-other traveller, who stood within thirty paces of him, burst out into a
-shout of laughter, which the tradesman no sooner heard, than he, naturally
-enough, turned about to see from whose lungs it issued, feeling by no
-means gratified at being made acquainted, in such a manner, with the
-proximity of a stranger. He slyly dropped two or three pebbles which he
-had in his hand; hummed the chorus of a song, very much out of tune; and
-assumed a pompous and important stride, which rendered him exceedingly
-ridiculous in the eyes of the stranger, who in vain attempted to control
-himself, and laughed louder than before. The tradesman now resolutely
-tucked up his sleeves and resumed his exercise. He had thrown two or three
-dozen pebbles among the little waves, when the stranger, to his surprise,
-approached, and, in a very handsome manner, begged pardon for the
-circumstance which had peremptorily obliged him to intrude with an
-apology. The elderly man protested that he did not understand the
-gentleman who thus addressed him:—“Sir,” said he, “I know not why
-you should apologize, for you have given me no offence. I do not remember
-to have heard or seen any thing on your part, at which I could possibly
-take umbrage. However, if my hand were not dirty, I should be happy to
-offer it you, as I would to any military man in the kingdom: though you
-seem to have but lately reached the years of manhood, your weather-beaten
-face convinces me, sir, that you have seen service. If there's no
-objection on your part, I should be happy to join you at the
-breakfast-table. I've smelt powder myself; but I'll warrant, now, you
-would hardly have been keen enough to detect any symptoms of the soldier
-about me, if I hadn't let the cat out of the bag.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed I should not, sir, I must confess,” replied the young officer.
-</p>
-<p>
-“But,” continued the other, “allowances ought to be made; dress is every
-thing, as our lieutenant-colonel used to say. Now, if it were not for that
-stripe on your trousers, your military cloak, and foraging cap—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It's very likely you would not have guessed I was in the service,” said
-the officer.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Exactly so,” replied his companion. “But what say you, sir?—shall
-we breakfast together?—I'm a respectable man, and well known in most
-towns in the West of England. I travel in my own line, and do business
-extensively on commission, in old or damaged hops, especially in Wales,
-where I'm going the next trip the passage-boat makes.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I can have no doubt of your respectability, sir,” said the officer; “and
-accept your invitation very cheerfully.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, come along then, my boy!” exclaimed the traveller, descending, for
-a moment, from his dignity of deportment; “and we'll have a dish of chat.
-Have you been abroad?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, sir,” replied the young officer; “I had the honour of serving, with
-my regiment, at Waterloo.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bless my soul! I'm very glad, sir—very glad, indeed:—there
-are two or three points, about which I have long wished to have my mind
-settled, relative to that business;—but I never yet had the luck of
-meeting with an eye-witness of the battle. Why, sir,—it's the oddest
-thing in the world, you'll say;—but at the moment you addressed me,
-I was thinking of Hougoumont, and the other places whose names you
-recollect, no doubt, better than I do.—And what do you think put it
-into my head? Why, I'll tell you:—as I was walking along, the waves,
-with their bold flow, surmounted by spray, with the sunbeams dancing about
-them, reminded me of a regiment of cuirassiers advancing to the attack:
-so, to get a better appetite, in the enthusiasm of the moment I
-metamorphosed myself into a battery, and began playing away upon them with
-pebbles.—Child's work, you'll say, and derogatory to the character
-of a man of dignity.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I do not exactly agree with you, sir,” said the officer; “great men have
-often indulged in the most childish amusements; we are told of one who
-caught flies, another who made himself a hobby-horse for his little
-family, and a third who enjoyed the frolics of a kitten:—on the
-authority of these, and many similar precedents which I recollect, there
-seems to be no good reason why a gentleman, who travels in South Wales, on
-commission in the damaged hop line, should not, in a moment of relaxation,
-Don-Quixotise on the basks of the Severn, by turning the waves of its
-rising tide into French cuirassiers, and pelting them with pebbles.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sir, I like your manner amazingly!” exclaimed the traveller; “and if you
-will take any little extra, such as a pork chop or so, with your chocolate—”
- </p>
-<p>
-The officer interrupted his companion, by stating that he never took pork
-chops with chocolate; and immediately began talking about the battle of
-Waterloo, of which, during the walk to the inn, and while breakfast was
-preparing and demolishing, he gave the traveller a very animated and
-interesting description.
-</p>
-<p>
-His companion, in return, volunteered a narrative of the most important
-military event he had ever borne a share in. “I allude,” said he, “to the
-great sham fight, that took place eleven years ago, near a certain ancient
-and respectable borough, in a neighbouring county, at which I had the
-honour of being present, with a corps you have, probably, heard of, rather
-by the honourable and appropriate nick-name of 'The Borough Buffs,' than
-by the one which appeared on its buttons and orderly-books. There was not,
-perhaps, a more loyal association in the kingdom: we had not a single
-French frog on our uniform; which, although I say it, was one of the most
-elegant specimens of regimentals that has yet been produced. Our
-lieutenant-colonel was as brave and talented a volunteer-officer as ever
-wore a sword; and so much satisfaction did he give to his fellow-townsmen,
-or fellow-soldiers,—it matters not which, for they were both,—that
-a gold cup was presented to him at a public dinner, the very day before
-the sham fight took place, in testimony of the gratitude felt by the whole
-corps to their worthy and respected lieutenant-colonel,—whose name
-was Nickelcockle. The party consisted of all our own officers, and six or
-eight guests, who were attached to a division of a marching regiment, with
-blue facings, that happened to be quartered in the borough. Perhaps you
-never sat down to a more elegant dinner:—eatables excellent,—every
-thing that was expensive and out of season; wine of the first price; and
-the speeches any thing you please but parliamentary. That of our major,
-Alderman Arkfoot, when he presented the cup, was one of the neatest things
-I had then heard: but it was rather eclipsed by Lieutenant-Colonel
-Nickelcockle's reply; who, to his other gifts, added that of eloquence, in
-an extraordinary degree.—He was, indeed, an eminent man: ambitious,
-daring, and talented,—he had, as he frequently boasted, risen from
-the shop-board to be one of the greatest army-clothiers in the kingdom;
-and retired, in the prime of life, with a splendid fortune, and one
-daughter, Miss Arabella Nickelcockle, who is now the wife of a baronet.—But
-to return to his speech:—'Gentlemen, and brother officers of The
-Borough Buff Volunteers,' said he, 'this is the proudest moment I ever
-experienced since I have been a soldier.' At this early period of our
-lieutenant-colonel's speech, several of the officers belonging to the
-marching regiment, testified their approbation by crying 'Hear! hear!
-bravo! hear!'—'Gentlemen, and brother officers,' continued the
-lieutenant-colonel, 'my gratitude is immeasurable, and therefore,
-inexpressible.'—'Cut the shop, colonel!' whispered the adjutant, who
-sat on his right hand, and who, it must be confessed, too often prompted
-the lieutenant-colonel, both at our convivial meetings and on parade, to
-be quite agreeable: indeed, the fact was frequently noticed by the corps,
-and whenever the circumstance was broached, the parties who mentioned it,
-invariably sneered; which clearly shewed their opinion of the matter. The
-lieutenant-colonel was too good-natured by half, and took the intrusive
-hints of the adjutant much too easily; at least, in my opinion.—'Gentlemen,
-and brother officers of The Borough Buffs,' resumed the
-lieutenant-colonel; 'anxious as I am, at all times, to avail myself of the
-advice of our worthy and experienced adjutant, I cannot make it fit my own
-feelings to do so at present: he says, 'Cut the shop, colonel!'—Now,
-although I have retired, I cannot forget that I owe my present situation
-to trade and commerce. I rose, by my own merit, to the highest civil posts
-in the borough; and, brother officers, I also did ditto from the ranks of
-this corps to be its lieutenant-colonel!' Here the shouts of approbation
-were nearly deafening: the regular officers at the lower end, seemed, by
-their 'bravos!' to pay a compliment to the gentle-men-tradesmen, who were
-about them; and, no doubt, enjoyed the vexation of the crest-fallen
-adjutant, if one might judge by their laughter. Several glasses were
-broken; and one of the corporation took off his wig, and flourished it so
-enthusiastically round his head, that a shower of powder descended on the
-persons who sat on each side of him, as well as those immediately
-opposite. As soon as order could be restored, the lieutenant-colonel
-proceeded with his speech. 'Gentlemen,' said he, 'without any disrespect
-to our guests, I beg to say, that an armed citizen is the best of
-soldiers. And why?—Because he has his shop, his goods, his
-book-debts, <i>et cetera</i>, as well as his King and country to fight
-for.'—'Bravo!' and 'hear him!'—'I know that some of the wits,
-as they call themselves,—the opposition party of the borough,—and
-those who are <i>out</i> of place, I have always remarked, shew their wit
-much oftener than those who are <i>in</i>;—I say, gentlemen, that
-some of the <i>outs</i> have been sneering at the cup and its trimmings:
-they say that the handle of it looks more like a goose than a swan; which
-is, doubtless, a hit at my profession:—but to the utter confusion of
-the discontented wise-acres, for once in their lives they are right! I
-confess, much to the credit of the artificer, that it does look more like
-a goose than a swan. And why! Because, gentlemen—because it was
-intended for a goose!—It is, to my knowledge, cut out from an old
-Roman pattern, which, I presume, was originally made about the time when
-the bird I mentioned came into notice among the first circles, for having
-saved Rome, as you all have read in ancient history or elsewhere.' Major
-Arkfoot, who had manifested considerable,—and, if I may say so,—very
-unbecoming impatience, during the latter sentence or two, here interrupted
-the lieutenant-colonel, in a most un-officer-like manner, and flatly
-stated that he was labouring under a mistake:—he, Major Arkfoot, had
-been honoured with the orders of the committee, to make the cup, and he
-offered to pawn his entire credit, that the figure was intended for a
-swan; although, he confessed, there was a slight deficiency in the
-resemblance: 'but that,' said he, 'with the greatest respect I say it,
-lies at the committee's door: they spoiled the ship for a ha'porth of tar;
-if they had only given me the other five guineas, which I demanded, the
-bird's neck would have been at least an inch and a half longer, and so
-made all the difference.' 'Well, gentlemen, goose or swan,'—pursued
-the lieutenant-colonel; but before he could utter another word, several
-members of the committee rose at once, to address the major, who vowed
-that though its neck was rather abbreviated, it certainly was, to all
-intents and purposes, a swan; the officers of the marching regiment, at
-the lower end of the table, vociferated, 'A goose! a goose!' and Alderman
-Major Arkfoot, finding he had the worst of it, rose again, and roared loud
-enough to be heard, 'Well, gentlemen, as my dissentient voice does not
-seem to yield infinite delight to the company, without offence to the
-lieutenant-colonel, a goose let it be dubbed!' And it was so most
-unanimously. While the lieutenant-colonel endeavoured, as he said, to pick
-up the thread of his discourse, which had been interrupted in the manner I
-have mentioned, I cast my eyes toward the lower end of the table, and,
-truly, I never remember to have seen any gentlemen more cheerful at table,
-than the officers with the blue trimmings. The lieutenant-colonel next
-touched upon the important subject of the great sham fight, on the ensuing
-day. After describing the general appearance, the advantages and
-disadvantages of the field,—viewing it with a military eye,—he
-descanted at great length, on the importance of the post to which The
-Borough Buffs were appointed. It was a hill that rose almost
-perpendicularly from the bank of a swift brook, and was nearly
-inaccessible at all points except in the rear. 'Brother-officers,' cried
-the lieutenant-colonel, 'the gallant general who commands us, on this
-occasion, pronounces the post to be impregnable;—and I feel most
-grateful to him for the high honour of having entrusted its defence to the
-gallant corps of Borough Buffs under my command. We form, gentlemen, the
-right arm—the adjutant says, 'wing'—but I say, the right arm'—'Wing!'
-interrupted the pertinacious and very unpleasant adjutant. 'Well, the
-wing,'—thus the lieutenant-colonel went on; 'the gizzard-wing, of
-what are supposed to be the English forces:—our instructions are, to
-maintain our post against a regiment of breechless Highlanders; and I
-doubt not but that success will crown our efforts. Let not our renown be
-tarnished by the non-attendance of any of the officers or privates of the
-corps;—let not any man's wife or family, by vain fears, induce him
-to hang back on this occasion. It is the first time we have ever had an
-opportunity of distinguishing ourselves; and I pledge my word that there
-is no more danger than in an ordinary parade. The general, when he
-inspected us, did me the honour to say, that there was not a corps in the
-service whose accoutrements were cleaner, or whose coats fitted better.
-Brother-officers, let us prove that we fit our coats, as well as they fit
-us;—let us shew those who sneer at us for being tradesmen, that, if
-we do—as they say—if we do drive bargains upon parade, we can
-also drive the enemy in the field!' The applause which had been gradually
-increasing at every interval between the lieutenant-colonel's sentences,
-here reached its climax; the officers at the lower end of the table very
-freely joined in it, out of respect to the corps; indeed, the conduct of
-these gentlemen was exceedingly flattering on this occasion. But to
-continue:—'Gentlemen,' exclaimed the lieutenant-colonel, 'I know
-that your feelings match exactly with my own; but, remember, we have a
-keen enemy to encounter; we must, therefore, be as cool, as collected, and
-as sharp as needles. We shall be supported by two companies of infantry,
-who will take up a position, at a little distance on our left, and so
-connect us with the main line. The companies I allude to are of that
-glorious and gallant regiment to which our worthy guests with the blue
-facings belong: they, as well as a troop of yeomanry, which I expect will
-muster six or eight-and-thirty strong, will be tacked to The Borough Buffs
-and receive my orders.'—'Compose, with our corps, the division under
-my command,' muttered the adjutant But the lieutenant-colonel either did
-not hear, or would not heed him, and went on with his speech.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I have only to repeat my thanks for the honour you
-have conferred on me;—to beseech the greatest punctuality, neatness,
-and despatch, to-morrow; and to drink success to the loyal and efficient
-corps of Borough Buff Volunteers!' The tumultuous cheers with which this
-toast was received, I will not attempt to describe. The lieutenant-colonel
-sat down very well satisfied with himself, as well he might, and
-everything went on amicably for above an hour; when the peace of the party
-was rather disturbed by a violent quarrel, between Alderman Major Arkfoot
-and Alderman Lieutenant Squill, one of the committee-men, relative to the
-goose or the swan,—whichever it might be, on the presentation-cup.
-Words, at last, rose to such a height, that Alderman Arkfoot—very
-indecently referring to connubial affairs, totally without foundation,—for
-I do not think any man, besides her husband, was better acquainted with
-the private life and domestic virtues of Mrs. Squill than myself,—most
-injudiciously, in his heat, called Alderman Squill 'a cuckoldy cur!'
-Alderman Squill asked, very warmly, 'what he meant by his <i>double
-entendre?</i>' And the corps might have been seriously disgraced, by an
-effusion from that feature whence no military man wishes to shed his
-blood, when the lieutenant-colonel, with that infinite presence of mind
-for which he has always been admirable in business, the council-chamber,
-or the field, rose up, and placing a hand on each belligerent party's
-mouth, who were sitting, or rather, standing, within his reach, and
-opposite each other,—called upon one of the officers with the blue
-facings, for a sentiment or a song. A tall captain, whose face, if I may
-presume to say so, was too ferocious to be genteel, but who had, I must
-needs testify, been very prominent in applauding the lieutenant-colonel's
-speech, immediately complied, and, with his victorious voice, soon
-vanquished the inimical and unsociable uproar at our end of the table,
-which ought to have set a pattern to the junior officers in the centre.
-But a good-natured gentleman's song or saying, often produces an effect
-very different to what the singer or the sayer intends; and this was the
-case with the ditty of the captain of the ferocious aspect and colossal
-voice. His burthen, or chorus, which he meant as a compliment to us, was
-turned into a sneer, by some who sat near the colonel, and who always felt
-sore even at a compliment on the corps from any of the regulars. The words
-of the chorus were, simply, as I shall here specify;—to wit,—as
-the law says:—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-'The Borough Volunteers, my boys,
-Are men both stout and bold;
-And when they meet the enemy,
-They scorn to be controll'd!'”
- </pre>
-<p>
-“For my own part, I felt obliged to the gentleman, and considered the
-expressions as highly gratifying to every member of the corps; but there
-were some about me who thought differently. They said, that the word
-'stout,' in the second line, was palpably meant satirically, on account of
-the portliness of the greater part of the officers of The Borough Buffs;
-and that the two last lines were intended to be offensive, because the
-singer well knew that our corps, never yet having had the good fortune to
-be opposed to an enemy, could not possibly have exhibited its valour.
-There were two riders tacked to this reading of the lines; one of which
-was, that the words, 'They scorn to be controlled!' amounted to an
-impeachment on our discipline: the second, I recollect, went further, and
-broadly stated, that those words implied cowardice; and that, were the
-corps ever to be brought face to face with an enemy, we, The Borough
-Buffs, should, in our fears, so scorn control, as to shew our adversaries
-a regiment of heels! Alderman Arkfoot observed, that as we were all in
-regimentals, we ought to feel and act as gentlemen, and call the
-individual to an account for his obnoxious chorus; which, he doubted not,
-might be explained away; but for the honour of the corps, he thought it
-ought to be noticed. The lieutenant-colonel, and several others, were of
-the same opinion; and it was unanimously agreed, that the officer, with
-the ferocious aspect and exceedingly stupendous voice, should be hauled
-over the coals.—The discussion was held in a low tone of voice
-amongst ourselves, at the head of the table; we had arrived at that point,
-when men break into knots, and discourse in dozens, so that our debate was
-unheard and unnoticed by those who were below us. It was agreed that
-satisfaction should be demanded; and there the matter seemed to rest, or
-rather, to be dying away, for nobody volunteered to do the needful. At
-last, when another subject had been started, the adjutant mooted it up
-again, by saying, that we reminded him of the fable of the mice, who
-decided on putting a bell round Grimalkin's neck, but no valorous
-individual would undertake the exploit.—'Gentlemen,' continued he,
-'that the officer at the bottom of the table did intend an insult to the
-corps, I have no doubt;—far be it from me to say we do not merit his
-sneers;—but that matters not; it behoves us to keep up a character,
-though we know we do not deserve it The gentleman must be spoken with. I
-should do myself the honour of presenting him with my card, but that it
-would be a high breach of military decorum for me to take precedence, in
-the business, of the lieutenant-colonel and Major Arkfoot; on either of
-whom I shall be proud and happy to attend on this most peremptory
-occasion.' The lieutenant-colonel and Alderman Arkfoot now thought they
-saw the expressions in rather a different light: they very properly
-animadverted upon the evil of bickering or quarrelling about trifles;—protested
-that a joke was a joke;—observed that the gentleman was their guest,
-and to-morrow was appointed for the sham fight; and, finally, began to
-joke and jog off, by degrees, to other affairs;—giving such a
-favourable colour to the matter, as they dropped it, as to excite my
-admiration and respect. But the bull-dog adjutant still persevered in
-pinning them to the point; and, in the end, positively drove our reluctant
-friends into a tacit compliance with his request, to be constituted the
-second of one of them in the affair. He would not speak to the officer
-with the ferocious aspect and blue facings on the subject at table, but
-said he should defer it until the party broke up. He then began to be
-horribly gay and loquacious. Melancholy reigned among the rest of us, at
-the upper end of the table, during the residue of our stay, and we wished
-our worthy lieutenant-colonel and Alderman Arkfoot 'goodnight!' with
-aching hearts;—blessing ourselves, individually and silently, as we
-went home, that we were not field-officers of The Borough Buffs. The
-adjutant, sure enough, spoke to the officer who had sung the song, that
-night; but the gentleman would give no satisfaction, and was so
-fastidious, as to refuse fighting either the lieutenant-colonel, the
-major, or, as he said, any other mechanical or counter fellow in the
-corps: but as for the adjutant, (who had served, I must tell you, in a
-marching regiment, and sold out,) he'd fight him with the greatest
-pleasure in life, because he was a gentleman. The next morning they met;
-our adjutant was attended by a one-armed lieutenant of the navy, because
-the friend of the officer of the ferocious aspect refused, like his
-principal, to meet any of us on the subject. Thus the adjutant dug a pit
-for himself; and none of us were more sorry than became us for it, except
-that it deprived us of his advice in the sham fight; for the wound which
-he received in the duel with the officer, although by no means dangerous,
-was sufficient to prevent him from leaving his bed for a week.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The next morning, half the borough was in arms, and the remainder in an
-uproar. We mustered, at an early hour, in a large field, adjoining Captain
-Tucker's tan-pits; and only nine men and one officer did not answer to
-their names. The officer was Surgeon Tamlen;—he was obliged to
-remain in attendance on Lieutenant Squill's good lady, who was really of
-such an affectionate and anxious turn, that her forebodings lest the
-lieutenant should get hurt had so worked upon her nerves, that he left her
-with positive symptoms of fever. Nothing, however, could deter him from
-doing his duty; he felt satisfied that all her wants and wishes would be
-attended to by Surgeon Tamlen, in his absence, and joined us in very
-tolerable spirits, considering all things. I forgot to mention that,
-besides the defaulters, a third of the grenadiers were absent on some
-secret service, the nature of which we could not divine, notwithstanding
-the lieutenant-colonel winked very significantly when we noticed their
-non-appearance. Several ladies, in barouches and landaus, with buff
-favours in their bosoms and bonnets,—the wives and daughters of the
-officers and other leading men in the borough,—saluted us as they
-dashed along the road which bounded the field, on their way to the hill.
-Such a circumstance as a sham fight had not occurred in our neighbourhood
-within the memory of man; and every lady was, naturally enough, anxious to
-witness the interesting scene, in which her husband or father was to bear
-some conspicuous part. Precisely as the clock of the Borough Hall struck
-eight, we marched off, with drums beating, colours flying, and everything
-agreeable and auspicious. I must give the lieutenant-colonel the credit to
-say that, in our preliminary manoeuvres, as well as during the march, the
-officers and men were much more comfortable than if the adjutant had been
-with us; the latter being a man who was eternally finding fault, where no
-other individual in the regiment could perceive any thing to be amiss.
-After a distressing march of two hours and a half, along a dusty road, we
-reached the rear of the hill. There we halted for about twenty minutes,
-and then proceeded to mount the acclivity, all the difficulties of which
-we overcame, and on our arrival at its summit, were gratified by a
-prospect which fully recompensed us for our toils. The secret service on
-which the grenadiers had been sent was now very pleasantly palpable. Our
-excellent lieutenant-colonel, whose prudence and attention on all
-occasions, no words of mine can sufficiently applaud, had despatched, at
-day-break, two artillery-waggons, which he had requested for the purpose
-from the general, under convoy of our grenadiers, to the post we were to
-occupy. The first waggon contained thirty rounds—not of
-ball-cartridges—but beef, a strong detachment of turkies, a squadron
-of hams, a troop of tongues, and several battalions of boiled fowls and
-legs of mutton. The second waggon was garrisoned by hampers of wine, ale,
-and liquors; and plates, knives and forks, bread, cheese, mustard, and all
-the <i>etceteras</i> of the table, were billetted in the various crannies
-and corners. There was only one drawback on the delight which the
-appearance of so many good things produced:—the men, not having been
-made acquainted with the lieutenant-colonel's kind intention of ordering a
-cold collation out of our surplus funds, for refreshment after our
-intended repulse of the Highlanders, had each brought his dinner in his
-knapsack; or, where no private and individual provision had been made,
-messes were arranged, and every man carried his separate quota for the
-general good. For instance:—one had charged his knapsack with a
-beef-steak pie, another with a ham, a third with a fillet of veal, a
-fourth with a keg of ale, and so on. Notwithstanding this, we could not
-help admiring our lieutenant-colonel's foresight, in providing for our
-wants and comforts. It was certainly to be wished though, that he had not
-restricted himself to a wink or a nod on the occasion; and this was the
-chief mistake in judgment which he committed, much to his praise be it
-spoken, in the course of that arduous and eventful day. The ladies, who
-had left their landaus and barouches at the foot of the hill, were busy,
-on our arrival, laying out the refreshments in the most elegant and
-tasteful manner imaginable:—each dish was garnished by laurel
-leaves; and in the centre of the cloths, which were laid upon a part of
-the ground that was levelled and mown for the purpose, we beheld, as we
-marched along the flank of the collation, a device in confectionary, which
-excited the warmest approbation of the whole corps—officers as well
-as men: it consisted of a variety of expressive and appropriate martial
-ornaments, around which buff ribbons were entwined, supporting a splendid
-cage of barley-sugar, with a bird cut out of currant-jelly inside it, and
-a cap of liberty surmounting the whole!—We gave three cheers at the
-sight, and instantly prepared for action. But the colonel, with evident
-indignation and his accustomed dignity, reprimanded the corps in general,
-and two of the privates,—butchers and brothers, by-the-by, who were
-sharpening knives on their bayonets,—in particular, for this
-improper and very unsoldier-like ebullition. He pointed to the
-Highlanders, who were already forming for attack at the foot of the hill;
-and bade us remember that, in his last general orders, he had specially
-enjoined every officer and man in the corps to eat a good breakfast before
-he left home; so that no one had any excuse for being hungry these two
-hours. The grenadiers were ordered to fix bayonets in front of the
-collation, and the main body of the corps immediately obeyed the word of
-command to march. In a few moments we were at the brow of the hill; and
-there, in the presence of the Highlanders, and, indeed, two-thirds of the
-whole field, the lieutenant-colonel put us through as much of the platoon
-exercise as he thought fit. Only three muskets were dropped during the
-drill; and, at its conclusion, the lieutenant-colonel, Major Arkfoot, and
-the other officers who were picked out for the staff, rode through the
-ranks, diffusing courage and confidence, with small glasses of brandy, to
-every man in the corps.
-</p>
-<p>
-“At length we heard the enemy's right wing opening a tremendous fire far
-away on our left; the lieutenant-colonel immediately dismounted, for his
-horse did not exhibit sufficient symptoms of discipline to warrant our
-commander's retaining his seat; and, at that moment, the Highlanders
-struck up a popular tune on their bagpipes, to which, on turning our eyes
-towards the munitions, we observed our fair ladies reeling it away, very
-elegantly, with the gallant grenadiers. On came the enemy, gaily, as if
-they were going to a wedding; but, wait a bit, thought we, they will look
-rather foolish when they come to the bank of the brook,—of which
-they really did not seem to be aware. We were all ready to break out into
-one universal shout of laughter at their surprise, and immediately to gall
-them with a tremendous volley of blank cartridge; when, to our
-astonishment, on reaching the bank, they marched into the water, and slap
-through it, without breaking step, or the time of the tune they played an
-their bagpipes!—Our lieutenant-colonel, as may very naturally be
-supposed, was totally unprepared for this; even though they did not wear
-breeches, he could not have foreseen that they would have marched above
-their knees in water, at a sham fight:—but he did not lose his
-presence of mind; he immediately ordered the drums to beat, the fifes to
-play, the colours to be waved, the whole corps to fire, and every
-individual, officers and all, to increase the noise of the volley, by a
-stout and hearty hurrah!—We had scarcely obeyed his orders, when the
-ladies set up a shriek which shattered every man's nerves in the ranks. We
-looked over our left shoulders at the sound, and, to our infinite dismay
-and amazement, beheld a body of Highlanders at our backs, advancing in
-double quick time, with bayonets fixed, to charge us in rear! The
-lieutenant-colonel, perceiving the critical posture of affairs, and ever
-alive to the welfare of the corps, ran round to meet the enemy; and cried,
-with all his might, 'Halt! remnant of the Highlanders! Halt! remnant of
-the Highlanders! Halt, I repeat!'—But the savage rogues, who had
-marched round the hill unperceived by us, while their comrades advanced in
-front, heeded the lieutenant-colonel as little as if he had been an
-oyster-wench, and still came on at a dogtrot pace; while the other fellows
-of the regiment, who had, by this time, nearly reached the brow of the
-hill, did the like, with loud shouts and fixed bayonets, as though it were
-a real, instead of a sham fight. At last,—the lieutenant-colonel in
-the rear, and Major Arkfoot in front, being actually within a few paces of
-their points—the lieutenant-colonel, out of a most fatherly regard
-for those under his command, thinking the matter began to be above a joke,
-and not knowing to what extent the terrific enthusiasm of the Highlanders
-might carry them, gave at once the word, and a most excellent example to
-all who chose to follow it, for retreating. Thus, we were compelled,
-through violence and a fraudulent <i>ruse-de-guerre</i>, which we were
-totally unprepared to expect in a sham fight, to leave our ladies, legs of
-mutton, turkeys, wine, hams, and other provisions, at the mercy of a rude
-and breechless enemy! One or two of our fellows, who could not get away,
-described to us, afterwards, the unseemly glee with which the hungry,
-half-starved Highlanders, sat down to our rounds of beef, boiled fowls,
-tongue, and other dainties and drinkables; and how soon these things
-disappeared before them. But what really irked and annoyed us more than
-the mishap and loss of our collation, was, that the ladies, for months
-after, vaunted the gallantry and politeness of the Highland officers, who,—confound
-them!—it seems, protested against the amusements of the fair ones
-being interrupted by their appearance; and, after devouring the
-lieutenant-colonel's cold collation, insisted, with the most marked
-urbanity, on our wives and daughters continuing their reels to the sound
-of the bagpipes, substituting themselves for the flying grenadiers. We
-heard of nothing in the town, for ten months after, but the gallant
-Highlanders and their handsome legs, and a dozen other matters to which
-husbands and fathers have solid objections to listen. Lieutenant and
-Alderman Squill had the ill-nature to say, that he felt exceedingly happy
-that his wife had been taken so very unwell that morning, as to be placed
-under the care of Surgeon Tamlen; and those villains, the epigram writers,
-in the poet's corner of our country paper, had the impudence to lampoon
-us, for leaving, as they said, our Dalilas in the hands of the
-Philistines. But we bore our taunts with manly fortitude; though, I must
-say, the fact is not yet forgotten in the borough; and the young ladies
-grieve, who were not old enough to be on the hill, with their mamas or
-sisters, when the gallant Highlanders, as they call them, routed The
-Borough Buffs.
-</p>
-<p>
-“We retreated in such disorder as circumstances rendered inevitable for
-above a mile, when our wind failing us, we rallied. The line was no sooner
-formed than somebody proposed that we should lunch; the motion was carried
-unanimously, and down the men sat to devour the contents of their
-knapsacks: the lieutenant-colonel, Major Arkfoot, and the rest of the
-staff, advanced to the carriages where the ladies had left their
-provisions, under the laudable pretence of reconnoitring;—for field
-officers must eat, although they should seem to be above it, as well as
-privates. We occasionally heaved a sigh for the poor things we had left
-behind us, and determined to effect a rescue at all hazards; but none of
-us indulged in such unmilitary sorrow as to blunt the edge of our
-appetites, and we proceeded to lunch very satisfactorily. But another
-misfortune, which no human foresight could prevent, occurred to the corps
-while we were eating. We had very naturally concluded that the Highlanders
-would have remained content with obtaining possession of the post; or, at
-any rate, been retained by the attractions of the collation and the
-ladies; we, therefore, felt quite easy. But, strange to say, the fellows
-not only devoured our provisions, danced, drank, and sang, while we were
-retreating, but actually came upon us again before we could fully
-sacrifice to the cravings of nature. The lieutenant-colonel and the whole
-of the staff were taken prisoners, and driven off, under an escort of
-Highlanders, in solemn mockery, in the landaus and barouches, to our
-ancient borough; and we, who were now without an efficient leader, felt
-obliged to scamper—we scarcely knew where. We acted as a hive of
-ants, when their haunt is suddenly invaded by a ruthless brood of juvenile
-turkeys; each of us snatched up a gun, a knuckle of ham, a knapsack, or a
-loaf, no matter to whom it belonged, so that each individual was freighted
-for the general good, and away to go!—We had not proceeded far
-before we were overtaken, and our progress was arrested by the troops
-under the orders of the captain of the ferocious aspect, blue facings, and
-terrific voice. No sooner had he ascertained the situation of our affairs,
-than he assumed the command, and ordered us to halt, in a tone and manner
-that nobody felt inclined to disobey. The Highlanders, finding that they
-were not a match for us in retreating, had, previously, relinquished the
-pursuit, in favour of a regiment of cavalry, who came down upon us at full
-speed. The captain of the ferocious aspect seeing this, immediately drew
-us off into a field,—for we were now in an inclosed country,—and
-after commanding his own men, the yeomanry, and the centre company of our
-corps, to fly in the greatest apparent disorder, ordered us to draw up,
-with a quick-set hedge and a deep and very dirty ditch between us and the
-enemy. When the cavalry had reached within a few hundred yards of the
-hedge which protected us, the captain with the huge voice said, in a
-whisper which was heard from one end of the line to the other:—'The
-Borough Buff Volunteers will all lie down in the ditch!' This order spread
-consternation through the corps; but down we were obliged to go—in
-the filthy, abominable puddle and mire, lying in close order from one end
-of the ditch to the other, and fouling our regimentals in a manner that
-made us, collectively and individually, grieve in the most superlative
-degree. Anon, the cavalry came up,—little dreaming that we were
-lying in the mire and puddle,—leaped the hedge and ditch, in line,
-and scampered off after the fugitives. They had scarcely galloped a
-hundred paces, when the captain with the ferocious aspect ordered us to
-rise, form on the bank, and pour a volley, which we had kept in reserve,
-into their rear. The centre company, the regulars, and yeomanry, no sooner
-heard the report than, in pursuance of orders they had received, they
-formed and faced about for attack.—We then charged the enemy, in
-front and in rear at the same moment; and there being no outlet to the
-field on the right or left, the cavalry were completely placed at a
-nonplus; and had the business been a <i>bona fide</i> engagement, their
-position, as you must needs admit, would not have been altogether
-exquisite.—This manouvre of the captain with the blue facings and
-ferocious aspect retrieved the honour of the Borough Buffs; and we
-returned home with drums beating, colours flying, and great eclat,
-notwithstanding we had lost our field-officers, our ladies, our
-provisions, and possession of the impregnable hill.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/128s.jpg" alt="128s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/128.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/128m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE BACHELOR'S DARLING.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n a fine summer's morning, a few years ago, two travellers were observed
-by the turnpike-woman, approaching along the high road, towards Bilberry
-Gate; both were on foot, and one of them led a very pretty poney, laden
-with two or three half-filled sacks, and an assortment of new and
-second-hand saucepans, ladles, and similar wares. As they advanced, the
-turnpike-woman amused herself, by picking up such crumbs of their
-discourse, as the distance between her and the interlocutors would permit;
-and by putting what she thus gleaned together, Dame Hetty discovered that
-they were strangers to each other;—the tinker's companion having
-scraped acquaintance with that worthy only a few minutes before, on the
-ground of their both being, apparently, journeying in the same direction.
-The tinker, she thought, was about thirty, or two-and-thirty years of age,
-at the utmost; he was a rough, thick-set fellow, of a middling size, with
-a loud voice and swaggering deportment His companion, Dame Hetty set down
-in her own mind as an Irishman, by his brogue;—he was, most likely,
-she thought, a beggar or a ballad-singer, or both, by his accoutrements;
-he had a wooden leg, a patch over his right eye, and the left sleeve of
-his ragged military jacket seemed to be empty. Hetty conjectured from
-these appearances that he might be an old soldier; but thought it was more
-probable that he had lost his limbs and eye by casualties not produced by
-war; and had assumed regimentals, as a striking costume for a maimed
-beggar or ballad-singer, although, perhaps, he had never smelt powder
-since he fired off penny cannons in his urchinhood.
-</p>
-<p>
-These ideas came into Dame Hetty's head, without any solicitation on her
-part: she cared as little about the travellers as they did about her; but
-she looked at them and thought about them merely for want of a better
-subject, while she waited at the gate-side in expectation of the tinker's
-toll. When the two men and the poney arrived within a few yards of the
-turnpike, they turned suddenly to the right, and entered a lane which led
-towards a village a few miles off. The poney's tail had scarcely
-disappeared, when the dame entered the gate cottage, muttering that this
-was the fourth time she had been disappointed, early as it was in the day,
-by folks going down the lane instead of coming along the high road. “But,
-odd!” said she; “I mustn't expect every horse that comes in sight will
-pass the gate, when it's revel-day in the village. If there were a bar,
-now, put across the lane, as hath long been talked of, I should ha' caught
-the tinker's penny: but though he hath leave, my husband never will do't,
-that's certain;—a stupid toad! if 'tweren't for I, he wouldn't have
-a hole to put his head in; and much thanks I get! Lord! if I were but a
-man!”
- </p>
-<p>
-While Dame Hetty was soliloquizing to the foregoing effect, the tinker and
-his companion proceeded at a quiet pace down the lane: the narrow road had
-a verdant margin on each side, of considerable breadth; it was broken into
-knolls in some parts, and here and there a hawthorn flourished, or a
-bramble sheltered a family of tall weeds: the thorns and briars bore
-evidence that sheep were occasionally permitted to pasture in the lane; a
-horse, with a huge log chained to one of his hind legs, to prevent him
-from roaming far, was quietly grazing on one side of the road; and nearly
-opposite him, a pig, wearing a collar, as an estoppel to his invading the
-fields, by creeping through their hedges, lay dozing on the other, near an
-old dung-heap that was nearly covered with “summer's green and flowery
-livery.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The travellers had proceeded but a few paces down the lane, when they
-observed a thin stream of smoke rising from behind a large bush, which
-grew within a little distance of the right-hand hedge, and they
-immediately turned their steps across the turf towards it. On approaching
-nearer, they discovered a tall, lean man, in a plaid cloak, actively
-engaged in raking together the embers of a fire, and placing bits of dry
-wood upon a little blaze that shot up from its centre. “Is this a gipsy's
-old place, I wonder?” said the Irishman; “and is the pedlar, for so I take
-him to be, making it up to cook his breakfast?—God save ye kindly!”
- continued he, as he came within hearing of the man in the plaid coat.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Whither awa', friend?” quoth the pedlar.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Is it to the revel ye're budging, Sawney?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What would ye give to ken, Paddy?—And if I were ganging that gate,
-why for no, eh?—Ye seem to be cattle for that market yoursel'; wi'
-your bits o' ballads, and them scraps or fragments o' mortality ye've
-saved fra' the wars. Ye're some broken-down beggar, I doubt Sauf us a'!
-isn't it rare to see sic trash perk up to a travelling tradesman, and
-address an honest and respactable person wi' a plain 'Sawney?'—a
-mon, though I say it, whose bill for sax, ay, or aught pounds, in Bristol
-or Frome—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aisy! aisy, man!” interrupted the other; “aisy, or we'll quarrel, I'm
-sure;—and when I quarrel, I fight; and it isn't before breakfast I
-like fighting:—everything's good in its season; so we won't fight
-now. As for your bill, though, I'll make bold to say this,—so I
-will, any how—as for your bill, I wouldn't give the worst ballad I
-have, for the best bill you or the likes o' ye ever made:—but don't
-let's be quarrelling, for all that.—Do you mark, though? if you cast
-any more dirt upon my person or my goods, I'll indorse that bill of yours,
-that sticks up betuxt your two eyes, in the place of a nose, with the fist
-that's left me. I'll engage, if I put my hand to it, it won't add much to
-its value, if you wished to raise money on it: but aisy, both of us;
-quarrelling does no good.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come, come,—I like thee for that, comrade,” said the third
-traveller; “now that's nature;—so shake hands, both of'ee, lads.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! wid all my heart!” said the Irishman; “Darby Doherty isn't the boy to
-bear malice: but when a big fellow, with all his legs and things o' that
-kind left, tells me about my fragments, it puts me up—do you see?—puts
-me up, sir:—though I'm not one for quarrelling, yet I'd like to have
-a pelt at him; but it's before breakfast—Why should he notice my
-legs? It's true then, sure enough, I've only one arm, one leg, one wife
-and a child;—-just a thing of a sort:—but suppose it's my
-fancy to be so; why should he throw it out at me?—wid his dirty pack—his
-case of trumpery there!—May be I like number one; why shouldn't I?—Now
-if I was given to quarrelling, here's an excuse, isn't there? But I'm not.—How
-does he know, tinker—for a tinker I take you to be”—
-</p>
-<p>
-Here the tinker bowed, and again requested Mister Doherty to shake hands
-with the North Briton. By his endeavours, in a few moments, peace was
-restored; the Irishman seemed to have forgotten what had passed, but the
-Scotchman sat rather sullenly by the side of the fire, which blazed away
-very pleasantly. The important subject of breakfast was soon broached, and
-Doherty made a proposal to club the contents of their wallets. The tinker
-had a loaf of black, dry, barley-bread, and a triangular morsel of cheese,
-which, Doherty said, was fit food for cannibals, who wore hatchets in
-their mouths instead of teeth. The pedlar drew forth a tin can, containing
-a small quantity of meal. The Irishman had nothing eatable, but, as he
-assured his companions, an appetite that would make up for the deficiency.
-“I never carry any food outside my skin,” said he; “when I've a trifle of
-money to spare, I invariably invest it in whiskey. I've just nine-pen'orth
-in my bottle here now; or may be more, for it wasn't empty when I made the
-last purchase; and I'd share it most generously wid ye, if ye'd anything
-aqual in value to offer me in return:—but you, tinker, have nothing
-but black bread, and a little yellow bit of granite, you call cheese—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nothing,—that's it,” replied the tinker; “except a feed for the
-poney. He! he! mayhap you'll eat a oat?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! go to Otaheite,—where Captain Cook couldn't dress his dinner.
-Do you take me for Cæsar, or any similar savage?—And you, Mr.
-Pedlar, have nought in your wallet but dry meal, to make cold stirabout,
-or a roley-poley bolus, worked up wid water, in the hollow of your hand.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Didna I tell ye so?” said the pedlar; “and a wee bit it is, as ye may
-see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And you've nothing in the wide world else?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nought that ye can eat.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then ould Ireland for ever! I'm a made man!—If you've nothing
-eatable but meal, these red herrings are mine: I just picked them up from
-the grass where your pack stood, a while ago, when you were dipping into
-it for the meal-can. They can't be yours, you'll own!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I tell ye they are, though,” cried the pedlar, advancing towards Doherty;
-“and what's mair—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aisy, aisy, again, or else we'll quarrel,” said Doherty, pushing him
-gently aside; “I'll abide by what the tinker says.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He's an intarasted party,” replied the pedlar; “and I'll no constitute
-him arbitrator.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, well, then,—I'll tell you what we'll do;—don't let's
-quarrel;—to settle everything amicably, I'll trate you to a herring
-a-piece.—You won't? Did you ever see the likes of him?—I'm
-sure we'll quarrel: I'm sure we'll have a fight at last; though I wouldn't
-for five farthings,—and that's money you'll own;—but Jove
-himself couldn't stand this.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The ballad-singer speaks fair, in my mind, pedlar,” quoth the tinker.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Hech! now, nane o' your havers! I'm no sic a puir daft body as to be
-gulled o' my guids, by birds o' your feather; rad harrings dinna swim into
-a mon's wallet, wi' whistling; you must bait your fingers wi' siller to
-catch them in these pairts,—and groats dinna grow upon bushes
-noo-a-days.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, that's true enough,” said the tinker; “give him his fishes, and
-we'll buy one a-piece of him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Let's know what he'll take, though, before we part wi' them,” said the
-Irishman; “may be we'd quarrel about the price after.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Right,—very right,” replied the tinker.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Sirs,” quoth the pedlar, “business is bad; the girls dinna pairt with
-their hair noo, as they used, for a bauble or so,—a mon must hae
-guid guids for them. I'd be free, and invite ye to share wi' me,—but
-prudence wouldna tolerate it in ane like me, that has eleven bairns.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now that's what I call nature!” exclaimed the tinker with considerable
-emphasis.
-</p>
-<p>
-“An arithmetical excuse for being stingy,” quoth Doherty; “Eleven
-children! and I've one at home,—which is a bag at his mother's back,—that
-would eat as much as any seven of them. I'd another, once, but the
-blackguard gipsies coaxed her away from the side of us, when we was
-singing, 'Rogues around you,' at Weyhill. They did it by ginger-bread, or
-something like it, I think;—bad luck to them!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay! ay! just as the pigeon people do decoy other folks' young birds by
-hemp-seed and salt-cats. Oh! it's natura.—Why, now, there's a chap,
-whose sweepings I ha' bought lately.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Whose what?” inquired Doherty.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The sweepings of his loft,” replied the tinker; “he's a pigeon-keeper,
-and I'm a collector.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! a sort of scavenger to the birds?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, truly; there's many dove-cotes hereabouts, and collecting be my main
-business; they do use the sweepings in tanning. I pays a shilling a bushel
-for'em if they be clean, and so turns an honest penny.—Tinkering
-isn't half what it was, since iron crocks have come in so much. To be
-sure, the maidens do save the broken spoons for me to melt and mould again
-when I comes round; and there's a cullender or so, now and then, to
-solder;—but what's that?—I'm a tradesman, as well as the
-pedlar, and what's more, a mechanic; but if my trade won't support me, why
-should I support my trade, eh?—Well, what did I do; but take to
-waddling, as we call it, for wood-ashes to sell to the soap-makers, and
-pigeon-cleanings for the tanners; and so I contrives, one way and another,
-to make a pretty good bit of bread.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is this a specimen?” said the Irishman, taking up the tinker's loaf.—“If
-it is, faith! then, the world's but a middling oven for you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Stop!—here!” cried the tinker, as Doherty was about to roll the
-loaf along the grass: “Don't do that;—my poney is the biggest thief
-as ever I knowed,—that is, for a horse. He'd snap it up in no time.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Would he?—Then I honour him for his talent; though the less we say
-about his taste the better. Who taught him them tricks?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, I did—that is, partly—but somebody stole him from me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Musha! then the man who did that, wouldn't scruple to rob a thief of his
-picklock. Well!”—
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, he got into the riders' hands;—them chaps that goes about to
-fairs, and revels, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, I know;—and they finished his education; and when you got him
-again he was quite accomplished, without any trouble or expense to
-yourself. Tinker, you're a lucky man! I don't think you and I would ever
-quarrel upon a point o' conscience.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no;—that wouldn't be natural.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Friends,” observed the Scotchman, “we're wasting time; and time, to a
-prudent mon, is siller:—ye're wasting it in idle discourse. The
-harrings—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! dirty butter upon your herrings and every one of them! Would you pick
-a quarrel with me again?” vociferated Darby. “Tinker, bring me one of your
-second-hand kettles, or crocks, and let's make soup or something, and go
-to breakfast. If you'll club your herrings, your meal, and your bread,—why
-then I'll be my whiskey.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The pedlar acquiesced with the best grace a man, who is compelled to give
-his consent to a proposition, possibly could: a debate ensued, as to the
-best mode of cooking the food; it was, at length, decided that the meal
-should be boiled in a gallon of water, and that the herrings should be
-broiled, and then put into the pot to give the mess a flavour. “If that
-won't make it salt enough,” said Darby, “a bit of burnt stick will do the
-business royally. The finest salt in the world is the ash of an ash stick.
-Now, boys,” continued he, “see, here's the whiskey bottle. I'll just hitch
-it up, by the string that holds it about my neck, to the branch above us
-here;—so that, when we sit down, we can swing it one to the other,
-drink, and let go again, without any fear of its being upset Oh, then!
-discretion's a jewel any day in the year.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Doherty now began the culinary task, in which he exhibited a considerable
-degree of dexterity, considering his bodily deficiencies. While his only
-hand was employed in preparing the herrings for the gridiron, with which
-the tinker had furnished him, his wooden leg was whirled rapidly round the
-crock, to mix up the poor ingredients that served as the basis of his
-broth. An onion, which the tinker found in his coat-pocket, was shred and
-thrown in, with a few wild herbs, which the pedlar, with his pack safely
-strapped to his back, condescended to gather from the adjoining hedge-row.
-A steam, at length, began to rise from the crock, which the parties
-interested in the contents, found most grateful to their olfactories: the
-broiled herrings were immersed in the broth; Doherty drove them,
-vigorously, two or three times round the crock; and matters approached
-fast to a crisis. The cook exerted himself to his utmost; and, in the
-enthusiasm of the moment, perhaps rather over-zealously, took his wooden
-leg out of the broth and thrust it beneath the crock to stir up the
-embers, when some one, who had approached unperceived by either of the
-party, gently touched Darby's elbow. He turned half round, and beheld a
-little girl smiling by his side.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Will you please to tell me, if I am in the right road to the revel, sir?”
- said the little girl, in a very winning and innocent tone.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Is it the road to the revel, darling?” said Darby; “Why, then”—Here
-Darby stopped short, and his eye wandered over the features and person of
-the young inquirer. She was apparently about ten years of age; her skin
-was remarkably fair; and her eyes, as Darby afterwards said, were as blue
-and beautiful as little violets. She was dressed in a black stuff frock, a
-tippet of the same material, and a seal-skin cap, with a gold band and
-tassel, which seemed to have been very recently tarnished by the weather.
-She wore gloves, but had neither shoe nor stocking; and the sight of her
-delicate, white, little feet, as she held them up, one after the other,
-toward the fire to warm them, convinced Darby that she had but very lately
-been compelled to walk barefooted.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Oh! sir, you're burning your wooden leg!” said the little girl, while
-Darby was gazing at her, and wondering who and what she could be; and so
-absorbed was the worthy ballad-singer in the interesting speculation, that
-he had, in fact, forgotten to withdraw his leg from beneath the crock,
-where he had just placed it, as will be recollected, when the little girl
-touched his elbow. At the moment she advised him of the fact, Darby
-received a hint or two that corroborated her assertion;—the flame
-had twined up the stem, and rather warmed his stump, and the fire blazed
-with such vigour, recruited as it was by the supply, that the broth boiled
-over. His two companions, who were close at hand, both observed this
-latter circumstance an instant after the child had spoken; the pedlar
-cried aloud to Darby to save the broth, and the tinker shouted with glee
-to see the Irishman sacrificing his trusty support for the common good.
-Doherty did not lose his presence of mind: he withdrew his leg from the
-fire, and popped it into the pot;—thus extinguishing the stump,
-withdrawing the additional stimulus to the fire, and breaking down the
-rebellious head of the herring-broth, by that single and simple act.
-</p>
-<p>
-The child could not refrain from giggling, miserable as she evidently was,
-at the scene; and Darby looked alternately at her and his leg, when he
-withdrew it from the pot again, in so droll a manner, that the little girl
-burst into a fit of laughter, which the Irishman, very good-naturedly,
-subdued, or rather, smothered with kisses.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, my pretty little maid!” said he; “and where have you come from,
-agrah! eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! a long—long way; it's farther than I thought it was when I
-began.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And what do you want at the revel?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I mustn't tell you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Eh, then! why not, eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If I was to tell you why I mustn't, you'd know what I wanted at the
-revel.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And where's your stockings and shoes? Have you put them in your pocket,
-as the girls do in Ireland?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, indeed;—I wore them out yesterday.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how far have you walked barefoot?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! ever so far!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how far's that?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I can't tell.—Is this the road to the revel?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is;—but what hurry? Won't you wait and take pot-luck with us?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm hungry, thank you, sir, but I don't think I could eat any pot-luck,—it
-smells so odd; I never tasted pot-luck in my life; but I thank you, sir,
-for all that, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now, do you hear that? Do you hear the innocence of her? God send we'd
-better for you!—though you won't tell us where you come from.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I shouldn't wonder but she hath been stole away,” said the tinker; “stole
-away, and carried afar, and now hath got liberty, and is seeking home
-again. That's nature, you know:—a pigeon would do it; a carrier, a
-horseman, a dragoon, or a middling good tumbler even; and why shouldn't a
-child?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wha may ye be in mourning for, my wee lassie?” inquired the pedlar. He
-was proceeding to ask something about her father and mother, when Darby
-put his hand on the pedlar's mouth, and whispered “Wisht! wisht! why not
-now, eh?—Aisy, or well quarrel. Don't you know, you old snail, you!
-that a child in black should never be axed who it's worn for? May be her
-mother's dead,” continued he, raising his voice, and fondling the child as
-he spoke; “and your goose of a question raised her dead ghost up to the
-little one's memory. Look there—see that now—if the tears
-ar'n't running out of her eyes: may be she hasn't a father;—and you—ye
-spalpeen, to hurt her feelings that way I Oh! fie upon you, sir!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Eh, mon! dinna prate; it's your ain sel' that did the business.—Come
-hither, lassie! lassie, come hither!—Could you eat—that is,
-ha' ye appetite for—a bit of a harring, daintily broiled? An' ye
-could stomach it, I hae just ane in my pack, and I'll broil it mysel', and
-ye shall eat it wi' a bit o' biscuit, I think there may be in the pack
-too.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The child smiled in the pedlar's face, and, with a nod, signified that she
-would accept his offer. The pedlar then produced a fine herring from a
-corner of his pack, and after a diligent search, discovered a piece of
-biscuit, which he gave the little girl, who curtsied as she took it These
-transactions by no means gratified Mr. Doherty: he was in a passion with
-the pedlar; first, for possessing a fourth herring; and secondly, for
-alluring their little guest with it from his arms: he also considered the
-North-Briton's emphatic offer to broil it himself, as a sneer upon his own
-culinary achievements. Darby was actually at a loss for words to express
-his feelings, and he had recourse to action: thrusting his hand deep into
-his bosom, and twisting his hip to meet it, he seemed to be diving into
-some pouch, that was rarely visited, and difficult of access. In rather
-more than a minute, his hand re-appeared, with a little odd-shaped bundle
-of rags in its clutch. With the aid of his teeth, he contrived to take off
-several pieces of ribbon and linen, and, at length, a small metal
-snuff-box, in the shape of a high-heeled and sharp-toed shoe, emerged from
-the mass He opened it and took out a sixpence. “There,” said he, (for he
-had now recovered his speech,) throwing the coin toward the pedlar, “take
-the price of your herring and biscuit, and give me the change.—She
-shan't be behoulden to you!—Little one!” continued he, addressing
-the child, “don't listen to him; don't bite at his bait, nor don't go wid
-him, darling.—Will I tell you what he is?—He's one o' them
-people that cuts the long hair off the girls' heads, and gives them
-gew-gaws for it He'll take you under a hedge, or, may be, when you're
-asleep, pull out a big pair of shears and clip off all them pretty locks,
-Which he'd make shillings of again, from the hair-merchants; for I see
-you've longer hair than most maids of your age; and, faith! it's
-beautiful, and he knows it He's looking at it as a cat would at a mouse.—He's
-a bad man, my dear.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is he?” said the little girl, apparently half alarmed, but still feeling
-rather inclined to doubt Darby Doherty's account of the pedlar;—“Is
-he a bad man?—Then why do you stay with him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I won't—no, not while you'd whistle, after I've ate his herrings;—that
-is, if you'll come wid me.—Will you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Perhaps,” replied the little girl, “he'll say you are a bad man; and then
-what can I do?”
- </p>
-<p>
-At this the tinker laughed and muttered something about nature. The pedlar
-still held the child, and putting his hand under her chin, turned her face
-upwards, and then looking down upon her, spoke thus;—“My wee woman,
-I hae eleven bairns, some younger than yoursel', and I wouldna harm sic a
-puir, wee, defenceless child as thee, for the worth of an ingot of pure
-gold; it would weigh down my heart on a death-bed, and carry my soul into
-the sorrowfu' pit I'm a tradesman, and traffic in hair, as he has just
-told you, and have a family,—eleven bairns, a wife, myself, a daft
-brither, my first wife's aged and bed-ridden mither, and a sister's son,
-as wee and as fatherless as ye seem yoursel';—saxteen mouths to find
-food for to-day and to-morrow, and every morn that I rise. I travel far
-and near to get it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Just like a good cock-pigeon,” interrupted the tinker; “I've known an old
-bird feed the young squeakers in one nest, and his mate to boot, while she
-was setting over her eggs in another:—tightish work!—but there—it's
-natural.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And I dinna scruple,” continued the pedlar, without noticing the
-interruption of his companion; “I dinna scruple to do my best, and barter,
-as well as I can, in order to get bread and cheese;—but not with the
-like o' thee, cherub. I canna' take thee by adoption, for I hae eleven o'
-my ain.—I'll hold out no temptation o' that sort; but I'll carry
-thee, on the head o' my pack, safe and clear to the revel, if there's ony
-there ye hae a wish to see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For that matter,” cried the tinker, “she can ride a-top of my poney, with
-the pots and that.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! don't be bothering!” shouted Doherty; “she shall ride upon my wooden
-leg, or anywhere about me, for have her I will; to the revel she goes wid
-me, right or wrong, in spite of man or baist, tinkers, tay-kettles,
-pedlars, packs, pilfering ponies, and the whole fratarnity of ye.—I've
-said it, and so it shall be.—How do I know,—answer me this,—how
-do I know that she isn't the child I lost long ago, eh?—That was a
-girl, and isn't this a girl? Now don't be trying to bother my brains with
-a reply.—Darby Doherty is my name, and I'm to be found any day, here
-or there, one place or another, if you go the right road.—Pedlar,
-stop thief! the tinker has stole a herring out of the pot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, truly, it's time to fall to,” quoth the tinker.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Wait a moment!” exclaimed the Irishman; “one moment, and we'll all begin
-amicably. Hear what I've to say:—I've spoken what I thought about my
-honourable friend the pedlar's scheme on the little one; and why mayn't I
-indulge in an idea that the worthy tinker, in offering to let his poney
-carry her, doesn't speculate—bad luck to his black paws, how he's
-streaked the broth!—doesn't speculate upon the value of the child's
-ear-rings and little necklace?—So, for these reasons, I'll let
-neither of you have her:—now I'm aisy.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, do you mean to throw out hints—” said the tinker, laying his
-herring on the grass, and advancing with a formidable frown and clenched
-fists toward Darby; “dost thee mean—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now don't babble; the question's settled,” said Darby; “don't prate, or
-we'll quarrel.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And I'll be jiggered if we don't,—whether thee likes or not. I'll
-stand up for my own character;—it's nature:—so ax pardon, or
-strip.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Strip! How the devil do you think I'd ever get my rags on again, eh? Ha!
-ha!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come, come; a joke won't carry it off; it's too heavy. Talk to I about
-her rings!—I—I—I—Oh! d—n thee! I'll thrash
-thee!”
- </p>
-<p>
-The ballad-singer held up his stumps, and hopping back two paces, cried,
-“What, would you assault one with not a plural offensive or defensive
-about him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! dang that!—thee'rt right, though;—it's natural Here,
-pedlar, help me to tie up my leg and arm, and put thy neckerchief athirt
-my eye:—fair play's the word.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The little girl now screamed loudly, and beseeched the pedlar to
-interfere. “Oh! pray, dear Mr. Pedlar, don't let them fight! Oh! he's
-going to kill the poor man with the little wooden leg!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do ye hear—do ye hear?” exclaimed the pedlar, “how the bit creature—the
-cause o' your quarrel—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! pray let me run away,” sobbed the child; “and then perhaps they'll be
-friends;—do let me go!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Stay, darling,” quoth Doherty; “rather than frighten the child, I'll
-consent to apologize:—the heat of the argument made me singe the
-whiskers of my friend the tinker's honour;—but if the child wasn't
-where she is, and we were after breakfast, just now, right or wrong,
-tinker, we'd quarrel.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But not fight, it strikes me,” muttered the pedlar.
-</p>
-<p>
-Calm was again restored, and the trio sat down to their breakfast. The
-tinker's loaf was divided; each man devoured his herring, and the soup was
-dipped out of the crock, and drank from a little second-hand saucepan,
-which alternately served each of the party. Darby's bottle, which was
-suspended from the branch above, before the meal was half concluded, had
-neatly proved an apple of discord between the tinker and the pedlar. Darby
-began, by taking a tolerably good sup of the contents; he then swung the
-bottle to the pedlar, who held it so long to his lips, that the honest
-tinker became alarmed lest he should not obtain his share. The pedlar did
-not withdraw the bottle from his mouth; and when he raised it to an angle
-of nearly forty-five degrees with the horizon, the tinker could no longer
-sit easy on the turf. He started up, rushed across the crock, which he
-upset in his transit, seized the pedlar by the throat with one hand, and
-clutched the bottle with the other.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Hold hard!” said he; “not a drop more goeth down thy gullet! Quit thy
-hold o' the bottle, or I'll choke thee I—I will, faith!—it's
-natural:—thou hast had my bread, let me share in the whiskey.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The residue of the broth made the fire hiss and send forth fumes, the
-odour of which was truly disgusting. The little girl screamed again, and
-Darby Doherty was in high hopes that the brawny pedlar would have resented
-the tinker's attack on his person: but he was disappointed.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You'll excuse me,” said the tinker, bowing as he succeeded in obtaining
-possession of the bottle. “You'll excuse me, but, truly—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Dinna mention it, friend,” quoth the pedlar. “I was wrong—I forgot
-mysel';—it was vara well of ye to look to your ain:—I forgot
-mysel', and should have taken it down to the ultimate drop; it glides away
-like a joyful dream. It's Farintosh, I doubt: and vara excellent gude as
-I've tasted for mony a day.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The child was much amazed to see storm and calm succeed each other so
-rapidly; she felt alarmed at those whom chance had made her associates and
-would-be protectors; but appetite mastered fear, and she soon dried her
-eyes, and ate the remainder of a piece of the herring which the pedlar had
-broiled for her while his companions were debating, and the biscuit he had
-discovered in his pack.
-</p>
-<p>
-After breakfast, the question as to who should take the child to the
-revel, was again started. Each of the men spoke resolutely; and a third
-quarrel was already budding, when the little girl stood up between the
-brawlers, and proposed that, as all three of them were so kind as to wish
-to take her, and neither of them would let her go with either of the
-others, she should walk on alone; or, that all of them should go with her
-together.
-</p>
-<p>
-An immediate assent was given to this proposal; the motion, as Darby said,
-was carried by acclamation; and preparations were immediately made for
-starting. While the pedlar was buckling on his pack, the poney neighed;
-and the tinker exclaimed, “Who comes hither, I wonder, a-horseback?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Faith, no one that I see or hear, a-horseback or a-foot,” replied the
-Irishman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, but there do, though, sure as death,” said the tinker; “my poney
-yean't no false prophet I'll lay pints round, a horse is coming: I won't
-swear for a man,—mind me;—but a horse I be sure of:—and,
-look—dang me if 'tean't Parson Hackle!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And who's he, then?” inquired the Irishman, as a tall, thin, middle-aged
-man, in a black coat, with long leathern leggings, reaching from his toes
-to his hips, and mounted on a fat, ambling, old coach-horse, turned from
-the high-road, into the lane. “I'll just make my obedience and compliments
-to him as he goes by.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thee'st better not,” said the tinker.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why not, then?—May be he'd drop me a keenogue and be civil.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not he, friend; he's a magistrate, and though a good man in the main,
-mortally hates beggars.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Beggars!” exclaimed the Irishman; “sir, I'm a wandering minstrel—one
-of the tribe of Orpheus of ould; who, as the song says, the stones
-followed; and who, moreover, could move stocks themselves with his music:—maning,
-I suppose, that he often got pelted by bad boys, and whistled himself out
-of the stocks, with no thanks to the beadle.—Musha! that I mightn't,
-then!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! I can only tell thee, lad,” said the tinker, “Parson Hackle looks
-as black at a ballad-singer, as his brother, the 'squire, do at a man who
-happens to be misfortunate wi' a maiden.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bad luck to the pair o' them then!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So say I,” quoth the tinker; “I ha' been in their clutches afore now, and
-I'll warrant the person you spoke of couldn't ha' bought his liberty wi'
-an old song, if he got into their wooden gaiters.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! sir, sir! pray—dear sir!” said the little girl, who had several
-times in vain attempted to make herself heard, during the preceding
-dialogue between Darby and the tinker, “did you say the gentleman's name
-was Hackle?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yea, I did, troth!” replied the tinker; “Parson Hackle.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Parson Hackle!” repeated the little girl; “where is he going?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Down to the revel, I reckon,” said the tinker, “like we be; only he goeth
-a-horseback, and we poor folks a-foot; and he goeth to help to keep the
-peace, and we, mayhap, to help to break it. I can't answer for myself,
-much more for my friends, after one o'clock.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The tinker was right in his supposition that the reverend gentleman was on
-his way to the scene of the revel, and necessity compels us to accompany
-him; leaving the little girl and her three friends, to follow us at their
-leisure. The Reverend Reginald Hackle rode on at a quicker pace than his
-steed was accustomed to: Reginald partook, in some degree, of the
-hereditary impatience of the Hackles; the humour broke out but rarely, for
-Reginald's life was as seldom ruffled, as the gentle stream which glode
-along by the garden-hedge of his quiet abode: but he was now on his way to
-pass a few hours with his brother Archibald, whom he had not seen for a
-number of years; and the old horse, unused to such exertions as those to
-which his reverend rider, on this occasion, urged him, smoked like a
-dumpling recently lifted from a crock, by the time he reached the village.
-</p>
-<p>
-Hackle Hall, the ancient and odd-looking edifice, toward which Reginald
-turned his horse's head, on emerging from the lane, was the residence of
-his elder brother, Sir Waldron; a man noted, as the tinker had stated in
-other words, for being harsh and unforgiving to those rural rakes, from
-whom scarcely any village in the kingdom is free. Neither Sir Waldron nor
-Reginald was married; their younger brother, Archibald, had a wife and a
-large family. Reginald, in addition to his duties as the pastor of a
-neighbouring parish, educated six or eight youths of the first families in
-the county, and Archibald had agreed to place his only boy, Waldron, under
-Reginald's care, for three or four years, in compliance with the reverend
-gentleman's affectionate and frequent invitations. He had stolen away from
-London, leaving business, as he said, to take care of itself for a few
-days, and brought young Waldron down with him. Reginald was absent on his
-arrival, at a considerable distance, relative to certain affairs, the
-arrangement of which he would have postponed, had he been made acquainted
-with Archibald's intended visit; but the latter had determined, very
-suddenly, on the journey. On taking a mental glance at his affairs one
-morning, while he was discussing a glass of sherry and a sandwich, at
-Garraway's, he discovered that there was nothing remarkably pressing, in
-the way of business, for some days forward: the funds were closed; two or
-three holidays at the public offices occurred in the ensuing week; he had
-not been out of town, except to fetch his family from a watering-place,
-for years past; he yearned to see his brothers,—and sent a
-ticket-porter to book places by the Exeter mail of the same evening. Young
-Waldron had scarcely time to take leave of his mother and sisters; and as
-to packing up his clothes, Mrs. Hackle declared such an exploit to be
-impossible. “Then what the devil is there in these, my love?” said
-Archibald, pointing to two trunks, a portmanteau, a carpet-bag, a bundle,
-and a hat-box, which lay before him. Mrs. Hackle replied, that they merely
-contained a change of linen, <i>or so</i>, and a few immediate necessaries
-for himself and his son. “Then, I suppose,” said he, “Waldron may expect
-the main body of his baggage by the broad-wheeled waggon.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Partings and meetings between relatives are seldom of any interest except
-to those immediately concerned in them: we shall not, therefore, indulge
-in a description of what took place at the departure of Archibald and his
-son from Mrs. and the six Misses Hackle, nor of what Reginald said to
-Archibald, or Archibald said to Reginald, during the first ten minutes of
-their interview at Hackle Hall. We rather prefer relating the conversation
-of the three brothers after they had made a tolerable lunch on a cold
-pigeon-pie and two quarts of very respectable ale.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, brother Archibald,” said the reverend gentleman as soon as the tray
-was removed, “and, pray, what aspect does your native place wear to your
-eye, since your long absence from it?—But you were so young when you
-quitted it, for a dismal, smoky, London-merchant's 'counting-house, that I
-suppose all recollection of it must have escaped your memory.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's the positive truth,” replied Archibald; “if I had remembered the
-place and its people; if the least remnant of a sample had cleaved to me,
-not even the pleasure of seeing you and Waldron, would have induced me to
-have quitted the metropolis to pay it a visit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You amaze me!” exclaimed Reginald; “the hospitality—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! I've had enough of hospitality, believe me; and so had Gulliver, in
-the arms of the Brobdignag monkey, who ran away with him, and poked pounds
-of nauseous chewed food out of its own jaws into his; people are sometimes
-offensively, cruelly hospitable. Here, now, for instance, was I taken
-yesterday, by my brother, for a treat—mark me—to dine with one
-Jehoshaphat Higgs—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Almost the sole remaining specimen,” interrupted Sir Waldron, “of the
-fine, old-English, West-country yeomen;—a race, alas! now nearly
-extinct I honour the man: he farms his own land; sends his sons to the
-plough; his daughters to the spinning-wheel, and his wife to the chum. He
-keeps up all the good old customs of the country; raises the mistletoe on
-his beam at Christmas, and dances round the May-pole, with his buxom dame,
-at seventy, as gay at heart, though not as light of limb, as he did at
-twenty: I repeat, that I honour such men.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Honour them as much as you please, Waldron,” replied Archibald; “honour
-them, and welcome; but, I beseech you, do not entrap me to honour another
-of them,—if, indeed, there be such another blade as old Jehoshaphat,
-hereabouts,—with any more visits. First, brother Reginald, conceive
-the misery, if you can, of dining in a room, falsely designated a parlour,
-with a sanded floor! My teeth were set on edge every time I moved a foot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, but, brother, provided the table be well covered,” observed Reginald,
-“one might, methinks, even put up with a clean, dry, sanded floor.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay, keep him to that, Reginald,” said Sir Waldron; “the table was,
-indeed, well covered. I have not dined so well these three weeks. We had a
-full course of downright thoroughbred old-English dishes;—Devonshire
-dainties of the first water; such as that transcendant lyrist, Robert
-Herrick, himself, when he dwelt in this country, doubtless, occasionally
-feasted on; compared with which, your modern kickshaws, your town messes,
-and hashes, and fricassees, and starved turtle, brother Archibald, are as
-chaff, compared with its own grain. You shall judge, Reginald: among other
-things, there was a remarkably fine-flavoured muggot-pie;—a dish, of
-which, I find, by an old manuscript, in our library, that the talented and
-virtuous Raleigh, was remarkably fond, and moreover partook, three days
-previously to his execution.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In my opinion,” said Archibald, “a man who would be fool enough to prefer
-muggot-pie to—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It's fine eating, Archibald,” quoth Sir Waldron; “would that you had
-tasted it!—and Sir Walter was a great man;—fine eating, on the
-honour of a gentleman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What! calves' tripe baked in a pie, fine eating!” said Archibald; “if
-this be the result of your dwelling in Devonshire—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I never was out of it but thrice in my life,” said Sir Waldron; “and each
-time I had cause to repent of my folly.—But, to waive the muggot—had
-we not, also, parsley-pie?—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Made, as its name implies, of the herb that's used for garnish!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Squab-pie—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A horrible mixture of mutton-chops, apples, onions, and fat bacon!—Most
-abominable!—the stench was enough to have defeated an army of
-civilized beings. In fact, the dinner given by Peregrine Pickle's friend,
-the physician, in imitation of the ancients—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The ancients fed well,” observed Reginald; “Heliogabalus—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Was a nincompoop to Queen Elizabeth's cook,” added Sir Waldron, rather
-warmly; “whose mistress was served with fine natural meat and drink—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Such as muggot, squab, and parsley-pies, I suppose,” quoth Archibald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The appetites of the Romans,” continued Sir Waldron, “were, in latter
-times, depraved; and so is my brother Archibald's. Smollett very justly
-ridicules the feasts of the ancients, in that passage of Peregrine Pickle,
-where—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Really, brother Waldron,” interrupted Reginald, while a slight blush
-tinged his cheek, “I must entreat of you to pass on to some other subject;
-you know we never agree on this: if I have a failing—<i>if</i>, said
-I?—I meant, that, among my numerous failings, that of being slightly
-irritable, when the glorious masters of the world are attacked, by one who
-cannot appreciate them, is, I am sorry to say, very conspicuous.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Exceedingly so, Reginald,” replied Sir Waldron; “and if I have a virtue
-in the world—I beg pardon—among my numerous virtues, that of
-standing forth, manfully, for the customs of old England, and defending
-its literature against any man who presumes to set up the cold, classical,
-marbly stuff of the Greeks or Romans, in preference, is, certainly, I am
-proud to say, most paramount.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“<i>Pindarum quisquis studet emulari</i>, brother Waldron,” exclaimed
-Reginald; but he was cut short, in his intended quotation, by Archibald,
-who said, “And if I plume myself on any merit of mine,—except, from
-my boyhood, always having balanced to a fraction,—it is on that of
-preferring a good carpet to a sanded floor; a Hoby's boot to a hob-shoe; a
-tooth by Ruspini, to fill up a gap made by time, to no tooth at all; a
-calf by Sheldrake, to make my left match with my right, to an odd pair of
-legs; a good dinner of fish, flesh, and fowl, at Guff's, or the Albion, or
-in my own dining-room, to muggot, parsley, or squab pies, in Devonshire; a
-glass of claret to poor pinch-throat cider; punch to such filthy messes as
-buttered ale (hot ale with sugar, butter and rum!) or <i>meaty-drinky</i>
-(ale made thick with flour!); and the company of two or three intelligent
-men over a bottle or a bowl, to all the famous authors, from Homer
-downwards, Greek, Roman, and English; not one of whose works I ever found
-half so useful as the Tables of Interest, Patterson's Roads, or the London
-Directory.”
- </p>
-<p>
-This speech by no means raised Archibald in the estimation of either of
-his brothers. Sir Waldron thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and
-began whistling “Lillibullero.” Reginald sighed, and said to the man of
-business, in rather a doleful tone, “But, surely, brother, you have not
-forgotten your Horace; we were class-fellows together; you cannot be blind
-to the beauties of those illustrious names—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Chaucer, Sidney, Spencer,”—said Sir Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Euripides, Sophocles,”—quoth Reginald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ford, Decker, Marlow,” thus the baronet proceeded; “Fletcher, Jonson,—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ha, ha!” exclaimed Archibald; “a list of very good people in their day,
-no doubt;—indeed, they were clever, for I know it;—but there's
-not one of the names you have mentioned would make a bill five farthings
-the better in Lombard Street.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But don't you ever read, brother Archibald?” asked the reverend
-gentleman, very earnestly.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay,” said Sir Waldron; “don't you sometimes take down a book to amuse
-yourself?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! yes; very often,” was the reply.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Greek or Roman?”—
-</p>
-<p>
-“Shakespeare, Donne, Randolph,—or what book, brother Archy?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My ledger, or bill-book, brother Waldron,” replied Archibald. His two
-brothers, on hearing this, immediately rose from their chairs, and walked
-to different ends of the room. “You may talk of interest, and pathos, and
-so forth,” continued Archibald, “as much as you please, but, egad! I find
-more pathos in that folio of my ledger, where Crumpton, Brothers, and
-Cross are debited items, to the tune of seven thousand pounds (speaking
-roundly), and their assignees credited with a dividend of
-seven-pence-halfpenny in the pound, than ever I did in all the works you
-have mentioned. The account of Crumpton, Brothers, and Cross is real;
-invoices and delivery-receipts may be produced to establish all the items:
-but the tales of your poets are generally altogether, and always in part
-fictitious, like the begging letters which the Mendicity people expose.
-Now, I can't see, for the soul of me, why men in their senses can ever be
-such asses as to invent and write tales of sorrow; as if there wasn't
-enough of <i>bonà fide</i> grief in the world already:—or how-, to
-go further, people can read, and suffer themselves to be affected by such
-woeful stories, when they have troubles enough of their own to cry over;
-and, moreover, when they know that what they are perusing with aching
-hearts, is a farrago of lies:—and, egad! the greater the lie, it
-seems, the greater the merit;—lying, in this way, is called
-imagination. Why, sir, if any given author of eminence, were to tell half
-as many falsehoods in person as he does in print, upon my honour and
-credit, if he wasn't reckoned a fool, he'd certainly get kicked out of
-every house in the metropolis,—at least all those I visit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Brother, brother!” exclaimed Sir Waldron, “I cannot listen to this
-folly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nor I; indeed, I cannot,” said Reginald. “But, perhaps, my brother Archy
-preferreth the authors of modern days, and they delight him to the
-exclusion of the fine old spirits of past ages.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not so—not so, indeed,” replied Archibald; “they are all the same
-to Archibald Hackle. I would rather have a good dinner than the finest
-feast of reason that ever enthusiast described. I prefer a roasting pig to
-Bacon; a Colchester oyster to Milton; a cut of the pope's-eye to Pope's
-Homer; an apple-tart to-Crabbe; Birch's real turtle to Ovid's Art of Love;
-and a roasted potato to Murphy. While others embark in man-of-war,
-frigate, merchantman, heavy Dutch lugger, hoy, yacht, bum-boat, gondola,
-canoe, funny, or other craft, for the wide ocean of literature—let
-me enjoy myself in port. 1 would, any day, barter a volume of Sheri<i>dan</i>
-for a bottle of Dan sherry;—a second quarto for the first pottle of
-strawberries, or a book by—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Brother Archibald, pr'ythee do not run on at this rate,” interrupted Sir
-Waldron; “you, surely, are not so lost to all intellectual delights as you
-pretend; you cannot be always employed at your business or your bottle;—to
-say the least, you must have some time to kill.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Kill! kill time!—Oh, dear! no,” replied Archibald; “you know
-nothing about the matter. Time travels too fast by half to please me;—I
-should like to clip the old scoundrel's pinions. The complaints which 1
-have heard, occasionally, of time passing away so slowly, <i>ennui</i>,
-and what not, are to me miraculous. Time seems to travel at such a deuce
-of a rate, that there's no keeping pace with him. The days are too short
-by half so are the nights; so are the weeks, the months, and the years. I
-can scarcely get to bed before it's time to get up; and I haven't been up
-but a little time, apparently, before it's time to go to bed. I can but
-barely peep at the Gazette, or any matter of similar interest in the
-papers, and swallow an anchovy-sandwich, and a couple of cups of coffee,
-when it's time to be at the'counting-house. By the time I have read the
-letters and given a few directions, it's time to be in a hundred places;—before
-1 can reach the last of, them, it's time to be on 'Change;—I don't
-speak to half the people there, to whom I have something to say, before
-it's time to reply to correspondents; and my letters are scarcely written
-before it's post and dinner time. Farewell business!—but then
-there's no time for enjoyment: dinner, wine, coffee, supper, and punch,
-follow in such rapid succession,—actually treading on each other's
-heels,—that there's no time to be comfortable at either of them.
-It's the same in bed;—a man must sleep fast, or time will get the
-start of him, and business be behind-hand an hour or two, and everything
-in disorder next morning.—If I accept a bill for a couple of months,
-it's due before I can well whistle: my warehouse rents are enormous; and,
-upon my conscience, Lady-day and her three sisters introduce themselves to
-my notice, at intervals so barely perceptible, that the skirt of one of
-the old harridans' garments has scarcely disappeared, before in flounces
-another. It's just as bad with the fire-insurances, and a thousand other
-things,—little matters as well as great: a man can scarcely pick his
-teeth before he's hungry again. The seasons are drawn by race-horses; my
-family has barely settled at home after a trip to Buxton, Brussels, or
-elsewhere, before summer comes round, and Mrs. H. pines for fresh air and
-an excursion checque again. I can scarcely recover the drain made on my
-current capital, by portioning one daughter, before another shoots up from
-a child to a woman; and Jack This or Tom T'other's father wants to know if
-I mean to give her the same as her sister. It's wonderful how a man gets
-through so much in the short space of life; he must be prepared for
-everything, when, egad! there's no time for anything.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Can this really be the fact?” inquired Reginald, incredulously.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I give you my word and honour it is.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But,” said Sir Waldron, “you have actually complained to me, this
-morning, how the past week has 'dragged its slow length along' with you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be sure it has,” replied Archibald; “because I'm here—where I've
-nothing to do—and nothing to eat.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nothing to eat, Archibald Hackle!” exclaimed Sir Waldron, drawing himself
-up with an expression of offended dignity; “Hackle Hall, sir, is almost an
-open house, even to the wayfarer;—you are one of its sons. I trust I
-have supported the honour of our ancestors while it has been in my
-keeping;—if you think otherwise, brother Archibald, and can shew
-that I have not deported myself as becometh the head of the family,
-although you are my younger brother, I lie open to your most severe
-censure.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dear fellow,” said Archibald, in a familiar manner, that Sir Waldron
-deemed altogether unsuitable to the circumstances of the moment, “my dear
-fellow, I don't care a pepper-pod about the honour of our ancestors.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not for the honour of our ancestors, brother Archibald!” exclaimed
-Reginald, raising his eye-brows, and laying considerable emphasis on every
-word, so as to make himself clearly understood.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, sir!” said Sir Waldron sternly; “not for the honour of our house,
-eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not a pepper-pod!” replied Archibald, coolly. “I have other things to
-trouble me:—I care more about the house of Van Bummel and Crootz of
-Amsterdam honouring its bills; except, indeed, that this house is your
-property, Waldron;—but I suppose, of course, it's insured;—you
-couldn't be such a fool as not to insure it;—and therefore, perhaps,
-the sooner it's burned down the better, if it wasn't for the loss to the
-company; for, to speak the truth, it's one of the ugliest edifices I ever
-had the honour of beholding. I dare say it was well enough a few centuries
-back; but it has been so patched, and with so little attention to orders
-that it looks as bad as a beggar's coat. It's a compound of the tastes of
-every half century for these four hundred years past, and harmonizes
-remarkably well, brothers, with the range of our ancestors' portraits in
-the gallery:—there they are, bow-legs and bandy-legs, fat old
-fellows in flowing wigs, who remind one of porters at a masquerade, and
-brawny ruffians in armour, whose looks would half hang them, without other
-evidence, in any court in the kingdom:—Round-heads, cavaliers,
-churchmen, and knights of the shire;—mitres and helmets, cocked hats
-and cones, with women to match, for each generation;—tag-rag and
-bob-tail, pell-mell, higgledy-piggledy,—in all styles, costumes,
-forms and fashions!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Those portraits, sir,” exclaimed Sir Waldron, “are invaluable—invaluable,
-sir!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“They wouldn't fetch a pound a-piece, one with another, by auction,”
- replied Archibald: “the collection is just like the house itself; to which
-each generation seems to have added its quota, more in accordance with the
-fashion of the day, than the character of the building. What remains of
-the original masonry reminds me of an old iron chest; and the affair
-altogether, with its turrets and chimneys sticking up, of various sizes
-and forms, resembles nothing in the world (except its gallery of
-portraits) but an old cruet-stand, furnished with odd bottles. The squat,
-round, flat-headed west turret, with the flag-staff without a flag,
-overhanging one side of it, resembles a tenpenny mustard-pot; the little
-trumpery dome that stands up at the east, a pepper-castor; the tall
-chimney, almost in the centre, the neck of a slender vinegar-cruet; the—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“'Sdeath! brother Reginald,” interrupted Sir Waldron; “are we to bear
-this?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No—really, I think Archibald is going to lengths which are not
-decidedly to his credit,” said Reginald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I would take leave to tell him,” continued Sir Waldron, “if he were not
-under my roof, and in the honourable house of his ancestors, that the
-expressions he has used are derogatory to his elder brother's dignity. I
-have always endeavoured to support the name of Hackle, in the county, in
-its proper rank: I am proud to say, there is not a blot in my escutcheon;
-I think I may almost vie with my brother Reginald, in moral deportment; I
-watch myself with the most scrupulous exactitude; I consider the name as a
-special trust confided to me for life, and I strive to maintain it pure
-and unsullied for the next possessor: I mortify myself out of respect to
-the house of which I am—I trust, not unworthily,—the head.
-Hospitality in Hackle Hall, is not a mere word—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, indeed,” said Archibald; “here is plenty to eat and drink, but
-nothing eatable or drinkable. In matters appertaining to the table, you
-are a century and a half behind us in town. I can no more live upon your
-dishes than I could wear my grandfather's breeches, or old Sir Geoffry's
-greaves for gaiters. You keep up a custom of dining at two o'clock,—and
-I don't care a farthing for dinner till five, at the very earliest moment
-The post of honour in the parlour, at breakfast-time, is occupied by a
-huge, blear-eyed, irascible, old stag-hound, instead of an agreeable
-woman; and there he lies, dreaming of following the stag, where she ought
-to be sitting, all smiles and sweetness, asking a man if he'd take half a
-cup more. But night is worse than all; it's so awfully silent, that I
-can't sleep!—In fact, brother Waldron, although you have done all in
-your power to make me comfortable,—to speak the plain truth,—when
-the novelty of the thing wore off when there was nothing more left to
-laugh at,—in other words, within twenty-four hours after my arrival,
-I began to sigh for a lunch at the'counting-house, sent in hot from the
-Cock in Threadneedle Street, and a draught of London porter, again. I feel
-as though I was in a strange country; I can't understand two-thirds of
-what the people say. With the assistance of my man,—whom I brought
-down, not out of ostentation, but because I can't shave myself and
-entertain a mortal fear of a country barber,—'I have to-day
-discovered, that meat, in the dialect of these parts, means bread, butter,
-and almost everything eatable but meat; and meat they call flesh!—He
-had a quarrel with a farmer's son, last night, who threatened to 'scat him
-down upon the planchin;' and shortly afterwards tripped up his heels: so
-that, thank heaven! if any one, while I remain here, threatens to scat me
-down upon the planchm, I shall know, that nothing but my legs can save me
-from being transferred from a perpendicular to a horizontal position. He
-tells me, too, that you make broth of hot water poured upon chopped leeks
-and bits of mutton-suet,—and that, in this country, broth is plural;—that
-they ask you to have <i>a few</i>, instead of some; and tempt you to take
-some, by vowing, that they—that is, the broth—<i>are</i> cruel
-good.—Item, that when they blowed dust in your eyes, the bumpkins
-exclaim, 'How the pellam blaeth!' and that, upon one fellow being asked
-what he meant by 'pellam,' he replied, 'Muck adrouth.' 'And what's muck
-adrouth?' said the stranger. 'Why, pellam, to be zure,' replied the
-bumpkin; and this was all that could be elicited from him, in explanation.
-If I happen to mention anything metropolitan, which, in their sublime
-stupidity, they either do not comprehend or believe, they say, with
-roguish and provoking gravity, 'Ahem! quo' Dick Bates!' and then, if I
-manifest a little display of venial irritability at their ignorance, they
-tell me, that I'm 'all of a ruck, like Zekiel Hodder's boot!'—Now,
-who the deuce Dick Bates or Zekiel Hodder may be, I can't learn. I was
-offered my choice of three apples, yesterday, and the man who held them,
-instead of asking me which I would have, this, that, or the other, said
-something like what I am about to attempt:—'Well, 'zquire, which
-'ull'ee ha',—thic, thac, or thuc? Some of the old people,
-positively, banish 'she' and 'I' from their discourse, using 'her' for the
-former, like the Welsh, and the kingly plural, for the latter; always,
-nevertheless, substituting the accusative for the nominative case; as, for
-instance:—your housekeeper, Sir Waldron, speaking of the housemaid,
-said to me, to-day, 'Us ha' told her, scaures and scaures o' times, to
-take up hot water to'ee, at eight o'clock; but her never heeds, not her,
-then, vor-sooth! her thinks zo much o' gallivanting wi' the men-volks!—her's
-no good, bless'ee! not a ha'p'orth!' That old housekeeper of yours,—by-the-by,—Waldron,
-is a grievous nuisance to me; she comes and talks to me daily by the hour.
-I can't endure the woman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My servant annoy you, brother Archibald!—I'm sorry you did not
-mention this before.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It seems strange to me,” said Reginald, “that Archibald did not give her
-an admonition, when she first grew troublesome, and so get rid of her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Get rid of her!” exclaimed Archibald. “Sir, you may as well talk of tying
-a tin-kettle to the tail of a comet!—the thing's impossible. Last
-night, she spent full half an hour imploring me to suffer her to close the
-shutters and pin up the curtains of the east window of my bed-room, to
-prevent the rays from my candle shooting across the park-path outside;
-which rays, as she protests, impede our grandfather's ghost very much, in
-his nightly rambles: it seems, that he frequently walks down that path;
-but as a Devonshire ghost cannot cross a ray of light from a candle, the
-good old gentleman is compelled to go round, or kick his heels in the cold
-until 1 get into bed. One of your tenants, brother Waldron, told me, with
-a very grave face, that he has often met our grandfather, in the middle of
-the night, with old Geoffry his huntsman, and a whole pack of hounds,
-hunting a stag at full speed; that he has actually opened the gates for
-the old man and his ghostly pack to pass through, and that, although
-'squire, huntsman, dogs, and stag, are without heads, he recognizes, and
-honours them! Why, the man must be either a natural idiot, or travelling
-fast toward lunacy; and yet he's accounted a positive Sir Oracle, in these
-parts. It is said, our ancestor is seen in all forms, by various persons,
-at different parts of the village: one scoundrel has had the impudence to
-tell me, that he met him one night in Blackpool-lane, in the form of a
-woolpack! and that he gave him a cut with his whip, as he rolled at full
-speed along the road! Now, admitting that ghosts walk or run, how he could
-know Sir Jonathan, in the shape of a woolpack, is to me, a miracle:—but,
-so it was—he knew him; he'll swear to it; and may I be posted at
-Lloyd's, if the villagers don't believe him. But I'd forgive them almost
-everything if they'd let the church-bells alone, and wouldn't roar
-choruses: every evening, between six and eight, some of the brawny
-vagabonds go to practise triple-bob-majora, or grandsire-trebles, in the
-belfry;—thus agonizing my ears with the most atrocious music that
-ever was inflicted on suffering man: to mend the matter, I've a natural
-antipathy to all bells except the waiter's and the postman's. It occurs
-very unluckily for me, that I should arrive among you in a week of
-merry-making, ending with a revel; and go where I will, my ears are
-assailed by excruciating songs, all of which, without exception, have some
-terrific hhorus tacked to the tail of each verse, which the rogues bellow
-in such a way, that I'm often obliged to take to my heels in mere
-self-defence. The song which just now seems to be most fashionable in, the
-village, I have heard so often, that, much against my inclination, I know
-every word of it; I feel it humming in my brain when I awake in the
-morning, and my watch ticks it when I go to bed at night, I will be judged
-by any reasonable man, if the eternal affliction of such words and sounds
-as those which I am about to utter, vociferated by Stentorian lungs, is
-not enough to drive a decent being, with a nice ear and moderate taste,
-mad:—you shall hear.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pray, don't trouble yourself brother,” said Reginald. “Nay, but with your
-leave, I insist upon giving you a specimen: match it for sense, in all
-Europe, if you can:—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-'My vather a' died, but a' didn't know how,
-A' left I zix hossees to vollor tha plough;
-Wi' my wim, worn, woddle, oh!
-Jack, strim, stroddle, oh!
-Bubble, boys! bubble, boys!
-Down by tha brook!'”
- </pre>
-<p>
-“Enough, enough, brother,” said Reginald: “I lament that you should be so
-dissatisfied with your visit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not at all, sir; I'm not at all dissatisfied. I'm perfectly satisfied
-with it: it has cured me of a mania I've had all my life of enjoying rural
-felicity, and Devonshire, my birth-place, in my old age: I've seen quite
-enough of it to make me put up with London or Clapham Common, and rest
-contented—Besides, I've seen you and Waldron;—God bless you
-both, my boys!—I shall be glad if you will run up to town now and
-then:—I leave my boy to your care, Reginald;—and to-morrow I
-start.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The two brothers now approached Archibald, and most affectionately
-entreated him to prolong his stay with them; and Reginald had just
-extorted a promise from him to go to the vicarage for two or three days,
-when a servant entered the room, and stated, that Constables Quality and
-Batter had brought in some prisoners to be examined before his worship.
-Sir Waldron desired that they might be taken into his study; and said,
-that he would descend in a few minutes; but before the servant had quitted
-the room, Archibald begged that they might be brought up, so as to offer
-him an opportunity of witnessing, what he called, “a bit of bumpkin
-police,” which he had not hitherto taken an opportunity of enjoying. Sir
-Waldron acquiesced, and ordered the servant to send up the constables,
-with their prisoners.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You will neither be amused, interested, nor edified, I suspect,” said Sir
-Waldron, to Archibald, “by the scene that is about to take place; it is,
-doubtless, some trifling, ridiculous affair: the constables are two of the
-most arrant blockheads that ever a magistrate was afflicted with:—as
-to Onesiphorus Quality, one might as well attempt to elicit evidence out
-of a mallet, as from him: I assure you, my patience and my temper are
-often put to the test, by his stupid taciturnity.”
- </p>
-<p>
-As the baronet concluded, the huge form, and meek, beardless face of
-Constable Quality himself, appeared at the door-way, ushering in four
-prisoners, who were closely followed by a man of a middling size, with
-sharp features, a large mouth, piercing cat's eyes, and limbs which were
-puny, compared with those of the gigantic, chill-looking Quality. The
-person we have described as bringing up the rear, was Constable Batter:
-the prisoners were our old friends, the pedlar, the tinker, Darby Doherty,
-and the little girl. The pedlar placed his pack very carefully on the
-ground, the little girl stood up behind it, and the three men ranged
-themselves in a line, with Quality, on one side, and Batter, on the other,
-in front of the table at which the brothers were now seated.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What is the charge made against these people, Quality?” inquired Sir
-Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well,—then,” replied Quality, “for that matter,—your worship,—you
-must ask Batter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I ha' nought to say,—nought in the world,” exclaimed Batter; “but
-they're oddish bodies—I must say that for Quality. He apprehended
-and I assisted;—not a thing more.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your worship,” said Quality, with a most piteous countenance;—“your
-worship know better:—I never apprehends nobody.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's true enough. Constable Quality, I must needs confess,” observed
-Sir Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I thank your worship, kindly, for your good word,” quoth Quality.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Oh! do not be such an idiot as to take what I have said as a compliment.
-The feet is, Quality, you want either heart or wit enough to capture a
-fly; Batter, luckily for the Hundred, sins a little on the opposite side
-to you, Onesiphorus: all is fish that comes near his net; for one real
-offender, he brings at least fifty innocent people before me. To say the
-truth, I do not believe another brace of such ignorant blockheads have
-flourished in one parish, since the days of Dogberry and Verges. Batter, I
-am sure <i>you</i> have taken these people:—what have they done? To
-begin with this good man, who has the appearance of a pedlar;—what
-do either of you know of him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why,” said Quality, with a shake of the head and an odd sort of frown
-which he intended to be very significant; “why, your worship, I can't say
-that I know any good of him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You utterly incomparable ninny, do you know any evil of him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For that matter,” quoth Quality, to the baronet, “I refer to Batter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Batter drew up his chin and replied to this appeal, “I say nothing, your
-worship; but—a—that is to say—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Go to the devil!” cried the enraged magistrate; “this is what I have to
-go through, daily, brother Reginald.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, but, brother Waldron—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I know, I know!” exclaimed Sir Waldron, interrupting Reginald; “I know
-what you are going to say; but my patience has been long exhausted with
-these boobies.—What did you bring the men before me for?” shouted
-the magistrate in a thundering tone.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, then, your worship,” said Quality, no whit moved, “ask Batter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Batter, with great gravity, declined the honour, and protested against
-taking precedence of his senior, Onesiphorus Quality; who, he vowed, had
-bestirred himself as principal in the affair, and laudably exerted himself
-to the utmost extent of his mental and bodily powers, to bring the
-delinquents before his worship.
-</p>
-<p>
-While the worthy constable was making a speech to the foregoing effect,
-Sir Waldron sat tilting his chair on its hind legs, shaking his head up
-and down with great velocity, beating the devil's tatoo with the fingers
-of his right-hand on the back of his left, and gazing at his pale and
-placid brother Reginald with an expression of countenance, which the
-latter understood as meaning “Now you hear! could Job himself bear this,
-brother?” That was, in truth, what Sir Waldron intended to convey to
-Reginald by his looks; and when Batter concluded, he rose from his chair,
-and with a stride, which might be pronounced emphatic, moved towards the
-window, turning his back upon the constables and prisoners, apparently
-determined to leave the settlement of the affair to Reginald himself. The
-citizen brother had highly enjoyed the whole scene, and while Waldron was
-walking away, observed to Reginald, that Batter and Quality differed
-essentially from the police of the metropolis, who, if they had a fault,—and
-this he professed, with a roguish sneer, to say under correction,—it
-was the immense crop of evidence which they were generally prepared to
-yield.
-</p>
-<p>
-Let it not be imagined, that during the preceding dialogue, Mr. Jeremiah—or
-as he chose to designate himself by the diminutive,—Darby Doherty
-remained voluntarily silent. He frequently attempted to address the
-magistrate; but Quality, who was not only silent himself, but the cause of
-silence in others, as soon as Darby opened his mouth, covered the aperture
-with his broad hard palm, and safely barricadoed the portals of speech.
-Darby, with his wooden leg, trod on Quality's corns; and Quality,
-notwithstanding the anguish he suffered, replied only by a terrific nudge
-with his staff in Doherty's ribs, which was imperceptible to all present
-but the receiver. Quality was very generous with his nudges to prisoners
-who were at all refractory, and attempted to break silence in his
-worship's presence: much to the indignation of Sir Waldron, who often
-wondered where he could have picked up the word, Quality denominated these
-nudges, “apothegms.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The Reverend Reginald Hackle now took up the examination, and, with some
-difficulty, discovered that the prisoners had quarrelled at the fair,
-sought out the constables, and insisted upon going before a magistrate.
-“Upon this,” quoth Batter, “we took them into custody. The child,” added
-he, “seemed as glad to come as anybody;—so, what to make of it, I,
-for one, don't know.—-Perhaps I've suspicions they've picked up the
-girl, and are quarrelling between themselves about her clothes, and
-ornamental valuables;—that, however, I shall keep to myself.—I
-have searched the prisoners separately. The pedlar's pack contains ribbons
-of various patterns and lengths; human hair of ditto ditto; silk and
-imitation handkerchiefs, bits of lace, and cetera, and so forth; a large
-pair of shears, a pocket-bible much worn, and, three red herrings.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“More red herrings!” exclaimed Darby, emancipating himself by a sudden
-movement from the gripe of Quality, and advancing to a position whence he
-could look the pedlar fall in the face; “three more red herrings! Well,
-after that I've done, any how!”.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Next,” continued Batter, who had now grown rather communicative,
-</p>
-<p>
-“I searched the Irishman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how dared you do so?” exclaimed Sir Waldron, striding from the window
-with as great energy as he had strode toward it; “how dared you do so,
-dolt?—Irishman, what are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm an Irishman, your honour!” replied Darby, and Sir Waldron strode to
-the window with greater emphasis of cadence than he had strode from it,
-muttering imprecations as he went.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Have you been in the service?” inquired Reginald; “it has pleased
-Providence to pour great bodily afflictions on you;—such losses as
-those of a leg, an arm—-”
- </p>
-<p>
-“E' then, your honour,” interrupted Darby, “afflictions they are, indeed:—my
-leg lost a good friend in losing me; I cut his corns for him every week,
-and kept him warm in a good worsted stocking, and shoes at never less than
-seven and sixpence the pair, since he came of age: but that's not the
-question, your worship's reverence and glory; but this is it,—I ask
-pardon for contradicting,—but don't fear,—I won't quarrel wid
-your worships excellence:—Here's three of us: that's me, the tinker;
-and the man o' the herrings there—the pedlar; we all wants the
-child, and no blame to us, for she's a beauty;—and having no kith or
-kin, that we can find out, nor a soul alive to own her—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“She escheats,” interrupted Batter, “as a waif, or an estray, in such
-cases, to the lord of the manor, Sir Waldron.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The lord of Bally-no-place, and my nose, too!” said Darby, snapping his
-fingers at Batter; “do you call her cattle? ye he-cow, ye!—Well,
-then, your honour's worship,” continued Darby, turning, with a smile on
-his face, towards Reginald, “as we couldn't agree about her, for she came
-to us together, and we've no great opinion of one another—that is, I
-haven't of the pedlar or the tinker, may be; and it's not unlikely they
-think bad of me,—why shouldn't they?—why then, rather than
-quarrel,—which I'm not one for, though well able, barring my limbs
-and eye,—we tould the middle and both ends of it to dirty Butter
-here.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Batter, prisoner, if you please,” quoth the constable of that name.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, to Batter, be it then; but of all the beasts or constables to boot
-under the moon, he's the most stupid. Well, then, when we couldn't make
-him understand our story, we insisted on his comprehending us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And here they are, Sir Waldron,” quoth Quality.
-</p>
-<p>
-“This is another of your cock-and-bull stories,” said the Baronet,
-returning to his chair. “What have we to do with this? Who is the third
-party?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The tinker, your worship,” observed Quality; “I suspect Batter knows
-him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Truly so,” said Batter; “he's the father of Nancy Warton's two children;
-you'll find his name on record; it's written on the bonds;—a
-confirmed bad one in respect of—-”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Tinker,” said Sir Waldron, assuming a most formidable aspect, “I now
-recollect your <i>face</i>. Moreover, 1 have heard that you have not yet
-quitted your evil ways: you had an affair of a similar sort to that which
-Batter speaks of, last month, at the sessions.—Fie upon you, man!
-Venial as this sort of sin may appear to you, to me it seems most grave,—nearly
-unpardonable. Why not take a wife?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's just what I've said to him,” observed Doherty; “matrimony is the
-best of money,—it's pure felicity.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Are you married, fellow?” inquired Sir Waldron, who felt by no means
-pleased at the Irishman's interruption.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Is it married, your worship?” replied Darby; “faith! then, I am, every
-inch of me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And where's your wife?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, then, I left her this morning eleven miles hence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, you've deserted her, eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! quite the contrary;—I ran away from her,—we agreed to
-come different roads; for, to tell you the truth, Mistress Doherty has a
-tongue: but that says nothing; may be your honour's own wife has one too.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have no wife, sirrah!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! God help you, then! that's all I say.—Though we quarrelled
-last night, I'd be mighty glad to see Mistress Doherty to-day,—so I
-would: I wonder she hasn't come. I'll tell you how it was, and you'll
-judge who did wrong.—We got a fi'penny bed at a road-side house; and
-when such a case occurs, which isn't often, Mistress Doherty is all for
-getting as much as she can for her money; so, if I'd let her, she'd go to
-bed at eight o'clock, and lie till twelve or one the next day, or make me
-and the child do so: but no, I don't like going to bed at night over soon
-then, so I don't,—but I'll lie a-bed as long as one here and there,
-the next morning; for then's the time, if one has such a thing, when a
-bed's pleasant. Well then, Mistress Doherty, having some places to patch
-in her coat, bid me go to bed before her, so that I might get up early,
-and tramp to the revel with her,—just as Dobbin and Joan would, but
-I wouldn't never mind why. Says she—says Mistress Doherty, 'Go to
-bed, Darby, or the child will be perished with cold; go to bed and warm
-him, Darby, while I put a patch on my coat but I wouldn't; so then she got
-in her tantarums; I was obstinate, and we quarrelled.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay! I understand,” said the tinker, who had not spoken before, “she
-wanted to beat you to nest, as the hen-pigeon doth the cock, when he
-loiters; it's natural,—yea, nature all over.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Whenever I quarrel, I fight,” pursued Darby; “and whenever I fight with
-Mrs. Doherty, she licks me; I'd scorn to be beat by any man breathing;
-I'll crow like a bit of game as I am, though I've lost half my spurs, but
-I don't scruple to own, that I knock under to my wife:—so we paid
-what we couldn't well afford for a bed,—-quarrelled and fought all
-night in it, when we might have slept happy and contented under a tree;
-and the next morning,—that's this morning,—I tould her, when
-she was dreaming, to come after me to the revel by her own self; and so
-she will, I'll engage my last arm; for, if we fight, Mistress Doherty
-doats on me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And who is this child?” inquired Archibald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Your worship,” replied the pedlar; “I hae held my peace till now, and it
-is time for me to speak. This wee thing cam' to us where we breakfasted;
-we ken nought about her; she wanted to come to this revel, and we hae
-brought her together.—She would hae parted with us, but neither of
-us would suffer her to do so, without letting us know whither she went; a
-small broil followed, and here we are before ye;—we've done nought
-but what humanity would justify;—tak' the bairn and question her.
-She's in your hands, and I've done with her—saving a blessing—Gude
-protact her!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! don't think to gallyboozle the justice with your mealy mouth,” said
-Darby; “I've no great opinion of my friend here, your honour; no, nor of
-Tom Tinker, this fellow with the black face, as I had the honour of
-telling ye before. Now, if I may be allowed to say one word in my defence,—though
-nobody accuses me, nor can, that's more,—but if I may speak, I'll
-just say this by way of advice to your worship:—make yourself a
-Solomon the second; cut off the child's hair, take every ha'p'orth she
-has, and then see who'll have her: it isn't the tinker, I'll engage; no,
-nor the pedlar, with his blackguard red herrings.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I dinna want the bairn,” said the pedlar; “I hae eleven o' my ain; but
-I'd do to anither mon's child, what I'd expact anither, mon would do to
-mine,—that is to say—sauf her fra tinklers and
-ne'er-do-weels.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come, come, pedlar, 'ware that,” growled the tinker; “good words or
-broken heads, says the old saying.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hold your tongue, you reprobate!” exclaimed Sir Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Silence!” roared Batter in the tinker's ear, while Quality dealt him an
-apothegm.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What you want with the child I cannot comprehend,” continued Sir Waldron;
-“why not take one of those poor things, of whom you're the putative
-father? that would do you a little credit—Why wish for this little
-stranger?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, your worship”—The tinker was cut short in his reply to the
-magistrate's question, by Batter shouting silence, and Quality giving him
-a nudge.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Blockhead!” exclaimed Sir Waldron to Batter; “am I not to have an answer
-to my question? let the man speak, and do you behave with common sense,
-or, by heaven, I'll commit you.—Speak, tinker, how do you account
-for your wishing to take this child in preference to your own? I must tell
-you, that it looks strange and suspicious.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why,” replied the tinker, “I ha'n't no wish in particular about it:—to
-be sure, I took a fancy to her; she hath such a main pretty little nob,
-and a pearly sort of an eye, just like my best almond tumbler pigeon at
-home—and the poney likes her; so its natural, you see, your worship:
-but then, I don't covet her; only keep her out of these chaps' clutches,
-that's all I say; except, mind me, this:—I wouldn't offend your
-worship for the world; I'd pretty near die first,—but, look'ee, Sir
-Waldron, if your constable pokes I in the ribs again, as he hath twice,
-I'll just make so free as to break his neck, here right, if I do die
-for't;—it's nature you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“This language is improper;—we must not hear it,” observed Reginald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“How dare you strike the man?” exclaimed Sir Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I merely gave him a hint—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hold your tongue—quit the room—or stop—stay—I'll
-consider whether I ought not to order Batter to take you into custody.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The little girl now stepped from behind the pedlar's pack, and advancing
-close to Sir Waldron, with a smile playing over her features, said to the
-magistrate, “If you please, sir, may I speak, now every body's done?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Certainly, child,” replied the baronet; “what have you to say?—what
-is your name?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Agnes, sir.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Agnes what, child?—what is your other name?” The little girl made
-no reply, but looked alternately at Sir Waldron and the prisoners, and the
-tears gushed from her eyes.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What is the meaning of this?” said the baronet.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Perhaps, brother,—you know best,” observed Reginald;—“but
-perhaps there is some mystery in this matter, something that lies deeper
-than you imagine. The child may be intimidated from speaking the truth in
-the presence of these three good people.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do you think so?—Well, then, I'll take her apart into my study,”
- replied Sir Waldron: “come,” added he, addressing the child, “come with
-me, Agnes; do not be frightened.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bless you, I am not frightened,” said the child; “I'm very glad.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay,” quoth Reginald, “it is as I suspected, very clearly; Batter and
-Quality, look well to these honest fellows.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The prisoners loudly exclaimed against Reginald's suspicions; but Batter,
-by dint of bawling, and Quality, by the virtue of his apothegms, soon
-restored order, and Agnes followed Sir Waldron into the adjoining room.
-“Now, my dear,” said the baronet, taking a chair, and drawing Agnes
-between his knees, “what have you to say? Why not tell your name before
-the people in the parlour? Is either of those men related to you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, no! no, indeed! I never saw them before to-day.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And whose child are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yours!” replied Agnes, looking archly up at Sir Waldron, and placing her
-little hand on his as she spoke.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Pooh! pooh! child, don't be foolish,” replied Sir Waldron, who felt half
-inclined to be angry, but, at the same time, could not prevent his
-features from relaxing into a smile; “tell me the truth.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have told the truth; indeed and indeed I have.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How do you mean, child?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, if you're my papa, you know, I must be your little daughter:—musn't
-I now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Truly so, child,” replied Sir Waldron; “but as I am not your papa—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! but you are, though,” interrupted Agnes; “my mamma told me so.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Sir Waldron's cheek grew pale; he stared at the child, and remained for a
-few moments silent; then, assuming a stern manner, he said to Agnes rather
-sharply,—“I suspect you to be a designing, bold, bad child; or the
-tool of wretches; or, at best, remarkably impudent. Do you know who I am?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sir Waldron Hackle;—at least, so I hope,” was the child's reply;—“the
-men said they were going to bring us before Sir Waldron Hackle,—and
-that's you, isn't it?—If not, I've kept my promise to my poor mamma
-finely;—but it isn't my fault.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What mamma? what promise? How you talk, child!—what promise?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not to tell any one who I was, nor to mention my name, until I saw my
-father.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And what is your name?” eagerly inquired Sir Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Oh! you know what it is well enough—don't you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How the devil should I?” exclaimed the irritated baronet, who for a
-moment forgot that he was speaking to a child. “How should I?” he
-repeated, in somewhat a calmer tone.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, you haven't any more little girls, have you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ridiculous! Tell me your name, instantly!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You won't be angry with me, I hope, for asking you first, if you <i>are</i>
-Sir Waldron Hackle? My mamma so strictly charged me—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, well! I am—I am,” replied the baronet; “I am Sir Waldron
-Hackle—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay; but are you the gentleman that broke his arm at Westbury, and—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, yes!—Westbury, said you?—What's this flashes across me?
-it surely cannot be—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed, and it is, though!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hannah Russelts child?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes! my mamma's dead; and I've walked all the way by myself, and now you
-won't own me,” sobbed little Agnes; and her head dropped upon Sir
-Waldron's hand, which he immediately felt was wetted with her tears.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Own you!” said Sir Waldron, scarcely knowing what he said. “How can I own
-you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm sure I don't know,” replied the little girl, raising her head, and
-endeavouring to restrain the sobs which almost rendered her unable to
-articulate; “you must do as you please about that; my mamma sent her dying
-love—to you,—and she told me to be sure to say that she had
-done—her duty, and you need not be ashamed of me!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Sir Waldron made no reply; but he snatched Agnes up, pressed her to his
-bosom, and kissed her repeatedly: he then put her at arm's length from
-him, gazed earnestly on her face, and again most affectionately embraced
-her.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Kiss me again, papa,” were the first words that little Agnes uttered,
-after Sir Waldron had placed her on her feet; but the baronet was so
-absorbed in thought, at that moment, that he did not notice what she said.
-He sat silent and motionless, with the child mutely gazing upon him, for
-above a minute. He then started up, wrung his hands together, stamped
-violently on the floor, and walked to the wall of the room, against which
-he leant his forehead. Starting thence in a moment, he returned to his
-seat, exclaiming, “Man! man! thou dost truly merit this agony!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Agnes now approached him, and familiarly, or rather, endearingly,
-embracing his arm, said, “Are you very ill, papa?—My mamma tied this
-bit of love-ribbon on the finger where married ladies wear their rings,
-that I shouldn't forget to tell you she forgave you with her last breath,
-and died happy!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“May she be in heaven!” exclaimed Sir Waldron.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Amen!” responded little Agnes.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What to do—what to do, I know not,” said the baronet, rising from
-his chair again.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Won't you own me, papa?—pray do; or I don't know what I shall do,
-after walking so far and all. I wore out my shoes and stockings—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bless thy poor little feet—what a sight is this!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Won't you own me, papa?” repeated Agnes.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I do—I do, child,” replied Sir Waldron, kissing her; “but I must
-send you away,—how, I cannot tell.—You must not be known to be
-mine:—my honour, my reputation;—the character I have
-maintained—s'death! it drives me mad!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mayn't I live with you, then?” said Agnes.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It is absolutely impossible.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, dear! Then I suppose I must find out a place where grapes grow in a
-wood, and build a little house, as Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday did,
-for I've nobody to help me but you,—and you won't, you say.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I said no such thing: you shall never want; but here you cannot remain.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My mamma said I <i>was</i> to;—but then, she told me too, that when
-she was dead and gone, I was to obey you; and you say I must go,—so
-I don't know what to do:—I'm very hungry.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hungry! pull the bell—but stop—hold—my position is most
-perplexing. To send the child here! It was cruel—but I merit it. I
-have brought sorrow on myself, by my own villany.—It is miraculous
-how you could have reached me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I walked all the way!” said the child, with a sigh. “My little bones ache
-so, you can't think.—My mamma, when she knew she was going to die in
-a day or two, gave me some money, and told me to go to The White Hart,
-with a little paper of directions she folded it up in, for the coachman;
-and she said, that he would give me something to eat on the road, and
-carry me within three miles of your house: but I wasn't to tell him where
-I was going; and she told me to carry the paper and money to him the day
-after she was buried. But,—do you know?—the people where we
-lodged found the paper, and took the money out; and said, I shouldn't go
-unless I told them who I was going to, and why, and all about it But I
-wouldn't, because my mamma charged me to tell nobody but Sir Waldron;—that's
-you,—my papa. So then, I said to myself I'd walk,—for the
-place where the coachman was to leave me didn't seem very far in my
-sampler:—but sometimes I thought I should never get here. And I
-brought my sampler with me to find out the way; but it was all wrong,
-bless you! there's no red line between Somersetshire and Devonshire, like
-that I worked in the sampler; so I kept on asking my way.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dear little cherub!” exclaimed Sir Waldron; “what thou must have
-endured!—And where did you sleep?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! the people was hay-making, and I lay down upon the nice little
-hay-cocks;—its no night, hardly, now.—I liked it at first; but
-I'm stung all over with flies, or something—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And did you beg for food?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! no! I brought all my pretty money, and spent it in gingerbread and
-apples;—not all,—for I've two Queen Anne shillings, and
-another bit of money, I don't know what it is, left.” Agnes, in answer to
-several other questions put to her by Sir Waldron, told him, that she
-often followed the waggons, and, in a very early part of the journey, saw
-the names of several places painted on the boot of a coach, before that
-one where the coachman was directed, by her mother's paper, to set her
-down; that she learnt them by heart, and inquired for each, successively:
-she also related the manner of her meeting with the pedlar and his
-companions, and stated, that a woman had told her, just before she saw
-them, that there was a revel at the village, to which, she was inquiring
-the Way.
-</p>
-<p>
-Sir Waldron was still undecided as to what he should do with Agnes, and
-sat pondering, with the little girl seated on his knee, and warming her
-feet with one of his hands, when the child suddenly started from him, and
-exclaimed, “Oh, dear! I quite forgot the letter!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Letter! from your mother?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes; the people of the house didn't find out that, when they took the
-money that was in the paper of directions away from me. I brought it all
-the way safe enough in my bosom, until this morning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And where is it now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That naughty constable took it from me. He opened it and read it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“D—t—n!” exclaimed Sir Waldron; “then all is known, and I
-shall be every booby's jest.”
- </p>
-<p>
-He had scarcely uttered these words, when the door of the room was opened,
-and The Reverend Reginald Hackle entered, with an open note in his hand.
-He was followed by the citizen: Reginald looked more grave than usual; but
-Archibald seemed with difficulty to restrain himself from laughing
-“Waldron,” said he, “we have just wormed a letter out of Constable
-Quality.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The baronet snatched it from Reginald's hand; looked first at the
-superscription, which bore his name and address, and then hastily perused
-the contents.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The blockhead's excuse,” continued Archibald, “for not producing this,
-which I consider, under correction, a document of importance as regards
-the examination, is, that you cut Batter short in his statement of the
-particulars of his searching the prisoners.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And is this rightly addressed to you, brother? Are you indeed the man?”
- asked Reginald, in a tone of reproach.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, she's a pretty child; a very pretty child, indeed, Waldron,” said
-Archibald, taking the little girl in his arms. “Come, kiss your uncle, my
-dear: I suppose I may call her yours, Waldron.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You may:—it's useless to dissimulate;—so preach, brother
-Reginald; sneer, brother Archy; jest, joke, and do your worst, world;—she
-is mine,—my dear, darling child!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Shortly afterwards, Archibald returned to the prisoners, and, addressing
-Darby Doherty, informed him that he and his two companions might go about
-their business.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And the child—” quoth Darby.
-</p>
-<p>
-“She will remain with Sir Waldron,” replied Archibald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Thank your honour, kindly, for this, as well as for the cold meat, which,
-of course, your honour is going to order us to get in the hall,” said
-Doherty. “His worship has acted upon what, I've always been tould, is the
-true principle of justice; so I can't complain:—he's taken the
-oyster himself, and,” added Darby, bowing alternately to the pedlar and
-the tinker as he spoke, “sent me packing with the shells.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Sir Waldron soon became so doatingly fond of little Agnes, that, among all
-his friends, she obtained the appellation of The Bachelor's Darling. As
-she approached towards womanhood, the beauty of her person, and the
-sweetness of her disposition, made a strong impression on the heart of
-Archibald's son; and five years had scarcely elapsed after the completion
-of his studies under his reverend uncle, when she became his wife.
-</p>
-<p>
-The three brothers lie, side by side, in the church-yard of their native
-village; and the citizen's son, and Hannah Russell's child, are now Sir
-Waldron and Lady Hackle.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/168s.jpg" alt="168s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/168.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/168m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE LOVES OF HABAKKUK BULLWRINKLE, GENTLEMAN.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>bout six-and-twenty years ago, a middle-aged North-country attorney,
-somewhat above five feet eight inches in height, but immeasurably
-corpulent, with an old-fashioned calf, mottled eyes, and a handsome nose,
-settled in a large and uncivilized village in the West of England. The
-manners of the inhabitants were rude and outrageous; their names, customs,
-frolics, and language, were such as Habakkuk Bull wrinkle had never before
-been accustomed unto. They cracked many a heart-piercing joke on his
-portly person; laughed at his ineffectual attempts to compete with the
-veriest youngsters in the village, at wrestling, or cudgel-playing;
-rejoiced heartily when he suffered a cracked pate, or an unexpected
-back-fall; and never employed him in the way of his profession. He could
-have borne all his misfortunes with decency but the last;—<i>that</i>
-irked him beyond measure; and he did not scruple to upbraid those who
-deigned to drink out of his cup, with their folly and villanous prejudice,
-in measuring a man's wit by his skill at gymnastics, and exclusively
-patronizing a couple of rascally pettifoggers in the vicinity, whose only
-merit consisted in their hard pates, and dexterity in breaking the skulls
-of their clients. The villagers waited with patience until Habakkuk's
-lecture and strong drink were finished, promised to reform, heartily
-wished him success in his trade, fell to loggerheads on their way home,
-and the next morning went for redress to the aforesaid pettifoggers, who
-fleeced them to their hearts' content for several lingering months, and
-then mutually advised their employers to settle the matter over a goodly
-feast.
-</p>
-<p>
-Habakkuk Bullwrinkle inwardly moaned at the luck of his fellow-priests of
-the syren, but lost none of his flesh. His affairs, at length, grew
-desperate. He had been skipping over the land, after the fickle jade
-Fortune, for many a weary year; but the coy creature continually evaded
-his eager clutch. What was to be done?—His finances were drooping,
-his spirits jaded, his temper soured, and his appetite for the good things
-of this world, as keen and clamorous as ever. He had tried every plan his
-imagination could devise to win over the rustics, but without effect He
-was just about to decamp clandestinely, and in despair, when, all at once,
-he recollected that he was a bachelor! His hopes rose at the thought “How
-strange it is!” said he, unconsciously snapping his fingers with delight,
-“that the idea of marrying one of these charming rosy-skinned lasses, who
-are continually flitting about me, should never have entered my caput
-before! The whole village is one immense family,—a batch of uncles,
-aunts, nephews, nieces, cousins, and relations of every intermediate
-degree, from one to a hundred. If I can but weave myself into this web of
-consanguinity, my future ease and fortune are certain. They will stand by
-one of their own kin, let him he ever so distantly related, to the very
-last. By the laws! it's an excellent project!—I've a warm heart, a
-winning way, and great choice; so I'll even cast my eye about for a
-convenient helpmate; eat, drink, and be merry again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Reader, these were my thoughts, at the latter end of the year 1803; for I
-am the identical Habakkuk Bull wrinkle above-mentioned. Pursuant to my
-resolution, I began to wheedle myself into the good graces of the girls. I
-often met with a very tolerable reception, considering all things, and had
-many times nearly compassed the object of my hopes, when the demon
-disappointment, in the semblance of a clod-hopper, 'yclept Andrew Skelpie,—walked
-in to dash the cup of happiness from my lips. I never attempted to kiss a
-lass behind a hay-mow, or an old tree, but what this fellow would thrust
-his ugly phiz between me and the sweet pair of lips I was longing to
-salute! If ever I made an appointment to meet a farmer's daughter, and
-prattle away an hour or two with her, unseen by all, Skelpie and she were
-generally linked lovingly, arm in arm together, on my arrival.
-</p>
-<p>
-The first time I ever beheld this destroyer of my peace, was at a village
-revel. I shall never forget the manner in which he rose from the grass on
-which he had been drowsily lolloping, and looked out through his
-half-closed eyelids, at the efforts of the backsword players on the sward.
-He was called upon to enter the ring with a fellow about his own height,
-but more fleshy and comely-looking by half,—being precisely what
-middle-aged good-wives term “a portly figure of a man,” and very much to
-my liking. Skelpie got up from the cool turf, one joint at a time, and
-made his way into the circle, by one of the most extravagant and ludicrous
-paces I ever beheld: it was between the ungainly toddle of an ox, and the
-loose-jointed motion of a drunken, staggering stripling. The portly fellow
-was a stranger from a neighbouring county, who valued himself on his
-prowess at single-stick; he had already peeled the bark off a brace of
-noses, and the greyheaded rustics, who encompassed the scene of action and
-glory, trembled for the honour of their native village. An immense shout
-of applause greeted Skelpie's appearance; for, in him, it was well known,
-the champion of Wedmore himself would find a redoubtable opponent. He
-surveyed his adversary with a confident and most provoking glance,
-accompanied with an upturning of the higher lip, and a smack of his horny
-fingers, that sounded like the crack of a waggoner's whip. He coolly
-selected a stick, screwed it into his hand-guard, padded his elbows, gave
-one stentorian 'hem!' and then—I never beheld such a mutation in my
-life!—his eyes flew open, his lips clenched, every muscle in his
-body was instantly awakened, every limb was in active and most turbulent
-motion: he hit at his opponent's head, with a velocity that, to me, seemed
-supernatural; I heard a continual and most merry peal of blows rattling
-about the sconce of the portly stranger, but I could scarcely detect a
-single motion of the stick. The skin was tough—particularly tough?
-and, for some time, defied Skelpie's sturdy thwacks. At the close of the
-vigorous bout he looked amazed, muttered a curse on his ineffective
-weapon, and was just about to begin again, when, observing something
-suspicious about the closed mouth of his adversary, he put forth his hand,
-and parted the swollen lips of the stranger, from whose mouth a stream of
-blood immediately gushed. The comely man afterwards acknowledged, that he
-had received a cut under his lip at the beginning of the play, but had
-sedulously sucked in the blood, and swallowed it, hoping to crack
-Skelpie's pate before it would be discovered. At this fine old English
-sport, he who draws from his adversary's head sufficient blood to stain
-muslin, is proclaimed the victor. Skelpie afterwards threw half-a-dozen
-sturdy fellows at wrestling, and bore off the prizes at the village games,
-as he had frequently done on previous occasions. He was by no means
-handsome in face, fairly spoken, well-made, or merry;—the simple
-wenches idolized the dog for his prowess. He was capricious and false, but
-they seemed to like him the better. Each, in her turn, hoped to fix the
-rover, excite the envy of her predecessors in his affections, and bear off
-the palm, where they had ingloriously failed. He took no trouble to gain
-their love, and they unanimously doated on him. I often longed to see him
-get a good thrashing, and many times felt strongly impelled to fall on him
-myself; but a whole flood of fears and forebodings, invariably drowned the
-few sparks of courage and vigour in my breast, and I laudably forebore.
-</p>
-<p>
-My love-suits were innumerable; but although they usually began and went
-on auspiciously, Skelpie never failed to beat me off the field in the end.
-The dog seemed to be unconscious of the mischief he made, and that
-irritated my spirit in a tenfold degree. He seemed to bear no malice
-against me, and many times rendered me an essential piece of service. I
-shall never forget the night when he clutched me by the cheek, and pulled
-me out of a flood-swollen brook, when I was at my last gasp, and then
-abused and threatened to bethwack me for being such a fool, and giving him
-the trouble of wading chin-deep to save me. My intellect, on this
-occasion, was befogged with the fumes of stout October, and I knew not
-where I went.
-</p>
-<p>
-It would be tedious to narrate the whole of my adventures during the year
-which I spent in seeking out a wife; I shall content myself with
-particularizing what befel me in the pursuit of the four last objects of
-my love. And, first, let me introduce Ruth,—Ruth Grobstock, the
-daughter of a rough miller, who resided on a hill about a mile to the left
-of the village. I secretly wooed her about a month, undisturbed by any
-mortal; I thought I was sure of her, and began to concert measures for
-obtaining a dignified introduction to her daddy, the miller.
-</p>
-<p>
-One evening, after having ruminated for many hours on Ruth's attractions,
-I determined to roam up to the mill, which I had never before visited,—having
-hitherto carried on my love-suit with Ruth away from her home, at meetings
-which were too frequent to be altogether accidental. While I loitered
-about the mill, pondering on the best mode of drawing out Ruth,—for
-she had no reason to expect me,—the moon suddenly gleamed full upon
-me, through an opening in the oak tree which stretched its huge boughs
-over the white cottage in which the miller dwelt; and methought there was
-something similar to the malicious smile of an arch woman, when intent
-upon a prank, gleaming on her sparkling face; her unnecessary glances, as
-she seemed to peep through the tree, for the express purpose of betraying
-me to observation, threw me into a panic. I had heard of old Grobstock's
-moods and manners, and I feared him. I felt sure of a kind and endearing
-reception from Ruth, although 1 came altogether uninvited and unawares;
-but I fancied for a moment that I heard her father's flails whistling
-about my ears, and felt the teeth of his tykes rioting in my fat My pulse
-throbbed audibly; and I was on the point of again making my way into the
-wood that clothed the hill-side, when a multitude of clouds, which had
-been gradually hemming in the light of the moon, suddenly stretched over
-her face, and relieved my terrors by screening me from her afflicting
-glances. I rejoiced, and waxed courageous and young in heart again. The
-curtains of the best room in the little cottage were negligently drawn,
-and I had the satisfaction, after sundry leaps, of getting a glimpse of
-Ruth's little and exquisite foot, as it danced up and down before the
-blaze of a chirruping fire, which sparkled on the broad hearth. A gentle
-tap at the window set her on her legs in a moment, and before I could
-reach the door, she was there with an outstretched hand, and a pair of
-warm, ripe, ruddy lips, pouting forth to greet me. This was delicious!—The
-friendly clouds were still sheltering me from the moon's eye; Ruth stepped
-forth, and we stood close at the foot of the old oak, in the most
-impervious and delightful darkness imaginable. I was mute with delight,
-but my happy-hearted, loving little damsel's speech, after a few moments
-of silence, gradually began to thaw, and at length, overwhelmed me with a
-torrent of words:—“Oh! I am so glad you are come,” quoth she; “if
-you had not, we should not have had a moment's talk together for the week.
-Daddy's gone out; but to-morrow evening, and the next, he means to stop at
-home, and get drunk; and, although his over-night's promises in other
-affairs melt like mists in the morning sun, and are quite forgotten by
-mid-day, yet, when he says he shall get drunk, he always backs it wi' an
-oath, and then makes it a matter of conscience religiously to keep his
-word; so that, you see, my dear Skelpie—”
- </p>
-<p>
-I was struck all of a heap!—The purport of her subsequent discourse
-palpably proved, that she had mistaken me, in the dark, for the eternal
-and never-failing Skelpie. Her lips once more approached mine; I was
-foaming with rage and disappointment; my hand had shrunk from her grasp,
-as from the touch of an adder, the instant the detested name of Skelpie
-escaped from her lips; I had already taken in a mighty draught of breath,
-intending to shower a whole volley of curses on her and Skelpie, together,—when
-I suddenly experienced a shock, that deprived me of all sort of sensation
-in an instant. How long I lay in a death-like state I cannot conceive; but
-I remember well enough, that when I awoke from my lethargy, trance, fit,
-or whatever it was, I found myself most painfully compressed in an
-aperture of the oak tree, through which the children were wont to enter
-into its hollow trunk. The moon was out in all her glory again, and her
-light fell upon the white brow of Ruth, and the grey jacket of the lean,
-and, by me, abhorred Skelpie. Yes, there he was, twining endearingly round
-the sylph-like form of the false maid, who seemed to feel a pleasure in
-his embraces, which, to me, appeared altogether unaccountable. It was
-plain, from their talk, that they did not conceive I was within hearing. I
-would fain have persuaded myself that I was dreaming, but my endeavours
-were ineffectual; the rugged edges of the aperture insinuated themselves
-into my sides, and pained me dreadfully. Did Skelpie strike me? thought I;
-and does he imagine that I rolled down the declivity, from the force of
-the blow, and am now weltering in the ditch at its foot?—Truly, it
-was a most tremendous assault; and his conclusion of the effect, judging
-from the force of the cause, would be far from unreasonable. My case was
-forlorn in the extreme: my head, and one of my arms, were in the trunk of
-the tree; I was fixed in a most uneasy, slanting position; and my feet
-were so placed on the outside, that the moon threatened every minute to
-reveal them. I would have given the world to be even floundering in the
-mire of the ditch, or anywhere else, out of the reach of Skelpie's fist I
-was almost suffocated, and did not dare to breathe louder than a listening
-roe: a sigh or groan would in some degree have eased my pangs; but the
-sight of Skelpie, prevented me from indulging in the consolation of the
-most wretched.
-</p>
-<p>
-At length, a loud halloo announced the approach of old Grobstock. Skelpie
-instantly intimated his intention of decamping, but the vile maid desired
-him to clamber up the oak, and hide amongst its branches, until her daddy
-went to bed. Here was a terrific request!—“I won't go into the
-hollow,” quoth he; “'cause the zuzpicious ould jakes do always pry into
-there, avore a' do goa to bed.” I took the cuff of my coat between my
-teeth, and resolutely prepared for the worst;—but Skelpie ascended
-the other side of the tree. He had scarcely broken off the prolonged
-salute of the kissing Ruth, when old Roger Grobstock, drunk, and growling,
-staggered up to the door. “Eh! what, lassie—wench! out and abroad at
-this time of night!” cried he, as Ruth tripped up towards him. “Ahey!
-what, vlaunting and trapesing about the whoam-stead wi' some vellow, I'll
-warrant! Odd! I'll verret un out; only bide a bit, I'll be about un. I be
-downcast vor want of a frolic to-night; so, ecod! lass, I'll duck the lad
-avore I goes to bed, just vor a bit of a joke like,—all in good
-vellowship,—but, icod! I'll duck un, if he's a friend; and if he is
-a stranger,—dost hear, wench?—I'll drash un wi' the flail,
-just like a whate-sheaf.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Every word of his speech was equal to a blow: I struggled to get free with
-all my might; I had succeeded so far as to raise myself upright, when the
-miller, who had entered the house at the conclusion of his threat,
-re-appeared at the door with a flaming brand from the hearth in one hand,
-and a tremendous dung-fork in the other. He staggered directly close up to
-the tree; but the sight of my out-jutting stomach, and alarmed visage,
-made him retreat a few paces. He thrust out the burning stick so near my
-face, that it scorched my cheek; and after surveying my disconsolate and
-rueful deportment for a minute or more, he grounded his weapon, and
-accosted me in these words: “Why, thee bee'st a purty vellur, beesen't?—And
-where did'st come vrom—and who bee'st? Art thee a thief, or—but,
-noa, it can't be,—thee bee'st never come to court our Ruth, bee'st?—speak,
-twoad, or I'll vork tha!”
- </p>
-<p>
-There was Ruth, looking over her father's shoulder, evidently alarmed at
-my appearance; Skelpie's heels were dangling over my head; the pronged
-fork was close to my waistcoat; I stared in the face of the old man,
-unable to utter a word, but sweating like a baited bull, and plainly
-expressing my fears by my woebegone and pallid countenance. I expected
-some dire punishment for my silence; but old Grobstock, after surveying me
-for a minute, to my great surprise, burst into a loud laugh, seized my
-trembling hand, and, with one vigorous effort, pulled me out of my
-imprisonment. After dragging me, helpless as I was, into the house, and
-placing me in a chair by the fire-side, he thrust a mug of cider and
-brandy into my hand, chuckling out, “Why, zooks! chap, how vrighted thee
-looks!—drink!” Here was a change!
-</p>
-<p>
-By degrees I summoned up courage: the miller made me drink stoutly of his
-good liquor; and, more than once, seized the dung-fork, and placing
-himself in a threatening attitude, thrust the points of it close to my
-breast, in order to make me look frightened again, and amuse him. I was
-twenty times on the point of revealing the whole affair, but a single look
-of Ruth's eloquent eye froze the words on my lips.
-</p>
-<p>
-After an hour's laughter, interrupted only by gaspings for breath, and
-frequent applications to the jug, my old host gave me a broad hint to
-depart; and after civilly opening the door, and wishing me a hearty good
-night, gave me a most grievous kick, that sent me galloping down the hill,
-and betook himself to laughing as heartily as before. I never courted
-young Ruth of the mill again.
-</p>
-<p>
-My next love was the pale, down-looking, modest Ally Budd, the niece of
-that boisterous old harridan, Hester Caddlefurrow; whose name was a
-hushing-word to the crying urchins for many miles around; they feared her
-more than Raw-head-and-bloody-bones, the wide-mouthed Bogle, or even the
-great Bullyboo himself. The lads of the village generally preferred the
-more hale and ruddy wenches in the vicinity; Ally was not roystering
-enough for them; she had no capacity to feel and enjoy their rude
-merriment, or rough frolics; and few suitors doffed the cap of courtship
-at old Hetty Caddlefurrow's threshold. But Ally was, indeed, a beauty. Her
-youthful companions and neighbours saw nothing extraordinary in her calm,
-dove-like eye; but to me, it looked like the surface of a smooth lake, in
-the still moonlight, with a delicious heaven of love smiling in its blue
-depths. I met her several times, at a distance from her home, and made her
-acquainted with my growing passion; but she always chilled my ardour by a
-ceremonious reference to her austere and masculine aunt. I laid these
-evasive receptions of my proffered affection to the credit of her modesty,
-and loved her the better for them. I used to hover about on the tops of
-the hills which overlooked her abode, watching for the moment when my
-young dove would glide forth from the thatched cot, that nestled among the
-trees beneath me, with a feverish anxiety that I never felt on any other
-occasion in my life. She neither seemed to shun or court my company; but
-came forth, smiling, and fearless of evil, like the white star of the
-evening, in the soft summer's gloaming. The presence of other women, with
-whom I have been in love, has usually thrown me into a turbulent fever;
-but Ally Budd's pale, beautiful face, soft eyes, and gentle voice, had a
-calm and soothing influence on my spirit Her words fell like oil, even on
-the stormy tide of her aunt's rough passions; whose ire she could quell at
-will, and oftentimes saved the offending clowns in the old woman's employ
-from an elaborate cuffing. In this exercise, Hester was said to excel any
-man in the parish: she had a violent predilection for thwacking, or, to
-use her own expression, lecturing, her domestics for every trivial
-offence; and nothing but the high wages which she gave, induced the rustic
-labourers to remain in her service. I was one evening sauntering round the
-summit of the hill which immediately looked down upon Hester's house,
-occasionally stealing a glance from the pathway into the wood towards the
-rich glories of the declining sun, when a rude hand clutched me by the
-collar behind, and, in a moment, pulled me backwards into an immense
-wheelbarrow. The gigantic villain who had performed this daring feat,
-directly placed himself between the handles of the vehicle, and vigorously
-trundled it down the hill. I was seated, or rather, self-wedged in the
-barrow, with my legs painfully dangling over the rim, on each side of the
-wheel: the velocity, with which we descended the steep and rugged
-declivity, deprived me of all power; the fellow panted and laughed,
-pushing on with increased vigour, until we came in sight of the
-wide-gaping door of old Hester's kitchen. His fellow-labourers, who were
-seated at the porch, immediately rose at the sight of our novel equipage.—Confound
-the rascal! he was a most experienced ploughman, and deemed this a fair
-opportunity of shewing his great rectilinear skill, and obtaining the
-applause of his fellows, by driving me at full speed through the door-way
-of the house. It stood exactly at the foot of the steepest part of the
-hill; and, from the tremendous rate at which we travelled, the downfall of
-the whole edifice seemed inevitable! My senses, which had partially taken
-leave of me in the course of the descent, returned just as we arrived
-within a few yards of our destination; I uttered one shriek, desperately
-closed my eyes, and gave myself up for a buried man.
-</p>
-
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/frontispieces.jpg" alt="frontispieces " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/frontispiecem.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-
-
-<p>
-The next moment I found my body, safe and unhurt, on the hearth of Dame
-Caddlefurrow's kitchen. There was the dame, seated in her bee-hive chair,
-staring with surprise, impatience, and anger, at my worship in the barrow.
-As soon as the clown recovered his lost breath, he proceeded to an
-explanation of the cause of his introducing such an unsightly and unknown
-personage as me to her goodly presence. “I ha; zeed the chap,” quoth he,
-elevating the handles of his wheelbarrow to the top of his shoulders, so
-as to afford the dame a full view of my person; “I ha' zeed the chap
-scaures and scaures o' times, skulking about the hill, always and vor ever
-just about night-vall, when 1 do goa a-voddering the beasts; zo, thinks I,
-thic jockey bean't loitering about here zo often wi' any good plan in his
-noddle: moorauver, I ha' zeed un, coming athirt the vields ov a night,
-just avore harvest, treading down whole zheaves o' wheat at a voot-vall:—that
-nettled I more nor all; zo I looked out vor un to-night, zlipped un into
-the dung-barry, walked un down the hill-zide, and drove un through the
-ould porch ztraight as a vurrow:—zo here a' is, and let un gi'e
-a'count ov hi'zelf.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, let un give an account of himself,” said the sturdy dame; “Who
-bee'st, 'oesbert?”—To say that I was at the point of dissolution,
-were needless. I began to mutter a few incoherent sentences, when one of
-the fellows at the door cried out, “He's Habby Bullwrinkle, the
-devil's-bird, down in the village.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A lawyer!” shouted Mistress Caddlefurrow, in a tone that doomed me, in
-perspective, to all the horrors of the horse-pond;—“Why, thou
-bloated raven! thou—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Zober—zober, mother,” whispered a voice behind me; and a hand, at
-the same time, quietly put the enraged widow back towards her bee-hive;
-“bide a bit; only bide a bit; hearken to reason.” I extricated myself from
-the barrow, and looked up to see who my protecting angel could possibly
-be; it was no other than Skelpie. “This gentleman's my vreind,” continued
-he, looking drolly towards me; “he and I be main vond o' one another; I
-zeldom goes to chat wi' a lass, but what he is near at hand; zo—d'ye
-mind?—he often come wi' I to the top of the hill, and bided there,
-while I just stepped down to court little Ally vor an hour or zo; that's
-all:—I left un there to-night. I axed the mopus to come in, but he's
-modest, main modest, vor a chap of his years.” So saying, he resumed his
-seat, and tendered me the cider-mug and a spare pipe in such a friendly
-and unsuspicious manner, that told me all was right in a moment. The
-clowns retired, and the old dame looked on me as kindly as her features
-would permit, under the impression that I was the chosen friend of her
-niece's intended husband; for such, I soon discovered, Skelpie was by her
-considered!—As soon as the storm in my veins had somewhat abated, I
-looked around for the mild goddess of my idolatry, the lady-like, modest,
-soft, silver-eyed Ally Budd.
-</p>
-<p>
-She was drooping in a dark corner, with a check apron thrown over her
-folded arms, and snoring audibly!
-</p>
-<p>
-I could not bear to think of the heartless creature for a year after; of
-course I never hovered over the abode of Dame Caddlefurrow again. Skelpie
-soon deserted the cold lass for another love; and, after being obliged to
-dance in her stocking-vamps, according to the custom of the country, at
-the marriages of her two younger sisters, Ally was wedded to an unlucky
-miser,—the most miserable character under the sun. But to resume:—after
-lighting my pipe, I sat for some minutes absorbed in reflections on my
-late adventure. I did not like Skelpie a whit the better for having
-shielded me from the wrath of the boisterous widow; a blow from his hand
-would have been much more acceptable than a favour: I imagined that he was
-rioting on the idea of having vexed me, by his act of apparent good-nature
-and kindness; and I construed his silence very much in favour of this
-vagary of my heated imagination. Presently I heard a noise behind old
-mother Caddlefurrow's chair, which resembled the faint and irregular
-chuckling of a woman's half-stifled laugh; and, anon, a tuft of hair, dark
-as the raven's wing, topped by a pheasant's plume, gleamed over the head
-of the chair; a white brow, and a pair of laughing black eyes, brim full
-of tears, followed; and in a few minutes, Kate Skelpie, the wicked,
-mischievous sister of my deliverer, tumbled out of the recess, which the
-dame's chair had effectually shaded. She was a round, dumpy lass, full of
-tricks as a frolicsome colt, with an impertinent cocked nose, and a pair
-of lips, that were continually in waggish and most alluring motion. I had
-seen her before at a farmer's merry-making, when she picked me out for a
-partner, and, notwithstanding my obesity, obliged me to dance down
-six-and-thirty couple of giggling girls, and roaring men;—keeping
-up, all the time, as grave a face as ever sat on the shoulders of an
-undertaker. I pitched and leaped about like a gambolling rhinoceros, to
-the infinite diversion of the company, and my own solitary grief and
-dismay. Kate and I were the only persons in the room who looked at all
-solid. I felt an inkling of affection for the lass, even then,—why,
-I know not; and the continual crossings I received from Skelpie,
-determined me to make love under his own roof, where I should, most
-probably, be sure of peace and quietness in my trysting; as Skelpie
-usually past the love time of the nights, about at the abodes of the
-different village toasts. Here was a glorious opportunity of improving my
-acquaintance with the twinkling-eyed Kate! She was not such a
-poetical-looking creature as the snoring Ally Budd, nor so tall and comely
-as the false daughter of Grobstock; nevertheless, Kate Skelpie was a
-jocund, pretty, and captivating young lass. I courted her, and prospered.
-</p>
-<p>
-She had no meddling parents to interfere with us; and Skelpie was, of
-course, absent from home five nights in the week. Many were the pranks
-which the dear jade played me; but I did not care;—they kept my
-flame alive, and her occasional kind looks and unsolicited salutes
-convinced me that I held a place in her heart. In the meantime, however, I
-carried on the war in another quarter. I had two nights in the week to
-spare, and these I spent at a farm-house about a mile from the village,
-with a slender young maiden, named Amaranth Saffem.
-</p>
-<p>
-One Saturday evening, Skelpie overtook me as I was journeying towards
-Amaranth's dwelling. He accosted me civilly; and having some serious
-notions about his sister, I did not scruple to enter into conversation
-with him. He had not crossed me for above a month; and Kate had informed
-me, the night before, “that she should have a good bit of gold, if the old
-chap at the Lands' End would but take it into his head just to die a bit:”
- these were good reasons for my civility, and we discoursed on the most
-fashionable village topics with great urbanity and mildness. At length,
-however, we arrived at Amaranth's door; and then, for the first time, the
-truth flashed upon each of our minds. We were both evidently bent on a
-love-visit to the fair Saffern. Skelpie looked rather hurt, methought, and
-could not help <i>heaving</i> a short sigh. However, we both went in, and
-found Amaranth alone. It was market-day; and her crippled grandfather,
-with whom she dwelt, as we both well knew, was gone to, and in all
-probability would remain at, the next market-town until a late hour,
-according to his usual custom; otherwise, we should almost as soon have
-ventured into a tiger's den, to despoil the animal of a whelp, as pay a
-love-visit to the old man's granddaughter. The miller was a lamb, compared
-with dame Caddlefurrow; and that lady a dove in deportment, to old Jagger
-Saffern. But more of him anon.
-</p>
-<p>
-Amaranth, it was plain, favoured me rather than Skelpie. Without vanity be
-it spoken, I was, at that time, barring my obesity, which rendered me
-somewhat unsightly in the eyes of the lean, rather a personable man, and
-not quite forty. I was by no means particularly solicitous to gain the
-young Saffem's affections, yet she clung to me in preference to Skelpie,
-who did all in his power to please her. He was evidently in love, and for
-the first time in his life, felt the pangs of jealousy in his heart. I was
-his successful rival!—I, even I, Habakkuk Bullwrinkle, the devil's
-bird, whom he had so long despised, had succeeded in warping the
-affections of his Amaranth!—He bit his lip, loured and smiled by
-fits, and, in vain endeavoured to conceal the state of his heart. Amaranth
-seemed to rejoice in his torments; she had always been tolerably liberal
-in her tokens of affection, but, on this occasion, she almost exceeded the
-bounds of probability. I did not much like it at last; for I began to
-think she was making a fool of me. We went on in this way for above an
-hour, when the old cripple's poney suddenly clattered into the court-yard.
-Skelpie started on his legs in evident alarm. There was no way of escape,
-but through a back door into a little yard, which was surrounded by a
-villanous high wall, so smooth, and well-built too, as to defy even
-Skelpie's clambering capabilities.
-</p>
-<p>
-We had not been a moment outside the door, before the cripple entered the
-house. Skelpie was endeavouring with all his might to get over the wall:
-he clung like a cat to the bare bricks; but, before he had well reached
-half-way up, his foot slipped, and down he came. I was standing
-disconsolately underneath him; he fell so suddenly, that I had not time to
-get out of the way, and Skelpie's ponderous and hard skull struck me full
-in the pit of my stomach, and sent me staggering against the back door,
-which naturally gave way with the shock, and I was precipitated, on the
-broad of my back, in the very middle of the floor. Luckily, I came in
-contact with the table on which the candle stood, and extinguished the
-light in my fall. The embers were dying on the hearth, and Skelpie had
-hauled me by the legs, back into the yard, before the cripple (who waited
-to reach his loaded blunderbuss before he looked round) could catch more
-than a vague glimpse of my form and features. The door swung inward, and
-Skelpie easily held it fast enough to prevent the cripple from pulling it
-open;—at the same time carefully screening his body behind the wall
-of the house, from the cripple's bullets, which we expected to hear
-rattling through the door every moment. He growled like an incensed bear,
-and muttered curses by wholesale on poor Amaranth, whom we heard whining
-most piteously. At length, he seemed to take a sudden resolution, chuckled
-audibly, and proceeded to barricade the door with all the furniture in the
-room. Here was an end to all our hopes of enfranchisement and safety. But,
-oh! dear me! what were my feelings, when I heard the cripple hobbling up
-stairs, and trying to open a little window which commanded the yard! We
-were in a sad situation; our only choice of avoiding the lynx eyes of
-Jagger was by getting into two water-butts, which stood in the yard. The
-windows of the house looked into every corner, so that we could not
-possibly hope to conceal ourselves behind them. In we went together, but
-my ill luck still attended me; Skelpie crouched comfortably in the belly
-of a dry butt, but the one, into which I floundered, was half full of
-water. The chilling liquid rose to within a foot and a half of the brim,
-the moment I got in, so that it was impossible for me to crouch, being
-actually standing on tip-toe, neck high in water! It was a bleak night,
-but my fever saved my life.
-</p>
-<p>
-The cripple's blunderbuss, of unprecedented calibre, was thrust out of the
-window, before I could well moderate my quick breathing. He looked into
-every corner of the yard, but, happily, did not perceive my miserable
-sconce, which was floating in the water-butt, immediately beneath him. He
-descended in a few minutes, and removed the furniture from the door,
-searched all round the yard, and, at length, discovering the marks of
-Skelpie's shoes in the wall, concluded that we had escaped, and went
-grumbling to bed. It was a long time before I would suffer Skelpie to help
-me out of my hiding-place: he effected the job with infinite difficulty,
-and led me, dripping like a watering-pot, through the house.
-</p>
-<p>
-About a week after this adventure, I discovered that Kate and Amaranth,
-who were once bosom friends, had quarrelled about me, and were now as
-spiteful to each other as possible. They met, one evening, at old Hetty
-Caddlefurrow's, and, on comparing notes, found that I was playing a double
-game. Ally Budd was present, but she said nothing. After lavishing the
-usual abusive epithets on me, they began to look coldly upon each other:
-from cool looks, they proceeded to vituperative insinuations; and, before
-they parted, naturally came to an open rupture. Occasionally, I suffered a
-little from their pouting and touting; but, in the main, I was happy
-enough between them. Each tried all her arts to win me from her rival they
-sometimes met, grew great friends, vowed they would both turn their backs
-upon me for ever, kissed, cried, quarrelled again, and grew more rancorous
-to each other and loving to me, than before. Skelpie became an altered
-man. Amaranth flouted him, abused his sister to his face, and caressed me
-in his presence;—although, I believe, the hussy, if she knew her own
-heart, loved the fellow all the time. Skelpie dressed smartly,
-discontinued his visits to all other girls, neglected his games, and even
-his daily occupations, to court Amaranth. He won the heart of the old
-cripple Saffern; but the lass still turned a deaf ear to his vows:—she
-was trying to vex Kate Skelpie. I was completely happy; I felt—but
-wherefore should I dwell on this love contest?—Skelpie is looking
-over my shoulder, and does not seem to relish the protracted detail.
-Suffice it to say then, that the banns of marriage were at length
-published, between Habakkuk Bull wrinkle, gentleman, and Kate Skelpie,
-spinster;—that we were united in due season;—and that Skelpie,
-a short time afterwards, obtained the hand of Amaranth. The angry passions
-of the girls soon subsided, and they loved each other better than ever.
-Skelpie became my bosom friend; I prospered in business; and the two
-families have lived together for above twenty years, in concord and
-happiness. The roses have faded in Amaranth's cheek, and the fire of
-Kate's eye is somewhat quenched; but the relation of my own mishaps,
-Skelpie's adventures, and our strange courtships, never fails to draw back
-the youthful smiles of hilarity in both their matronly faces. Heaven bless
-them!
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/183s.jpg" alt="183s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/183.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/183m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<br /><br /> <br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/184s.jpg" alt="184s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/184.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/184m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-SECOND COURSE: THE NEIGHBOURS OF AN OLD IRISH BOY.
-</h2>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_INTR2" id="link2H_INTR2"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-INTRODUCTION.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> one-armed naval Lieutenant, on half-pay, who was distantly related to my
-mother's family, had the good fortune to be presented, in his declining
-years, with a little cottage and a small portion of land situate in a
-village on the coast of Ireland, by one of his wealthy nephews, to whom it
-was unexpectedly devised by a maiden grand-aunt, who had never seen him
-above once in his life. I accompanied the Lieutenant, from Waterford, for
-no other reason than because I had nothing, either better or worse, to do,
-when he went to take possession of his nephew's gift; and to pay a visit,
-after a separation of some years, to his old shipmate—the friend of
-his youth, and the companion of his manhood—Jimmy Fitzgerald,—better
-known by the appellation of the Old Irish Boy, who dwelt in a mud cabin on
-the skirts of the village: the history of whose neighbours is given in the
-ensuing pages, as nearly as possible in the same terms as he narrated it
-to my worthy relative, the one-armed Lieutenant, and myself, in the course
-of the two or three first evenings which we passed in his company.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-JIMMY FITZGERALD.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>immy Fitzgerald and the old Lieutenant had both entered the navy in
-equally humble situations, at an early age: the friends of the latter,
-eventually, procured his advancement; but Fitzgerald, whose relations were
-poor, never had the luck to be rated on any ship's books in a higher
-station than that of an able seaman. The difference of rank had not the
-effect of diminishing the respect and affection which the Lieutenant and
-Fitzgerald bore towards each other: in their manhood they were upon as
-familiar terms, so far as naval etiquette would permit, as when in their
-boyhood they had been equals. The Lieutenant had saved his friend's life,
-at the risk of his own, in the Mediterranean; and, to judge from
-appearances, he was, if possible, more partial to Jimmy Fitzgerald than
-the Old Irish Boy was to him. The preserver frequently is found to display
-more affection towards the preserved, than the preserved either exhibits
-or feels towards his preserver.
-</p>
-<p>
-No two men could be much more unlike each other than the Lieutenant and
-Jimmy Fitzgerald. The former had received a tolerable education before he
-went to sea; he had taken every opportunity to improve himself while in
-the service; from the period of his retiring, he had read much on general
-subjects; and he was, at the time of his taking possession of his nephew's
-cottage, a very well informed man. Jimmy Fitzgerald, on the contrary,
-scarcely knew how to read when he left his native village; he had picked
-up but a slight smattering of such knowledge as is to be obtained from
-books, in his progress through life; but he possessed a finer mind and
-greater powers of observation than his friend; and the Old Irish Boy was,
-perhaps, superior to the better educated Lieutenant, in mental riches,
-discrimination, and eloquence, when they again met, after an interval of
-many years' separation, under the roof of the former. Jimmy Fitzgerald's
-style rose with his subject; and he occasionally found himself at such an
-elevation, that it was a mystery how he had been able to attain it. The
-Lieutenant was always level in his discourse: he neither descended so low,
-nor rose so high as his friend; nor did he, like Fitzgerald, ever presume
-to discuss any but commonplace subjects. Jimmy occasionally indulged in
-such daring flights, that he toppled down headlong from an altitude which
-he was unable to support; a disgrace to which the more sober and
-matter-of-fact Lieutenant never subjected himself. The one sedulously
-avoided the utterance of anything new; the other, if it had been in his
-power, would rarely have said anything that was old. The Lieutenant was
-circumspect, and the Old Boy ambitious: the former was stiff, constrained,
-and rather stately in his language; the latter free, careless, and
-Hibernically vernacular. Jimmy Fitzgerald was poor, almost dependant on
-the exertions of a niece and her two sons for support, and so afflicted in
-his nether extremities, that he could not move from his chair without
-assistance; but he was always merry, and rarely complained. The Lieutenant
-possessed a competency, he enjoyed a most robust state of health, his
-legs, and the arm which the enemies of his country had left him, were
-still in full vigour; but he frequently repined at his poverty, occasional
-slight attacks of head-ache, and at being compelled to do the work of two
-hands with one.
-</p>
-<p>
-Notwithstanding the difference in their temperaments, the two friends had
-rarely disagreed; and Orestes and Pylades, or Damon and Pythias, could not
-have exhibited more affection towards each other, after a long separation,
-than Jimmy Fitzgerald and the Lieutenant did, when the latter entered the
-Old Irish Boy's cabin. My relation had, to use his own expression, been
-roaming about, here and there and everywhere, for a number of years; and
-so little positive inclination did he feel for passing the remainder of
-his life in one place, that he would, probably, have declined his nephew's
-well-meant offer, had not Jimmy Fitzgerald's cabin been within ten
-minutes' walk of the cottage, and the sea been visible from two of its
-four front windows. The village was principally occupied by fishermen; but
-there were two or three respectable families resident in the
-neighbourhood: to these the old Lieutenant had letters of introduction; so
-that he felt satisfied, on entering upon his tolerably neat, but humble
-abode, that he should not be at a loss for society, even if it were
-possible for him ever to grow tired of that of his friend Fitzgerald.
-</p>
-<p>
-After a great number of mutual inquiries had been answered, and many
-expressions of reciprocal friendship had been uttered, Jimmy Fitzgerald
-drew forth a little tub of pothien from beneath the bed, with his crutch,—which
-was of no other use to him but to perform this and similar offices,—and
-protested by several saints, whose names have escaped my memory, that we
-should have a jovial night of it. “Many's the pitcher of good drink,” he
-exclaimed, “the Lieutenant and I have helped one another to empty: though,
-I'll say this for him, he'd always thirty-one points and a half more love
-for sobriety than ever Jimmy Fitzgerald could boast; and at that same
-time, when he'd make mouths at a third can, and draw back from a fourth,
-as he would from a dog that was going to snap at him, I drank, and drank,—more
-shame to me for it,—as though I'd declared war against spirits, and
-wished to exterminate them,—rum, in particular,—from the face
-of the earth. I think I'm a better man than I was long ago: no thanks to
-me, for that, though, perhaps; for I'm out of the way of temptation; and
-if I'd the pay of an admiral, I couldn't enjoy myself as I did long ago.
-It's wrong of us to brag of our virtue, when we've no appetite left in us
-for sin:—that's a saying I stole from the priest, because it plazed
-me. You'll like Father Killala mightily, Lieutenant, when you come to know
-him; as you soon will, won't you? And noticing him reminds me of telling
-you, that while you're here, I'll engage you'll never get reproached for
-being a Protestant.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Toleration, Jimmy—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it toleration?” exclaimed Fitzgerald, interrupting the Lieutenant;
-“why then, in toleration, Father Killalas flock are all lambkins. I'll add
-to that,—because, I know you'll like to hear it—we're as quiet
-as mice in these parts: we've no fighting, nor fairs, nor wren-feasts; and
-as few ghosts or goblins, Banshees, Lepreghauns, or white women on
-horseback, as you'd wish: for we don't give such cattle much
-encouragement. Don't that plaze you, Lieutenant?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It does,—it does; and I have no doubt but that I shall pass my days
-peacefully and pleasantly in your village, my good old friend. Jimmy
-Fitzgerald and I,” continued the Lieutenant, addressing me with unusual
-animation, “have fought and bled side by side; we were confined together,
-for four years, in a French prison, from which we escaped in company; we
-had but one tobacco-box between us, for fifteen months; and we
-accidentally fell in love with the same woman. Jimmy acted most
-magnanimously on that occasion: as soon as he discovered that I was his
-rival, he instantly resigned his pretensions in my favour.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And you were quite as polite to me, Lieutenant,” said Jimmy, “and I don't
-forget it to you to this day. You insisted, you know, as strongly as I
-did: so that as each was resolute in not cutting out his friend, the
-darling delight of our hearts got neither of us; and she's now living,—an
-ould maid, as I'm tould,—near upon a mile and a half this side of
-Thurles.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it possible?” exclaimed the Lieutenant.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It's as true as you're born, if Corney Carolan is to be believed on his
-oath. I wouldn't take his word; but when a man swears to what he says,
-it's not dacent to discredit him, is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Certainly not,” replied the Lieutenant. “And so Peggy is living within a
-mile and a half of Thurles, is she?—unmarried, too, you say?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“She is; and I don't think I'd be doing my duty if I didn't tell you. I'll
-just take this present opportunity of saying, too, that as you think of
-settling, and as you're still well-looking, and I'm broke down
-out-and-out, so that she wouldn't look upon me,—I'd sacrifice
-nothing,—that is, I wouldn't intirely brake my heart if you wint and
-married her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“James Fitzgerald,” said the Lieutenant, “you are still the noble fellow
-you were thirty years ago. You have forestalled me on this occasion: I
-assure you that I was just working myself up to say to you what you have
-said to me. You are still a bachelor, Jimmy, and, as far as I am
-concerned, Miss Margaret M'Carthy is quite at your service.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you kindly, and good luck to you for this and all that's past,”
- said Jimmy; “but, to spake my mind,—I never cared much about Peg.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nor I, upon my honour!” exclaimed the Lieutenant.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I was glad of an excuse to be rid of her,” quoth Fitzgerald.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Precisely my own case, I protest,” said the Lieutenant.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And I never cared one half so little for her, as I do just now.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“We coincide on this point to a tittle.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then what becomes of our mutual devotion, Lieutenant? It was all
-moonshine, you see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not exactly,” replied the Lieutenant; “man can look back on past
-occurrences, and see circumstances in their true light—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Better than he can when they're under his nose?” interrupted Fitzgerald.
-“Is it that you mane?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is: passion and prejudice, as philosophy teaches us—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hould your tongue, Lieutenant,” said Fitzgerald; “for I think I can find
-a shorter way for us out of the bog, than your jack-o-lantern philosophy
-will light us to. The truth is, we were young and foolish that time; we
-thought we loved the young woman, and we didn't: so there's an end of Peg.
-My blessings be on her for all that, though! She never did me harm; and
-one of us, may be, was wrong in not marrying her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“She told me to my face,—truth is a jewel, Jimmy Fitzgerald,” said
-the Lieutenant, “she told me, calmly and resolutely, when I informed her
-that you were as deeply in love with her as myself, that we had mistaken
-innocent flirting for affection; and that, were a formal proposal made to
-her, she should indignantly reject it; 'for,' said she, 'I would not have
-either of you, if one was a Rear Admiral, and the other a Major of
-Marines.' That was her precise expression.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! Time, Time!” exclaimed Jimmy; “what a fine auld fellow you are, to be
-sure! How you open our eyes, and bring things to light! If it wasn't for
-you, Truth might often go hide her head.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I think,” said the Lieutenant, rather gaily, “that if I wanted a wife, I
-might probably find one who would suit me better than Peggy, among your
-neighbours, friend Fitzgerald. And, by-the-by, as I am coming to live
-among them, I should be glad if you would afford me a little insight to
-their various characters, circumstances, and histories. I am well aware of
-your capability to do so:—when I found you on board the Janus, after
-we had parted company for more than seven years, you did me incalculable
-benefit, by giving me a descriptive portrait of every soul in the ship;
-from the cook's boy up to the captain. Will you oblige me?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will, in that or anything else that's in the power o' me,” replied the
-Old Boy. “If I devoted one half o' my life to you, since I was twenty, I'd
-still be your debtor for the other half: for didn't you save the whole of
-it at the risk of your own?—You did, then; and I'll never—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Psha, psha, Fitzgerald! you know what strong objections I have to your
-dwelling on that topic.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Go along with you, and don't be prating so, sir,” said Jimmy; “I won't
-put up with your taking the liberty of doing a fine thing for me, and then
-bidding me not spake of it. My bits of gratitude, now and then, goes for
-the interest; but I'll never be able to pay off the debt. Still, though
-the one is out of my power to do, I'd not be aisy in my own mind if I
-neglected the other that <i>isn't</i>: so that, after all, may be, when we
-think we're doing great things, by acting as we should to others, we're
-just egged on to it, by the fear of not being on good terms with
-ourselves. You've often tould me, Lieutenant, I should be your Corporal
-Trim,—the man you and I read about, long ago, in Jack Flanagan's bit
-of a book, aboard the Bellerophon: and I would be so, but my legs took to
-their heels and deserted me, you know; and so I couldn't, could I? Did you
-ever get hould of a book, since I saw you, with the middle and both ends
-of that story in it?—If you did, as we'd only the middle and a bit
-o' the beginning in Jack Flanagan's greasy library, I'd be glad if you'd
-tell it me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will, with pleasure, Fitzgerald, when—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“When I've described my neighbours to you, is it? Well, then, I'll do
-that, I think, before we part, if the whiskey houlds out, and it don't get
-much the better of us. But it sha'n't, shall it?—for we'll put
-ourselves upon short allowance, and drink as we ought, to the renewal of
-our acquaintance, when I'm done. I'll tell you, before I begin, that you
-couldn't pick out any nine in the whole barony, knows half so much about
-the people that's in it, as myself; though I'm fast moored here, like a
-Trinity-house buoy on a sand-bank: but though I see little, I hear much;
-and as I can't go to any body, why, every body comes to me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am grieved to the heart, Jimmy Fitzgerald,” said the Lieutenant, “to
-behold you so fettered by your infirmities; confined, if I may use the
-expression, like a pig in a coop—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Liberty, Lieutenant,” interrupted the Old Irish Boy, “is only comparative
-at the best; and none of us gets our fill of it. Going about from one
-place to another isn't freedom, as I think you'll own: so why need I cry
-out? If it was, nobody, as I said, while ago, has as much as he wishes of
-it. I'd be delighted to be able to go get mass once a week, and to crawl a
-quarter of a mile now and then; but my infirmities prevent me: so I don't
-have my wish. But I'm only like the rest o' the world; and, therefore, I
-ought to be contented; though, I'll own, I'm not so, exactly. One man
-sighs to have a jaunt into the country, sometimes,—but his wife
-won't let him leave the town he lives in; another thinks he'd be happy if
-he could p'rambulate about in foreign parts,—but his pocket keeps
-him at home; even that mighty conqueror, Alexander the Great, if there's
-truth in the song that's made about him, found the globe itself too little
-for his desires; and you know, well enough, that little Snookenhausen used
-to be telling us at Malta, of an ould philosopher, in ancient times, who
-fell out with his own bread and butter, like a big baby as he was, because
-he couldn't have another world for a play-ground, so as he might play
-trap-ball with this. There's none of us but strains the cable by which
-we're moored, as tight as we well can; and many's the man tries, all his
-life, to cut it, and sheer off into the main; but he can't. If you tie up
-a horse in a field, he'll not care half so much about the rich grass
-that's under his nose, as he will for a few dry blades, which his rope
-won't let him reach; and he'll be trying for them, when he might be
-filling his belly with better. If I am, as you say, shut up here like a
-pig in a coop,—and it's true enough,—I've the comfort of
-knowing, that be, who thinks himself free, and brags about his liberty,
-has a ring in his nose, and, may be, two or three other incumbrances,
-which prevent him, although he's adrift, from enjoying his freedom, or
-doing as he likes, much more than I can.—But now for my neighbours—”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/193s.jpg" alt="193s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/193.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/193m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE NATIVE AND THE ODD FISH.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ick Maguire is a native of these parts, and he's out and out the oddest
-fish among my neighbours, as I think, and as you'll think too, may be,
-by-and-by, when I tell you more about him.—Didn't it ever occur to
-you, that a man may be ruined by a bit of good luck as well as by bad?—I'm
-sure it must.—I had an uncle at Tralee, who was left seventy pounds
-by his wife's gossip; and he welcomed the gift so warmly, and caroused so
-heartily to the honour of the giver, that he never ceased drinking and
-losing his time,—though he was a dacent man, and did business as he
-ought before,—until the seventy pounds, and a little to the tail of
-it, had slipped through his fingers. But that wasn't the end of it: for he
-got such bad habits as he never could shake off again; so he lived a few
-years a sot, and died a beggar: all which wouldn't have happened but for
-the seventy pounds his wife's gossip gave him.—I knew a young woman,
-whose name I won't mention, for the sake of her family, who lost herself
-entirely through a love of fine clothes, which she had never cared more
-about, than just a little, as all women do,—and no blame to them,—before
-her brother, who sailed for three years in the same ship with me, brought
-her home a little bag of silks and things above her station, which, when
-she'd worn them, made her despise her plain, honest, ould duds: but them
-that was about her couldn't give her better; so she grew sick of home, and
-did that she was sore at heart for when she came to a death-bed.—Ah!
-then's the time, if we never did before, when we know right from wrong;—then's
-the time, when the brain balances things and gives true weight to all our
-misdeeds;—then's the time, when a man, who could never before
-recollect what he did that day se'nnight, remembers all the evil he has
-done in his days, and all the good he might have done, but wouldn't. A
-dying man's memory, if he has been a bad one, is one of the most perfect
-and terrible things in the world;—go see one yourself, and you'll
-own it. We may be'cute enough to hide what we do from the world all our
-lives, but we can't do so from ourselves when death puts out his big bony
-paw to give us a grim welcome to his dark dominions. We may be'cute enough
-to shut our own eyes to what we've done, when we're strong and able, and
-the world's going merrily round with us; and we may be fools enough to
-think that our sins are blotted out when we have forgotten them;—for
-I've found that men are just like the ostriches I've seen myself, in
-Africa, which, when they're hunted, poke their pates into a dark place,
-leaving their bodies entirely exposed, and fancy no one can see them if
-they can't see themselves:—but when we know that the last sands in
-our glass are running, and the dead sea is glimmering before us, we can't
-poke our heads into a corner,—don't you see?—or tie a stone to
-the neck of each of our iniquities, and drown it;—or look another
-way, and think of to-morrow's dinner, when they're coming to meet us;—or
-silence their small but very terrible voices, by whistling the burthen of
-an old song: for,—do you mark?—they won't be served so: they
-will be seen; they will speak; and, faith! it's bear them we must, whether
-we will or no. We may have fancied them dead and gone, years ago; but
-their ghosts start up and surround our death-beds, and clamour so, that we
-can't but listen to them: and what's most awful, they make a man his own
-judge; and no earthly judge is so impartial as a man is of himself, when
-his people are just wishing him good-b'ye for ever. For when we get on the
-brink of life and death, and know that it's ten to one we'll be dead by
-the morning, and it's just midnight already;—when we think that in a
-few hours our ears will be deaf, and our eyes blind, and we can't wag a
-finger, and our cold white corpse will be stretched out on a board,—motionless,
-helpless, good for nothing, and lumber more than anything else;—when
-we know, that, much as we thought of ourselves, the sun will rise, and the
-birds sing, and the flowers look beautiful, and the ox be yoked to the
-plough, and the chimneys smoke, and the pot be boiled, and the world go on
-without us, as well as if we'd never been in it;—then's the time, I
-say, we get our vanity cut up by the roots, and feel what atoms we've been
-in it:—and then's the time too, that the soul,—just before
-pluming her wings, and having half shaken off the dross of humanity,—becomes
-strong as the body gets weak, and won't be bamboozled, but calls up all
-our sins past, and places them stedfastly before our eyes; and if we've
-done wrong—that is, much of it,—a big black bird stretches out
-her great wings and flutters, brooding like a weight of cold lead, on our
-hearts; and conscience, though we've contrived to keep her down all our
-lives, then starts up, taking advantage of our helplessness, and reigns in
-fall power.—But what's all this to Mick Maguire? you'll say.—Faith!
-then, not much: I began with an idea of getting to him in a few words, but
-was led astray, by noticing the death of the young woman I mentioned as
-being ruined by the gift of a brother, who meant it for her good. And
-you'll think it odd, may be, that the likes o' me casts over things so
-sariously: but I do, and there's nothing plazes me more than so doing,
-when I'm left alone here by myself, for hours and hours together, while
-all that's near and dear to me is out upon the waves, the mighty roar of
-which, as they break upon the rocks about me, I hear night and day; and
-the sound o' them, and solitude, begets sarious thoughts; and so they
-should, in one that's gone sixty. There's never a day but I think o'
-death, so that I'm sure I'll be able to meet him firmly when he knocks at
-the gates of life for me, and bids me come. If I could go about, I'd not
-have such oceans of odd, out o' the way thoughts, consarning various
-things; but here I am, fettered by my infirmities to an ould chair, and
-I've nothing to do half my time, but think. Don't imagine, though, that
-I'm laid up in a harbour of peace, or that the other half of my time is
-calm and pleasant: it's no such thing; the woes and the wickedness of the
-world—good luck to it though, for all that—reaches me here in
-this corner, though it's harm me they can't much. I'm like an ould buoy,
-fast moored to an anchor on a bad coast, over which the waves dashes and
-splashes all day long, but they can neither move it nor damage it. But
-what's all this to Mick Maguire? you'll say, again. Faith! then, little or
-nothing: but now I've done, and we'll get on.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mick, like my uncle at Tralee, has been ruined by a gift. He was once a
-hard-working man, and did well; until young Pierce Veogh, just after he
-came into possession of the house that's called “The Beg,” on the hill
-yonder,—which he did at his father's death,—gave Mick an ould
-gun once, for something I forget; and that gun has been the ruin of him.
-He works one day in the week to buy powder and shot; and half starves
-himself, and goes in rags the other six, prowling about the rocks, and
-firing at sea-gulls and so forth, but seldom shooting one.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mick's an oddity, as I tould you before; and why <i>so?</i> you'll say.
-Why, then, not for his face, for he's good-looking; nor for his figure,
-for he's straight and well built; nor for his jokes, for he never makes
-one; nor for any one thing in the world but his always telling the plain
-naked truth; good or bad, no matter if it harms him, he don't mind, but
-always spakes the thing that is, and won't tell even a white lie for
-himself, much more for any one else:—and if that's not an oddity, I
-don't know what is. There's so much lying going on in the world, that if a
-man just lives in a corner, and sees only three people in the year, he
-must lie now and then; or, somehow, things won't be as they should be; he
-won't do like them that's about him, and can't get on: why, I don't know;
-but so it is. Mick was never known to tell a story in his whole life; but
-he has sworn to so many out o' the way things, that he's often been
-suspected to be a big liar: for I need scarce say to you, that nothing can
-look more like a lie sometimes than the plain truth. But whatever Mick
-says, always at last and in the long run turns out to be fact: so that we
-don't know what to think of the story he has of the fairy he saw on the
-rocks long ago. It seems as much like a lie as anything ever I heard; but
-if it is one, it's the first Mick tould; and if so, troth then, it's a
-thumper. And why shouldn't it?—A good man, when he does wrong,
-commits a big sin; while you and I only does dozens of little ones: and
-them that sticks by the truth in general, if they happens to tell a lie,
-faith! then, it's a wonderful big one;—and, may be, so is Mick's
-story;—but you'll judge for yourself, when you hear it. But don't
-forget the honesty of Mick's tongue; and bear in mind too, that we
-shouldn't disbelieve anything simply because it's out of the way to us,
-and we never saw the likes of it ourselves; for there's so many strange
-things in the world, that one don't know what to disbelieve; and of all
-the wonderful things I ever heard of, there's none seems to me so very
-wonderful as this, namely:—I exist, and I know it. Now for Mick's
-story:—
-</p>
-<p>
-“One day,” says he, “as I was out shooting on the black rocks, I clambered
-up to a place where I never was before; and I don't think man had set foot
-upon it till then: it was higher than you'd think, looking up from the
-sea, which washed the foot of it; for the great crag itself, which none of
-us can climb,—I mane that one where the eagle's nist is,—seemed
-to be below it. Well, thinks I, when I got to the top, I'll have a good
-pelt at the birds from this, I'm sure: but no, I couldn't; for though they
-were flying round and round it, divil a one would come within gun-shot,
-but kipt going about, and going about, until the head o' me wint round wid
-looking at them, and I began to feel sick, for I'd come out before
-breakfast, not intinding to stay long; but somehow, I wint further and
-further, and, at last, the sun was going down, and me there, where I tould
-you I was, a-top of the big crag. 'Michael,' says I to meeself, 'it's time
-for you to be going too, for the birds won't come near you; and you're
-hungry, boy,—so you are, Mick; you can't deny that.' And it's true
-thin I couldn't; for I never was hungrier in my life, than I was that
-time, and sorrow the thing in my pocket softer than a flint. Well, thin I
-began to go down; but before I'd got twinty steps, what do you think I saw
-there, upon the bare rock, where nobody seemed to have been before me,
-near upon half a day's journey higher than the sea,—what, I say, do
-you think I saw, lying before me there You wouldn't guess in a year. Why
-thin it was an oysther!—I started, as though a ghost had come across
-me:—and why wouldn't I?—for I'd no right to expect to see such
-a thing as an oysther there, you know, had I?—Thinks I, after
-awhile, 'Here's a fine mouthful for you, Mick, if it's only fresh; but,
-may be, it's been here these thousand years.—Eh, thin, Mick! but
-you're lucky, so you are, if it should be ateable.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“Sitting down on the rock, I put out my hand to get a hould of it, whin
-what does it do, but lifts up its shell of its ownself!—and there
-was something inside it, just like an oysther, you'd think; but whin you
-looked closer, what was it thin, but a small dwarf of a man, wid a beard,
-and a little broad belly, and two short, fat, little darlings of legs, and
-his both hands in his breeches pockets; quite at home, and as aisy as you
-or I'd be in our arm chair, if we had one.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I'm glad to see you, Mick,' says he; 'it's long I've been expecting
-you.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“Now, there's many that would have run away, and broke their necks down
-the rock, at hearing the crature call them by their names, and say this;
-but I'm one that never feared Banshee Lepreghaun, or any one of the little
-people, good, bad, or indifferent;—why should I?—So I pulled
-off my hat, and making a leg to him,—'Sir,' says I, 'if I'd known as
-much, I'd have come before.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Thank you kindly, Mick Maguire,' says he. 'No thanks to me thin, at all
-at all,' thinks I, 'if you knew what I know:' for I was determined to
-devour him, if he was ateable. 'And it's by my own name you call me, sir,'
-says I, 'is it?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'To be sure it is,' says he; you wouldn't have me call you out of your
-name,—would you?'—And thin he fell laughing, as though his
-little face would have tumbled to pieces: and, faith! of all the faces I
-ever set eyes on, I never saw the likes of his for a roguish look.—'You
-wouldn't have me call you out of your name, would you, Mick?' says he
-again.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Why, thin, no I wouldn't, and that's truth,' says I; 'but what's your
-own name? I'd like to know, so I would,' says L “'I dare say you would,'
-says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'And after that,' says I, 'I'd be glad if you'd tell me a small trifle
-about yourself, and how you live in your little house there, whin you shut
-down the roof of it; and thin—'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Bad manners to you Mick,' says he; 'don't be prying into a person's
-domestic arrangements.'—Them were his words. 'Mind your own
-business,' says he; 'and ax me no questions about mee-self; for, may be, I
-won't answer them.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'But, sir,' says I, thinking to get all I could out of him, before I ate
-him; 'sir,' says I, 'it isn't every day one sees, betuxt a pair of
-oysther-shells—'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Oh! Mick!' says he, 'there's more out o' the way things than meeself, in
-the sea.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I shouldn't wonder, sir,' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'There is, Mick,' says he; 'take my word for it.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I'm sure of it, sir,' says I; 'and yet people says there's no mermaids
-even: now meeself saw one once, and she'd a fish's tail, and big fins
-below; and above she was as like a man, as one brogue is like another.
-Now, sir, I'd like to know your opinion.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he; 'was it in the bay yourself saw the mermaid?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Faith! and it was,' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Just four years ago,' says he, 'Mick?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Just,' says I; 'come St. Breedien's day; for it was the very week Jimmy
-Gorman was drowned, so it was: his wife married Tim Carroll, tin months
-after his wake,—for we waked Jimmy, though he wasn't at home, and
-drank long life to our absent friend, in the pitcher o' pothien he left in
-the cupboard,—so we did:—and she has now three children, by
-Tim; and Maurien, the little one, is two months ould, barring a week, or
-thereaway; and three nines is twinty-siven, and tin is tin more,—that's
-thirty-siven, and three months betuxt and betune each o' the children,
-makes nine more, that's forty-six: thin there's Maurien, she's two months
-ould, as I said; so that, taking them together, there's forty-eight
-months, one up or one down, and that many months is four years:—so
-that, by the rules of multiplication and population, Jimmy's dead four
-years—don't you see?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Arrah! don't be preaching,' says he; 'sure, meeself knew Jimmy well.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Ah! and is it yourself?' says I; 'and was he on visiting terms wid ye?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I knew him better than ever you did in your life, Mick,' says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Not a bit of it,' says I; 'did you ever spend your money wid him, like
-meeself, at the sheebeen-house?—or at the pattarn there above, with
-the penny-whiff woman? Did you ever once trate him to a glass o' whiskey,
-sir?' says I;—'not yourself, in starch.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he, 'Jimmy and I lay in one bed for seven months.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'In one bed!'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Yes.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'In a bed of oysthers, may be!'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'It was,' says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Oh! thin, well and good, sir,' says I; 'but what has Jimmy to do with
-the mermaid?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he, 'the mermaid yourself saw below in the bay was him.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Is it Jim?—And now I recollect—what's as true as that my
-daddy Jack's a corpse,—the mermaid, sure enough, had a carrotty
-pole, and two whiskers, and a big jacket, to say nothing of the bradien,
-though they wouldn't believe me,—so they wouldn't; but betuxt
-ourselves, sir, by this pipe in my fist, she was dacently clothed as
-meeself, barring the breeches. Oh! thin, divil a saw saw I of breeches
-about her; and her legs,—sure, and wasn't her legs a fish? and
-didn't meeself say so?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Very well, Mick,' says he; 'I'll explain it to you:—a big
-blackguard of a shark, that was on a travelling tour, happened to be going
-that way when Jim's boat was upset, and gobbled him up just as he got into
-the water: but, lo and behould! whin he'd got Jim's legs down his throat,
-and came to his bradien and big belly, divil a swallow could the shark
-swallow him:—and there Jim stuck so fast, that if the shark had
-taken fifty emetics before-hand, he couldn't have cast him up.—With
-that, Jim, finding his situation unpleasant, began to kick; and the shark,
-with that, tickled Jim's ribs with his teeth; but he couldn't bite clane
-through his big coat,—and the more Jim kicked, the more the shark
-tickled him; and up they wint, and down they wint; and my belief is, that
-Jim would have bate him, but the fish got suffocated, and sunk, just as
-Jim was gitting a pull at the whiskey-bottle, which he carried in his side
-pouch; and down they wint together, so sudden, that Jim, taken up as he
-was with the taste of the crature, didn't know he was drowned till they
-were both at the bottom.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Was Jimmy and the shark, the mermaid meeself saw thin?' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'They was, Mick.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Thin bad luck to the pair o' them,' says I, 'for two impostors!—And
-how did your honour know this?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Wasn't I in the shark's belly all the time?' says he.—'Didn't he
-gobble me up with a salmon, that tried to take refuge in the place where
-meeself and a few friends laid tin days before?—A lobsther lived in
-Jim's pocket for a month; and he and all his family used to go out three
-days a week to pull Jim's nose, for fishing up two of their cousins once,—so
-they did.—I'd thank ye for a pinch of snuff.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'And welcome, sir,' says I, houlding over the snisheen; 'meeself likes to
-hear news of my friends, sir,' says I; 'would your honour plaze to take a
-shaugh o' the doothien too?' And politeness, you know, made me offer him
-the pipe.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he; 'is it meeself, or the likes o' me, that smokes?—I
-never took a goll o' the peepa in all my life:—and over and above
-that, Mick, I'd feel mightily obliged to you, if you'd blow your smoke
-higher, or be just ginteel and agreeable enough to sit the other side o'
-me: if you don't, you're a dirty blackguard, and bad luck to you, sir,'
-says he; 'for I've no chimney to my house.' With that, I just knocked out
-the backy from the pipe, and tould him, I didn't mind meeself, and I'd put
-away smoking at once.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he, 'you'd nothing but ashes in your doothien; so the
-divil's thanks to you!'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Sir,' says I, not noticing what he said,' that's a mighty nate little
-house you have of your own; I'd like to know who built it.' “'Faith! thin
-I did meeself, Mick,' says he; 'but I'd like your big finger the better,
-if it was outside my door.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Sir,' says I, 'if I'd such a nate little cabin, I'd marry Molly Malony
-at once. Doesn't your honour ever think of getting a wife?—or, may
-be, you're a widower?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he, 'oysthers don't marry.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Ye live mighty like a hermit, in your cell there,' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mighty like,' says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I suppose, you have your beads too, and you count them,' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I suppose I don't,' says he; 'for I've but one.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Troth, and that's a thumper thin,' says I, peeping into his little
-parlour: and there, sure enough, was a pearl big enough to be the making
-of me, and all the seed and breed of me, past, present, and to come,
-hanging by a bit of sea-weed round his neck.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Do you know what, Mick?' says he; I'm sick o' the world, Mick; and I'm
-half inclined to give you lave to ate me.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Sir,' says I, taking off my hat, 'I'm much obliged to you for nothing at
-all. It's meeself manes to ate your honour, with or without lave,—so
-I do.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Is it yourself, Mick?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Faith! and it is thin,—though I say it; for I'm hungry:—and,
-after that, I mane to take the big pearl, I see there about your neck.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick, you're a reprobate!—Sure, you would'nt be so un-genteel, as
-to ate a gentleman against his own inclination, would you?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Meeself would thin, and think it no sin, in case the gentleman was a
-plump little oysther, like your honour.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Then, Mick, I wish you good evening!'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Oh, joy!' says I, seeing how he was going to shut himself in; 'it's of
-no use, sir, to do so:—I've a knife in my pocket, and it's not
-burglary in this country to break into the house of an oysther.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mick,' says he; 'an oysther's house is his castle.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Castle I' says I; 'is it a castle?—two shells, with a little face
-in the middle o' them, a castle?—Thin what's my cabin below but a
-palace?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'A pig's palace, it is, Mick,' says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Musha! bad luck thin,' says 1, 'to every bit of you—'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Ah! Mick,' says he, interrupting me, 'if I was half your size, I'd bate
-you blue, so I would.—You're a dirty cur, and so was your father
-before you.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Say that again,' says I; 'say my father was a cur, sir, again, and I'd
-be obliged to you:—just say it now, and see how soon I'll break
-every bone in your skin.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Bone!' says he; 'sorrow the bit of bone is in me at all!' says he.—'Do
-you know anything of anatomy, Mick?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'An atomy!—that's a thing smaller than a mite, isn't it?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Arrah! no, man: don't you know what nerves and muscles manes?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Nerves meeself knows little about; but is it muscles? Och! thin, didn't
-I get a bag-full below on the beach, this day se'nnight? Tell me, sir, if
-you plaze,—is a muscle any relation to your honour?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Ah! Mick,' says he; 'would you insult me?—sure we trace our
-pedigree up to the days of King Fergus; and the muscles wasn't known for
-whole ages after: they're fishes of yesterday,—mushrooms o' the
-ocean:—d—n the one o'thim knows whether or no he ever had a
-great-grandmother!—Mick, this is a bad upstart world we live in.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'It is,' says I; 'people thinks o' nobody but just their ownselves; and
-doesn't mind what inconvaniency they puts their fellow-cratures to, so as
-they ar'n't harried thimselves.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'True,' says he, 'Mick:—did you ever rade o' the Romans?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I'm a Roman meeself, sir.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Phugh!' says he; 'it's of rulligion ye're spaking!—I mane the ould
-Romans,—Romulus and Rebus,—Brutus and Brian Bora,—that
-sacrificed themselves for the good of their country:—thim's the
-examples we ought to follow, Mick! We should help our fellow-cratures too,
-in necessity, if it lies in our power; and not stand, shilly-shally,
-thinking and turning it over whether it will be to our advantage or not.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Sir,' says I, 'your honour spakes my own sintimints; and sure never
-could a finer time come for practising what you preach, than now.—Luck
-up, your honour,—luck up, and see meeself, a poor fellow-crature, in
-distress fora mouthful;—I'm a part o' my country, and you're an
-Irishman born, I'll be sworn.' “'Mick,' says he; 'that's a different sort
-of a thing, intirely.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Not at all,' says I; 'it's a case in point.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Well, Mick,' says he; 'thin I will,—I will sacrifice meeself.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'And no thanks to you, sir,' says I; 'you know you'd be sacrificed by me,
-whether you sacrificed yourself or no. Ah, ah!' “'Ha, ha!' says he;
-'that's true; and it's the way o' the world, Mick.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'And may be, sir,' says I, 'thim Romans yourself spoke about—'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Blarney and humbug, Mick!—blarney and humbug!—They did just
-what Shawn O' Shaugnessy did, while ago,—jump overboard to show his
-bravery, when he knew the ship was sinking.—But don't be in a hurry,
-Mick,' says he, seeing me licking my lips, and getting nearer him;—'although,
-Mick, I have no wish to live; for an oysther's life is a sad one, Mick.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Ah! sir,' says I, 'and so is Mick Maguire's.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I've every wish in the world to travel into all foreign parts.' “'And so
-have I, sir.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'But a snail's better off than I am.—Can't he take a trip, with his
-house on his back, and look about him whin he likes?' “'That's just my own
-case,' says I; 'there's John Carroll, the pedlar, takes his pack on his
-shoulther, and travels from Clonmell to Carrick,—from Carrick to
-Stradbally, and all over the rest of the world, two or three times a
-week.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Oh! musha! Mick,' says he, 'don't grumble; you're not half so bad off as
-I am:—it's tied by the back, I am, to the floor of my house, and I
-can't stir a foot.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'It isn't much money yourself spinds in brogues and stockings, thin,'
-says I.—'Ah! thim brogues ates a man out of house and home,
-intirely!—Does your honour know one Darby Walsh, a brogue-maker?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'No, I don't.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Then, mark this, sir,' says I; 'if ever you shake the fist of him,
-you'll have a rogue in your gripe.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I knew one Jack Walsh,' says he, 'at Calcutta?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'And was your honour ever at Calcutta?' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I was once, Mick,' says he: 'I wint out in a porpus, who very politely
-gave me an inside place for nothing: but, arrah! Mick, I was obliged to
-work my way home.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Did you know one Tiddy Maguire, in the East Indies?' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'No; but I heard talk of him.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'He was a brother of mine, sir; and though I've axed every body that ever
-come from thim parts, if they knew one Tiddy Maguire, in the East Indies,
-divil a ha'p'orth o' news could ever I get about him before!—Will I
-tell your honour a story about Tiddy?—Sure, I will thin:—Tiddy
-was a boy that used to be given to walking in his sleep;—he'd go
-miles about, and bring home people's little pigs and poultry; and be all
-the while innocent of theft—quite intirely,—so he said, any
-how. Well! to make a long story short, one night Tiddy was awoke by a
-great knock on the head, abroad there in Morty Flynn's backyard, with a
-sucker from the ould sow's side, in his hand;—how it came there,
-Tiddy never could give any satisfactory account. Whin he got home,—'Arrah!
-Tid,' says I, 'what happened you, man?—and who's been braking the
-face of you?' And sure enough, the blood was streaming through his hair
-like a brook among underwood. 'Morty Flynn,' says he, 'struck me while
-ago.' 'Arrah! man, and had you nothing in your hand to defind yourself
-wid?' says I 'Troth! and I had thin,' says he; 'but what's a sucking-pig
-in a man's fist to a dung-shovel?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'But, sir,' says I to the oysther, 'it's high time we should be better
-acquainted:—by your lave, sir,' says I, taking out my skean dubh,
-and a fine knife it was;—'by your lave, sir—'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Luck up, luck up, Mick!' says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Meeself lucked up, as he bid me, and the curse of Cromwell on the crow
-that was flying over my head just thin;—the bird was bastely enough
-to dirt the face o' me;—down it fell, just thin as I lucked up,
-exactly betuxt my two eyes. I was in a terrible rage, you may guess; but
-hark to what a fool I was:—instid of getting my gun, and shooting
-the blackguard, what did meeself do, in the heat of the moment, but pick
-up the oysther, and away wid it at him, thinking to knock a hole in his
-black coat!
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Caw!' says he, sailing off; 'caw-aw!' grinning at me.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Caw-aw!' says the oysther, says he to me too, from a ledge o' the rock
-below me, where he fell; 'caw-aw, Mick!—more sinse and bad luck to
-ye, Mick!'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Ah! sir,' says I, putting a good face on the matter, and thinking
-whether or no I could get at him;—'ah! sir,' says I, 'did you think
-I'd be bad enough to devour you?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Faith! you would, Mick,' says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Wasn't I polite?'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Mighty; and may you break your neck going home, Mick! Your brother Tiddy
-was transported in the East Indies; your father wouldn't fight for his
-faction; your aunt had a child, that was sent to the foundling, at Dublin;
-your cousin Jim is a tithe-proctor:—you're a bad set, egg and bird:—your
-sister's husband is a swaddler; and your own father's mother-in-law's
-first cousin hung a priest, Mick: moreover—'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Hould your tongue, you villain!' says I, levelling my gun at him. 'Hould
-your tongue, or Til blow you to atoms!'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'Who cares for you?' says he. 'Didn't you steal the shot your gun is
-loaded wid?—Answer me that.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I will,' says I, pulling the trigger, and knocking his house from the
-ledge, plump into the sea.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'I've done for you now, ould gentleman, I think,' says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“'No, you haven't, Mick,' says he, peeping out of his shell, as he was
-falling; 'you've done just what I wanted. A grate big bird carried me up
-where you found me; he couldn't open me though, and left me there where I
-was; and instid of having done for me, you've sint me home, Mick,' says
-he, 'to my own bed, you blackguard; for which I'm mighty obliged,—and
-bad luck to you, Mick!' says he, as he sunk in the sea:—and from
-that day to this, meeself never set eyes on the little man in the
-oysther-shells,—though it's often I drame about him, and of what he
-said to me above on the crag there.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/206s.jpg" alt="206s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/206.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/206m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-TIMBERLEG TOE-TRAP.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s I mentioned Pierce Veogh, 'while ago, when I was telling you of Mick
-Maguire—'twas he gave Mick the gun—himself it was then—and
-as I may mention him again two or three times, or may be oftener, before
-I've done telling you of my Neighbours, I'll just let you know a little
-who and what Pierce was. At three-and-twenty, he came into a fine fortune;
-his father died then; he'd neither chick nor child but Pierce, and a fine
-boy he was, but too wild from his cradle to come to much good, 'twas
-thought. The father was a miserly curmudgeon in many things, and wouldn't
-live among us much; but kept Pierce here, with a private tutor and a few
-people, as long as Pierce would let him: but when the boy grew big, he'd
-no mind to be staying at home all his days,—and no blame to him,—so
-he wint off; and the father came back then, and lived at The Beg,—so
-we call his place,—till he died.
-</p>
-<p>
-Many's the tale they tell of ould James Veogh;—how he'd give a feast
-fit for a prince, once now and then, just to make the great folks in
-Dublin have an idea of his wealth, and what not, and then whip the cat for
-a year after, to make up for it. No man was prouder; and it's thought he
-was wrong in cooping up Pierce at home all his young days;—but
-that's no matter for my meddling. And it's said, his heart grudged the
-expense of maintaining Pierce abroad in the world, like the rest of the
-young sirs; and his pride wouldn't let his only son and heir be looked
-down upon: so to save both money and pride at once, Pierce was a caged
-bird until he grew up;—then he flew off, and a wild flight he had
-too.
-</p>
-<p>
-It's said by his servants, that the father—and this is one of the
-million stories we have about him—once entertained the great lords
-and ladies at his house, in Dublin, with a fine masquerade, which cost him
-a mint of money,—no doubt it did;—and there was himself, in
-the disguise of the goddess they call Ceres, whose name you have heard
-before—though I hadn't when they first tould me the joke;—and
-while his guests were drinking down wine worth its weight in gold,—and
-it was all galore and glory with them,—Jimmy was seen skulking
-about, gathering up the scraps, out o' the way o' the strange servants, in
-a thing he carried, they call something that manes in English, a horn of
-plenty. That wasn't a bad joke of him, it's said, by them that knows. But
-there's no doubt, though he'd stoop to pick up a farthing, while Pierce
-would sooner be skimming guineas over a pond, ould Jim Veogh did more real
-good than Pierce did at first; for he payed all he owed,—though not
-a penny more, while Pierce often wouldn't—no, not when he could; and
-he didn't harry the poor tenants for rent,—which couldn't be said of
-Pierce,—but gave them time, though he made them pay up at last. And
-the ould man never did harm to any one in the way of pranks,—not
-when he was a boy even; and there's more than me recollects his sending
-Luke Sweeny a cow, when the one he had died.—-To be sure, the cow he
-sent wasn't worth much; but he gave Luke a long day to pay for her, and
-took lawful interest only on the price,—which was three pounds ten
-shillings,—until it was paid. And paid it was, to the day: for Luke
-was as honest a man as ever broke bread, and wouldn't harm a mouse, unless
-he caught the crature nibbling his loaf,—and then, what harm?—My
-blessing on Luke!—it's many's the piggin of milk we got from him, in
-the bad times, when he'd a right to hould his head higher than he can now,—worse
-luck!—I could tell you a story of Luke, too; but as you're longing,
-I dare say, to know about Timberleg, I won't baulk you, by giving you dry
-bread when you're longing for sweetmeats. Luke's isn't a bad story though,
-for all that; and I'll tell it you, by-and-by, when I've none better left.
-</p>
-<p>
-Pierce, as I said, wint off, nobody knows where but himself; and being a
-wild bird, came into bad hands, and got plucked; so that, when the father
-died—and there's some people don't scruple to say, Pierce, by his
-conduct, lent him a spur on the road to the grave—when he died, I
-repate, all the ready money was ate up by paying off post-obits, which
-Pierce had been giving at the maddest rate ever was known. The day before
-he heard that his ould dad was just dying, Pierce was in much distress,
-and so foolish to boot, that he gave some blackguard a bond for five
-hundred pounds, payable a month after his father's death, for nothing in
-the world but a good dinner and oceans of wine, for himself and a friend,
-every day for a week. That's what they call giving a post-obit; and a bad
-thing it is, as Pierce found.—He just reached home in time to get
-the father's forgiveness; and when it came to the last, a fine sorrowful
-parting they made, it's said, as one could wish to see;—for both o'
-them seemed sorry for the course they'd taken in life, and came to a
-resolution, if they'd their time to go over again, they'd not act as they
-had acted: but that could do no good. The father died the same evening;
-and, by that day month, Pierce was pestered to pay up his post-obits.
-</p>
-<p>
-There wasn't so much money in hand left by Mr. James Veogh, as Pierce
-expected; and many of the poor tenants suffered; for he pinched them
-close, and did what he could to get clear o' the world. But all wouldn't
-do; and at last the bailiffs were after him night and day. It's said, that
-then it was Pierce Veogh learned to sleep with his eyes open;—a
-thing he does to this day, though there's no call for it.
-</p>
-<p>
-The man that Pierce most feared in the world was one Nick Forester,—a
-bailiff, who lived in the nearest town to The Beg, on any side. Nick was a
-fine tall fellow,—six feet, if not more; and few could match him.
-He'd a nickname, like most of us, and was called “Timberleg;” why, I need
-not tell you:—but supposing you don't guess—it was, because
-his left leg was a wooden one. The other, as most wooden-legged men's are,
-was as stout a bit of material as you'll see anywhere, and Nick was proud
-of it,—as well he might. Though he'd scarce a word to throw to a
-dog, he was as 'cute as a fox, as well as being strong as a lion; and it
-was few escaped him. Spaking of animals, Nick had a dog, that always wint
-with him, and Nick called him Benjie. Benjie was black as coal; but you
-wouldn't notice him, for he was neither ugly enough to make any one fall
-into fits at the sight of him, nor good-looking enough for you to admire
-him:—he wasn't big or little, good-tempered or cross but middling
-every way. Benjie, though, was of great use to his master: and we
-accounted a man to be clever if he could outwit Nick and his dog. But
-outwitted they certainly were, now and then, though: and before I go
-further, I'll tell you how Nick was served by a surgeon by the name of
-Anderson, that set up in the next street to Nick's;—and it's many's
-the time Nick nabbed him, though you wouldn't think it, to see how great a
-man Surgeon Anderson is at this time. You must know that Nick had a wife,
-and a fine family, too; and one night a son of his—I think it was
-Jack, that's now married to Thady Purcell's widow—got taken ill with
-something sudden and dangerous: so Nick buckled on his leg and threw
-something over him, and wint and knocked at Surgeon Anderson's door. This
-was in the middle of the night: so when the surgeon put his head out of
-window and heard who it was, he wouldn't come down, thinking it was a
-make-believe of Nick's to nab him again. Nick couldn't blame him; for it's
-true Nick had often played tricks to get a sight o' the surgeon, when he
-wanted to take him; for he was almost a match for Nick himself, and not
-aisily had. So Nick stumped off to another surgeon, but he was out to a
-man five miles away; and to a third, but he was sick himself; and no one
-in the wide world could Nick get in the 'town, to come and see his son,
-that was a'most dying at home. Back he wint to Surgeon Anderson's again,—so
-he did;—and after he'd bate the door with his leg a little, the
-surgeon popped out his head, and says he, “Who's that below there?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It's me,” says Nick, mighty civil; “it's me, sir, again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oho!—And what story have you now, Nick?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The same I had 'while ago, sir my son's sick—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Divil's cure to him, Nick!—for he's not bad at all, and it's only a
-trick of yours to delude me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Upon my honour and conscience, sir, it isn't,” says Nick; “I couldn't get
-a doctor any where, for I've tried, or I wouldn't trouble you. It's my
-belief, Jack will die if you don't come at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Go away,” says Surgeon Anderson; “go away, Nick; get out of that
-entirely!—Wasn't I sent for last winter, to a gentleman at the
-Roebuck, who had broken his leg?—and wasn't it yourself there, and
-the dirty bit of stick you stand upon tied up with a piece of rope?—and
-didn't you capture me that time, you blackguard?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I did, I did: I'm sorry for that; but pray—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And didn't you get a boy to bring me out o' my bed once, to a woman he
-said was at death's door?—and didn't I go, Nick?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You did, you did.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! you facetious rogue! I know you're laughing at me now if I could see
-you:—and who should I meet, at the corner of the street, but your
-own sweet self, waiting for me?—And didn't you show me a woman lying
-asleep and drunk at the door of little Paddy Death, that keeps the whiskey
-shop, in Patrick street?—and, says you, with a grin, 'There's the
-woman at Death's door I'—didn't you, Nick?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I know I did; but as I'm a living soul, sir—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Go away, Nick go home and read the story of the boy and the wolf; and if
-harm happens your son, as it did him, it's your own doings, Nick! so good
-night! for I'm not to be had,—don't you see?”
- </p>
-<p>
-With that he shut the window, and wouldn't come; but, as luck would have
-it, when Timberleg got home, Jack was better, and didn't want physic till
-morning. It's often Nick threatened Surgeon Anderson, but he never had the
-luck to get him again; for when the surgeon heard that Nick's story was
-true, and was told of his threats, some say he strove hand and foot to
-keep out of Nick's clutches for fear, and so got on in the world dating
-his rise from the night Jack Forester wanted physic, and he wouldn't get
-up to give it him.
-</p>
-<p>
-But we mustn't forget Pierce Veogh,—though 'tisn't he is my hero
-exactly, but Timberleg still I can't go on without him, no more than the
-man in the book could play on the organ but for the boy that blowed the
-bellows. Well, Pierce, as I tould you, had the bailiffs about for him and
-as Timberleg seemed to have taken up his abode by The Beg,—which was
-Pierce's place, you'll recollect,—why, Pierce thought he couldn't do
-better than sneak off, if he could, to the town Nick came from, and stay
-there for a day or two: for Pierce was trying his utmost to raise money,
-and hoped to receive letters, post after post, to tell him things were
-settled; and a day's delay was worth everything to him;—to say
-nothing of the horror he felt, in common with most of us, to being shut up
-between four walls.—Not that a prison, when you're used to it, is
-the worst place in the world perhaps; for I know a man that hated the name
-of it, and after he got into one at last, he liked it so well, that when
-he could, he wouldn't come out of it, but turned turnkey, and kept his
-post behind the gate, with the key in his hand, doing nothing but opening
-and shutting the door, and never stirring out of the place, which had
-grown a world to him, till death came one day, and removed him to closer
-confinement within six boards, nailed together,—and that manes a
-coffin.—Now, a coffin's a thing, allow me to remark, that we all
-hate the sight of; and yet there's not one in ten thousand of us but hopes
-to come to it at last;—for who'd like to be buried any way but in a
-box?—And that's a feeling that's laughable to one who looks two
-inches below the surface of things; for what is it, but a fear of letting
-the cold clay come to us for a few years?—And come it will, you
-know, at last, whether a man's buried in a large 'sheet of paper, a big
-hollow stone, or a lead coffin. And what matters time to the dead?—Or
-where's the difference, let me ask, between two minutes and twenty
-thousand years, to them that's under the turf?—Do what we will, the
-blackguard worms ates us all up at last; and they that takes pains to
-preserve their bodies, don't do well, as I think: for, while all that
-remains of me, after being buried in a dacent and ordinary way, some time
-hence, becomes a part of the big earth, and can't be distinguished from
-what it's mixed up with,—the visible and touchable nose of a pickled
-emperor, a thousand years after he's dead, gets pulled by some puppy that
-opens his grave, and don't happen to approve of what he did when alive:
-or, what's worse, the bones of the arm that awed multitudes, gets cut into
-drunken men's dominos; or the boys and girls of a tenth generation plays
-with them for sugar-plums, in the shape of two a-penny tetotums, and so
-forth. Therefore, let me, when I die, have no armour about me; let the
-worms come, and good luck to them, say I;—the sooner they walk away
-with every inch of me, the better.
-</p>
-<p>
-But we'll never get through at this rate; and such grave discourse as I've
-led myself into, turns the edge of one's appetite for fun,—doesn't
-it?—But, <i>na bocklish</i>,—forget what I've said, and listen
-to what Pierce Veogh did. Like the goose that took refuge near the fox's
-den, when the fox himself was watching for her near her nest, Pierce got
-away one night, and wint off to the town: there he remained in great
-safety for some days, as Timberleg didn't know he'd escaped, and so
-wouldn't raise the legal siege of The Beg House,—why should he?
-</p>
-<p>
-No letters came; and, at last, Pierce determined to get away altogether,
-and cut the country for a time, if he could: so one morning, at day-break,
-he left the little lodgings he had hired for the sake of being private,
-and was walking off, the nearest way out of town, when just as he came
-within five feet of a corner, what should he see but Nick Forester's dog,—the
-dog I described to you, that was always a few feet before, or oftener a
-yard or so behind, Nick himself.—“Oho!” says Pierce, turning back
-and taking to his heels; for well enough he knew the dog it's himself that
-did then;—for often he saw him, bating round The Beg, and Nick not
-far behind him. “Oho!” says he; and “Bowwow!” says the dog; and “My
-grief!” says Timberleg, who just then came round the corner, and saw the
-young legs of Pierce carrying him off five miles an hour faster than Nick
-could run. Nick wasn't fool enough to go after Pierce;—no, no,—not
-he, then! He turned on his heel, and walked back the way he came,—giving
-the game up for lost, out-and-out; and he struck his dog Benjie two or
-three times, with his leg, for not keeping to his heel.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now what did Pierce do, think you?—Why, he ran as if he'd everything
-fearful behind him, and fancied he heard the stump of Nick's wooden leg
-keeping time with the gallop of his own pulse. Running seemed to be safety
-to him, no matter which way he ran; for “if Timberleg and Benjie's behind
-me, it matters not what's before me, so that the way's clear,” thinks he;—or
-rather, he didn't think at all, but wint on, and you'll hear how it ended.
-</p>
-<p>
-By-and-by, Pierce came to a corner again, with one leg before and the
-other behind him, as if he'd little Powsett's seven-leagued boots on; or,
-to spake within compass, the foot that was forward the whole length of his
-leg more advanced than his body. Now here's the point of my story:—Nick
-Forester was much nearer Pierce than Pierce expected; to spake out at
-once, he was close to the corner, only the other side of it; and, as one
-may say, in a right direction to cross his course. Well, just as Pierce
-had put his foot that was forward to the ground, about four inches beyond
-the corner, Nick Forester, quite unconscious of his good luck, was, at
-that instant, going to put his timber-toe on the flags in a transverse
-direction. Down it came, pat upon Pierce's foot; the whole weight of
-Nick's body followed directly after; and the next moment, Pierce found
-himself within an inch and a half of Nick's nose, staring his enemy full
-in the face, who looked quite as wonder-struck, but not half so grievous,
-as himself; for the end of Nick's leg covered a couple of Pierce's worst
-corns.
-</p>
-<p>
-This wasn't the first time in the world a man ran into the lion's mouth.
-Nick put out his paw upon Pierce, and from that day, people called him
-“Timberleg Toe-Trap.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Pierce lay in Nick's custody for above a month; he then got out by
-scraping together all he could, and flew off to England for safety: but it
-was just out of the frying-pan into the fire with him; for,—though a
-man's good deeds have wings of lead, or just none at all, and travel like
-the tortoise,—such things as make against him, go at the rate of
-twelve knots an hour, to every point of the compass at once; or, at least,
-to all the points he wouldn't have them go, if he could help it; and, by
-this rule, the news of Pierce's being taken for debt by Timberleg, got to
-England, before he reached it himself; and he wasn't well landed and
-recovered from his sea-sickness, when one of his creditors had a bailiff
-to give him a grip by the shoulder. As soon as a man gets clawed, long
-bills generally come pouring in upon him from all quarters:—it was
-just this way with Pierce; and his prospects in perspective were almost as
-unpleasant as his enemies could wish. We'll leave him now though, if you
-please; and I'll tell you what more happened him by-and-by, and how it all
-ended; if you don't fall asleep, and by your snoring, give me a hint that
-it isn't quite so entertaining you find me, as may be I think you ought.
-But, we'll see.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/214s.jpg" alt="214s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/214.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/214m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-BAT BOROO.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f you're passing at early morning, above there, beyond The Claugh, you
-may see Bat, with his back leaning against Mick Maguire's door,—'tis
-there where he lodges,—smoking his pipe, and looking out under his
-eye-brows at you, as fierce as a grenadier at a Frenchman. There's nothing
-warlike about Bat but braggadocio, and a cut across his chin,—barring
-that he's wasted and worn, you'd think; for his broad shoulders seem to
-have been better covered with flesh one day than they now are. When he
-condescends to spake to any of us, Bat talks of the wars, as though he'd
-been in them; and says he has wounds besides that one on his chin, but
-they're under his clothes; and then he gives a bit of a cough, and says
-he's asthmatic, and might catch harm if he stripped himself to shew them.
-So that nobody has seen Bat's wounds but himself; but no doubt he has many
-of them: though, to be sure, that on his chin looks as though it was done
-by the blunt razor of a barber, rather than a grenadier's baggonet, or a
-dragoon's sabre. However, all's one for that.
-</p>
-<p>
-Bat's too high and mighty to be much liked by the people about; and a boy
-says he peeped in at a hole in the cabin one day, and saw something on
-Bat's back, that looked as if the military cat had been scratching it. But
-doesn't the boy play the rogue now and then?—Faith! he does; and,
-may be, Bat is belied by him. How the blade lives, nobody knows; nor why
-he came here to this place, which is at the very back of God's speed, we
-can't say. May be, he's a pensioner:—why not?—And, may be too,
-as some think, he's a native of these parts, and one of the sons of that
-same ould Dick Boroo, who lived in a cabin on the very same spot where
-Mick Maguire's now stands. Dick wint to the dogs, long ago, and he and the
-whole seed and breed of him run the country; and nobody has seen a
-ha'p'orth of them since; except this is one o' them, come here after the
-wars, to bluster away, where he used to be beaten; and die one day where
-he first drew breath.
-</p>
-<p>
-Bat won't own he's a Boroo; but we all call him that name in the face of
-him; and when he goes off,—what will they write on the stone by his
-grave, if he gets one, think you?—Why, then, “Here lies Bat Boroo,
-who died of doing nothing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-And, faith! it's nothing he does, but walk about like a half-sir as he is,—smoking
-his pipe the whole blessed morning, for the sake, he says, of getting
-himself an appetite for dinner. But he needn't take the trouble; for it's
-just as needless, in my mind, as whistling to the sea, when the tide's
-coming in; and come it will, like Bat's appetite, whether you whistle or
-no, devouring almost everything in its way. Without a word of a lie, Bat's
-the biggest eater in all the barony, and the biggest brag,—that is,
-he was,—to the tail o' that. But, poor fellow! he don't know his
-infirmity; and thinks his appetite a sign of weakness, instead of sound
-health: it's the only living thing he takes on about. “There's nothing,
-Jimmy Fitzgerald,” says he, to me, one day; “there's nothing, in the
-universal world, I can keep on my stomach,—bad luck to the bit!—for
-if I ate half a rack of mutton, with peeathees and milk, or a pound of
-pig's face, or eight or ten red herrings, for my breakfast,—it's
-hungry I am, in an hour or two again, as though nothing had happened to me
-that day in the way of provision.”—What think you of that for
-digestion?
-</p>
-<p>
-There's three things Bat thinks about, and that's all first, his belly;—secondly,
-making believe he's not to be frightened, by man or beast, nor even the
-good people that lives in the moats, and frolics away all night on the
-heath, and goes to bed in the butter-cups and daisies—it's a wonder
-to some they've played no tricks with him yet and lastly, that he has much
-better blood in his body than the people about him.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now I'll tell you what happened Bat. 'While ago,—three or four years
-back,—we'd a cunning woman came here,—and it's but little she
-got,—how would she, when there was little to give?—it was
-going to a goat's house to look for wool: and plenty of bad luck she
-prophesied, for nobody had enough to pay for better. Some of it came true
-enough; and if she spoke truth, there's more mischief behind. She said to
-me, I'd have my roof down; but it's safe yet, for I trusted in Providence,
-and put a new beam across it the week after she wint. At last, when she'd
-tould a power of ill-tidings to many, and no one would go near her for
-fear, and she'd stood by the abbey-wall for a long hour, waiting for
-customers, with the people,—men, women, and children,—making a
-circle about her, who should come up but Misther Bat Boroo, just after
-taking a good dinner with Paddy Doolan?—“What's the murther here?”
- says he. So they up and tould him, that nobody dared to have their fates
-from the cunning-woman.
-</p>
-<p>
-This was a windfall for Bat,—a glorious occasion for making much of
-himself. Up he marched to the woman, as though he was going to attack an
-entrenchment, and crossing her ould yellow hand with the copper,—the
-best his pocket could afford,—he desired she'd say what would happen
-him. “Speak bouldly,” says he, “for Bat Muggleburgh isn't the man that's
-to be frightened by a bulrush.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Man,” says she, looking up to him, “you've been a soldier.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What then?” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Here's a line in your hand,”—says she, “a line which tells me, that
-before another year has gone over your head, you'll be more frightened by
-a bulrush than ever you was by a baggonet;—and that's saying much.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Bat bullied her, but bit his lip for vexation; and, by-and-by, you'll hear
-how he got on, and what came of the cunning-woman's foreboding. But wait a
-little, for I'm before my story, and must go back.—You heard me say,
-Bat called himself by the name of Bat Muggleburgh, awhile ago; and so he
-did: for, as I tould you, he denied the name of Boroo, because he said
-he'd no call to it; and that Muggleburgh was what he'd a right to,—and
-he'd own to it, and nothing else. Now, all this may be true enough; Bat's
-name may be Muggleburgh, and he Dick Boroo's son for all that:—for
-did any one ever know, or take the trouble to inquire, what was ould
-Dick's rale name—if he had one—besides Dick?—Boroo was a
-nick-name he got for some saying or prank, that was past by and forgotten
-entirely in my time, though the name still stuck to him. He wasn't an
-Irishman; but where he came from,—except he was a bit of a Dutch
-smuggler or something in his young days,—myself neither knows nor
-cares.
-</p>
-<p>
-It's often he brags,—Bat does,—of the brave coat of arms that
-belongs to him, if he had his rights; and what great men the Muggleburghs
-was in times gone by. But that's no matter at all:—there's a regular
-descendant of the honourable kings of Meath sells butter at Cashel, and is
-as big a rogue as one here and there. I myself came from a fine family by
-my mother's side; but what's all the famous blood of her ancestors now?—One
-of the grandfathers of the worm you trod on o' Monday, had some of the
-best of it; and for my own part, I don't value that of great Bryan himself
-a rush and a half: but my mother didn't think so, poor thing,—rest
-her soul!
-</p>
-<p>
-Well, by this time, you must be pretty well acquainted with Bat,—and,
-may be, tired of him; but wait till you hear what happened him.—Many
-months, but not a year, after Bat had his fortune tould in the manner I
-mentioned, we'd a poor scholar—a stripling of sixteen or so—with
-us here, for two, or it might be, three days, at the most. Good luck
-follow him! He was a lad we all loved, high and low,—and it's not
-very high the best of us is, sure enough,—for the boy behaved
-beautifully, though he'd a spice of the wag in him—And why not?—wasn't
-he young?—and isn't young days the best of days with us? And if we
-ar'n't merry then, when will we, I'd like to know?
-</p>
-<p>
-Bat didn't like the poor scholar, and used to abuse him, because he
-convinced us all he knew more of the geography of foreign parts than Bat,
-who had been among them, as he said. And the night before the lad left us,
-Bat threatened to baste him, for smiling while he was preaching about the
-Muggleburgh arms, and bewailing the state of his digestive organs: and he
-would too, if it was not for this crutch of mine, and Mick Maguire's gun,
-and the piper of Drogheda's wooden leg, and one or two other impediments;—not
-to mention a feeling of goodness that came over him then in the poor
-scholar's favour;—for if Bat's a bully and a cormorant, he hasn't a
-bad heart, when all comes to all:—but the poor scholar didn't forget
-it to him.
-</p>
-<p>
-The next morning, those who were up, and passed by Bat's door before he
-was awake, saw as fine a coat of arms figured out with chalk upon it, as
-the best of the Muggleburghs, in the height of their glory,—if ever
-they had any,—could well wish to look upon. And could any one thing
-suit Bat better?—Faith! then, nothing in the wide world. In the
-middle, was a dish instead of a shield, with a fat goose—Bat's
-favourite food—quartered upon it; and each side of the dish, what do
-you think there was, but a knife and fork for supporters; and, to crown
-all, perched upon the top was a <i>swallow</i>, for a crest! Then, at the
-foot, there was a table-cloth finely festooned, and words written upon it,
-by way of motto, which ran thus:—“Boroo <i>edax rerum?</i>” I
-remember them very well: first, there was Boroo; then came the name of my
-lady's steward, Misther Dax, with a little <i>e</i> before it;—then,
-after a blank, followed a <i>re</i>; and it ended, like a slave-driver's
-dinner, with <i>rum:—Boroo edax rerum</i>;—signifying, as the
-worthy coadjutor informed us, that Bat, like ould father Time, who takes a
-tower for his lunch, and a city for his supper, was a devourer of all
-things. The hand that can draw could make its master understood, where the
-tongue that spakes seven languages couldn't do a ha'p'orth; or so thinks
-Jimmy Fitzgerald,—that's me. Now, though we couldn't make out the
-motto, all of us down to the boys themselves knew what the figures of the
-goose, and the swallow, and so forth, stood for; and great was the
-shouting but Bat had a glass in his head, and didn't wake.
-</p>
-<p>
-By-and-by, down he came with the pipe in his mouth; and, suspecting
-nothing at all, shut the door after him, and leaned his back against it as
-usual. When his backy was smoked, he threw away his pipe with an air, and
-strutted off through the place; and, behold! there was the chalk from the
-door on him, and he, not knowing it, bearing his arms on his own coat.
-Will I tell you how many boys and girls he had at his tail in ten minutes?—
-</p>
-<p>
-I couldn't, without reckoning every living soul of them, within
-half-a-mile of this, or I would. For a long time, Bat didn't know what it
-was all about, and looked before and both sides of him to find out where
-the fun was, but he couldn't. “Look behind you!” says somebody. Bat
-looked, and there was the boys and girls laughing, and that was all: so he
-wint on again.
-</p>
-<p>
-This couldn't last long though. After awhile Bat found out what made the
-boys follow him, as the little birds do the cuckoo; and then his rage
-wasn't little:—describe it I won't, for I can't; but I'll tell you
-what he did:—he suspected the scholar had played him that trick,—which
-was the truth,—and he found out which road he took; and you'll be
-sorry to hear he soon came within sight of his satchel.
-</p>
-<p>
-Whether the boy heard Bat blowing and blustering I don't know, but he
-luckily glanced behind him, and seeing Bat and his big stick, did what any
-one in his place would, if he could,—put a hedge between him and his
-enemy. Bat followed him, vowing vengeance in the shape of a great basting,
-from one field to another; until, in the end,—he didn't know how,—he
-found he'd lost the boy, and discovered the prudence of taking to his
-heels himself; for there he was, in the midst of a meadow, and a fine,
-fierce-looking bull making up to him at a fast trot. Seeing this, Bat
-began to make calculations, and perfectly satisfied himself that before he
-could reach the hedge he came over, the bull would come up with him, and,
-in all probability, attack his rear. Bat couldn't very well like this:
-there wasn't much time for pros and cons with him; so he threw his stick
-at the beast, and away he wint, at a great rate towards a gate he saw in
-the nearest corner of the field. Though the bull wasn't far behind him, he
-contrived to reach and climb up the gate-post without being harmed but,
-musha!—what did he see, think you, when he got there?—
-</p>
-<p>
-If ever man was in a dilemma, it was Bat. The gate led into the yard
-before young Pierce Veogh's kennel, and just below Bat, was a brace of as
-promising dogs for a bull-bait as you'd like to see, trying all they could
-to get a snap at Bat's leg, that was hanging their side of the gate-post.
-The dogs looked, and really were, more furious than usual,—which was
-needless for it happened to be just at the time when Pierce was away in
-the safe custody of Timberleg the bailiff, and they weren't fed in his
-absence quite so regularly as they'd wish. Bat knew this; and, thinks he,
-they'd make but little bones of a man of my weight, if they had me;—so
-that it wouldn't have been wise in him to have ventured into the yard. The
-gate wint close up to the garden-wall. But there was three impediments to
-Bat's going that way first, the gate was well spiked; next, if he didn't
-mind that, one of the dogs could reach him aisily from the top of their
-kennel as he passed; thirdly and lastly, if he defied the spikes, and
-escaped with a bite or two, and got to the garden-wall, there was a board,
-with “steel-traps” and so forth, staring in the face of him. And what
-other way had he of getting off?—Divil a one but two. One was, by
-dropping into the meadow again and that he might do well enough, but for
-the bull, who was bellowing below to get a rush at him;—the other, I
-think, was jumping off the post into the stream, upon the edge of which it
-was planted. The water wasn't wide, but it was deep, and Bat couldn't
-swim: and there he was, depend upon it, in as nice a dilemma as man had
-need be.—If you don't credit what I say, draw a map of his position
-as he sat on the post with the beasts on both sides, the spikes behind,
-and the water before him, and then tell me what you think.
-</p>
-<p>
-Bat bellowed, and so did the bull, and the noises wint for one, and the
-dogs barked, but nobody came. By-and-by Bat saw a figure walking along the
-opposite bank, and who should it be but the ould cunning-woman! “Is that
-yourself, Bat?” says she.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I think it is;—worse luck!” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“That post of yours isn't the pleasantest post in the world I think,” says
-she.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I think not,” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Didn't I tell you, Bat—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bad luck to every bit of you!” says he, interrupting her; “bad luck to
-you and your <i>bull-rushes</i> too, and all them that plays upon words! I
-know well enough of what you're going to remind me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bat,” says she, “it isn't a year since I—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! now go away,” says he; “go away, now you've had your ends, and make
-up for the mischief, by calling some one to tie up the dogs,—or
-drive away the bull,—or bring a boat,—why can't you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-The ould woman sat down, and smoked her pipe, and she and Bat had a little
-more confab this way across the stream; but, at last and in long run, he
-persuaded her to come to us here, and tell us how matters stood with Bat,
-and to beg us to help him off: not,—do you mind?—as I think,
-out of any humanity to the man, but to shew us how truly she'd foretould
-what was to happen him. I don't like her, so I'll say no good of her,—but
-this, namely,—she gave a poor boy who was upon the shaughran,
-without father or mother, house or home to his head, a penny and a
-blessing, when it's my belief, she'd little more to give. I say that,—for
-I'd like to give even a certain elderly gentleman, whose name I won't
-mention, his due,—much more a poor ould cunning-woman, that's weak
-flesh and blood, after all's said and done (though not a bit too good),
-like one's ownself.
-</p>
-<p>
-Down came the woman, but she found few at home besides Mick Maguire, for
-a'most every mother's son that could move, had gone away to get Bat off
-his predicament before. Mick wouldn't go at all; for, he said, sure he was
-the bull bore a grudge against him, because he threw stones at his head,
-and bullied him once.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ah! but,” says somebody, “may be, he wouldn't notice you, Mick.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“May be, he would though,” says Mick; “so it's go I won't.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But sure we'll all be wid you, Mick.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That matters not,” says he; “for the bull might be ripping up ould
-grievances, and select meeself, out of all of ye, to butt and abuse.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But couldn't you bring your gun, man?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I could then, but I won't,” says Mick; “for I'm inclined to suspect it
-wasn't to shoot his bull, that Misther Pierce Veogh gave it me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-You'll wonder how they came to know where Bat was,—won't you!—'Twas
-the poor scholar then, that ducked down in a ditch, from the bull on one
-side, and Bat on the other; and after that, saw how Bat got on with the
-bull, and came to tell us. So some of them wint to Pierce Veogh's people,
-and got the dogs called off, and down came Bat amongst them, swearing that
-if he'd his big stick,—which, he said, he'd dropped he didn't know
-how,—he'd baste the bull any day.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/222s.jpg" alt="222s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/222.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/222m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE WITCH'S SWITCH.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here's nobody dies, but somebody's glad of it; few people, as I think,
-but have one person standing between them and what they look upon as
-comfort or happiness, or something or other they desire, but don't want,
-for all that, may be. Duck Davie was with me yesterday, foaming away like
-the sea against a rock it can't master and what for, think you? Why, then,
-only because his wife looks so well and won't die to plaze him. It's my
-belief he'd be glad to be rid of her, though she half keeps him, and is
-loved far and near. She does all the little good she can, in the way of
-nursing the sick, and so forth; and she saved Duck Davie's own life three
-times, by her knowledge of herbs, and the million-and-one ailments of our
-poor mortal bodies.
-</p>
-<p>
-But Duck don't like her;—I'd be spaking what wasn't the truth if I
-said that he did: and why should I tell a lie on Duck Davie?—I won't
-on him, or any man if I know it. When he married her she was not young,—that
-is, full thirty,—but trim and good-looking, which is more than could
-be said of himself any day of his life; for he has a big nob on his face
-for a nose, and a mouth so wide that it would be fearful to look at, if he
-laughed: but Davie is either too discreet or too ill-tempered, morning,
-noon, and night, to be jovial. He drinks, but don't ever get merry over
-his cups: and yet his little grey eyes twinkles, and he puckers the
-wrinkles in great folds about them, and you hear an odd noise in his
-throat sometimes, when he's tould of a trick, that's malicious and droll,
-being played off by the boys on any of the ould women he knows. His
-knee-bands is always loose, and his big coat hitched over his shoulders;
-he wears red sleeves to his waistcoat, with ragged edges that reach to his
-finger-knuckles; and shoes—not brogues—but shoes, down at
-heel. He never takes his ould grey hat off his bald head but to pull on
-his night-cap. He's round-shouldered and short, but stout and strong for
-his age, which is on the grave side of sixty; and the fronts of his knees
-is turned in, and they jostle one another; and his feet are broad and
-flat, with the heels far out and in front, instead of being behind; and
-this—poor man!—makes him waddle oddly: he's none the worse for
-that though. After this pedigree of his appearance, most likely you'd know
-Duck if you met him.
-</p>
-<p>
-I forgot a thing or two in him that's remarkable:—he turns his head
-to and fro eternally, as if he were looking for some one, whether he's
-alone or in company; and even when his eyes twinkles, as I tould you, or
-if they're sparkling with passion, there's something in them all the while
-that reminds you of a dog's look when he knows he has done wrong and
-expects to be whipped.
-</p>
-<p>
-Davie was tolerably fond of his wife for many long years after he'd
-married her; but though she does little or nothing to vex him, that I know
-of, Duck don't like her, now she's got ould any one with half an eye could
-see that, if Davie didn't own it himself, which he does. It's the way o'
-the world, you'll say: a man that's passed the prime of life forgets his
-own wrinkles, though those of his wife, that's about the same age as
-himself, are day after day staring him in the face;—he sees her
-years, but if he can walk about, and eat, and get his health two months
-out of the twelve, he won't let himself fancy he feels his own. That's not
-altogether the case with Davie; it may be so in part, but not entirely; at
-least, so thinks them that knows his story.
-</p>
-<p>
-From the time he first knew the use of a button, it's said Duck Davie had
-a deep-rooted grudge against ould women; they have always been at war with
-him, and he with them. Duck lost his daddy before he saw the light; and
-his mother died when he was weaned, or awhile after. She had an ould aunt,
-who took the boy under her wing, and did what she could for him, in her
-way: but, by all accounts, her temper was such that a cat couldn't live
-with her; and if little Duck Davie's heart was kind as that of a lamb by
-nature, there's no doubt she ruined it; if it was bad before, she couldn't
-do otherwise than make it worse. A more terrible Turk in petticoats, and
-on a small scale, never walked; but after awhile she got little good of
-Duck. She seemed to live for no other purpose than to vex and thwart and
-make the poor little fellow miserable. There was no soul but the boy, to
-take off the scum and bitterness of her temper; and, by-and-by, Duck began
-to think of nothing but how to pay off the long score he felt he owed her.
-He should have put up with any thing, you may say, and been grateful for
-her protecting him, and ate his crust, though it was sopped in vinegar,
-with thanks and meekness: may be, he ought; I won't argue it one way or
-another, but simply tell you, he didn't.
-</p>
-<p>
-The few acquaintance Duck's grand-aunt had, was folks of her own age as
-well as sex, and having a spice of her own temper: to them she tould all
-Duck's delinquencies, and they joined her in abusing him; and, what was
-worse, often helped her to belabour him. Little Davie hadn't a disposition
-to be reclaimed from his bad ways by a broomstick; may be, kindness might
-have done better, but it never was tried on him: so on he wint, from bad
-to worse, and, by the time he was twelve years ould, hated every woman he
-met who'd a grey head and wrinkled face. He looked upon them as his
-natural enemies, and did all he could to vex and perplex them.
-</p>
-<p>
-By-and-by, Duck was put out to a tailor; and he'd done with his
-grand-aunt, and all other ould women, for ever, as he hoped. But, no;—when
-he got to his master's house, which he never entered till he was bound,
-little Duck discovered that his mistress was as crooked with age, and
-almost as crooked in temper as his grand-aunt. When her first husband
-died, she just did what many a widow, with a good house and trade left
-her, has done before and since,—married her foreman. He was a stout,
-brawny blade, having nothing but his needle to depend upon, but
-good-looking, and not above thirty.
-</p>
-<p>
-In the second year of Duck's apprenticeship, a mighty remarkable event
-happened him; and I'll tell you what it was presently, if you'll wait. He
-behaved himself, and liked the place, and his fellow-'prentices, and his
-master too, for many months. Ould Alice, his mistress, was no sourer with
-him than with the others, all this time: but at last she began to single
-him out-just as he'd feared she would—as a natural prey to one of
-her age and sex. She used him, by degrees, worse and worse, until Duck
-convinced himself he was bound in justice to them feelings he had of his
-own, to turn upon her, when he could slyly, and annoy her as often as an
-opportunity for doing so, without danger, occurred. At length, ould Alice
-smarted under his malicious tricks to such a degree that she grew a fury
-almost; and the worse she behaved to him, the worse he behaved to her:—for
-Duck was always obstinate. He'd bad luck though, to meet with such a match
-for his grand-aunt as ould Alice; hadn't he?—Now for the event I
-promised to tell you about.
-</p>
-<p>
-One day, Duck was sent on an errand by his mistress, but instead of
-getting back quick, as she wished him, though he knew she was just
-standing on thorns till he got home to tell her what was said to her
-message, what does he do but turn away out of the road into a field, to
-pick thistles to put in her bed, the next time he might think fit to be
-offended.—In one corner of the field was a big hollow tree,—an
-oak, I believe, but it don't matter,—and under it lay an ould woman:
-her brown skinny arms were half covered with a ragged cloak, and her face
-was partly hid by a few straggling grey locks of hair, which had escaped
-from under her bonnet. Instinct made Duck approach, and when he got near
-the tree, a puff of wind blew up the grey hair, and Duck saw that her eyes
-were closed. Her snoring satisfied him that she wasn't dead, while it
-convinced him that she was fast asleep; and his fingers itched to give her
-a touch of his tormenting talents.
-</p>
-<p>
-A stick, stuck upright in the ground, close by the ould woman's side,
-attracted Duck Davie's notice, when he got behind the tree: “What's this?”
- thinks he, examining it, and feeling a little afraid or so, at the looks
-of it;—and you wouldn't wonder, if you saw it yourself; for they say
-it was an odd, outlandish staff, made of wood that never grew in a
-Christian land, thick, twisted, tall as a middling man, and with as ugly a
-face carved on it as ever you saw in a dream after taking a tough supper—no
-nightmare's could be worse. Bat Boroo's big stick, the mention of which
-made me think of the story I'm now telling you, was just a bit of a baby's
-twig, compared with the ugly cudgel Duck Davie saw that day sticking up in
-the field.
-</p>
-<p>
-Duck, as I said, was a little dashed at first, but he soon got heart, and,
-says he to himself, “It is but her stick she's stuck up there, like a
-centinel, to scare away the boys from teazing her while she sleeps; but
-I'll just teach her that I'm not to be come over so aisily.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Upon this, with a long barley-straw, from behind the tree where he was,
-Dick began to tickle and teaze the ould woman's nose, that was almost as
-rough and as prickly as the ear of the straw.—Did you ever get your
-nose tickled that way while you were asleep?—If you didn't, take my
-word for it, and upon my honour and conscience, it's far from pleasant;
-and so the ould woman found it. She scratched her nose with her long blue
-nails, muttered a curse upon the flies, and snored again.—Duck was
-in his glory; he tickled as before, and the ould woman opened her eyes,
-but he shrunk behind the tree, and didn't breathe: so she dropped off once
-more. The third time he touched her she awoke at once, and from what she
-said, and her preparing to get up, Duck knew she was sure of being teazed
-by something bigger than a fly: so, for fear of anything unpleasant, he
-moved off, and ran away across the field, chuckling in his own mind at the
-fine fun he'd had.
-</p>
-<p>
-When he got within a step or two of the gate, Duck heard a sound with
-which he was very well acquainted—I mane that of a stick descending
-with force upon his back; and within much less than a quarter of a second,
-he felt such a blow across his shoulders as he didn't get for many's the
-long day. He looked behind, thinking to see the ould woman, who he now
-thought was a witch, close at his heels; but no—it was only her
-stick!—There it stood, staring him full in the face, though its
-owner was yet but a little distance from the tree, and hobbling towards
-him, in such a weak way, that Duck felt sure she couldn't have had
-strength to throw it. Don't think that, while he observed this, Duck
-wasn't wriggling his shoulders to and fro, and bellowing lustily with the
-pain of the thwack. It wasn't a little that would make him cry; but roar
-he did, this while, as loud as ever he roared in his life.
-</p>
-<p>
-Not knowing what to make of this that had happened him, while the stick
-stood where it did, he was afraid to turn his back to it again; and there
-he was, still wriggling and roaring, when the ould woman came up. The
-state she found Duck in seemed to give her great satisfaction: she took
-the point of the stick out of the ground, and clasping it round the middle
-to support herself, gnashed her toothless gums up in Duck's face, and, for
-his malicious tricks to her that day,—waking her when she was weary,
-as he did,—promised him a taste of her switch whenever he worried an
-ould woman again. With this she tottered off, and Duck sneaked home,
-blubbering as he went, expecting to be saluted with a blow of either the
-ladle or the sleeve-board, for delaying: but he was disappointed, for he
-got both;—one from ould Alice, and the other from her husband.
-</p>
-<p>
-All that happened Duck Davie I can't tell you;—it must only be a bit
-here and there, and with that I hope you'll content yourself; or may be
-you don't like him, and the less you hear of him the better plazed you'll
-be.—Maybe, though, you're like me:
-</p>
-<p>
-I don't like the man much, but his story don't displaze me; so I'll go to
-the next thing I recollect hearing of him.—I mustn't pass on though
-without mentioning how surprised Duck was not to find any mark of the blow
-he got in the field: he expected his back was well wealed, and so he
-might;—but it wasn't. “Here's the bump on my head,” says he to
-himself, “from the ladle, and here's the mark of the edge of the
-sleeve-board; but where's that of the switch, as the ould woman called it?—Now
-I'm sure she's a witch, or else why wouldn't her blow mark me, as well as
-them that I got from my master and mistress?”
- </p>
-<p>
-After this, Duck was as quiet as ould Alice would let him be for a month
-or more; but then he began again, and you'll hear how it was:—his
-mistress was well to do in the world, and had her house filled with what's
-useful; and to tell the truth of her, though stingy in some things, a good
-housewife—so she was. Duck had a power of fellow-'prentices, for his
-master did half the work of the town he lived in; and the boys was
-destructive, as boys will be,—won't they?—Alice was proud of
-her plates; but they broke them away about this time, at such a rate, by
-accident and what not, that she was determined to put a stop to it: so
-what does she do but give orders that no one should use a sound plate, but
-ate off the broken ones! And when she found one of the boys doing wrong
-this way, he got a crack on the head with the ladle for his disobadience.
-One day, Duck wouldn't give himself the pains to look for a broken plate;
-it was a mischievous moment with him, and ould Alice had just before
-threatened him for something; so he took down a whole plate from the
-dresser, and qualified it for his use, by breaking a piece off its edge.
-The moment he did it, Duck felt a very disagreeable sensation in his
-shoulders. You'll guess the witch kept her word, and that it was the
-switch touched him. Faith! then, you're right; there stood the weapon,
-with its evil-looking head, at Duck's back, though no sign of the old
-crature herself could he see. And what does the switch do, after Duck had
-stared at it a little, but make him a polite reverence, face about, jump
-head foremost out of the window that was open, and hop off down the garden
-walk, like a man would who had but one leg and that a wooden one.
-</p>
-<p>
-After Duck had done bellowing, and the pain of the blow was gone off, he
-felt his back, but it was as smooth as the innumerable drubbings he'd got
-from one and another had left it. He then asked everybody if they'd seen a
-stick, with a big black head, hop into the window or go down the garden:
-but he only got laughed at; and when he tould a pair of his
-fellow-'prentices in confidence what had happened him, and why it was,
-they jeered him, and tried to persuade him he was telling lies, or going
-mad but he wouldn't believe them, for he had seen the switch with his own
-eyes, and felt the blow with his own back. The two 'prentices, however,
-reported the trick to the rest; and from that day, in imitation of Duck
-Davie, when they couldn't or wouldn't find a broken plate, they knocked a
-piece out of a sound one. Duck saw them do this often and often, but the
-switch didn't strike them; and he began to feel sorry that ever he'd
-tickled the rough nose of an ould witch with a straw.
-</p>
-<p>
-Time wint on, and ould Alice at last found out the trick of the broken
-crockery, and who it was put the 'prentices up to it; so poor Duck was in
-a worse pickle than ever, but didn't dare to indulge himself in mischief
-against his mistress, for fear of the switch. At last, however, he could
-bear her behaviour no longer, and resolved to terrify her out of three or
-four years of her natural life, happen what would after it. What brought
-him to this was a practice of her's, in the cold mornings of winter, which
-was now come on, of punishing him for the misdeeds of his companions.
-You'll hear how she managed it. An hour before day-break, without much
-disturbing her husband, who didn't get up for long after, she'd take a
-pole that stood by her bed-side, and strike the beam that wint across the
-ceiling with it, to wake up the boys that slept in a big room above.
-Sometimes they wouldn't wake; and then she'd go up to them herself, and
-feeling about in the dark, get hould of the nose that lay nearest the
-door; that nose she knew well enough was Duck Davie's; and when she had it
-in her horny fingers, she'd pull it till Duck roared with the pain loud
-enough to wake himself and all his fellow-'prentices. This way she got two
-or three of her ends at once:—she vented her spite on Duck, punished
-one of the delinquents, and awoke the rest. Duck didn't like it; and after
-he'd been served so twice, vowed revenge, in his own mind, if she did it
-again. Well, the very next morning, while Duck was dreaming of tickling
-the witch's nose, up came his ould mistress, and performed as before upon
-his. Let Duck be as bad as he would, this wasn't well of her, at any rate;
-and if he did play her a trick after that, I won't say she didn't more
-than half deserve it. One of the 'prentices said that he'd been awake,
-with a whitlow on his thumb, for an hour before, and he'd swear the
-mistress hadn't knocked at all that morning: so it was a piece of spite on
-her part, that day at least, to punish Duck; and if he wasn't determined
-before, he certainly became so on hearing this, and wint to work at once
-on a plan he had laid down for the occasion.
-</p>
-<p>
-Alice, you'll recollect, had been a widow: her first husband's picture,
-larger, if anything, than life,—as little men's pictures usually
-are,—was hung up in the parlour while he was alive; but after Alice
-got married again, and a year or two had gone by, somehow it found its way
-into a lumber room, at the top of the house. Duck discovered it in his
-rambles; and with it, in the same room, three or four suits which the ould
-tailor had left off in his life-time, a cocked hat he wore on high days
-and holidays, and a smooth cane he carried on Sundays. These were all fine
-matarials, and Duck didn't fail to make use of them. He claned and patched
-up a suit of the clothes, brushed the hat, scoured the cane, made an
-effigy of straw, and dressed it up mighty nate and all that,—for
-Duck, though obstinate and dull at his trade, was 'cute and ingenious in
-all sorts of mischief-making. When he'd got so far, he cut the face out of
-the picture, washed it with something till it looked as good as new, fixed
-it into the neck of the figure, with the hat on its brow, and a white
-cravat under its chin. He then fastened the cane, by manes of an ould
-glove, to the cuff of the right sleeve; and while the master was out one
-night, brought it down stairs, propped it up against the parlour door, and
-then giving a knock, got away in the dark. When the ould woman opened the
-door, the figure bent forward, with the hat on its head and the cane in
-its hand, just as though it would enter, and looking for all the world
-like life itself!
-</p>
-<p>
-Ould Alice shrieked, but Duck had taken care no one should come to her,
-for he'd locked and barred the entrance from that part of the house were
-the 'prentices and servants were, to the passage which led to the parlour.
-But Alice wasn't the only one who made a great noise in the house that
-night. The moment she first cried out, at seeing what she thought was the
-ghost of the late tailor, her husband, and all the while she lay screaming
-in the parlour, Duck Davie was keeping time with her in the passage, by
-shouting under the blows of the switch, which belaboured him this time, so
-unmercifully, that he took up the figure, and got away with it out of the
-house.
-</p>
-<p>
-Duck Davie never darkened the tailor's door again: he travelled all night
-on foot, resolving to find some place, if he could, where there was no
-ould women to torment or tempt him, or where the witch's switch couldn't
-reach his shoulders. He got harbour and work elsewhere, and wint on for a
-few years tolerably well, considering all things; but he found to his cost
-that there was ould women everywhere, and it wasn't aisy to get away from
-the switch he dreaded. Elderly persons of the fair sex were occasionally
-vexatious to him; and his disposition now and then broke out so as to
-summon the switch to his shoulders.
-</p>
-<p>
-At last, Duck Davie became a man,—as boys will, you know, in years,
-at least, if not in discretion; and he made up his mind to try if he
-couldn't rid himself of the switch that haunted him. We'll see how he
-succeeded.
-</p>
-<p>
-It happened one morning, after he had been brooding over his misfortunes
-all night, that he drank a little more than was wholesome on a fasting
-stomach, and did something, almost without knowing it, that produced a
-slight bruise on his shoulders from the switch. He turned round upon it at
-once, and resolved to see if he couldn't master it. He began to belabour
-it, before it had time to make its bow and hop off, as though it was flesh
-and blood like himself; but only broke his own knuckles against its hard
-head. He then tried to capture it, but the switch bent and writhed in his
-grasp like an eel, got clear out of his hands, and then, hopping back a
-little, gave Duck Davie a blow in the stomach with its head, as he was
-advancing to make another attack, that laid him flat on the ground. It
-then made its bow to him where he lay, and hopped off.
-</p>
-<p>
-Instead of disheartening, this interview irritated obstinate Davie; and
-the next day, he brought the switch to him again, by purposely tripping up
-an ould woman's heels who hadn't done him a ha'p'orth of evil. There was a
-holy well, which ran into a broad stream near the place where this
-happened, and before the switch had given him a second blow, which he knew
-he deserved, Duck had gripped it tight to his breast and carried it to the
-bank. He cast it into the stream, hoping of course to see it sink; but it
-swam back like a fish,—landed,—finished the drubbing it owed
-Duck, and hopped away without giving him a chance of getting hould of it
-again!
-</p>
-<p>
-It was full five years before Duck Davie had another affray with the
-switch, which in all that time never failed fearlessly to visit him as
-often as he offended. It was on All Souls' eve when he had his next fight
-with it. He did that which brought it for the purpose, and resolutely
-grappled it with both hands, just under the chin, as soon as it appeared.
-Some say that it bate Duck while he held it; and others, that it turned
-and twisted about his body, almost breaking his bones, like them snakes we
-hear of in foreign parts would: but for all this, Duck got it into the big
-fire that was before him, and kept it there, with poker and tongs, bating
-its head down as often as it jumped out of the blaze to grin at him, until
-it was quite consumed. And we're tould, that it didn't crackle like wood
-does while burning, but the noise it made was like that of two unearthly
-voices,—one laughing bitterly, and the other shrieking and groaning
-as of a crature in agony.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now whether Duck Davie got rid of the switch this way or not I can't well
-tell you, for he won't let us know. There's different stories about it.
-Some say, the witch came to him that time, and begged hard for her stick;
-but he swore, by the holy iron with which he was banging it, he wouldn't
-listen to her; and that he never saw switch or witch after. But there's
-others say they know this, namely—that Duck Davie saw the ould woman
-long after, sleeping under the tree, with the stick standing whole and
-entire, where it was when he first set eyes on it.
-</p>
-<p>
-Duck Davie came to settle in these parts about ten years ago. His wife is
-one of this place: but she left it in her young days, and Duck met with
-and married her when she was housekeeper to an apothecary, and he a
-journeyman tailor in Limerick, where he lived long with her, and came
-here, one morning, when he was grey, in the wake of Timberleg Toe-Trap the
-bailiff, for whom he'd been doing many's the dirty job, in making seizures
-and dogging debtors, and so forth. This was after he'd been refused work
-by all the master tailors everywhere he could go, because his eyes was got
-too weak for fine stitches: so he was obliged to do something for himself,
-and nothing better being offered him, he turned follower to Nick; and when
-an execution was issued by Pierce Veogh's creditors, which happened about
-three months after his quitting this country, Timberleg, who made the
-seizure, left Duck Davie and another of his men, as his proxies, in
-possession of The Beg. But before he'd been in it a week, Duck had a
-quarrel with his master, Timberleg, and another was put in his place. So
-then his wife's brother, Paddy Doolan, who is one of my neighbours,
-persuaded him to quit the bailiff entirely, and to set up for himself here
-among us, as we didn't want finer work than he was able to do without
-straining his ould eyes. Duck took his brother-in-law's advice, and has
-been with us from that day to this.
-</p>
-<p>
-He has just as great a dislike to ould women as ever he had; that's why he
-don't trate his wife as he should do, as many think; and some say, when he
-gets in a passion,—as he will often, and rave and tear like a
-madman,—that the stick with the nightmare's head has been bating him
-for abusing his wife. Duck Davie has a good quality or two, but take him
-head and heels, I, for one, don't much like him. You'll say, may be, why
-do I employ him, then?—And I'll answer you,—because there
-isn't another tailor within ten miles of us: and moreover, if I was Paddy
-Doolan, and had the use of my limbs, when he abused his wife without a
-cause, as he did yesterday, and often before, I'd give him as fine a
-basting as he got from the witch's switch that day when he looked over his
-shoulder, and saw it standing behind him in the field.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/233s.jpg" alt="233s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/233.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/233m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE WEED WITNESS.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s the world goes, there's few places but have had somebody to blacken
-their good name, by robbery or murder, or crime of one sort or another;
-and there's few that hav'n't now, nor hadn't before now, but will one day
-or other, there's no doubt of it for as sure as the poppy grows in the
-corn-field, so will bad passions spring up in the hearts of some of us;
-and them that's the best in their young days, often turn out the worst
-when they're ould: so that, as somebody says, it's foolish to be spaking
-much in praise of a man's goodness of heart, and so forth, until the green
-grass grows over him, and he can't belie us by braking out into badness.
-It's a fine shew of potato-plants, that has but a single curly-leaved one
-among them; and we've rason to pride ourselves, that never within our own
-memory, or that of the ouldest people the ouldest of us now alive knew
-when we were little ones,—was there more than one man convicted (I
-don't say taken up on suspicion—I'd be wrong if I did) of killing,
-or burning, or shooting, or joining with White-Boys or Break-o'-day-Boys,
-or the likes o' that, for three miles every way from the door o' my house.
-To be sure, there's but few people in that space; but they're enough in
-number to have had black sheep among 'em. If you're uncharitable, you'll
-say, “So they have; but the rogues have had the luck not to be found out.”
- May be, you're right; there's many, to tell the truth, I wouldn't swear
-for. Much to our glory, however, the one that <i>was</i> found out, didn't
-draw the first breath o' life here; but came from far away up the country,
-after he'd done that which brought him to a bad end.
-</p>
-<p>
-Johnny O'Rourke, as it's said, had a dacent woman for his mother; but, for
-his own part, Johnny was a downright bad one,—egg and bird. He got
-into such company when he grew up, as couldn't well improve his morals;
-and, by-and-by, he'd brought his ould mother—she was a widow—at
-once to death's door, and the brink of beggary, by his bad goings-on.
-</p>
-<p>
-One night, after he'd been away for more than a week, Johnny came home,
-with the mud of three baronies lying in clots and layers on his stockings,
-white as a corpse, and looking every way as though he'd travelled far and
-fast, on no pleasant errand.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It's well you're come,” says somebody to him from behind, as he put his
-hand on the door.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why so?” says Johnny; and though he knew by the voice it was one of the
-neighbours that spoke to him, his heart knocked against his ribs, and then
-seemed to be climbing up to his throat; for something whispered him, all
-wasn't well: indeed, he hadn't much reason to expect it.—“Why so,”
- says he, “Biddy?—Isn't the ould woman as she should be?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Did you lave her as she should be, or didn't you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Poorly, Biddy, and you know it; for you was wid her whin I wint away. But
-tell me, now, upon your soul, is she worse?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My grief! it's herself that is, then!—You've broke her heart, out
-and out, God help you!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't say that, Biddy! or I'll go get a knife and kill meeself. Tell her,
-I'm here, and that I can't come in 'till she forgives me for all's said
-and done:—and bring me something to comfort me, for I hav'n't heart
-to look in the face of her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it comfort for yourself, you're talking of?—and your mother
-wailing and howling night and day, as she has been, for the sight of her
-llanuv!—What has she done to have such a one as yourself, Johnny, no
-one can tell. Down on your knees, and crawl that way up to her, there
-where she lies on her death-bed; and don't be thinking of sending me as a
-go-between; or, may be, your mother may die before you get her blessing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! Biddy, Biddy! you're destroying me—root and branch! Sure, she
-can't be so bad as that!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come in and see,” says Biddy, taking his cold hand in her's, and leading
-him at once right into the house, and up to the bedside of his mother, and
-shewing her to him, propped up as she was, and raving with the little
-speech that was left her, for her darling, and her llanuv, and her
-white-headed boy, and the life of her heart, and all the dear names she
-could call that bad son, who had brought sorrow and misery upon her. And
-they say it was awful to hear the shriek of joy that came from her, and
-how she leaped out of the women's arms that was houlding her, when
-somebody put aside the long grey hair, which in her grief she'd pulled
-over her face, and shewed her Johnny himself standing by the bed-side, the
-image of woe and remorse. There wasn't a hair's breadth of his face that
-she didn't kiss; and though a little before, when he stood like a statue,
-looking at her as he did, Johnny was too much choking with grief to be
-able to utter a word, yet, when he'd mingled the scalding drops that burst
-from his eyes, with the cold tears on his mother's cheek, he found himself
-restored; and drawing back from her embrace, he had courage enough to look
-up at her: but he couldn't bear the sight for a moment, and hid his face
-on her breast again, exclaiming,—“Oh! mother, mother! and is it this
-way I find you? Why didn't I die before I saw this night?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Cheer up, my darling!” said the ould woman, “for I'll now braathe mee
-last in peace, that you're here to close mee eyes.—Oh! that hand,
-Johnny!—put that hand close to mee heart!—it's often I felt it
-there before now,—long, long ago, Johnny, whin it was young and
-innocent, and I'd no comfort on earth—widow as I was—but the
-sight of mee baby laughing up in mee eyes;—though the look of you
-then even brought the tears into them, you were so like him that was taken
-from me before you were born.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I've been a bad son to you, mother,” said Johnny; “it's now I feel it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Take your mother's blessing and forgiveness, my child; and mee last
-prayer will be, that you'll get as free pardon here and hereafter for all
-things, as your poor ould dying mother now gives you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! you're not dying, mother;—you can't be dying!” cried Johnny, in
-the greatest agony; “such a thought as that of your dying never crossed
-mee brain,—and I can't bear it;—Sure, mother, I'm home, and
-I'll watch you, and be wid you night and day:—there's hope for us
-yet. Isn't there hope, mother? Don't you feel life come into you at the
-sight of me, and mee tears and repentance for what I've done?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, Johnny,” said the ould woman; “I'm sure I'll not see the morning. The
-sight of you does me good; but I'd live longer iv you hadn't come:—now
-I've nothing to wait for, as I know mee last look will be fixed on the
-child I bore, and who's the only one that's kith, kin, or kind to me, on
-the face of the earth. But, oh! mee child!—don't do as you have
-done!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why spake of it, mother?—be quiet about the past, for it troubles
-me—so it does.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I've had bad dreams of you, Johnny. Neighbours, iv you'd let me be alone
-awhile wid me child, I'd thank you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The women retired slowly from the room, and closed the door behind them.
-“What have you been dreaming, mother?” eagerly inquired Johnny, as soon as
-they had departed.
-</p>
-<p>
-“There was a river of blood, Johnny, wid yourself struggling for life in
-it; and me in a boat, widout rudder or oar, not able to save you: and then—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't go on, mother! it's worse than throwing water on me!—I'm
-shaking from head to foot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You didn't mind dreams once, Johnny;—and you used to laugh at me
-when I'd be telling you warnings I had that way, about you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I wasn't so bad then, may be, mother, as I'm now: bud you'll live long
-yet, and help me to pray meeself out of all of it; and I'll mind what you
-say, and go to work for you honestly, instead of feeding you wid what I
-got in sorrow and sin. If I escape this once, I'll make a vow never to
-sleep out of mee own little bed there again. Oh! that I never had!—bud
-it's too late to make that wish.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't despair, darling! for he that's above us is good: and iv you're
-penitent, and do as your father's son should, my dear, in spite of that
-other bad dream I had, the grass will grow on your grave, as it does on
-his.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! mercy! and did'nt the grass grow over me, mother? And did you see mee
-grave in your dreams?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A thousand times, Johnny, since you were gone:—the little hillock
-itself was barren and bare, and all round it, as far as the eye could
-reach, there was nothing bud wild turnips growing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mother! you're mad to tell me so! You couldn't have dreamed that—you
-couldn't have seen the prushaugh vooe—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I see it now, my dear boy, as I did in mee dreams, waving its yellow
-flowers backwards and forwards, summer and winter, as iv they were to last
-for ever and ever.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! mother, mother! spake no more o'them! Iv I thought it wouldn't be the
-death of you, I'd aize mee mind.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pray God, you've murdered nobody!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have, mother!—I have!—Iv you didn't spake o' the prushaugh
-vooe, I wouldn't have tould you; bud there'd be no salvation for me, iv
-you died and did'nt forgive me for it:—for though you forgave me for
-every thing besides, you couldn't forgive me for what you didn't know
-about. I'd die iv I didn't confess to somebody;—and who's there in
-the wide world I could open mee soul to bud yourself, mother?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! my grief, Johnny! and is it come to this?—Bud are you sure
-you're not pursued?—(spake low, for they're at the door, and it
-won't shut close)—are you sure, my dear?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't know, mother; I think I'm not: bud I'm afraid, as well I may,
-from what he said to me, and that same thing you dreamed about, I'll be
-found out and hung, worse luck! who knows?—though I never meant to
-harm him, as you'll hear, mother, at the last day,—the day o'
-judgment, whin there's no keeping a secret.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Who was your victim, Johnny? And where was it you were tempted to risk
-your soul?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It was the Hearthmoneyman I killed!—I'd been watching for him,
-different ways, day and night, to rob him of his collection; but he'd
-always somebody wid him, or there was people coming; or whin there wasn't,
-I hadn't the heart, until this blessed morning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In the broad day?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It was;—miles away where you never have been. Bud he was too much
-for me, mother; and if it wasn't for the bit of ould baggonet I carried in
-mee sherkeen, without ever intinding to use it, he'd have taken me off to
-the police: for he got away mee stick from me, and I couldn't manage him;
-no, nor keep him off, nor get away from him even, till I took out the
-baggonet.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Did no one see you?—Was there nobody near?—Are you sure,
-now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am:—bud, oh! mother! what do you think he said to me? There was
-wild turnips growing by the road side, and as he fell among them, says he,—'You
-think no one sees you; bud while there's a single root of this prushaugh
-vooe growing in Ireland, I'll not want a witness that you murdered me!'
-Then he dragged up a handful of it, and threw it in the face o' me, as he
-fell back for ever.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dream! my dream!” cried the ould woman; “Curse his collection! Curse
-the money that tempted mee child into this sin!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I took none of his money!—not a keenogue! How could I touch it
-after what I tould you?—But what'll I do, mother?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Fly, my dear! Go hide yourself far, far away! Go, and my blessing be on
-you!—Go, for you'll be suspected and pursued!—Go at once, for
-I'll not be able to spake much more!—Go, while I've mee sight to see
-you depart!—Go, while I've sinse left to hear the last o' your
-footsteps, out away through the garden! Mee eyes is getting dim, and the
-breath's going from me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! mother! how can I tear meeself from you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Obey me on mee death-bed, if you never did before. I'd linger long in
-agonies iv you didn't; and, may be, die shrieking, just as they came to
-take you up!—Go off, my darling boy, and I'll expire in peace, wid
-the hope of your escaping. Soul and body I'll try to hould together until
-morning; and then, iv I don't hear of your being taken,—as bad news
-travels fast,—I'll think you're safe, and die happy.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Well, at last Johnny promised his mother he'd try all he could to get away
-to some place where he couldn't be known; and after taking her blessing,
-and an eternal lave of her,—a sorrowful one it was, they say,—he
-wint out at the back door of the cabin, and made off as fast as he well
-could. After skulking about in different parts for many months, at last he
-came to this place, got a wife, and did as well as here and there one;—nobody
-suspecting him of being worse than his neighbours,—for eighteen or
-twenty long years. His wife, who was a cousin of mine, loved him all that
-while; and said, though he was dull and gloomy at times, and didn't get
-his sleep for bad dreams he had,—which she thought made him cross,—take
-him altogether, he was as good a husband as woman could wish.
-</p>
-<p>
-Well, as I said 'while ago, Johnny O'Rourke lived among us here, for
-eighteen or twenty years,—under the name of Michael Walsh though, I
-must tell you,—then you'll hear what happened him. He wint out to
-fetch a bit of a walk one day, after being bad a week or two, so that he
-couldn't well work; but he hadn't been over the threshould a quarter of an
-hour, when he came running back the most lamentable-looking object that
-ever darkened a door. Every hair on his head seemed to have a life of its
-own; his eye-balls were fixed as those of one just killed with fright; his
-mouth was half open; his jaw seemingly motionless; his lips white as a
-sheet; and around them both was a blue circle, as though he'd been painted
-to imitate death. Down he dropped upon the floor as soon as he got in; and
-all his wife and the neighbours could do, didn't restore him to his right
-senses for hours. At last, he began to call for the priest;—I
-remember it as well as if it happened but yesterday;—and here it was
-where they found Father Killala, who was telling me the middle and both
-ends of the <i>cant</i> at The Beg: for all Pierce Veogh's furniture and
-things were sould under the hammer that day, and the Monday before, for a
-mere nothing, or next kin to it. And when Father Killala got to the sick
-man, he said, that though we'd so long called him Mick Walsh, his raal
-name was Johnny O'Rourke; and that he'd seen a sight that day, which drove
-him to do what he'd long been thinking of; namely,—confessing that
-he was the murderer of Big Dick Blaney, the Hearthmoneyman, who was found,
-with an ould baggonet in his breast, among the prushaugh vooe by the road
-side, away up the country, twenty years before. “And,” says he, “I can't
-live wid the load on mee heart;—whether I lie abroad or at home I'm
-always tossing about in a bed of prushaugh vooe, wid the baggonet
-glimmering like a flash of lightning over mee head: so you'll deliver me
-up at once, that I may suffer by man for raising mee hand against man, and
-God help me to go through it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-And, no doubt, the sight he saw was enough to make him do as he did. A
-week after he tould his wife his whole history; and how, when he wint out
-that day when he came home and called for the priest, after walking a
-little way along the road, thinking of no harm in the world, but with his
-heart weighed down as usual for the deed he'd done long ago, he was
-suddenly startled, by hearing somebody singing what he thought was a
-keentaghaun; and what should he see, on turning his eyes to the bit of
-wild broken ground by the road-side, but the face of his ould mother! And
-what was she doing, think you, but tearing up the wild turnip-plants,
-which were growing on the spot where she stood, as though her life
-depended on their destruction!—He thought she'd been in her grave
-years and years before; but there she was, miserably ould, and withered
-away to skin and bone: but though altered by time, he saw, at the first
-look, it was his mother. She wint on with her work, not noticing her son,
-and singing in a low, wild, heart-breaking tone—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Still the prushaugh vooe grows!
-For the winds are his foes,
-And scatter the seed,
-Of the fearful weed,
-O'er mountain and moor;
-While weary and sore,
-I travel, up-rooting
-Each bright green shooting:—
-But the winds are his foes,
-And the prushaugh still grows!
-Oh! mee llanuv! mee lanuv!”
- </pre>
-<p>
-And says she, “Mee task will never be ended; for mee tears water the
-seeds, while I pull up the ould plants that bore them. Oh! Johnny! where
-are you, my son?—Come to your mother and help her, my darling!”
- </p>
-<p>
-So then he staggered up to her, but she didn't know him!—the mother
-didn't know the son she doated on,—but cursed him, and called him
-“Dick Blaney,” and “Hearthmoneyman!”—All this it was that drove
-Johnny O'Rourke to run home, like one out of his senses, and make his
-confession.
-</p>
-<p>
-It's said, that he tried, at the bar, with tears and lamentation, which
-wasn't expected of him, to save his life; or, at any rate, to get a long
-day given him:—promising how good he'd be, if he was let live, and
-pleading the years he'd passed in repentance. But you'd guess, if I did'nt
-tell you, that such blarney, from one who'd done as he had, would have no
-weight. So he suffered; and that, too, penitently, as I'm tould by them
-that saw him at the last. His wife spent all she could scrape together,—as
-he bid her with his last words a'most,—in search of his mother; but
-the ould woman never was found, as far as I know, from that day to this;
-and, may be, the poor soul is still wandering about, tearing up the
-prushaugh vooe, and singing her melancholy song.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/241s.jpg" alt="241s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/241.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/241m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-ME AND MY GHOST-SHIP.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>bout a month after the <i>cant</i> at The Beg of all the goods that was
-in it,—the particulars of which Father Killala was telling me, as
-you heard while ago, when he was sent for by Johnny O'Rourke,—the
-large creditors that had claims on the land, and the house itself, made up
-their minds to follow the example set them by the small fry, who had paid
-themselves out o' the sale o' the furniture, and things o' that kind,—the
-goods and chattels I mane;—and news came that the whole domain would
-soon be publicly put up, and sould to the best bidder. Such tidings as
-this couldn't but grieve me,—I'll say that much for myself; for I
-didn't know into what hands the fine ould place might fall. And what would
-it matter to me, a poor ould cripple as I am, living here in a cabin,—you'll
-ask,—who had it, since I'd no call to it?—Why, then, I'll tell
-you; and if you laugh at me for loving The Beg, so be it, and you're
-welcome. It's in the small room, to the left, as you go up the back
-staircase, just above what's called the Oratory, and over-right the
-chamber where there's a portrait of William the Third, the long-nosed
-Orangeman, one side o' the chimney, and a picture of poor Jimmy Stuart,
-the king, on the other—it's there where I drew my first breath; and
-it's there, too, on the same day and hour, my mother drew her last. My
-father lived with the Veoghs, and so did his father before him; and, it's
-said, we once was owners of The Beg ourselves, and should be so still, if
-right ruled the roast. There's a pedigree of our forefathers drawn out
-upon parchment, in the form of a tree, stuck up against one o' the walls,
-by which it seems we were fine fellows long ago:—but that doesn't
-matter a ha'p'orth to me now; for I'd rather find a guinea without an
-owner, than have it proved that my grandfather was king of ten countries,
-and I could lay claim to the title as his heir, if it was nothing but the
-bare name I got by it. Not but what if I was a fine fellow myself, I must
-own, I'd rather have fine fellows than vagabonds for my forefathers; but
-as I'm but a fisherman, or next kin to it, I'd as soon have fishermen as
-King Ferguses for my ancestors;—and rather, too, may be: for while,
-in the one case, the honour of those I sprung from might make me strive to
-be great and honourable myself; that same honour, in the other, might make
-me draw comparisons, and be discontented with my own lot, and so neglect
-doing what I might, and go to the dogs,—don't you see?
-</p>
-<p>
-The night I heard of The Beg's being sould, I was sitting alone here in my
-cabin, brooding over the bad news, when whose voice should I hear, outside
-my door, but that of Corney Carolan, the wooden-legged piper and rhymester
-of Drogheda?—You'll know more of Corney, if you'll just listen to
-the story I'll tell you, by-and-by, about Luke Sweeney; that is—Fogarty,
-I should say; for the piper's cousin—that's Luke himself—don't
-like to be called by his own name, which, to spake the truth, is Sweeney,
-and nothing else: however, I'll tell you a trifle about the piper now, and
-especially what happened him the night I sat mumchance here, making myself
-sick, at what, if I was wiser, may be, I'd know shouldn't concern me.
-Corney was bound 'prentice to a brogue-maker, in his native place—which
-is Drogheda; but, as he tells us, he was too much the lad o' wax to stick
-to his last, and left a good home, to seek his fortune on the wide ocean.
-But there's many of us have done as bad: so we shouldn't cry out upon
-Corney, you know;—should we, now?—The sea is the sole and only
-thing in the world that an English, Irish, Scotch, or Welch boy, ever
-feels truly and deeply in love with. The lad that's one day or other to
-have his name mentioned with Nelson and Collingwood,—or to be the
-hero of the forecastle, if he comes of poor parents,—may be fond of
-a toy, or a sugar-plum, or his little cousin Kitty, or thousands of things
-besides, before he tumbles into his teens; but—mark what I say, if
-you plaze—the sea alone is the darling he doats on; and no man alive
-ever fell into a more consuming passion for a beautiful young woman, than
-many a boy has for the fine ould ocean. It's the hereditary love such
-numbers of us have, when young, for the beautiful billows, that makes us
-masters of the main. In other countries, as I've heard, neither whips nor
-words will persuade lads to take to the sea; in these, stone walls
-themselves will but barely keep them from it: and bad luck to him, I say,
-that ever, by word or deed, does a ha'p'orth to blight our national
-fondness for the waters, which keeps our country afloat.—Hurrah!
-</p>
-<p>
-The rhymester of Drogheda has made a song of what happened him at sea;—and
-a mighty queer song it is, as you'll hear, for I think I can give you a
-sample. After Corney has noticed all he saw and suffered, for four or five
-years, aboard a man-o'-war, he says,—or rather sings,—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“We met the French one day,
-Near what the Nile they call,
-And axed them would they play
-A friendly game of ball?—
-Isn't it grape they shoot?
-Away my leg they blew;
-And the two-pound note to boot,
-I'd hid inside my shoe.”
- </pre>
-<p>
-After that, Corney retired upon a wooden leg and a pension; and, turning
-his sword into an awl, he transmogrified the corner of an ould stable into
-a new cobbler's stall. “And you'd think I'd do well,” says he, in his
-song; “for,” he continues,
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Of customers soon I got—
-Ould friends they were—a score;
-But wouldn't I go to pot
-Without as many more?
-Musha! bad luck for me!—
-Attend to this, I beg,—
-They all had been to sea,
-And each o' them lost a leg!”
- </pre>
-<p>
-Going on at that rate wouldn't suit Corney at all: he found the wolf was
-getting every day nearer his door; so, at last, he thought he'd try what
-sort of a trade begging was. It wasn't long before he'd the model of a
-ship, built and rigged by himself, fastened to his skull-cap; and for
-many's the year he carried it about to and fro, here and there and
-everywhere, until he and his pipes—and, by all accounts, he's one o'
-the finest hands at them you ever heard—were as well known as the
-bridge of Waterford. For the first time in my life,—the night he
-looked in upon me, when I was bothering myself about The Beg's being
-sould,—I saw Corney without his ship.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Arrah! Corney,” says I, “who've you struck your flag to?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To the captain of the Dutch merchantman,” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, but how happened it, Corney?” says I.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, then,” says he, “I'll tell you:—About an hour ago upon my
-arrival at my cousin Fogarty's, after being away since Sunday se'nnight, I
-heard the whole story about the Dutch vessel being blown ashore, and took
-a half-a-pint, or so, of the fine hollands my cousin had got from her
-captain. After that, I was tould how he'd given every soul in the place
-from one to three quarts of it, for the kindness that had been shewn him,
-in getting his ship off without damage. And, says Luke Fogarty,—
-roaring like a bull in my ear,—'He's just bid us good b'ye; for his
-vessel's under weigh again, and himself going on board as soon as he gets
-to the beach.' Very well, thinks I; wooden-legged as I am, I'll see if I
-can't overtake the Dutchman, and coax him out of a keg, or a bottle at
-least: for, to tell the truth, hollands is delicious; and I never tasted a
-sup of any thing drinkable so fine as the hollands the Dutch captain left
-at Luke Fogarty's. Away I wint; and, in less time than you'd dance down a
-lame woman at a jig-house, as the night was bright as day itself, I hove
-up within sight of the Dutchman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Making all the sail I could, I soon ran down his hull; but the moment I
-hailed him, and he took a view of me, he walked away like a race-horse. I
-followed, as fast as I well could, and a jolly chace we had of it. I'll
-tell you beforehand that I came up with him at last: and, from one of his
-boat's crew, who spoke English, I found out what he thought of me, while I
-was crowding all I could upon his track. He'd often laughed at the stories
-that was tould him of the phantom ship off the Cape; but no sooner had he
-set eyes on the little model I wore on my head, than he thought he saw the
-thing itself: and he looked upon it as a special punishment upon him for
-being an unbeliever, to have the ship not only sent after him there from
-her own seas, but for her to follow him ashore, and make the air her
-ocean! The slender cordage rattled with the sea-breeze,—blowing as
-it was, and the little sails flapped about the spars, as he tacked to get
-away from me, and I tacked to overtake him; and, no doubt he thought they
-made more noise than a seventy-four in a gale o' wind. And the fears that
-were upon him, likely enough, magnified my little boat into a large craft.
-But what do you think he thought, when I struck up a time upon my pipes?—music
-to which he,—poor ignorant soul! until then was a stranger! He cast
-a hasty glance over his left shoulder at the sound; and, the moon then
-gleaming full upon me, he caught a glimpse of my face; which, as he said,
-he took at once to be that of the big ugly fiend o' the storm. I hailed
-him, but he wouldn't answer me; I swore in Irish, and he began to pray in
-Dutch: and, at last, when he found he couldn't get away from me, he fell
-down upon his knees, and began to attack a bottle he had in his pocket, as
-though no one loved hollands but himself. In a few seconds he was under my
-fore-foot; and, of course, I clutched the bottle out of his hand: but if
-you'd seen the look he gave at me and my ghost-ship, while I was drinking,
-you'd never forget it while you lived. I've no call to find fault with
-him, though; for, as soon as he found out I was flesh and blood, he used
-me well, and gave me the two trifles of hollands I have, slung at each
-side of me here, and more than a trifle of money, to boot, for my ship;
-which, to tell no lies, I was going to hang up for ever tomorrow; for she
-was getting too much for me, or I was getting too ould for her, I don't
-know which. Besides, I'm now able to do well enough without her,—thanks
-to my pipes,—and the trifles of songs I've made myself and stole
-from better men. It wasn't without a groan or two though, that I saw the
-Dutchman, when he'd bought her, tie a stone to my poor ship's waist, and
-drown her as spitefully as though she'd been a cur that had bit him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/246s.jpg" alt="246s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/246.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/246m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE NEST EGG.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ell, who should buy The Beg, do you think, but a fine lady from Dublin,
-who had never seen it, and, it's said, sould off all she had, to make up
-the money for it?—And who should the lady be, but that same young
-Pierce Veogh was once in love with, but who wouldn't have him, because of
-his wild doings, and wint and married another?—And this other was
-dead, and the lady was a widow, and bought The Beg, as we thought when we
-knew the story, because of Pierce; who was then, nobody knew where.
-</p>
-<p>
-Down she came, in a few weeks, to take possession; and it's soon she was
-loved by every soul within three miles of the place. Them that was Pierce
-Veogh's favourites, she did good to for his sake; and them that he never
-noticed, she helped for her own: so that there was few but blessed her.
-She gave Mick Maguire a new gun, when he'd burst the one he had from
-Pierce, by overloading it, and broke his own arm to boot; and she did
-something for me, too, as you'll hear, by-and-by, though Pierce and myself
-never was over and above friendly, because I didn't like his goings-on;
-and what's more,—for I'll confess my frailty,—in all his
-spending he never spent a penny upon me.
-</p>
-<p>
-If I was one of a nation that had to choose a queen by her looks, I'd just
-pick out the lady who bought The Beg; for I never saw any thing in the
-wide world so fine and so gracious, and so every thing that's good, and
-above the general run of women,—and I never saw one in the world
-that I couldn't kiss,—as herself. She hadn't been at The Beg much
-more than a week, when one morning she sailed into my place here; her
-movements was more like those of a fine vessel on a smooth tide, than
-those of one like us that treads upon the earth; and her eyes was of the
-colour of the sky on a clear night, and a fine star seemed to be twinkling
-in the middle of each of them; and, says she,—“God bless all here!”
- just as a dillosk-girl might, in going into the cabin of a neighbour. I'll
-never forget her, or the sight of her beautiful small fingers, when she
-pulled off her glove,—set off, as they were, by a black ring about
-one of them; and though I'm a poor man, and an ould man, I was in love
-with her, and she knew it:—<i>that</i> I'd uphould against the
-finest man that ever stood upon two legs, if I could even stand upon one
-myself,—but I can't.
-</p>
-<p>
-She came to do good; and after much talking, says she to Aggie, my niece,—“You're
-a widow, I hear: is it long you've been so?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Three years and a half, my lady,” says Aggie, who's well spoken enough to
-hould a confab with any one; though you wouldn't think it, if you heard
-her aboard the boat.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And have you any children?” says the lady, in a tone o' kindness, that
-would make the most bashful as bould as could well be becoming.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I've two, my lady, as fine boys as ever the sun shone upon; though I say
-it, you wouldn't match them in a day's walk. The marrow isn't well in
-their bones yet; but there's nothing, at sea or ashore, they're afraid of,
-barring one thing,—and that's facing so fine a lady as yourself;
-they couldn't do that, so they slunk out the back way when they caught
-sight o' your ladyship coming: I hope that won't be an offence, though.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“By no means,” said the lady; “and how was it you lost your husband?—But
-I ought not to remind you of your misfortune.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Blessings on your sweet face, my lady,” says Aggie; “it does me good to
-hear poor Larry spoken of, or asked kindly about: it's few that does it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah!” says I; “the thoughts o' the living drives away—that is,
-partly drives away—the memory o' the dead. Poor Larry ran into the
-sea, and drowned himself one night, in a fit o' madness, brought on by a
-wound in his head long before, and more whiskey than usual, which he'd
-been drinking that day. He was the finest swimmer on this coast, and
-nearly took two or three to the bottom that wasn't bad ones, who wint in
-to save him. He sunk himself by main force.”
- </p>
-<p>
-And after that, when the lady asked which way it was he got wounded, I
-tould her how he'd been a sailor in his young days. “And when he was a
-boy,” says I, “there never, by all accounts, was one better loved, by
-little or big, than himself. He sailed many's the voyage with one Oriel,
-who was captain and half owner of the brig Betsy,—one of the best
-sea-boats ever was seen: she'd make two voyages and back, while them that
-waited for convoy couldn't fetch one. And it's many's the times—I'll
-not be bothering you with sea terms, which your ladyship won't comprehend—it's
-often then she bate off such enemies as she was able for, and left those
-in the lurch she couldn't expect to drub. But, at last and in long run,
-she met with her match, and more than it every way, in a pirate, manned
-with a crew of all nations, but sailing under Algerine colours, if I don't
-mistake. They'd as pretty a little battle for, may be, half a glass or
-more, yardarm and yard-arm,—that's cheek-by-jowl, you know, my lady,—as
-one could wish to behould: but, by-and-by, Oriel found he was getting the
-worst of it; and says he to Larry,—that's my niece's husband that
-was,—'Larry,' says he, 'you've always obeyed my orders like a good
-boy.' 'I'll do so still, sir,' says Larry, 'while there's life left in
-me.' 'Well, then, Larry,' says Oriel, 'they're making ready for boarding
-us, I think; and as we can't get away, I'll tell you what you'll do:—go
-down to the powder-room, and when we've fought as long as we're able, and
-killed what we can above here on deck,—that is, when you think
-they're all aboard of us a'most, and we can't do much more harm to them,—do
-you just blow up the brig, like a good boy, and I'll be obliged to you.'
-</p>
-<p>
-“I will, sir,' says Larry; 'but my mistress—' 'Oh! you blockhead!'
-cried Oriel; 'don't you see, it's for her sake entirely, that I'm making
-this sacrifice? Do you think I could die happy with the thought of her
-falling, in the pride of her youth and beauty, into the hands of these
-villains? 'Oh! master!' says poor Larry, poking a tear out of his eye with
-the top of his clumsy finger, 'why did you bring her with you?' 'Hould
-your tongue,' says Oriel, 'and don't mind what don't concern you: I took
-her twice before, and less harm happened me than ever; for she seemed to
-be like a charm against peril to my poor brig. Now go away down, Larry,
-and don't blubber that way, or, may be, you'll wet the priming in your
-pistol; and should you miss fire, and not blow us up as I bid you, if the
-enemy don't throw you overboard, my ghost shall haunt you all the days of
-your life: but be a good boy, and do your duty like a man, and we'll all
-go to heaven, I hope, in company.' Well, down wint Larry, after giving one
-last pelt with his pistol at the pirates, and loading it again for the
-confidential service he was trusted with; and away strode big Oriel,
-determined to kill as many as he could, before dying himself. Soon after,
-the deck of the Betsy was trod on by the best part of the enemy's crew,
-and Oriel's people was obliged to retreat, before the superior force that
-was opposed to them, bit by bit, until they got huddled together about the
-forecastle; and from that they clambered, and jumped, and tumbled
-higgledy-piggledy, they hardly knew how,—and Oriel, almost in spite
-of himself, with them,—over the lee-bow, clane into the enemy's ship
-that lay close alongside. Before above two or three could follow them, the
-Betsy gave a lurch, and the vessels parted. Them that was left aboard the
-pirate couldn't make much head against Oriel's men; but he didn't help
-them a ha'p'orth;—and when somebody came up to him, where he stood
-thumping his head with the handle of his cutlass, and congratulated him
-upon the good turn things were taking, and said they might now use the
-pirates' own heavy metal against its owners,—he cried out with an
-oath, that his wife was still aboard the Betsy, and he'd bid Larry to fire
-into the powder room! At that moment, he caught a glimpse of Larry's
-carrotty head, poking out of a port-hole, or somewhere, and looking like
-one amazed, at seeing his shipmates seemingly making themselves masters of
-the pirate, while he knew, from what he heard going on above, that the
-enemy was masters of the Betsy. What to do, he didn't know; and felt woful
-and confounded as ever boy did in the world before. At last, he saw Oriel,
-who shouted to him as loud as he could; but the noise was too great for
-Larry to hear a syllable of what he said; and then, Oriel, half frantic,
-made such violent motions with the pistol he'd snatched out of the man's
-band who'd spoken to him, pointing it at Larry, and threatening to shoot
-him, and I can't tell what, that the poor boy, knowing his mistress was
-still aboard, thought the captain was in a rage with him for not blowing
-up the brig before, and made signs, which couldn't well be misunderstood,
-that he'd go do it directly. At this, Oriel shrieked with passion; and,
-before Larry could get away, fired the pistol he had at the boy's head;—there
-being no other way to prevent him from doing what Oriel then thought
-wouldn't be wise. The ball only grazed Larry's skull, but it took the
-senses out of him; and there he lay like one dead. It was the wound he got
-that way which made him lose his right wits, when he drank much, as he did
-the day he drowned himself, much to my grief! For, oh! Larry, my boy, it's
-well I loved you!—and so did your wife, and all that knew you!—Your
-ladyship looks as if you'd like to be tould what happened the captain's
-wife, and how it ended.—Why, then, the pirates, though in the worst
-ship, got the better of Larry's shipmates: Oriel was mortally wounded, in
-a desperate attempt to retake the Betsy; but he had the satisfaction of
-falling on his own deck, and knowing that his wife had died from a chance
-shot, a few moments before. The pirates themselves were attacked by a
-frigate, before they could repair the damage done to their vessel, and
-Larry was found in the prize, at death's door: but I needn't tell you he
-got over it, or how would he marry Aggie, and be the father of Paudrigg
-and Jimmy?—Fine fellows they'll make one day or other, I'll engage
-for them! Though they're but boys even now, they lent Aggie a good hand at
-working the boat, from the time poor Larry, their father, was lost to us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And do <i>you</i> go fishing?—<i>you</i> only and your young sons?”
- said the lady, with tears in her eyes, to my niece.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I do, my lady,” says Aggie; “sign's on me!—what would become of us
-all else?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Faith! then, my lady,” says I, “she buckled on Larry's bradien the week
-after he died, and has missed as few tides as any one, from that day to
-this,—she and the boys, that is.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Poor woman!” says my lady, putting something that was right welcome into
-Aggie's hand; “this trifle may assist you, if you'll accept of it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Long life to ye, my lady!” says Aggie, making the best curtsy she could;
-“I was thinking to ask your ladyship's favour in the way of taking a fish
-at a fair price from us, time about with Rob Hacket; but, upon second
-thought, Rob has a fry of gorlochs by his new wife, and he's getting
-weakly, and past going out in a tough rise; while I'm strong and able;
-Paudrigg and Jimmy are both growing lusty too,—grace and good luck
-be with'em!—so, my lady, I'll say nothing about the fish, but make
-bould to take the money, and lay it by for a rainy day.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I fear you think of but little more than the present,” says my lady; “you
-should be provident, and save a little in the good season; then you'd be
-able to look forward to the time of sickness with more comfort.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! my lady, we have no time to be sick,” says Aggie; “ailing or hearty
-the net must be spread, and nine out of ten of the fishermen die the night
-after weathering a stiff breeze:—it's rare for any of us to lose
-above one tide between life and death!—And as to being provident, my
-lady, half the year we have enough to do, with all our tugging and
-striving, to make both ends meet;—it's hand-to-mouth work with us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But then, at other times, Agnes,—in your harvest, as I may say,—you
-might save something.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It's aisy talking, my lady,” says Aggie; “and many's the vow we make in
-the hard season, to scrape a penny or so together the next good time: but
-when it comes,—my grief I—doesn't half of it slip away before
-one can look about?—And then it's too late to begin: so it's put off—the
-hoarding and squeezing time is—till another year. Besides, when it's
-all plenty galore with us, who thinks of starvation?—It's hard, too,—so
-it is,—to brake up the day's joy by robbing it of a few keenogues
-for the morrow. We'd rather be merry—many of us would—one
-while, and sad another, than divide equally, and so go on, in the same
-dull way, from year's end to year's end, neither hungry nor full, joyful
-nor sad,—but just dacent, and half one thing half another. Moreover,
-when we have the money, away it goes at once;—we make merry, and put
-to sea again. The citizen may well think of to-morrow, and save,—for
-he goes to his bed, and, without a chance, tomorrow will be to him another
-to-day: but the fisherman goes into the waves, and God knows, when his kin
-wish him 'Goodnight!' whether he'll ever hear their 'Good-morrow!' It's so
-trying to begin, too:—the hen won't lay in an empty nest, nor is it
-aisy to put a penny by where there was no penny before. And if we do,
-where's the good of our throwing aside a groat to-day, a mag to-morrow,
-and a shilling the next?—At the week's end it's just so little, we
-despise it; and just so much, that it tempts us to have a spree:—drunkenness
-follows; and so, after pinching from Monday to Friday, we spind the money,
-and lose the Saturday's trip into the bargain—so we do. One piece o'
-good gould in our by-corner would make us add more to it: one shilling to
-forty, makes forty-one,—a great sum;—but one shilling to
-forty-pence, makes four-and-four-pence;—just enough for doing harm.
-'Tis but a shilling either way, you may say; but there's a difference in
-the two that one feels and knows, but can't spake about or explain.—I
-wouldn't wonder but myself saves upon your ladyship's gracious gift: any
-how, we'll never have to put the platter outside the door at a death, nor
-want a dacent wedding when the boys marry, while we keep it whole itself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-And it's whole we've kept it then, and added more to it, and bought many's
-the thing to comfort us, which we never should have had, may be, if it
-wasn't for the nest-egg we got that way from my lady—blessings be on
-her!—So here's a fine proof, that proverbs ar'n't always to be
-depended upon. They say three things, which may be true sometimes, but not
-always:—the first is, that “Fortune is blind”—now we'd good
-luck come to us; and it's true we deserved it,—that is, Aggie did,
-if I didn't;—and what's more, we wanted it. “Aisy got, aisy gone;”—that's
-another proverb we've given the lie to; for what we've laid out we spent
-discreetly, and on no occasion without many's the pro and con whether we'd
-do so or no.—Lastly, it's said, “An eel won't slip through our
-fingers faster than the guinea that's given us;”—but I'd knock that
-on the head any day, by shewing what we got from my lady the first day she
-set foot in my cabin,—and that's long ago. So that I, and, may be, a
-good many more, can say, “Fortune isn't always blind;—aisy got, may
-be held fast;—and all eels are not slippery.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/253s.jpg" alt="253s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/253.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/253m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-UNDER THE THUMB.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uck Davie's wife's brother, Paddy Doolan, lives among his pigs, poultry,
-and potatos, over-right Mick's place,—the man that saw the little
-Fairy in the oysther-shells. Paddy gets his bread by rearing turkies and
-geese, and similar commodities, and buying bits o' pigs about here and
-there, where he can, and selling them at the market in the next town,—may
-be, once a month or so;—and many's the penny Pat has turned one way
-or another, any how. Well,—Pat has a wife,—and not a bad one,
-he ought to think, if he looks about him and sees what other men's are,
-and draws comparisons. She's not very big; but she has a black eye, and
-bustles about; and though she wears a whiskey-bottle, she keeps Pat from
-doing himself harm from much drinking: and if she does have a drop between
-whiles, more than does her good exactly, why, she keeps up appearances, by
-always making wry faces whenever she takes a sup of comfort afore her
-neighbours. She has a limp in her gait, but cooks a cobbler's nob
-dilicately; and her temper's not bad, though not much better than just
-middling like the peathees, as we say: still, there's few in the barony
-with less holes, and holes sooner mended too, in her sherkeen, than
-Mistress Doolan; and, as wives go, as I said, there's worse than Pat's.
-She's forty-nine years of age, come Candlemas; but does not keep the house
-so clane as she might:—but then, to be sure, there's the pigs—
-</p>
-<p>
-Now for Pat:—he's bow-legged,—which comes, as his wife, who
-admires him, says, from his riding so much to and fro across the panniers
-on his garron to market and back: but some think he was so from a boy,—still
-that doesn't matter;—his legs are quite good enough for every-day
-work, and nature wouldn't be wise to give holiday limbs to a higgler—would
-she now? Pat's forefathers must have been from beyond-sea parts, I think;
-or how would he have such a pale face, and large dull black eyes, without
-one feature, barring the cocked nose, of us raal ould Irish? If he was a
-fisherman, may be, he'd get a colour; but, as it is, though he never knows
-a day's sickness, he's as pale as a white night-cap; and his big eye looks
-like a piece of sea-coal in milk, or a town chimney-sweep in a snow-storm.
-</p>
-<p>
-Pat seems so innocent, that many suspect him to be a rogue,—a little
-sly, or that way inclined;—but Pat says no, and so does Mistress
-Doolan, and that's something. People tell how much some men and their
-wives are alike,—faith! so much, as often to be taken for brother
-and sister; and its true of Dick Reardon who buys Pat's poultry wholesale
-and sells them out retail, that he and his good woman are as like one
-another, as a couple of ducks. But that's not the case with Pat and his
-deary, for they don't match, and you'd wonder what made them mate.
-</p>
-<p>
-Seventeen or eighteen years ago,—I can't say precisely to a year,
-but I'll swear to the day,—it was a Tuesday; by token, that it
-happened the day after Luna mon moch,—the good woman's Monday,—Pat's
-wife was looking out for him coming home from market; and as he rode down
-the hill, she saw one of the panniers on the poney weighed down as if it
-had a load, and the other up in the air. Pat, I must tell you, was the
-first who brought panniers into this part of the country; the likes o'
-them was never seen here before, and few with any but himself since. “What
-ails you, Pat?” said the wife, as soon as Pat came within reach of her
-voice; it's a little voice when you're near, but it goes a good way for
-all that:—“what ails you?” says she; “couldn't you sell your
-turkies?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“May be, I couldn't; what then?” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Then why not load the garron partly o' both sides?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“May be, I couldn't,” says Pat again.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And why couldn't you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mistress Doolan, would you like to be struck in a heap?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it by you, Pat?—what news, then?—any how why not spake it
-out?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't bother me now; isn't it to The Beg I'm going?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wid a load you picked up on the road, Pat, is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aha!” says he, “can't I keep a thing from you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What is it, Pat?” said she; and he'd now just met the wife; for, finding
-the conversation grow interesting, she had left the door, and walked away
-up the hill to meet him, quickening her pace at each question. “What is
-it, Pat?” says she, trying to peep into the pannier; but Pat wouldn't let
-her.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Sally,” says he,—for that's her name;—“would you think it,
-that there's mighty bad people about?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why not?” says she; “there's bad people all over the world.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But not bad enough to put their babies on big stones by the road-side,
-and lave them there by thimselves, wid a bit of a switch stuck up, and a
-shred of a souldier's red jacket on the top of it, the way people might
-notice thim;—there's not such people as that all over the world I
-hope,—is there, Sally?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Murther, man! is it a child you've picked up, then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Look at that!” says Fat, taking a baby out of the place, and houlding it
-up to the full view of his wife; “look at that, and tell me if it isn't
-enough like a child for a man to swear by, Mistress Doolan!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Won't you let me see it closer, Pat?” said Mistress D. And as she took
-the child out of Pat's clumsy paw, where he sat on the poney, the little
-crature smiled up in her face, and half stole the very heart of her,
-before she had once hugged it to her side. It was the most beautiful baby,
-they say, that was seen for many's the day; and Paddy Doolan's wife took
-it into the cabin, sat down by the fire, warmed it on her lap, and fed it
-with new milk, while Pat remained on his panniers, waiting for her to come
-out again.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Is it all day you're going to be staying there, Paddy?” says she at last;
-“ar'n't you coming in?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ar'n't I waiting for the gorloch, to take up to The Beg? I won't be sint
-back wid it, I'll engage.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! Pat, why trouble yourself?—Couldn't we keep it ourselves?—Good
-luck would follow us,—and we've no child of our own, Pat.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Well, where's the use of making a long story of it?—the wife
-persuaded Pat, with much ado, and a dale of begging and beseeching, to let
-her keep the little crature herself; but he insisted upon first taking it
-off to the lady who bought The Beg.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I'll take the little thing up to her at once,” says Pat; “and may be,
-well get something for our charity.” And sure enough so they did, for my
-lady kissed the little crature betuxt the two eyes, and gave Pat a trifle
-in hand, and promised to allow him so much a week, for keeping the child,
-until she grew—did I tell you she was a girl?—until she grew
-up intirely. And a fine young woman she's grown, and all the boys about
-are dying for her as, to say nothing of her good-looking face, Pat has
-promised her a fortune of fifteen pounds; and I don't know but it might be
-a match with her and my niece's son Paudrigg, wasn't it for one thing;—she
-won't have him.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now, after this, though Paddy Doolan did well by the little one, and had
-the allowance, and over and above it often, from my lady, things didn't go
-right with him. He wint on swimmingly for two or three years or so; but
-from that time, Pat's appearance grew poorer, and the wife's bit of finery
-wasn't brought home so often, when Pat wint to market. And where he used
-to crack a joke with a friend, living by the road-side, as he came along,
-he'd sigh, and say uncivil things of this world, and make wry faces.
-You'll think Pat was right, for a good deed ought not to go unrewarded;
-and you'll like to know how it was. I'll tell you that in a few words,—more
-or less;—it's foolish to promise.
-</p>
-<p>
-At the place where Pat carried his property to market, there was a
-half-rogue of a fellow,—Larry Morris by name,—something in
-Pat's way of business; but he also bought and sould badgers, and foxes,
-and poisoned rats for people; and wouldn't mind, may be, tying up a dog
-that followed him home, and lying by till a reward was given out for the
-brute. What I mane to say is this,—Larry hadn't the very best of
-characters. One day, after coming from somewhere, where he'd been, it so
-fell out, that Larry passed by Pat Doolan's cabin, and who should be
-playing in front of it, but the child Pat picked up that time two years,
-or thereabouts.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Whose child have you there?” says he to Mrs. Doolan, who was plucking a
-duck or a goose at the door.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why do you ask, sir?” says she.
-</p>
-<p>
-“May be, I know the mother of it,” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-When they got inside the cabin,—for Mistress Doolan was a woman, and
-hearing what she did, of course, invited him in, to know the middle and
-both ends of the matter,—she began questioning him: but he was too
-deep for her, and got the whole pedigree and history of Pat's finding the
-baby, and the lady's giving him money to keep it dacent, and what else I
-don't know. Says Larry, when she'd done, “I know the child as if I'd never
-lost sight of it. The features are oulder than when I last saw it, but not
-changed: and here's the four little round spots on its temple, like
-shot-marks, or the picks of a domino. Her mother lodged in a back room of
-mine, and ran away one day, no small trifle in arrear with me, and I never
-set eyes on her or the child since, before to-day. So much for the mother;—and”—continued
-he, in the same breath, turning to Pat Doolan, who just then walked into
-the cabin,—“may I be moon-struck,” says he, pointing to Pat, “but
-here comes the father!”
- </p>
-<p>
-What to do, any way, Pat didn't know. You'll agree with me, perhaps, he'd
-a right to look astonished. There was Mistress Doolan, who had lifted her
-eye-brows up under her hair with the surprise, standing as mute and as
-motionless as Pat himself, whose tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth
-nearly; while the child was innocently giggling below, and trying to undo
-Pat's gaiters. After a while, Mistress Doolan found her speech. “Is this
-you, Pat?” says she, quite quietly, for she was too thunderstruck to be in
-a passion.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Faith! and why not, Mistress Doolan?” says he, “worse luck!”—for it
-was true, and he couldn't deny it. And Larry Morris went on to tell the
-wife, that the child's mother said she was married, and made an excuse for
-her husband coming to see her now and then only; and who should the
-husband be, but Pat? Moreover, since she had walked off, the way I tould
-you, Larry had never seen Pat; and, sure enough, Mistress Doolan
-remembered that Pat convinced her, about that time, it would be well for
-him to carry his poultry to another market; and he did so.
-</p>
-<p>
-Doolan put as good a face as he could upon all this. Larry said he was
-sorry to be a maker of mischief; but the rogue took advantage of it, for
-he drew Pat aside, and, from what passed privately between them, Pat
-carried his poultry afterwards to the town where Larry lived.
-</p>
-<p>
-From that day, poor Paddy Doolan pined;—wouldn't any one in such a
-way?—Larry stood between Pat and the market, making Pat sell all his
-poultry to him at an under-price, and then going to the great buyers that
-sould them again to the consumers; so making a profit beyond Christian
-credence out of Pat. And what would you have Doolan do? Wasn't he afraid
-of Larry's telling upon him? And if he haggled to get any way near a fair
-price, didn't Larry tell him—“Paddy, boy, ar'n't you under my
-thumb?” He did: and Doolan was as much afraid of the disgrace of being
-exposed, as the loss of my lady's allowance. So he struggled and
-struggled, and every day got worse in the world; and bitterly did he
-suffer and repent for what he had done. His wife didn't quarrel with the
-child this while, but loved and nourished it as if it was her own; so did
-Pat—and he had a right, you'll say:—but I wouldn't swear to
-that; for who knows but Pat himself might have been cheated, as well as he
-cheated Sally his wife?
-</p>
-<p>
-Now I'm coming near the end of my story—no bad news that, you'll
-say:—Pat was tortured for a long time by Larry, “like a toad under
-the harrow,” as the story goes, till he could scarcely scrape enough
-together to get on with from week's end to week's end. At last and in the
-long run, what does Larry do,—like others like him, who, trying to
-make the most of their villany, ruin all outright,—what does he do,
-but insist upon Pat's paying him half the allowance he got from my lady,
-to hould his peace?—Doolan knocked him down with a goose he had in
-his hand at the time; jumped on his garron; and if you want to know the
-rate he came home at, ask the people by the road-side. Grogy, his little
-garron, wondered whether Ireland was sinking, or what was the matter,—and
-no blame to him.
-</p>
-<p>
-When Doolan got home, he tould the wife how he had ruined himself by
-knocking down Larry. “You've done well,” says she, “and it was high time
-you did.”—Didn't you ever remark, that when a man gets at his wits'
-end, and don't know which way to turn, how well a woman will carry him
-through? I'm sure you have; and seen the courage of the poor creatures
-too, when men are cowed, and can't look the danger that threatens them
-full in the face. “You shall be under the thumb no longer, Pat,” says she:—“you've
-done that by me I don't like, but it's forgiven, if not forgot; and let
-the worst come to the worst, we'll be as well as we are:—so, come
-with me at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Where'll I go?” says Doolan, staring at her, and drawing back, for he
-half suspected what she intinded. But Sally was resolute; she took the
-child in her hand, and half persuaded, half dragged Pat away, up to my
-lady at The Beg. Doolan went down on his knees, while his wife tould her
-ladyship the whole story; and when it was done, Pat got such a lecture as
-he never had before; no—not even from his wife after Larry's first
-visit.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Look at the fruits,” said my lady; “look at the consequences, Patrick
-Doolan, of your misdoings:—didn't you know that sin is always
-followed by sorrow?—that deceit can never long plaster up iniquity?
-You have richly merited your sufferings, Pat. I shall, of course, stop the
-allowance, and take away the child from you. When I find you are so far
-deserving, you shall have my protection, and the little girl again; till
-then, I withdraw both.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Terribly downcast was Pat, to be sure, as you may guess but he was no
-longer under the thumb. Besides, he'd a hope left, of getting into grace
-again by good conduct so to work he went like a Trojan. Larry came down as
-hard as he could after Pat, determined to ruin him or make him knock under
-again: but when he got to the village, Pat was back from The Beg, and had
-tould all his neighbours what he'd been doing; so that they hadn't much
-the laugh of him; and as Pat wasn't disliked, the boys and girls made such
-a mudlark of Larry, nobody could tell the colour of his coat.
-</p>
-<p>
-Pat began to prosper, and, by-and-by, got on well enough: in a year or two
-after, the little girl walked into his cabin one day, with a goulden
-guinea in her hand, and has lived under Pat's roof ever since. Among us,
-she is, as I tould you, much admired for her beauty,—to say nothing
-of her being an heiress.
-</p>
-<p>
-People generally trate a fable as the boys do a dog sometimes,—tie a
-moral tay-kittle to its tail; and so would I, if my story was a fable: but
-it's neither a story nor a fable, but the downright truth, and if I made a
-moral to it, you'd suspect 'twas a fable; as the boys suspect the dog, if
-they meet him with a kittle in his train, to be a suspicious and a stray
-dog,—don't you see?—and so despise and pelt him. However, for
-all that, there can't be much harm in just mentioning that a man will do
-well to take warning by Paddy Doolan, and do nothing in the wide world
-that may bring him under the thumb.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/260s.jpg" alt="260s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/260.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/260m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-OUR TOMMY.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>e'd often be frightened out of our lives a'most, did we know, while we
-were about them, what mighty events, to ourselves or somebody else, would
-spring from some of our every-day doings. But it's right we shouldn't. If
-it wasn't so, Paddy Doolan might be breaking his heart, for the sow that's
-going to be choaked next Monday, by a bone he'll throw into her trough
-to-night. There's none of our actions, big or little, in my mind, goes
-off, without leaving a family: something I did three days,—or, may
-be, three years ago, was the grandmother of something I'm doing, or that
-may befall me, to-day. Peg Dwyer's husband threw his can at the head of a
-cow, that wouldn't give out her milk as she ought, and one of her horns
-made a hole in its side. That happened him on a Wednesday;—very
-well;—he wetted his floor, through carrying water in the can with
-the hole in it, on Thursday; it froze in the night; and early on Friday he
-got such a bruise, through slipping up on the floor, which he'd wetted by
-carrying water in the can that he'd thrown on the horn of the cow, because
-she wouldn't give milk, that it laid him up for a month, and killed him
-outright in the long run. A boy quarrels with his home and quits it,
-because he fancies he don't get as much buttermilk to his peeathees, or
-peeathees to his buttermilk, as some of his brothers; he walks off with
-himself to the next town; and, a year after, to the next to that, may be:
-by-and-by he gets taken by the tar, as birds are by birdlime; and, after
-being aboard ship awhile, casts anchor in foreign parts. Before he can
-whistle, he's pushed another move further: and something or other
-continues to poke him from place to place, and from post to pillar, till
-he reaches the wild Indians at last, and marries Hullamullaloo, the king's
-youngest daughter, or gets roasted and devoured—just as it may
-happen—by that lady and her iligant maids of honour. And, supposing
-he'd a good memory, and could look back, while he stood tied to the stake,
-or about to be tied to Hullamullaloo at the altar, as the case might be,
-he'd find each of the moves he made through life was owing, one way or
-another, to something as simple as his quarrelling, when a boy with his
-peeathees and buttermilk, at his mother's mud cabin here at home in ould
-Ireland.
-</p>
-<p>
-Poor Tommy Maloe got his liking for martial music, through thumping a
-drum, which he'd stolen from young Veogh, when they were both little boys,
-and didn't know right from wrong; or if they did, wouldn't make a shew of
-what they knew, by doing as they ought. Though Pierce's parents were rich,
-and Tommy's were poor, Tommy was Pierce's playmate: they spent most of
-their time together, and were always at war, and frequently fighting.
-Tommy was the sole and only boy far or near, that would dare stand up
-before Master Pierce, when he clenched his little fist; and there was few
-that Tommy would demean himself to thump or play tricks with but Pierce.
-</p>
-<p>
-Tommy, as I said, stole a drum from little Pierce, or may be carried it
-off as booty after a fray; and it was from the delight he got by bating it
-with the drumstick of an ould goose, that years after, he bartered a new
-hat for a bad fife from which time, for six months and more, morning,
-noon, and night, the fife was at Tommy's lips, and he trying to coax
-marches out of it, but couldn't. At last he threw it away in a pet; and
-took to trapesing after Mick Maguire when he'd be going out to fire at,
-and sometimes shoot, the water-birds. Tommy, who was now grown a man
-a'most, never felt happier than when Mick would allow him to carry the
-gun; and one day, while Mick's back was turned, something or other tempted
-him to fire it off. By chance, I suppose, he shot a little bird—a
-tern, or a petrel it was—and from that time, Tommy talked of nothing
-but shouldering a musket, and getting a pelt at a Frenchman. He walked
-thirty miles over mountains and bogs, without a shoe to his foot, (for his
-father had hid them that he mightn't go,) to see a review of two companies
-of the North Cork, and three dozen of beggarly volunteers.
-</p>
-<p>
-Our Tommy—for that's the name he is best known by—from his
-father's always calling him so—though it was only to himself, a poor
-doating ould widower, he belonged;—our Tommy, I say, at last
-determined to enlist. He wouldn't be satisfied, he said, until, as every
-one ought, he'd killed at least two or three of the enemies of his king
-and country. His father begged of him not to go for a souldier and leave
-him alone, when he could get good bread at home: but, though Tommy in
-other things was as dutiful as most sons, he wouldn't mind his father in
-this. At one time, however, it was thought he would forget the Frenchmen,
-and behave himself; for he fell in love with one of the prettiest little
-girls in these parts, and offered to give up all thoughts of campaigning,
-and killing his share of the foreigners, if she'd have him. But the little
-girl gave him a downright denial; and a week after that he got picked up
-by a recruiting-party at a fair.
-</p>
-<p>
-Tommy was all on fire to go abroad; and it wasn't long before he got his
-wish granted of being sent on foreign service. You'll think of the little
-drum, and the goose's leg, and the bad fife, and Mick Maguire's gun, and
-the review of the North Cork with the volunteers, and feel sad, for a
-moment, may be, when I tell you, that the very first Frenchman he saw, run
-his baggonet right through poor Tommy, in a skirmish, before he could even
-pull his trigger, and killed him on the spot.
-</p>
-<p>
-When I say that Tommy was killed on the spot, I mane that he never stirred
-from the place where he fell; though he lived long enough to see the enemy
-driven back; and then,—as we heard from a disabled dragoon, who
-passed through this place on his way home a year after,—poor Tommy
-Maloe, though he'd been disappointed so sorely,—like a good boy as
-he was in the main,—departed this life with a smiling eye and a
-prayer on his lips. And I trust I may do no worse;—though, I must
-confess, I'd rather die on a bad bed, than on the finest field of battle,—for
-I'm not heroic; and in my own mud cabin, than a grand hospital,—for
-I'm not ambitious. And yet I don't know, upon giving the thing a thought
-dying is dying all the world over, and it don't matter much where we do
-it. I was going to say too, that I'd prefer a natural death in ould age,
-to the honour of being cut off by a dragoon's sabre in my prime: but
-there's a riddle about death no one can solve; and it isn't often we see
-even the ould people go off and melt away like a mist. We may prate and
-preach as much as we plaze about hard deaths and aisy deaths;—the
-horror and agony of going off one way, compared with another:—but
-there isn't a living soul on the face of the earth knows any thing about
-dying at last. Drowning is spoken of as being the least disagreeable by
-some; others prefer a bullet; one says one thing, and another says
-another; even hanging isn't without advocates but <i>I</i> say, there's no
-knowing which is best, and which is worst; and we never <i>shall</i> know,
-that's certain, until some of us is dead, and gets brought to life again;—and
-that you know never can be: for it's nothing but blarney an honest man
-tells you about the feelings of death, who has been relieved from
-suffocation by a lancet; or, to go further, it's foolish to listen to what
-one that has been some time under water, and gets picked up, and restored,
-as they call it,—to hear such a one tell what little or what much he
-suffered, with an idea of your gathering enough from his story to know
-what death by drowning is. If you do that, it's mighty mistaken you are;
-and I'll tell you why:—them people that gets restored that way or
-any other, no matter how, know but little about the thing, not much more
-than-myself or you and why don't they?—because <i>they never have
-died.</i> You never met with a man in your life, that had died, out and
-out. You couldn't; for them that dies completely never breathes mortal
-breath again. My father—rest his soul!—thought as I do; and
-he'd say, when the fire of existence is once extinguished, it's gone for
-ever and ever. When death has entirely done his work, the body is clay;
-then the spirit departs, and nothing human can ever bring it back. A man
-may lie motionless, breathless, and, what's more, senseless, at the bottom
-of a well, for an hour, or, may be, more,—who can tell?—and
-yet not die. In that case, by clever means and much work, the dying embers
-of life may be brought to a flame again; but once fairly dead, we're dead
-for ever. And so, I say, that the man who gets taken out of the water and
-recovers, can't say that he was dead. It's true, he has gone to the door;
-but has he passed over the threshold?—answer me that! If he had, he
-wouldn't have come back to us again, I'll engage! Don't you see, that we
-can't take a pair of compasses or a piece of tape, and measure exactly
-where life ends and death begins? And how do we know, when we take leave
-of a friend, because he don't move, and there's none o' the dew of life on
-the glass we put to his lips,—that he's dead?—Tossing the
-arms, or gnashing the teeth, shews pain, but there may be greater agony
-without it; for if we're violent, it shews we're strong; and it's suffer
-we may, much worse perhaps, when we're so weak that we can't wag a finger.
-Well, then,—and this is what I've been coming to all through my
-rigmarole, but I couldn't before,—how do we know that,—after
-the breath goes, and the limbs lose their power, and all is still,—the
-dying man, without breathing or moving, or his heart beating, don't feel
-the true grapple of death—the parting of soul and body?—Therefore,
-I say, as nobody ever came back, as I think, in body,—I don't spake
-of ghosts,—from the clutch of our enemy, we don't know anything much
-about him; and it's well we don't:—God be praised! all things in
-this world is ordered for the best!
-</p>
-<p>
-It's little or nothing that's left me to add to my story:—poor Tommy
-Maloe's father, when he heard of the death of his son, got quite childish
-at once, and unable to help himself any way: so that he'd have had little
-to look to, but his poor neighbours, if my lady hadn't put him down on her
-little list of pensioners, and paid Peg Dwyer to mind the poor soul, and
-make him as comfortable, considering all things, as he well could be. You
-may still see ould Darby—that's his name—strolling about, from
-house to house, as he did on the morning after the disabled dragoon
-brought us news of his son's death, and telling every one who'll listen to
-him, how his beautiful boy was struck through and through by a baggonet,
-like a souldier's loaf,—or a tommy, as it's called in the army,—when
-he wint to fight the French, in foreign parts.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/265s.jpg" alt="265s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/265.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/265m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE DENTIST.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>alachi Hoe is known, for twenty miles round his house, as a cow-doctor,
-and a rat-catcher, and a man of tip-top talent in two or three dozen
-useful arts and sciences,—as he himself calls tooth-drawing, and
-dog-cropping, and all the things he's famous for. He has the finest
-terriers and traps in the whole country; and if there isn't a fox to be
-found by the subscription pack, that Squire Lawless, and the rest of them
-has, nine miles off, at the brook of Ballyfaddin, they've only to send a
-dog-boy to Malachi, before sun-set, and he'll have one in a bag, ready to
-turn out before them, by the morning. He's very sparing of talk, and when
-he spakes, it's in short bits; and he'll look all the while as if he'd a
-right to be paid for his words: and it's well paid he is for them too,
-sure enough, by them that can do it. There isn't a hair's-breadth of a
-horse, from the crown down to the coronet, or below that again, to the
-head of the nail in his shoe, but Malachi knows: he's as much at home in
-the inside of a cow as that of his own cabin, and can tell where any thing
-is, as well in one as the other,—-just as if he'd put it there
-himself. But Malachi prides himself most on his skill in tooth-drawing;
-and if you ask him what he is, he'll tell you—a dentist.
-</p>
-<p>
-It's full thirty years ago, since Malachi came to settle among us. You
-hadn't then to send for him if he was wanted, for he seemed to scent
-sickness like a raven; and if your cow was taken ill, the next news you
-heard was, that Malachi's horn was blowing on the hill; and, in ten
-minutes more, he stood at your door, with a drench if you wished it.
-</p>
-<p>
-Malachi now keeps closer to his nest: still he's to be had, if you'll pay
-him his bill. He's looked upon as an oracle in most things, by every body
-except Ileen, his wife, who thinks one of her opinions worth two of his,
-any day; and though Malachi Roe is a wise man, I won't say but Ileen is
-right. If you knew him, you'd as soon think of saying black was white, as
-contradicting the dentist: but Ileen don't care a bawbee for him, and
-often tells him right up to his face that he's wrong. Malachi wishes she'd
-bide at home; but she'd rather be busy on the beach, having an eye to the
-girls and women she employs to gather the dillosk: and, though feared, her
-goodness of heart secures her the love of every one of her neighbours—high
-and low. By all accounts, she must be the exact temper of her grandmother
-and namesake Ileen, the Meal-woman; who, though left a widow, at eighteen,
-with a child looking up to her for support, never got married again; but
-kept herself dacent, and brought up her little one, without a ha'p'orth of
-help from man, woman, or child. She put on the manners and resolution of a
-man, with her weeds;—the mills which her husband had occupied she
-kept going; and managed so well, that she got more and more grist by
-degrees, till at last, the name of Ileen the Meal-woman, was known all
-over the country.
-</p>
-<p>
-Her child—it was a boy—grew up, got married, and did well,
-until about the time of his turning the awkward corner of fifty; then it
-was that his wife, who was three or four years younger than himself,—as
-wives should be, you know,—fell sick, and died away suddenly. No man
-could well grieve much more for the loss of his wife, than ould Ileen the
-Meal-woman's son did for his: he wouldn't allow her to be carried away up
-the country, and buried among her own kin, but insisted that she should be
-laid in his father's grave; so that, one day or other, his own remains
-might be placed by her side.
-</p>
-<p>
-If you reckon the age of his son, and remember how soon after his marriage
-he died, you'll find that Ileen the Meal-woman's husband, at the time his
-daughter-in-law departed this life, must have been buried hard upon half a
-century. When the grave was opened, his coffin crumbled beneath the
-pickaxe some of his dry bones were carelessly shovelled up by the digger,
-and there they lay among the earth, which so long had covered him. Ileen
-knew nothing of this: she had heard of the death of her son's wife, and
-made all the haste she could away from a distant part, where she was
-buying wheat, or selling meal, I don't know which, so as to be at the
-funeral. When she got near home, two or three people tould her that her
-husband's grave had been opened, to receive the body of her
-daughter-in-law; but she wouldn't believe them: for all that though, she
-quickened her horse's pace, and made direct for the spot. The memory of
-her husband was still fresh within her, long as she'd lost him,—for
-her heart had never known a second affection. She didn't remember and so
-see him, in her waking dreams, a poor, broken-down, grey-headed old man,
-tottering gradually under a load of infirmities, to death's door, with his
-temper soured by time and pain, and his affections froze up by age: but
-whenever his form came across her mind,—and it's often she looked
-back to the two short years of happiness, she'd passed with him,—he
-started up to her thoughts in all the pride of his manhood,—handsome,
-high-spirited, and affectionate, as he was a week before she parted from
-him for ever.
-</p>
-<p>
-The people were just going to lower the coffin of the Meal-woman's
-daughter-in-law into the earth, when Ileen reached the outer circle of
-them that came to the funeral. Without spaking a word she made a lane for
-herself through the crowd, and at that awful moment, she suddenly
-appeared, speechless with fury, at the head of the grave. Her son shrunk
-from her terrible glance; and every one within view of her, stood without
-motion, gaping in fear and wonder at the tall, gaunt figure of Ileen, and
-the features of her, distorted as they were by the grief—-the rage—the
-horror—the agony she felt,—and wondered what was going to be
-the matter. After some little time, during which not a word was spoke, and
-nobody scarcely dared breathe, Ileen began to tremble from head to foot;
-big tears gushed out of her eyes; and says she:—“Is that you I see
-there, Patrick?—Are you my son?—And is this your father's
-grave?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mother,” says Patrick, “what, in the name of the holy Saints, ails you?—Don't
-you see it's me?—And ar'nt you sure it's my poor father's last home?—Where
-else would I bury my wife?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your wife!—And was it to bury your wife, that you broke open my
-husband's grave?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of course it is, mother what harm?—Go on, friends.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Stand back!” cried Ileen, in a loud and determined tone, placing herself
-betuxt the coffin and the brink of the grave;—“I'd like to see the
-man who dare pollute the dust of my husband, with that of a strange woman!
-I am the wife of him whose grave is here—of him, and of none but
-him: I lay in his bosom when he was alive—and do you think, any of
-you, I'll stand by, while there's a drop of blood left in my veins, to see
-another be put in my place, now that he's dead? Have I lived for fifty
-long years with the hope of one day being united in death to the joy of my
-life, to have another laid by his side at last?—Who broke this holy
-earth?—What accursed wretch was it?—Where is he?—Shew
-him to me—that I may grip him by the throat?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mother, mother!” said Patrick, “for the sake of him you spake of, be not
-so violent! If I've done wrong—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“<i>If</i> you've done wrong?—Thank God, Patrick, it wasn't your own
-hand did this!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! I'm sorry now that any hand did it: but it's too late to waste time
-in words: and I <i>must</i> have the remains of my wife respected.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wretched—unnatural child!—what respect have you shown to
-those of my husband—my husband, and your father, Patrick?—Oh!
-this earth which covered him,” continued Ileen, stooping to pick up a
-handful of the mould she stood upon,—and at that moment, for the
-first time, she saw the bones!—She shrieked out at the sight, and no
-tongue could describe the look of agony which she cast at her son.
-</p>
-<p>
-Patrick, however, who'd more love for the wife he'd lived thirty years
-with, than the father he couldn't remember, much as he was grieved at the
-sorrow and anger of his mother, resolved that the corpse shouldn't be
-treated with a shew of insult: so says he to those about him, “Come, let
-us make an end of this; I will set you an example.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when Ileen snatched up one of
-her husband's bones, and gave her son so violent a blow with it on his
-head, that he staggered and fell nearly senseless into the grave.
-</p>
-<p>
-His friends got Patrick out again as quick as they could: but before he
-recovered, Ileen had carefully gathered up the bones, folded them in a
-kerchief, which she tore off her bosom, dropped them into the grave, and
-proceeded to throw in the earth again with her hands. No one attempted to
-hinder her—but it was only when she had made the ground level, and
-cast herself, moaning, upon it, that the people persuaded her son to let
-them carry his wife's coffin away, and bury it elsewhere.
-</p>
-<p>
-Just such a one as Ileen the Meal-woman, in temper and heart, is her
-grand-daughter Ileen, the second wife of Malachi Roe: he'd a son by his
-first; but has had no children by Ileen. If Malachi's boy was a fool all
-his young days,—and he's not so now he's grown up—it wasn't
-Ileen's fault; for she behaved like a mother to him, and tried all she
-could to make him know a duck from a drawbridge, but in vain. At last,
-when he was about eighteen, Malachi got him a place in my lady's stables,
-under the grooms and coachmen she'd just had down with fine horses and new
-liveries from Dublin—<i>why</i>, nobody could guess, except that she
-was going to give up being a widow.
-</p>
-<p>
-The first day Malachi's boy got into the stables, the grooms and
-postillions persuaded him they were much finer dentists than his father;
-and, to convince him, they tied a piece of whipcord round one of his
-teeth, and fastened the other end of it to a stall-post: then one of them
-came and threatened the end of his nose with the prong of a pitchfork, so
-that the stripling drew back his head with a jerk, and out came the tooth.
-This, and two or three other of the usual jokes that boys gets played in a
-stable, put young Malachi on his mettle; so that, after awhile, his
-father, and even ould Ileen herself, began to glory in him;—thanks
-to the dentist whose only instrument was the prong of a pitchfork.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/270s.jpg" alt="270s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/270.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/270m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE MUSHROOM.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>bout six o'clock, or, may be, a quarter less, on a wet summer's evening,
-all of a sudden the sun peeped out from behind a cloud,—as Corney
-Carolan said,—looking half ashamed to shew his face, after his bad
-behaviour all day,—and just cast a glance across the bog, to see who
-was that so merry and musical in Luke Fogarty's car, bating the garron
-that dragged it along, with his wooden leg in lieu of a whip. Who was it,
-then, but the piper of Drogheda, Coraey Carolan himself, coming from a
-wedding, away somewhere in the hills, where he'd been drinking whiskey
-galore, and playing his pipes, night and morning, for the biggest half of
-a week! Luke Fogarty had sent his son Rory with the car that morning, to
-bring home the piper, dead or alive; for it was whispered by many, that
-great things would be doing in a day or two at our place here; who by, or
-why for, nobody well knew; but there was to be drinking and dancing:—and
-what would drinking or dancing be without himself?—I mane Corney the
-piper.
-</p>
-<p>
-The sun drew in his horns again,—if you'd believe Carolan,—as
-soon as he saw it was his ould friend the piper; but he shone quite long
-enough for Corney to discover that the big mile-stone, put up at the edge
-of the bog, by mad Henniker, years ago, to judge by the shadow it cast
-across the road, wasn't anything like its ordinary shape. Corney couldn't
-make out at all what it meant, or why it was; but, as the car got nearer
-the mile-stone, the piper perceived that it carried an umbrella.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, to be sure, it's rainy enough, so it is,” says Corney; “but
-mile-stones, I thought, was made to stand wind and weather. Is that any
-one's umbrella there on Henniker's mile-stone?—Be-kase if it's
-nobody's, why, then, I'll get it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The umbrella began to move, and presently Corney discovered that a
-gentleman and his dog was beneath it. There they sat, shivering, dirty,
-and making themselves as little as possible, on the top of the stone; and
-barely able, the one to keep his tail, and the other the skirts of his
-coat, and the lower part of his legs, out of the water; which, after it
-rained unusually hard,—as it did that day,—got together in a
-pool round the stone, and sometimes rose over it entirely.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Come out o' that,” said Corney to the gentleman; “come away at once, sir;
-and don't be sitting that way on Henniker's folly all night! May be you're
-Henniker himself, though,—and then, no wonder.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The gentleman replied, as well as his shivering would let him, that Corney
-was mistaken.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Then why stay there, sir?” says Corney, “when we've room on the car for
-you, and the garron impatient to be going!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Look at the water,” said the gentleman; “how am I to wade through it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it wade?—Faith! then, you'll have to swim soon! But take your
-choice, sir:—I won't persuade you one way or another.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Where <i>am</i> I?” says the gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Where <i>are</i> you!—Why, then, look at the side of the stone, and
-you'll see, cut in legible letters, <i>nine miles from anywhere</i> and no
-mile-stone in the world ever spoke truer. Was it to gratify impertinent
-curiosity, do you think, that Henniker put up the stone?—Not
-himself, then!—Mad as he was, he knew that it would be quite enough
-to make any man move on to be tould he was nine miles from anywhere!—What
-more did you want? Would you have him keep a horse ready saddled, waiting
-'till you'd come?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My mare has thrown me and ran away,” said the gentleman; “and I merely
-got on the stone, so that I might shelter myself and my dog, from head to
-foot, until some one came by, or the rain ceased.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ceased!” exclaimed Corney, bursting into a laugh; “if you waited for
-that, sir, you'd stay till the crows removed you as a nuisance to the
-frogs in the slush there behind. Does it ever cease?—Divil a bit,
-then, for three miles round, morning, noon, or night,—summer or
-winter,—but keeps pelting and pattering away, at all times and in
-all seasons, as it has for hundreds of years, and will for ever and ever
-except once in a twelvemonth, sometimes, and that's the fifteenth day of
-the month of July, when St. Swithin is too busy raining down upon the
-other parts of the world, to mind this which is his watery worship's home.
-It's fine weather here, if, with three coats on your back, you don't get
-wet to the skin in forty minutes. I wouldn't insult the Saint, by carrying
-an umbrella, for Damer's estate! Bad luck and ill chance is the best I'd
-expect, and so may you; for it's raining now just worse than ever I knew
-it but once. Had you no idea, then, where you were, sir?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I had,” says the gentleman; “but I wasn't sure. I never came by this road
-to The Beg before; and I asked the boy that's with you where I was, when I
-met him hereabouts, full two hours ago; but he grinned in my face.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it yourself that bate him, bekase he couldn't understand English?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I certainly did lay my whip over his shoulders,” says the gentleman; “and
-the young villain then began to pelt me and my mare with stones, so that
-the animal feared to approach near enough to permit of my beating him
-again; and at last she got unmanageable, ran away, and threw me off,—that
-is, I mean—threw me off, and ran away.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Rory was right, then, and so I said while ago, when he tould me part of
-the story; for you'd no business to bate him,—had you, now?—But
-what makes you wait, sir? If you don't come at once, why, then, good
-night!—For it's not agreeable to be houlding a conversation such
-weather as this, with one on a mile-stone under a big umbrella.—Is
-it coming you are?”
- </p>
-<p>
-The gentleman talked of borrowing a boat, or backing the car into the
-pool: but Corney said he couldn't get the one, and wouldn't do the other;
-and, moreover, that the umbrella must be sacrificed to St. Swithin, for he
-wasn't reprobate enough to ride in its company. After many more words, the
-gentleman got down from the mile-stone, with his dog under his arm, and
-walked through the water like a cat through a puddle. At first he insisted
-on being allowed his umbrella; but Corney was resolute; and away it wint,
-at last, scudding over the bog,—frightening up thousands of birds,
-which flew screaming after it,—until it suddenly sunk in what's
-called “The Saint's Piggin.” The gentleman wasn't well seated on the car,
-before Corney thrust a bottle of whiskey into his hand, and threatened him
-with a quantity of discipline from his wooden leg, if he didn't take a
-good pull at it.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It's merry we'll be, as whiskey and good stories can make us,” said the
-piper: “I don't care a bawbee for St. Swithin, while I've a cork, or even
-a thumb left, to keep him out of my bottle. But I'll not be disrespectful
-to the Saint, though, any way why should I?—He does me no more harm
-than my betters; and if I offended him, mightn't he follow me, far and
-near, and rain on me wherever I went? May be, you never heard how he
-served the little nation that lived here long ago how should you, that
-didn't know where you were, and you sitting on Henniker's folly? Why,
-then, I'll tell you:—Once upon a time—long ago it was, in the
-days of our forefathers—this place was peopled by Mathawns, and one
-King Ounshough reigned over them, and he and his subjects were all
-believers in blarney. Well, who should come to the king one day, but a man
-that said, if he got the weight of what he could ate during nine days, in
-gold, and had his own people to wait on him, he'd make all the spiders
-grow so big, that the ladies might wear their webs by the way of veils;
-and after that, may be, for more gold, he'd carry his invention to such a
-pitch, that the insects should weave fishing-nets, strong enough to catch
-whales themselves,—to say nothing of salmon and smaller fish.—Well,
-while he was at work, along comes another, who sould them a secret for
-planting trees in such a way, that they'd grow of themselves into ships:
-and, says he, 'for a trifle, I'll teach you how to sow hemp and flax, in
-little pots, on their branches, so that they may shoot up into ready-made
-sails and rigging; and all by philosophy, without a morsel of magic.'—Wasn't
-this more than men could wish? The boobies bit at the bait,—high and
-low; and thinks they to themselves, 'what fine fellows we'll be, to catch
-whales and conquer the world by philosophy!'—While the trees were
-growing, and the spiders were spinning, there comes another man, and says
-he, 'Don't you know me, any of you?'—And some suspected they did;
-and others was almost sure he was related to them by their mother's side;
-but nobody owned him. So then, says he, 'I'll tell you who I am: that moon
-yonder, that lights you, is my property; you've had the use of it for
-years, but I've been too generous. I'm grown poor, and can't be liberal
-any longer:—you sha'n't have the light of my moon gratis; so pay
-five hundred a year, or I'll put it out: and then what'll you do?'—Well,
-what they'd do, sure enough, they didn't know; but before they'd done
-debating upon it, up comes a smart little man—a foreigner—who
-advised them to pay what was asked for the present, and if they'd
-subscribe for him, he'd get up an opposition moon, that should shine
-better, and be full all the year round, for half the expense of the ould
-one. Wasn't that too good an offer to be rejected?—It was; and the
-Mathawns bit at that too. But this wasn't all:—before the new moon
-was made, or the trees grown into ships, or the spiders' webs big enough
-for veils, the people was persuaded by a traveller to let him build them
-an umbrella, that should be large enough to keep the rain off every inch
-of the country; and it was to be so contrived that they could let it down
-by machinery, if the land wanted water, and put it up when they'd just as
-much wet as they liked. Now this was so great an insult to St. Swithin,
-that he began raining at once, and before they could put up their
-umbrella, dispersed the whole people;—making the country a bog, as
-you see it; and never ceasing to pelt away with his little pellets of
-water, from that day to this. But though they were scattered, the boobies
-wasn't destroyed. You may find some of their descendants in every corner
-of the world, who are as staunch believers in blarney, as ever their
-forefathers were in the days of ould Ounshough the king.—Isn't that
-a fine story for you, now, such a murdering wet evening as this?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bathershin, man!” says the gentleman, with a sneer of contempt; “call it
-a lie, and give me the bottle, for I'm cold after it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't you believe it, then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How could I,” says the gentleman, “when it's lies, and you know it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then sorrow the sup out of my bottle you get, sir, and sorrow the step
-goes the garron, until you believe it. Arrah! Rory,—pturr-r!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pturr-r!” roared Rory, at the top of his voice, and stock-still stood the
-horse, as in duty bound.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Is it quite mad you are, you dirty blackguard?” says the gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Blackguard your betters!” says Corney: “Musha! then, if the likes o' you
-was rolled in the bog, what harm?—You couldn't be worse than you
-were; for it's dirt itself you are!—I'll say that for you, since you
-put me up.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ar'n't you an impertinent ould scoundrel?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No doubt I am; but the garron don't stir one of his four pegs till you
-believe what I tould you, while ago, for all that. I won't ride with a man
-if there's such a difference of opinion betuxt us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't you see the rain how it pours?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do you think I'm blind?—or that I can't feel the water running in
-channels down the wet back o' me?—But I'd weather the rain like a
-duck, in a good cause; and it's promoting concord I am, betwxt myself and
-one that's ungrateful and don't mind me, at this moment.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The piper was obstinate; and after awhile, the gentleman was obliged to
-say he did'nt think the story a lie. It was then, only, that he got a sup
-of the whiskey; and Corney gave the garron a hint with his wooden leg, to
-be going.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Now,” says Corney, “as we've made friends,—and I don't think I ever
-had an enemy but one, a whole day,—I'll entertain you with some of
-my music: but, before I begin, I'll just remind you, that I said while
-ago, there was boobies everywhere,—didn't I?—I did, that's
-true enough, and Rory's one o'them. May be you've been tould of one o' the
-Fogarty family, who ties a lanthorn to the horse's head, so that the
-crature may find out his grass in the dark?—This is the boy that
-does it:—as though the Will-o'-Wisps, and Jack-Lanterns of the bog,
-wouldn't do what was wanted o' them in that way, for a horse?—Do you
-believe that now, or don't you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it a fool you take me for?” says the gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Yea or nay, just as you plaize. Arrah! Rory,—pturr-r!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pturr-r!” says Rory again; and the garron stopped so suddenly, that the
-piper himself was like to have been pitched over his head.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Go on, and good luck to you!” cried the gentleman; “go on, and there's
-nothing you'll say but what I'll believe; for it's killed with the cold I
-am entirely!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, fie! and the whiskey here at your elbow!”
- </p>
-<p>
-The piper lifted his leg, and away wint the garron again. After much more
-talk, and two or three stoppages, Carolan at last says to the gentleman,
-“Now I'd like to know, sir,—may be you won't tell me, though;—but
-why shouldn't you?—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ask me no impertinent questions, and behave yourself in every respect, or
-you'll wish you hadn't a tongue in your head this journey, when you come
-to know me,—as perhaps you may.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Perhaps I won't, though;—for I've no great opinion of you. Perhaps,
-I won't know you to plaize you. But you'll own I'm right in not riding
-another step with one that won't tell me which way he'd be going.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't stop the horse again, and you shall know at least where I'm bound
-to:—indeed, I tould you long ago, it was to The Beg.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it The Beg?—and so you did, now I remember. May be you're a new
-butler?—No?—A bailiff, then?—Yet why should you? There's
-nobody there now that's in debt. And if you ar'n't either the one or the
-other, what can you be?—But it's bad manners in me to be bothering
-my brains with guessing who you are, when I don't care about knowing. You
-won't go to The Beg though, anyhow, to-night it's a long three miles from
-where we stop a bad road and up-hill entirely, too.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Can I get a bed, think you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, then, Luke Fogarty's is the state cabin o' the whole place, and he'd
-give up his own bed any day to a stranger, though he hasn't the best of
-characters; and Ramilies, his pig—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“His what?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ramilies, his pig;—they say she's a witch: she farrows nineteen,
-four or five times a year; and she has tushes like ram's horns, only
-they're straight. She goes miles away by the sea-side and walks into the
-water, like a Christian, to nuzzle up crabs among the rocks. It's often
-I've seen her scrunching them: they nips her—trust them for that—with
-their claws; but I'm inclined to believe, the pinches she gets on her
-tongue serves by way of a fillip or sauce to the feast, by the same ride
-that donkeys like thistles that's prickly, and we ourselves mustard with
-pork. If I'd a house to pull down to-morrow, I wouldn't wish a better
-workman than Ramilies, if she hadn't her dinner, and there was fish
-inside, and the doors barred. They say, she drinks whiskey when she can
-get it:—but what need have you to be afraid? Won't I be there with
-you?—Sure I will.—Ramilies has no ear for music, and one blow
-of my bagpipes drives her. As to Luke,—why, if Luke shouldn't behave
-himself, it won't be the first time I've poked my wooden leg in the face
-of him, and broke his ugly deaf head, with the big hollow bull's-hom he
-has for an ear-pipe, into the bargain. Corney Carolan is well able for
-him, or any one else, if he's only awake.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm afraid your friend's cabin won't afford much accommodation for a
-gentleman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, then,” says Corney, “I'll just give you a bit of a bird's-eye view
-of it, and you'll judge for yourself. As you go in, there's a remarkably
-fine dunghill, on each side of the door, built up as straight as two
-walls,—only a little loose at the top,—so that they forms a
-sort of artificial porch, or portico, to the house; and, at the other side
-o' the window, there's another wall o' dung, that reaches chuck up to the
-gable. When you go in, if you look to the right, there's a place where
-Luke sits and makes brogues, when he's in the humour for it; and you'll
-see a pair of channel-pumps, hanging by wooden pegs in the wall, which he
-made when he worked in Waterford; and among the tools,—I mane, the
-awl, and strap, and stone,—no doubt but there's the broken crockery
-he had his dinner in, this day six months, when he'd a fit o' work on him,
-and wouldn't, for a moment, quit the brogues he was then making, and which
-ar'n't finished yet, nor never will: for the next time he sits down to
-work, he'll begin another pair, and lave off again, when he's just done
-three quarters of each of them. Though he's the finest workman, they say,
-within seven baronies, Luke and his family are the best customers to Jack
-Sheelan the shoemaker, in the whole place: for Luke has other ways o'
-getting money than with his hammer and awl,—it's himself that has,
-then! He's come of a fine family too,—though I say it, that's his
-cousin,—for he's a Sweeney by birth, and has a right to be called
-so: he <i>was</i>, long ago, and would be now, if he hadn't quarrelled
-with his father's family, and sworn, out of spite, never to wear their
-name again as long as he breathed: so he took to his mother's—she
-was a Fogarty;—and you couldn't offend him more any way in the world
-than you would if you upset his whiskey, singed his nose while he was
-asleep, or called him Luke Sweeney.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He's a room above stairs, I hope,” says the gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“He <i>had</i>; and the floor of it went three parts across the kitchen;
-and when you got up, you could look over a board and see your peathees
-boiling below for breakfast:—and you might, to this day, if the rain
-hadn't soaked through the ould thatch and rotted the timber, so that it
-fell down with nineteen of us, one night at a dance, years and years ago.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I'll be compelled to sleep with nothing above me but the bare
-thatch!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That, and the cobwebs:—and you'll see how the big spiders will run
-down their little ropes, and dangle over the table, when I'm playing
-Garry-hone-a-gloria!—But there's no harm in the cratures; nor much
-in ould Ramilies herself, if she hasn't been drinking. I've known her get
-so drunk, on beer-grounds they gave her at The Beg, that it took seven men
-and a boy to bring her home, with Luke Fogarty's sister going before,
-pinching one o' the little pigs, so as to make him squeal out, by the way
-of wheedling her on quietly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Right glad am I that I've my dog to watch me:—but, of course,
-they'll keep her out if I ask it,” says the gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“They will, if she'll let them; but her word isn't worth a bad song, if
-you could get her to give it;—and you couldn't, could you?—But,
-<i>na boeklish!</i> hav'n't you your dog!—I'll promise to persuade
-Fogarty to give you up his own little black oak bedstead, that stands
-beside the chimney: and then who knows but you'll get the canvass bed
-stuffed with louchaun—that's the chaff that comes from the oats when
-they're winnowed—and three rugs to cover you! But what's better than
-all, though we shouldn't be there till midnight,—and, faith! then,
-we won't at this rate,—there'll be an iligant supper, and all the
-gorlochs—except Susey, the eldest—put to bed. What'll we have,
-you'd like to know, eh?—Well, then, I'd tell you, if I could, but I
-can't. May be, if Luke's had luck lately, we'll get a bonnov,—that's
-a little pig, you know and if not, there'll be a cobbler's nob, and a dish
-of caulcannon at any rate, we're sure of hot ghindogues and praupeen, or
-stirabout, or shloucaun,—that's the sea-weed,—the dillosk, you
-know, that the girls gather, boiled down to a nicety, and which, as they
-say, is what Saint Ambrose lived upon, and the same thing you rade of in
-books, by the name of ambrosia. Rory tells me they'd a breast of mutton,—he
-don't precisely remember what day, but it was lately,—and we'll get
-that made up into beggar's-dish, with onions, and a bit of tripe, may be,
-if it's not eat, and Ramilies hasn't stolen it. That pig's a witch, as I
-tould you before; but sure you needn't mind her with your dog, need you?—If
-it comes to the worst, we're certain of peathees, trundled out hot from
-the crock in the middle of the big table, with a clane hoop on it to keep
-them from rolling off: and what's finer than peathees when they're
-smoking, and grinning at you through their red jackets? With them and milk
-(I'll engage for him, Luke will be able to give you your choice, sour milk
-or new) and two or three piggins o' pothien,—we'll be gay as
-drovers, and sleep sound wherever we fall. But I'm houlding out all these
-fine things to you, only to shew you what good luck you'll miss, if you
-don't tell me who you are, and what is it you'd be doing at The Beg; for
-it wouldn't be well of me to bring home any one, without knowing head nor
-hair of him, to my cousin Fogarty's,—would it, now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It isn't at all necessary that I should satisfy your curiosity,” says the
-gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“May be, not; but I think so:—so we'd better settle the point before
-we go further. Arrah! Rory,—Pturr-r!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pturr-r!” says Rory; “pturr-r, pturr-r!” says he; but the garron was now
-too near home to pturr for the brightest man that ever stood in shoe; and
-instead of stopping, he put his best leg forward, and carried the car
-clane up to Luke Fogarty's door, some minutes sooner than he would have
-done, may be, if nobody had said “Pturr-r!” to him at all.
-</p>
-<p>
-“<i>Kead mille faltha!</i>” cried Luke, as soon as he saw the piper; “long
-looked for, come at last!—But who's this with you, Corney?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Faith! I don't know, then,” says Carolan, who wasn't at all plaized with
-the garron, that he didn't stop when Rory bid him; “I don't know a
-ha'p'orth about him,” says he, with his mouth close to the big end o' the
-crooked bull's-horn, that Fogarty held to his ear; “I found him, after
-losing his horse, sitting up upon Henniker's mile-stone; and it raining
-harder than usual:—so I took him on the car; but he wouldn't tell me
-who he was. He's high and mighty enough to be a king; and, may be, if the
-top of the dirt was taken off his dothes, we'd find him dressed like a
-gentleman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Arrah! Corney! now I look at him again, and that he's wiped his face, I
-think I know him.—You're welcome, sir,” says Luke to the stranger,
-who couldn't but hear what the piper had said, yet took no notice of it;
-“you're welcome, sir, to a poor man's place, and the best I've got, this
-bad night:—but don't I know you somewhere?—Then, if I did,
-what harm?”—continued Luke, seeing how the man drew himself up, and,
-putting on his airs, didn't condescend to answer what was said to him; “If
-I did know you, what harm?—and, faith! then, I do, Corney!” says he,
-turning to the piper; “sure you heard of one Andie Hogan, that got a mint
-o' money a'most, by selling little bonnets he made o' the paper they puts
-on the walls of fine houses, to the women and girls at pattams and fairs,
-far and near;—didn't you, Corney?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I did,” says Corney, with his mouth at the bull's-horn, “and how he
-advertised the fine fortune he'd give his lame daughter; and how, while he
-was making a great match for her, one Purcell, a bit of a tailor, away
-there at Dungarvan, ran off with her. Sure I've a story as long as from
-here till to-morrow, and two or three songs about them. Didn't ould Hogan
-make it up with Purcell, and lave him all he had? And didn't the tailor
-turn upstart when he'd got the money,—and wouldn't look on his own
-relations, but cocked his nose at them, and every body that used to know
-him, as though they were dirt?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well then, Corney,” says Luke; “and if you never saw him before, you can
-get a look at him now, for this is himself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! pullaloo! murther and horse-beans!” shouted Corney; “and is it with
-Purcell I've been riding?—No offence, sir,—and I beg pardon
-for being bould in the bog there;—but are you now, without a word of
-a lie,—are you the Mushroom?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope I'm not brought here to be insulted,” says the gentleman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well I but are you Mr. Purcell—or are you not? Is it you that's own
-cousin to that Thady Purcell, whose widow is married to Jack Forrester—ould
-Timberleg Toe-trap's club-footed son? Are you the Dungarvan tailor that
-snapped up Andie Hogan's lame daughter, or is Luke a liar?—Answer me
-that now, and there'll be an end of our talk.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I shall not remain here another minute,” says Purcell; for it was indeed
-himself—and Luke Fogarty had seen him at The Beg, dunning young
-Veogh, for money Pierce owed him, long before:—“I shall try if I
-can't get civility, at least, under another roof;” says he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Sure, I'm not uncivil,” says Corney; “or, if I was, I didn't intind it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then have done, fellow!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it 'fellow?—Well! calling me names don't break my bones, or I'd
-give you a poke with my toe, so I would; and there's not much harm in
-'fellow—I've been called more than that, without taking the trouble
-to put myself in a passion,—and why should I with you? Any how, I'll
-make up my mind to this:—you're one o' the wonders, ar'n't you?—I'm
-sure of it:—for you wouldn't so quietly hear yourself accused of
-being Andie Hogan's son-in-law, if it wasn't a true bill. Well, to be
-sure, I've had grate luck, one way and another:—I saw Lord Nelson,
-and the Giant's Causeway, and the Saltees, and Kilkenny coal, and the
-horse with two heads, and Mick Maguire's relation, that swore against the
-priest, and now I see the Mushroom!—what more could I wish?”
- </p>
-<p>
-By this time Luke had got out his best pair of yarn stockings, and the
-channel pumps, he made when he was a journeyman in Waterford, and the
-newest clothes he had, and insisted upon Purcell's laying aside his own
-for them: but the Mushroom, instead of minding him, whistled his dog, and
-seemed to be going. Corney, however, put his leg across the door, and Luke
-himself got a hold of Purcell by the coat, and swore he'd not let him
-budge a foot:—“Sure,” says he, “you wouldn't think of insulting me
-so in my own house! I couldn't let a dog go from under my roof such a
-night as this. If you lived but a stone's throw away, I'd be wrong if I'd
-let you stir: though they say you were the first that arrested Pierce
-Veogh, it matters but little to me. May be I like him; may be I don't: but
-if I'd give you a crack on the head for so doing—I won't say I would
-though, why should I?—but in case I would if I met you abroad in
-company, yet in my own house, coming into it as you do, I could not but
-make you welcome, you know. There's my own bed in the corner for you; and
-after supper I'll give you as much whiskey as you can carry into it from
-the place where you'll sit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Luke Fogarty now gently pushed the Mushroom back to a log o' wood that
-stood for a chair by the hearth, and began to unbutton his coat. But
-Purcell wouldn't demean himself so much as to have the likes o' Luke for a
-valet, and put on the stockings and pumps, which was all he'd accept,
-without any assistance.
-</p>
-<p>
-I won't tell you what was served up for supper, by Luke's sister, who was
-his housekeeper,—the wife being dead,—in the state cabin that
-night, for I didn't hear; and if I did, I forgot: neither, for the same
-good rason, will I say what songs the piper sung, or what tunes he played
-on his pipes, or how many piggins of whiskey was drained: but I know this—that
-Luke Fogarty reeled in his way to the place where he was going to sleep;
-and that he left Corney, with the pipes by his side, snoring away on the
-bare floor, with nothing upon him but what he could stand upright in,
-except a bit of a rug, that Rory, by way of a joke, had thrown on his
-wooden leg, to keep the end of it warm. As soon as Luke was gone, the
-Mushroom got into the bed that Corney had described to him, and bad as the
-accommodation was for one of his way of living, he soon fell fast asleep.
-Though he said nothing about what business brought him to The Beg that
-night, it was known, afterwards, that he was called there by letter, to
-receive whatever Pierce Veogh might then be in debt to him. And I must
-tell you, he wasn't among the creditors that had security on the land, or
-the house, or what was in it; but only on Pierce himself, who'd often been
-worried by him, and never could get clane out of his debt; for if he paid
-him to-day, Purcell would have something else due against him in a month.
-And to tell the truth, Pierce had so borrowed of Purcell—at short
-dates, and long dates, on bills and on bonds, and annuities, and I don't
-know what else,—that if you'd give Pierce the world he never could
-tell how the reckoning stood. It's been said by many too, that Purcell
-bought up many of Pierce's debts that was lying out against him, for a
-mere song; and contrived to keep him in constant fear, and afraid to shew
-his face near the place of his birth, if he wished it. And why so, you'll
-think? Why then, some people suspect, that Purcell had a mind to make up
-to the lady that bought The Beg, when it was sould by Pierce's creditors;
-and wished to keep him away from her; as he well knew, they'd once been in
-love, and now that she was a widow, he couldn't but fear that they might
-think of ould times, and renew the connexion. And it's true for him,
-Purcell might well think himself a match, as far as wealth went, for that
-lady, or any other: his wife died two years after he run off with her, and
-he'd so twisted and turned the money her dad gave him, and, though a rank
-rogue, had such luck, that he was ten times richer than Andie Hogan could
-ever expect to have seen his lame daughter's husband: but neither father
-nor daughter lived to see him in them days, when he held his head highest.
-</p>
-<p>
-Did you ever in your life awake and find a slip-knot tied round your great
-toe, and somebody pulling away for the bare life at the other end o' the
-cord, and you not able to see who your enemy was?—If you didn't
-you've missed what's a million times worse than the night-mare,—or a
-pair of cramps knitting the muscles into knots under each of your knees.
-If you didn't ever get that trick played on you, it won't be possible for
-you to imagine, or conceive, or picture to yourself, how matters stood
-with the Mushroom, when dawn broke on him, there where he lay, on the
-little louchaun bed, in Luke Fogarty's state cabin. It can't but occur to
-you though, that he'd no right to consider himself quite in paradise, when
-I tell you that he was awoke and dragged almost out over the foot of the
-bed, by an invisible something which operated upon his toe. He had felt
-two or three twitches before, but he wouldn't believe that any thing much
-was the matter, and thought he'd go to sleep again, and forget it.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/285s.jpg" alt="285s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/285.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/285m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-But the pull I spoke of wasn't to be bamboozled away so aisily: he
-couldn't but notice it—for he'd never felt any one thing in the
-world half so unpleasant before. And this wasn't all at the same time that
-he found himself maltreated in the toe, his ears were serenaded with a din
-so horrible, that he couldn't but think there was goblins about him! The
-first thing he did, was to throw the clothes from his face,—the pull
-having buried the head of him beneath them,—and then, naturally
-enough as you'll say, he looked down to the foot of the bed. It was just
-light enough for him to see what was the matter. He'd tied his dog Pompey,
-as he thought, to his wrist, by a bit of cord, so that the least motion of
-the animal might alarm him: but, lo and behold! the cord was now
-strangling his toe in a running-knot, and the poodle half hanging himself,
-by pulling away with all his might at the other end of it! There was the
-dog in a right line with the foot of the bed,—the eyes of him nearly
-starting out of his head,—yelping as well as the cord would let him,
-and looking, as though it was his own opinion he hadn't three minutes to
-live!
-</p>
-<p>
-The first thing Mr. Purcell thought of doing, was to coax the animal to
-come nearer, and by that means aise him; for his leg was pulled out so
-straight, that though he tried hard to get a clutch at the string, he
-couldn't. “Pompey! Pompey!” says he, “come here, you rogue!—Murder!—Whew!
-Whew! Poor fellow, then!—Bad luck to the dog!—What! Pompey,
-then!—Murder!”
- </p>
-<p>
-All this time Pompey wasn't idle: he'd got his master lower in the bed,
-and the Mushroom found all at once, something bristly scrubbing his foot.
-It was then for the first time, he perceived what was making part of the
-strange noise he heard,—and what it was too, that Pompey was
-strangling himself to get away from. Corney Carolan lay on the floor
-betuxt asleep and awake,—neither quite drunk, nor altogether sober,—blowing
-his bagpipes as though he'd burst them, but without producing such an
-effect as he'd predicted they would; for athwart midships, between the
-foot of the bed and Pompey, stood Ramilies the pig, bristling up the long
-hairs on her back, curling her tail nearly into a knot, gnashing her
-tusks, frothing away at the mouth, like a beer barrel that's in work at
-the bung-hole, and telling Pompey, as plainly as she well could, that she
-felt very indignant at his presence, but nevertheless quite willing and
-able to devour him. She had poked through a fresh-mended gap in the wall,
-to get at a basket of crabs, which Luke bought the night before; and there
-was the nineteen little ones, that she'd farrowed that day month,
-squeaking in chorus to her own grunt; and what with Pompey's yelping, and
-the piper's playing, and Purcell's exclamations, and the shouting and
-shrieking of Luke Fogarty's sister and seven children, who soon came
-running, just as they were, from their beds, and the noise of the cocks
-and hens, and the pinches the little pigs got from the claws of the big
-crabs that Ramilies had upset out of the basket, and which was now
-crawling about the floor, they ran over the bed, and under the bed, and
-raced about the place, just as if they were out o' their wits.
-</p>
-<p>
-All this noise couldn't go for nothing: the whole place was in arms;—Mick
-Maguire fired off his gun through a hole in the thatch, and Bat Boroo,
-flourishing his big stick, took Mick under his command; for he thought the
-French was landed, at the least,—and no blame to him.
-</p>
-<p>
-When the neighbours broke in Luke Fogarty's door, they found things going
-on nearly as I described just now. Corney was still blowing the pipes, and
-the Mushroom roaring, and young Rory Fogarty dancing about in great glee,
-with the black crock the peathees was boiled in on his head; and the
-little pigs racing about, and the cocks and hens cackling, and Ramilies
-preaching to Pompey. Luke Fogarty himself crawled from a corner where he'd
-been snoring, and putting the bull's-horn to his ear, before he could get
-his eyes open, says he, “Don't I hear a noise?” But a moment after, when
-he peeped through his sore lids, and saw what was going on, he grinned
-with glee; and putting the horn to his mouth, blew something so much like
-a charge on it, that Bat Boroo, who that moment came up to the door, faced
-about, and retreated in good order, but quick time, laving all the glory
-and danger to Mick, who didn't run for two rasons:—first, because he
-didn't notice Bat making away with himself; and next, because he knew
-nothing about the nature of a charge. So in he marched among the rest of
-the neighbours, with his gun, as usual, full cocked in his hand.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Shoot! shoot!” says the Mushroom, as soon as he caught a glimpse of Mick
-and “Shoot! shoot!” says the neighbours; “why not shoot at once, Mick!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Aisy! aisy! all of ye,” cried Mick; “aisy, and don't bother me! 'Shoot!
-shoot!' says you; but who'll I shoot?—Is it ould Ramilies or the
-dog?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The dog! the dog!' says the neighbours.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No!—the pig! the pig!” says Purcell.
-</p>
-<p>
-“See that, now!” cried Mick: “Wasn't I unlucky all my life? If I'd a
-double-barrelled gun, I'd oblige both parties at once, and then there'd be
-no quarrelling: but I hav'n't.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Just then, ould Malachi Roe made his appearance in his red night-cap, and
-having the handle of an ould hunting whip, with a brass hook and hammer at
-the end of it, by way of a weapon, in his hand: he wasn't a moment inside
-the door when, without saying a word, he pushed Rory Fogarty, who was
-laughing most furiously, plump against Ramilies, and taking a knife out of
-his pocket, cut the cord by which Pompey was tied to the toe of his
-master.
-</p>
-<p>
-Malachi had news too of Mr. Purcell's mare; and while the people still
-stood loitering about Luke Fogarty's door, and Corney was telling the
-Mushroom, that all his bad luck was owing to his carrying an umbrella on
-the bog of Saint Swithin, the mare was brought up by somebody—I
-forget who it was—that had caught her. You'd think, perhaps, that
-Purcell's pride might be brought down a little by what had befallen him:
-but no,—he strutted out of the cabin without condescending to say <i>be,
-haw</i>, or a civil word to any one; and rode off to The Beg—mushroom
-as he was—with his nose in the air, as though the ground wasn't good
-enough for him to look on.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/288s.jpg" alt="288s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/288.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/288m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE DILLOSK GIRL.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> 'm a bad hand at describing a beauty, but I'll try my best to give you an
-idea how Norah Cavanagh looked when she was twenty. The nose is a part of
-a woman's face that few people spake of in reckoning over her charms; but,
-in my mind, it's worthy of notice, as well as the eyes. Norah's nose was
-neither long nor short; too thick, nor otherwise; turned up nor down;—but
-just delicate, fine, and growing straight from her brow, in a way that it
-was beautiful to behould, but next akin to impossible to describe. There
-wasn't much colour in her cheek, but the lips made up for it: you may talk
-of cherries for a twelvemonth,—but there never was cherries so
-temptingly red as the lips of young Norah; and when she opened them, you
-saw two rows of teeth,—not so white as the inside of an oysther, but
-of a colour you loved better; for they was just exactly as a healthy and
-handsome young woman's should be;—and they sparkled and seemed to
-laugh, every one of them, when their owner did. Her eyes wasn't blue nor
-black; no, nor grey; nor hazel; but a mixture of all, and not a bit the
-less beautiful. When you gazed into them, they was like a picture; for
-there seemed to be a little view of some place in each of them. But this
-wasn't noticed at a distance; and it's few knew of it, but those who had
-dandled Norah when a child; for she kept the boys off when she grew up,
-and, if anything, was thought to value herself a little too much,
-considering she'd nothing. Norah's hair wasn't so white as to make her
-look silly:—it had a dash of light auburn upon the ends of the
-curls; and when the sun shone upon them, they had a gloss that dazzled the
-eyes of all the boys about. Was I but younger that time, I think I'd have
-been in love with little Norah myself;—and won her, perhaps, away
-from them all:—who knows?—
-</p>
-<p>
-Norah was as nate in her dress as she well could be,—with the little
-she got for the dillosk she gathered: and on a Sunday—faith! then,
-who but she!—She'd her stockings and shoes, and a clane cap, as well
-as the best to be seen at Mass. Miss Honor, and James Dingle's other two
-sisters,—next to the great lady at The Beg,—are the finest
-folks in these parts; for their aunt's a great farmer, by the
-two-mile-stone from this: and they would often be saying,—them
-curls, that came out in clusters under her cap, didn't become a
-Dillosk-girl; and tould her she'd have more friends, if she'd comb them
-back, smooth and sleek away behind her ears: but Norah said, she couldn't;
-for curl they would, whether she wished them or no. This wasn't believed
-by the young ladies; they couldn't credit that a Dillosk-girl's hair would
-curl up in that way, without as much time being spent about it, as there
-was upon their own long, black, horse-tail locks; and they said,—Norah
-Cavanagh had better be at her devotions (though they themselves wasn't
-Catholics) than to be wasting time twisting up her tresses to allure the
-young men at Mass. And after that, when Norah wint, for a day or two now
-and then, to help their aunt's maids at a busy time, and they got
-convinced, by living under the same roof with her, and watching her
-closely, that Nature was Norah's frizeur, they tould her, she ought to cut
-off her locks if she'd wish to look dacent and get respected. But though
-Norah wasn't obstinate in anything else, she was in this; and wouldn't do
-as they bid her. You'll say she ought, perhaps: but, faith! there's many
-things we ought to do, though we don't do them; and there's many a
-beggar-man's daughter wouldn't barter her hair for a silk bonnet if you
-doubt what I say, try two or three, and you'll see.
-</p>
-<p>
-Norah was little, but nate and well-made hasn't it ever struck you, that
-Nature often finishes off the little folks better than the big ones?—Whether
-it has or no matters but little; for if there never was another that was
-at once little and nate, Norah herself was; and even those that disliked
-her never denied it;—and she had her enemies, and not a few, I
-promise you. The girls hated her, for stealing away the boys' hearts from
-them all; and the boys, after a bit, wouldn't give her a good word,
-because she'd refused them.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now you'll think, after this, Norah got married to some great lord;—but
-she hadn't the luck. The fairest bird in the air gets caught for its
-plumage; while the owl, and birds like him, go through the world with
-little danger; and just so, beauty, that always adorns, too often
-destroys, them that has it:—but that you've heard before, no doubt,
-in them same or other words, and a great deal more, to the back of it,
-which I could spake, if I liked, but I won't. It will answer every
-purpose, I hope, if I say plainly, that it got whispered Norah had met
-with a misfortune. I won't tell you how the girls giggled at this; that's
-needless;—nor who it was that pretended to pity her, and tried to
-worm out of her who'd been the destruction of her,—but they
-couldn't:—that would be making a story that's too long already,
-longer than it is, wouldn't it?—so I won't. You'll be satisfied,
-and, may be, a little vexed, to know that, after a time, when Norah wint
-out to gather the dillosk, there was a baby at her back.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was a little thing,—very little,—not much bigger than a
-fairy; but quite strong and healthy, and as handsome as a mother need
-wish. It was a little picture of Norah, but not like any one else that
-ever was seen in these parts: so nobody could tell, by a feature or look,
-who had a call to it; and no power or persuasion could make No rah say
-whose it was. Mistress Doolan, that time, it was thought, used to follow
-Paddy, her husband, slily, when he wint out sometimes after dusk for
-anything, to see would he be going the way to little Norah's cabin; for
-it's said of her, she had some little suspicion,—or fear, may be,—that
-Pat might have been backsliding, and playing the same sort of trick that,
-at last and in the long run, brought him under the thumb. But she was
-disappointed intirely: for Pat never had the misfortune to turn the way
-she feared he would,—no, not even by chance.
-</p>
-<p>
-Norah got paler and much thinner, and her lips lost their colour, and her
-eyes sunk; but she was just as tidy as before, and held up her head
-bouldly, in spite of the sneers of her neighbours; so that the few
-half-friends she had left was obliged to confess she was a bit too
-barefaced. But, musha! then, was it a soul in the barony—that is,
-boy or man—that dared leer at her, or try to be upon terms with her
-that wasn't respectful?—Her nature was changed; and when she
-repulsed them that made up to her, it wasn't with scorn as before, but
-downright rage: indeed, at last, though she was mild with such as behaved
-themselves, a man might as well think of kissing a tigress as Norah.
-</p>
-<p>
-Big Jack Dax,—he that's my lady's steward at The Beg,—had a
-nephew, one Misther Millet, a small bit of a man, mighty puny and spruce,
-with a white face, and pimples on his chin, but no beard; you'd think a
-breath would blow him away; and about the time I'm spaking of, he came
-over from Liverpool,—where he was something of a clerk,—on a
-visit here to his uncle, for a couple of months,—to get his health,
-as you'd think if you looked at him;—but, as <i>he</i> said, to
-enjoy “the rude romantic beauties of the coast:”—them were his
-words. He wrote verses, and picked up bits of shells and sea-weed, and
-amused himself in ways sensible people wouldn't dream of. Some of us
-thought he was so-so in his senses; but his uncle said it was no such
-thing,—he was only a genius. Above all things in this world, what
-should small Misther Millet do, but attack little Norah, after meeting her
-two or three times, while he was poking about with a long stick, for
-shells, on the beach where she got her dillosk! He had heard of her
-misfortune, but didn't know of her deportment to them that attempted to
-bill and coo with her: so, one day, he struck up to her, quite confident
-of himself, and began to be familiar. But he got such a rebuff from the
-little Dillosk-woman, that he gave up shell-gathering, and took to digging
-for things in the hills, which, he said, was carried away there at the
-time of the great deluge; and just that day se'nnight after his talking to
-Norah, Misther Millet didn't come home to dinner,—no, nor supper;
-and all night they saw no sight of him,—though they sat up in hopes
-of his coming; wid, at last, big Jack Dax gave up his nephew as lost,—no
-one knew where. It happened rather unluckily for Misther Millet to mislay
-himself just then, for there was great goings-on at The Beg:—you'll
-hear, by-and-by, what they were about.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was Norah herself that poor Tommy Maloe offered to marry; and from
-that, and his doing her a good turn, and saying a kind word for her when
-he could, some of us thought it was he seduced her. But though he was a
-fine fellow, and well to do, she wouldn't listen to him. With that, we
-changed opinions again, and couldn't determine among ourselves, or in our
-own minds even, how to settle the question. And what bothered us more than
-all was, that though Norah said downright “nay” to his offers, it's often
-she begged him to take Bat Boroo's advice, and not go for a souldier:
-however, he wouldn't heed her. And when news came of his being killed
-abroad, Norah wint and wept with his poor father, and did all she could to
-comfort the childless ould crature in his sorrow.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now we'll go on:—As I tould you, no one could guess who Norah had
-been ruined by,—and we'd given it up, thinking time would tell us.
-She never missed passing my door at the turn of the tide, to go gathering
-the dillosk; and was always the last home,—working, as she did, till
-the flow again, and going back, step by step, before the rising waters,
-until they drove her dear off the shore. If industry's a virtue, Norah had
-it in perfection: and she didn't want, nor ever took bawbee that wasn't
-earned, from any man,—and that too, honestly.
-</p>
-<p>
-Away to the west, about a mile below my cabin, there's a ridge of rocks,
-which runs far out into the sea: that was Norah's favourite spot; for the
-dillosk was plenty there, and few frequented it. At low water, the very
-end of it stood high and dry; and I may say the same too, when the waters
-was half up, during the neap tides; for it rose above the rest of the
-ridge, and when the floods came, it was barely covered about two foot, or
-two foot and a half. We call it O'Connor's land-mark:—why, I don't
-know; but so it was called before I was born, or my father before me,—at
-least, so he said; and if I, that's his son, wouldn't credit him, who
-would?
-</p>
-<p>
-One morning,—it was the day after big Jack Dax lost his small
-nephew, as I tould you,—Norah wint away to the ridge, as usual, and
-laid down her child on the rock, with its face looking up to the heavens,
-and laughing at the clouds, as they sailed along in all sorts of forms.
-This she did daily while gathering the dillosk, for the baby loved to have
-the clouds for its playthings. It wasn't a fine lady's child, you know, or
-it couldn't sleep there upon O'Connor's land-mark, among the sea-weeds and
-so forth, without taking harm; but the place was natural to it: and Norah
-left Faddy Doolan's daughter to watch it, and look to it, and bring it to
-her if it 'woke and wanted anything; and then she began working. After a
-time, she had well nigh picked up as much as she could carry,—though
-she wasn't lucky that day, for the weed lay wide, and she was long
-gathering it, and some sad thoughts she had that morning didn't help to
-hurry her. At last, she turned back to get the baby and go home; and that
-moment she heard a shriek from Paddy Doolan's daughter, who had wandered
-away from the baby, picking the little fish out of the pools in the rock.
-It didn't seem more than a minute to Norah since she looked round, and saw
-the girl by her child; and she had heard her singing, up to the time when
-the shriek came; but more than a minute it must have been,—but it's
-true, little more would be enough; for between Paddy Doolan's daughter,
-and, of course, between Norah herself, who was more ashore, and O'Connor's
-land-mark, where the baby was sleeping, the sea had rose, and flowed over
-a dent, or steep descent, in the ridge, from the lowest part of which the
-rock rose up again quite abruptly, till it ended in the peak at the end.
-You know how fast the tide comes up sometimes just after the ebb,
-especially when the wind's with it; and you'll not be surprised to hear
-that, though poor Norah, distracted as she was, nearly flew over the
-ridge, yet as she was a full stone's throw off, or more, a couple of big
-waves had got in; and if it was fordable when Paddy Doolan's daughter
-shrieked, it wasn't so by the time Norah got to the water's edge.
-</p>
-<p>
-Now it's fit I should tell you, that the shriek Paddy Doolan's daughter
-gave, when she saw the water betuxt herself and the baby, wasn't a sound,
-if you heard it, you'd whistle at; it wasn't the scream of a young miss at
-seeing a cockroach:—it gave tidings of death, and spread dismay all
-over the ridge, and even beyond it, among the Dillosk-women that was
-there. Few of them but had children playing about, or picking up little
-bits of burthens of the weed,—them that was big enough,—near
-the ridge, and every one ran to the place whence the sound came. Three or
-four was much nearer than Norah, and cutting across to the place almost as
-quickly as herself,—none of them knowing but harm had happened their
-own,—they got to the brink of the water before her. When they saw
-whose baby it was on the ridge, they set up a wail, which, if possible,
-increased poor Norah's speed down the ridge. They felt as mothers,—all
-of them did,—and knowing well enough, by their own hearts, what the
-mother of the baby would do, they made ready to stop Norah as she came:—for
-swim, they knew she couldn't,—it was too late for wading, and if she
-bate through the incoming waves, the water was so deep in the middle, that
-drown she must. So they all threw their arms about her, and held her for a
-second; but the baby 'woke then, and its cry came to her ear. That gave
-her such sudden strength, that she broke away from them, and burst into
-the water. Just then, as luck would have it, an unbroken wave was rolling
-in; Norah met it in its full strength, and was dashed to the shore again;
-but it would have carried her back with it, hadn't ould Ileen, whom just
-got up to the place, rushed in, with Peg Dwyer and another woman,
-knee-deep, and clutched a hould of her, and kept her fast, in spite of her
-struggling, and telling them they were murderers, and calling down curses
-upon them in her agony. The child wailed again; and Norah, it's thought,
-would have escaped from them a second time; but Ileen as soon as she heard
-the baby begin, clenched her big fist, and, with one blow on the forehead,
-knocked poor Norah senseless into the arms of Peg Dwyer.
-</p>
-<p>
-There was a moment of silence, and every one cast an eye of reproach upon
-Heen, but no one durst utter a word. “Don't be looking so at me,” says
-she, to them; “wouldn't you suffer a little, any of ye, to save all?—Many's
-the fine fellow lost his life for want of less than Norah has got! Better
-a blow on the head, no matter how big the bump that comes after it,—better
-that, I say, than be drowned. You've seen a boy in a fit, and six couldn't
-hould him;—and could a fit, think you, give a boy more strength,
-than the cry of a child where that one is, would give to a mother that
-loves it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-All this while,—and it wasn't long,—Ileen was busy tying poor
-Norah hand and foot.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Oh! for young Paudrigg, now, or any one that could swim!” cried one of
-the women; “there's not a boy or a man,—no, nor a bit of a boat
-even, within sight. What will we do, Ileen?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“All of you join with me in a loud wail, children and all,” replied Heen;
-“may be, Jimmy Fitzgerald's boys, or some of the neighbours near him,
-isn't gone out, and may hear us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it a tide any of the fishermen would lose such weather as this, think
-you, Heen?” asked Peg Dwyer.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Who knows,” says Heen, “what good God may send us? One of them may be
-kept back to save that poor baby.”
- </p>
-<p>
-So then they set up such a wail, all of them, that it came to me here,
-where I was dozing; and if anything could have given me the use of my
-limbs, it would have been that. I tried to stir, but it was of no use:—so,
-without losing time, in making more efforts, I pulled open the door with
-my crutch, and hallooed, and cried “Murder!” five or six times, at the top
-of my voice. Ileen reckoned upon my doing that; for, as soon as the wail
-was over, says she, “If that does no good, nothing will;—if one of
-us ran off for help, before she got near any men and they got back again,
-the sea would be over the child; and the only chance we'd then have, would
-be in the wave that floated it bringing it ashore: but that's a poor hope;
-for every moment the tide drives us back, and leaves it farther away from
-us. But a scream travels faster than a bird. If no one else heard us,
-Jimmy Fitzgerald must; for he's always at home:—he's an ould sailor,
-and won't fail to repeat the signal of distress; it's sure to bring
-somebody to him, and he'll send every one that comes, away here to us:—so
-that we save the time of running as far as his cabin, by the wail; and
-there's hope yet the child won't be lost.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Within a minute or two after I'd done calling out, as I said, there came
-running in Mick Maguire, and Bat Boroo, and all the lazy-bones of the
-place: and after them followed Paddy Doolan, ould Malachi Roe, and a power
-more of landsmen, with women and children at their heels; but not a
-fisherman, good or bad, ould or young, was ashore. I tould them of the
-wail I'd heard from the Dillosk-women, and the point it bore from; and off
-they wint, one following another, as fast as they came in; and it wasn't
-long before all the place was in arms, and not a soul but me left in it,
-far or near.
-</p>
-<p>
-All this didn't take more than the time I'm telling it. Meanwhile Norah
-recovered: she was now so weak, that Ileen unbound her, but the women
-still kept a hould of her; and there they were—wailing about her,
-and she sitting on a stone, with her hands clasped, gazing at the waters,
-that were just rising towards the top of the land-mark, where the child,
-that had now cried itself asleep again, lay without knowing its danger.
-Now and then she turned her eyes along the shore to the men that were
-running down to the ridge as fast as they well could: though they were
-landsmen, there was more than one among them that could swim; and Norah,
-as well as the women about her, had rason to hope bad wouldn't be the end
-of it.
-</p>
-<p>
-A man tires, but the rising tide don't, and the waters still kept their
-pace; but the men slackened, and just as the foremost of them got up,—and
-that was Mick Maguire, out of breath, and who'd no heart, though his legs
-was the best,—just as he got up to the women, a great wave came in,
-and they all saw it a way off, for it was taller, and might be seen above
-those before it:—it came on slowly, but strongly; and instead of
-breaking and being divided in two by the land-mark, it swept in a full
-body above it, and Norah's baby was afloat!
-</p>
-<p>
-Just then, all set up a shriek; and it was answered by one they little
-expected: what was it but the scream of the great eagle himself, that came
-down from the clouds a'most, and gripped up the baby in his mighty claws!—so
-saving it from one death, for another that was more frightful, and that
-too, a thousand-fold! He didn't rise at once, but skimmed along the face
-of the sea for some time, so that the baby dipped in the tops of the
-waves, and scattered a foam round itself and the bird now and then; and it
-was thought he'd drop it more than once: but no,—he soon began to
-get higher and higher, and rose, at last, on his strong wings, above the
-cliffs themselves; and then, making a half circle, wheeled round, and wint
-over the heads of the women, right away to his nest in the mountain. And
-all that while, the women looked up silently, and them that was running
-along the beach stood still, and nobody, breathed; so that the flap of the
-eagle's wing was heard plainly, far as he was above them.
-</p>
-<p>
-It would have been well for poor Norah had she swooned off again; but she
-didn't. When the eagle was gone out of sight, the people turned to look at
-her; and there she was, standing on tip-toe, with arms stretched out, and
-her eyes fixed in the air, as though she still saw the bird and her baby,
-long after they had disappeared to every one else. No one spoke to her,—for
-what could they say in the way of comfort?—but as soon as they got
-over the shock of the sight a little,—and it was just as though they
-had all been stunned,—they began to ask one another if anything
-could be done.
-</p>
-<p>
-“There's but one hope in the world,” says Ileen, “and that's to scale the
-crag.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And who'll do it?” asked many, but nobody answered. Every one, who'd the
-heart, had tried before he was twenty, or betuxt that and twenty-five; but
-no one had ever succeeded. Many of them that was on the beach, had got
-terrible falls, and two of them broken limbs, in the attempt, and given it
-up as fruitless. Luke Fogarty was too ould, and Rory too young; Paddy
-Doolan hadn't the courage to try at twenty; and how could it be asked of
-him then that he was forty?—Mick Maguire wouldn't venture himself;
-but he'd go get his gun, and lend it to any one freely that would. One man
-pointed to his grey locks; another to his lame leg; and a third to his
-brats of little ones, and seemed to think, that it wouldn't be well of him
-to risk his life for another man's child, when he'd six or eight of his
-own dependent upon him. Bat Boroo flourished about his big stick, and said
-he'd scale the rock with all the pleasure in life, if it would do any
-good: “But where would be the use?” says he; “for by this time the poor
-child is torn to pieces; and if I reached the nest and conquered the
-eagles that's in it, I'd have nothing but the child's torn limbs to bring
-back.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I think,” says Malachi Roe,—the ould one, I mane; he didn't spake
-before, and hadn't been known for a long time to open his lips until a
-question was asked him;—“I think,” says he, “there's no fear of
-that. Daddy Gahagan, the shepherd, has been telling me, that one of his
-grandsons came to him 'while ago, with news of the eagle's mate having
-just carried off a lamb from the flock he tended. She'll get to the nest
-first with her prey; and there's a chance—what do I say?—it
-wouldn't be foolish to lay odds,—no harm comes to the child these
-two hours.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Every one stared, and wondered if it was indeed Malachi himself that spoke
-such a speech; they took it, however, for Gospel, and set up a shout: but
-Bat had turned on his heel, and didn't listen to it. Then all of them
-began to move off to the foot of the crag, but still nobody offered to
-venture.
-</p>
-<p>
-While they wint sorrowfully, but speedily, along,—as though getting
-near the place would do any good,—they met Misther James Dingle
-trotting towards them. Two or three—and Mick Maguire was among'em—had
-got a-head of the rest; and before they could speak, James Dingle pulled
-up his horse, and said to them,—“God save ye, boys! I've just seen
-the big eagle carrying off that in his claw, which I'm sure is a child, by
-the clothes. Whose it is, I haven't heard; he may have brought it miles;
-but I'll give any of you two sparkling yellow boys, that will climb the
-crag and get it down from him, dead or alive.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Upon this, Mick Maguire tould him the whole story, whose child it was, and
-how the eagle got it; and before he'd done, the whole cavalcade of them
-were round him, crying, “Oh! Misther James! what'll we do?” For, next to
-the Priest, and the lady at The Beg, every one looked up to young Dingle
-for advice in the day of distress. And such wailing and bothering there
-was about him, that he couldn't be heard for a minute and more: at last,
-Father Killala, who had joined the people, got silence for him. The colour
-had left his cheek, and his lips looked hard and dry; but he spoke out
-coolly and distinctly, and said, “Though we're tould that the crag has
-been climbed, and the eagle's nest reached, yet no one was ever known, or
-reported in tradition, to have got down from it again. Now, Malachi Roe,
-do you take my horse and ride off to the beach with the best speed you
-can, and bring a roll of cord back with you, and ropes, if you can get
-them: but bring the cord away at once, if there's any delay with the
-ropes; for they may be got after. I'd go for it, but I wouldn't make
-myself a bit more fatigued than I now am, for that's need-less; and while
-you're gone, I'll be getting ready. Should I reach the nest, I can lower
-the child to you, if I never come back myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And is it you that's going, sir?” says Mick Maguire.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It is, Mick,” he answered; “no one else will, and so I suppose I must.”
- </p>
-<p>
-And then all of them, that a minute before was dying to meet with any one
-that would go, began moaning in an under tone, and seemed sorry, and half
-inclined to persuade James Dingle not to make the attempt. One fellow
-muttered—and it wasn't well of him—“A man's life is worth more
-than a child's.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't know that,” said James Dingle; “and what if it was?—We were
-all children once, and not able to help ourselves; but there was then men
-about, who had strength given them to protect us. Now we're men, we ought
-to do by the children, the same that others, whose heads lie low, did for
-us,—or would have done for us, if need was,—when we were
-babies.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Dingle,” said Father Killala, coming up to him, “we can but ill
-afford to lose you:—I'd rather another wint who had a heart and body
-equal to your own; but as no one else offers, go, and God bless you!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Dingle shook the ould man's hand, and wint on towards the mountain, with
-all the people following him, and praying blessings on his head.
-</p>
-<p>
-Malachi Roe this while was far on his way to the fishermen's cabins: he
-wasn't a man to lose time, or spare horse-flesh when need was; so he came
-galloping down like a racer, and got back again, with all that was wanted
-with him, long before he was expected by any but James Dingle, who knew
-what Malachi was, and what his own horse could do; and, besides that, was
-impatient to begin. While he was gone, Luke Fogarty, and two or three more
-that had tried to get at the nest, gave Dingle what advice they could, how
-to avoid the mishaps they'd met with. Bat Boroo lent him his stick, and
-offered him a few short instructions in the way of attack and defence with
-it. But James Dingle silenced him, by saying,—“Bat Boroo, I thank
-you, but a shillala isn't a broad sword. I've been fool enough to carry a
-twig to a fair with me, when I was younger and wilder than I've been these
-seven years past: it was said I knew how to use it then; and though I've
-had no practice since, I don't think I've forgot which way to flourish it
-best.”
- </p>
-<p>
-And sure enough there was few that ever could stand up long to James
-Dingle before he got steady, even while only a stripling. In this place,
-if I'd a mind to do it, I might keep playing with your feelings, and tell
-you how young Dingle parted from the people, and what they thought and
-said, while he was climbing; and how one minute they had rason to hope,
-and the next to fear for him:—but I won't do this, for you may
-imagine it all without any word of mine. I'll come to the point at once:—it
-was long before James made much way; for the lowest part of the peak was
-the worst; and when he got higher, he had often to crawl along the ledges
-a great way to find resting-places above for his feet: but he got on
-better than he did at the beginning; and after being often lost sight of,
-behind the pieces of rock that shot up like towers, he appeared again in
-places where he wasn't expected; and in less than an hour, the people
-below saw him in the branches of the tree, behind which it was known the
-eagle's aërie was built. Even then he hadn't done his work:—but
-you'll hear how he got on.
-</p>
-<p>
-The eagle's nest rested partly on the tree I spoke of, which grew out of a
-crevice of the rock, and partly on the floor of a natural cave: it was
-made of big sticks, and among them was many a white bone of bird and
-beast, that had served the eagles for prey, years and years before. James
-Dingle put aside the branches, quietly as he could, and in no small
-trepidation, to see what was doing, before he got in:—and he did
-right, I think; for look before you leap, is a saying that has sense in
-it, especially when you're going to get into an eagle's nest. So far, all
-went well; but no sooner had he put his head through the leaves, than he
-saw a sight that struck him motionless!—Most men have been amazed
-some time or other; but there never was a man so amazed as James Dingle
-was. At one corner of the little hollow in the rock,—making himself
-look less than he was,—who do you think sat then but small Misther
-Millet?—Misther Millet himself, whiter than the wall,—who had
-been lost since the day before, as I tould you,—shivering like a
-mouse within reach of the claws of a cat, with both the eagles opposite,
-on the brink of the nest, staring at the crature, and seeming to wonder
-what he was at, and how he got there!—There was two young eagles in
-the nest full-fledged, and looking mighty frightened at their new friend,
-Misther Millet. The lamb wasn't touched, though killed; and by its side
-lay the child, with one of the young eagles' wings over the little
-darling's face. It seemed as though the birds had all been afraid to begin
-their meal, with Millet where he was, and hadn't yet made up their minds
-how to get rid of him. I may as well tell you now, as by-and-by, how he
-came there, for I dare say you'd like to know.—
-</p>
-<p>
-Well, then, the little man, by his own story, had wandered away the day
-before, an hour after breakfast, to fetch a romantic walk among the hills,
-and gather pebbles, and catch butterflies, and draw trees, and make
-poetry, and do them things he was fond of: but by the time his stomach
-tould him it was getting on fast for dinner-time, he made a discovery that
-wasn't singular, considering what he'd been at, and which way he wint.
-You'll guess he lost his way,—and so he did; and every step he took
-made matters worse. Night came upon him, in a place where he could see
-nothing but a few rocks and wild shrubs about, and the sky speckled with
-stars above him. He chose out the clanest and softest bed he could, took
-off his coat and turned it inside out; then putting it on again, he lay
-down, and to his own great surprise soon found himself falling asleep. He
-had no bad dreams from indigestion that night, you may be sure; but he
-didn't wake very well in the morning, for all that. At day-break, he began
-walking again; and, in about an hour's time, upon looking through a few
-bushes, he got sight of a hole in the rock, which had light at the other
-end of it. He crawled in upon all-fours, and soon found himself
-cheek-by-jowl with a pair of young eagles!
-</p>
-<p>
-Now we knew, from tradition, that there certainly was a long, but not a
-difficult way to the eagle's nest, through the hills; but though many had
-tried that was born and bred near them, none could ever find it out; and
-then comes Misther Millet, piping hot from a Liverpool 'counting-house,
-and discovers it without trying, and much against his own will, to boot!—His
-wonder wasn't well over, before home came the great hen-eagle, with a
-lamb; and from that time, he didn't dare stir; for she never ceased eyeing
-him, as though she was only waiting until he made a move, to dart at his
-face. By-and-by, home came her mate too; and the sight of him didn't make
-Misther Millet feel a morsel more aisy, I take lave to suppose; especially
-when he saw that the bird had a child in its clutch:—and there sat
-the little man, half dead with hunger, and cold, and fear, when James
-Dingle looked in upon him.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was then only, that the birds appeared to know of the approach of
-another intruder: they stretched forth their wide wings, and each of them,
-at the same moment, seized the lamb with one foot, and stood fluttering on
-the other, at the edge of the nest. Dingle reached out his left hand and
-dragged the child to him; and with his right, before you'd breathe, struck
-the bird that was nearest him—it was the cock—a blow on the
-head, with Bat Boroo's oaken cudgel, that knocked him over the edge of the
-nest; and down he fell, in a way that made those below think he was
-killed; but after falling many yards, he fluttered his wings, and soon
-recovered enough to fly to a resting-place. The hen, at the moment her
-mate got the blow, screamed so that the rocks rung with it, and got upon
-the wing. She wheeled round in the air, and rose, to all appearance, for
-the purpose of making a terrible stoop upon her enemy. There wasn't any
-time to be lost:—James Dingle pushed both the young eagles out of
-the nest; they were able to keep themselves up; and the ould hen, instead
-of making a descent upon James, altered her course, flew towards her
-young, and kept close to them, until they had reached, and were safe
-perched upon, the point of one of the peaks, that grew up by the side of
-the crag.
-</p>
-<p>
-While this was doing, Dingle got into the nest, bid Millet crawl back
-through the hole with the child, and in a short time followed. He had made
-up his mind to explore his way through the hills; for, thinks he, Misther
-Millet never could have got here, if the road's difficult; unless, indeed,
-the eagles carried him up; but that's not likely:—so I'll try; and
-it's odd, from this height, if I can't discover the way down, whatever may
-be said of its being impossible. The hen-eagle, too, kept hovering about,
-and would, no doubt, soon be joined by her mate; and—do you mark?—if
-he pulled up the rope by the cord he had, and let down the baby, the great
-chance was, whether one of the ould birds—to say nothing of the fear
-he had of its getting hurt against the rocks,—wouldn't pounce upon
-and destroy it, as it swung mid-way in the air. So he determined to try
-his luck, and began descending. Misther Millet amused him by his story as
-they wint: but the gentleman couldn't remember one inch of the way he
-came; and if Norah Cavanagh's child hadn't been carried off the way I
-tould you, Jack Dax would have lost a nephew, and the world Misther
-Millet: for I can't but think he'd have died somewhere about the hills, or
-been killed by the eagles; and so, one way or other, met with the same
-fate as the boy did that was seen in the nest long ago, and never got
-back.
-</p>
-<p>
-When the people below saw that James Dingle waved his stick triumphantly,—as
-he did before he left the nest,—and had disappeared for some time,
-though the eagles hadn't harmed him, they reminded one another of the way
-to the crag over the hills, and thought he was trying to find it. And when
-they asked Malachi Roe, he made a speech again,—that is, a speech
-for the likes of such a one as him:—says he, “I've no doubt but he
-is; he'd be a fool if he didn't; for look at the eagles above, between
-this and the nest.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“True,” says Mick Maguire; “that didn't occur to us, whin he wint up. Any
-how, he might have killed them both,—and then there'd be no danger
-in letting down the baby,—he might have done that, if he'd taken my
-gun. And I'm thinking that Bat Boroo's stick—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What's your opinion, Malachi?” said Father Killala, interrupting Mick;—and
-it's the only fault he has: for he'd never hear one of my stories half
-through, without asking two or three hundred questions; and then, may be,
-he'd go off in the middle of it. But he's a fine man, and that's his only
-fault, or, I'd rather say, it's a way he has that's not pleasant to some
-people, though Mick didn't mind it. “What's your opinion, Malachi?” says
-Father Killala; “do you think James Dingle will find his way back?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“With the blessing of Providence, I've no doubt of it,” replied Malachi;—“no
-one ever came back from it yet, it's true; but there never was such a man
-as James Dingle got into the nest before.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He knows the country as well as any one here, I suppose,” observed the
-Priest.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Better, Father Killala,” said Malachi.
-</p>
-<p>
-With this, most of the people came back, bringing poor Norah with them;
-and she was comforted in a great degree. Still she'd terrible fears, and a
-multitude of bad fancies; but every one strove to console her: those who
-wouldn't spake to her before, wept for her now; and Norah Cavanagh was
-grateful to them for it. A few watched the crag; but most of the people,
-as I said, came away: and they might be seen hanging together in knots
-about the place, doing nothing the rest of the morning but watch in hopes
-of seeing James Dingle appear. Some wint up among the hills to scout for
-him; though that wasn't much use, for nobody knew which way he'd come
-back.
-</p>
-<p>
-Hours and hours passed on, but still no news of James Dingle! And his
-aunt, who heard of what had been done, was almost frantic at the foot of
-the hill, beyond The Beg. It was long she waited, and often she looked up
-the crags, but still there was no sign of her nephew:—it was past
-mid-day, and all the people got round her, and every body began to despair
-but Malachi.
-</p>
-<p>
-At last two men was seen coming down from above; and who should they be,
-as you'll guess, but James Dingle and small Misther Millet! Young Dingle
-had Norah Cavanagh's child in his arms, and Millet was helping himself on
-as well as he could by Bat Boroo's big stick.
-</p>
-<p>
-I won't describe what big Jack Dax,—who was there,—said on
-seeing his nephew again; I'll rather take up your time by telling you what
-a better man, and that's Father Killala, did:—though Misther Dax is
-a good soul, and much liked; but, of course, not to be mentioned with the
-Priest. And the truth is, big Jack Dax didn't waste much time in words
-but, with little or no ceremony, hoisted his poor worn-out little nephew
-on his own broad shoulders, and so hoiked him off home to The Beg. It was
-himself—I mane the Priest,—that took the child out of James
-Dingle's arms, and when he'd seen it was alive and well, he motioned all
-the people about him to be silent: then, turning to young Dingle, he said,
-in a tone that those who heard it won't soon forget, “James Dingle, you're
-the father of this child!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Every soul stood amazed, and nobody spoke but Dingle himself. “What makes
-you say so, sir?” said he.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What?” exclaimed Father Killala: “what but that we've all witnessed
-to-day?—Your humanity made you offer money to any one that would
-scale the crag, when you merely knew that a child had been carried off by
-the eagle; but as soon as you heard the child was Norah Cavanagh's, you
-prepared to go yourself. None but the father of this babe would have
-ventured as much for it as you have to-day;—you are that father,
-James Dingle. In the face of Heaven above us,—before your
-countrymen,—in the sight of that lost young woman,—and with
-this unhappy being on your bosom,”—and he placed the child in young
-Dingle's arms as he spoke,—“with this in your bosom, you cannot—dare
-not deny it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't deny it, Father Killala,” replied James Dingle.
-</p>
-<p>
-It's said the Priest himself looked a little surprised at this; but he
-wint on:—“Then, Mr. Dingle, as you're a man, I trust it's your
-intention to follow up this great day's work, by doing right to her that
-you've wronged.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He never wronged me, Father Killala,—blessings on him!” said Norah
-Cavanagh.
-</p>
-<p>
-Well! how all this would end, no soul could guess. The good Priest looked
-more astonished than before, and not a little angry at Norah. “And are you
-so lost to shame,” said he to her—“has vice made you so abandoned—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“She never was lost to shame, and don't know vice;” interrupted James
-Dingle, rather warmly: “I'll uphould her to be as pure and virtuous as any
-here.”
- </p>
-<p>
-James Dingle's aunt, who had stood mute with amazement all this time, now
-broke silence. “What's all this I hear?” exclaimed she:—“Why, he'll
-say next she's an honest man's wife, and himself her husband.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's just how it is, aunt,” replied James.
-</p>
-<p>
-Without repeating more of that part of their discourse, word for word, I
-may as well tell you, that Dingle owned to his enraged aunt, he'd married
-Norah secretly, under a promise of getting the aunt's forgiveness within a
-month or so; but as Norah was a Catholic, and the Dingles were
-Protestants, and the ould woman herself was as proud as them that was her
-betters, and so adverse to a Catholic for her nephew's wife, that she'd as
-soon have done any thing as agree to such a thing;—as, I say, all
-this was the case,—and James should have thought of it before,
-shouldn't he?—though his heart was a stout one, he hadn't the
-courage to mention his marriage to her. When his wife—for so I'll
-call her now—found he broke his promise, and wouldn't save her from
-the shame that was fast coming upon her, she resolutely refused to have
-any—even the slightest—communication with him, and scorned to
-accept the smallest mite of assistance from his hand: but worked hard and
-supported herself, and by-and-by her baby too;—bowing, down before
-her bad luck, and taking it as a penance for doing wrong, as she had, by
-such a marriage; but under all, trusting to Providence for better days.
-</p>
-<p>
-James Dingle freely confessed how bad he'd acted; and Norah repeated over
-and over, it wasn't his wish she should work as she had;—but she
-would. The only excuse he could make was, the situation of his sisters;
-who, as every one knew, like himself, were quite dependent on his aunt for
-support. “And though,” says he, “I'm strong and able, and could well keep
-them by the sweat of my brow, they'd break their hearts in a month, after
-being brought up the way they have; and I was sure my aunt would turn them
-out, the day I owned to marrying Norah. But that's but a poor plea for me:—I
-should have looked to my wife first;—I feel it here!” says he,
-striking his breast, “I'm a good-for-nothing scoundrel, and them that
-doesn't despise me is a'most as bad as myself. I made up my mind how I'd
-act, coming down the crags, with the child smiling up like an angel of
-goodness in my face, and so telling me, in that mute way, to repent and do
-right, without more delay. I determined on this, before Father Killala
-spoke to me;—believe it or no, which way you please.—Norah,
-I'll go home with you, and in your own little cabin ask your forgiveness;
-next, I'll beg that of my sisters, who, I suppose, will be sent to me at
-once;—I begged it from above long ago. Aunt, after the poor return
-I've made to you for all you did for me and mine before now, it's useless
-to ask grace of you for myself, I suppose; but my knees wouldn't be stiff,
-if I thought I could, by entreating, obtain a continuance of your bounty
-to them who hav'n't offended you;—of course, I mane my sisters.
-Whether or no, aunt, I'll always be grateful; and do as you will, I'll not
-repine.”
- </p>
-<p>
-But James Dingle's aunt didn't mind what her nephew said, and wouldn't
-even listen to Father Killala, but raved and stormed with such violence,
-that every one thought her passion must soon blow over; but the more she
-blustered, the better she seemed to be for it. Bat Boroo got his big stick
-and retired to the rear, seemingly a little frightened or so; Duck Davie
-rubbed the palms of his hands together, and felt delighted to see the ould
-lady in such a pucker,—no doubt he did; Mick Maguire stood leaning
-upon the muzzle of his gun, staring with wonder at her chin going up and
-down at such a rate; and Luke Fogarty poked his bull's horn as near as he
-well could to her mouth, to pick up as much of her discourse as his
-deafness would let him.
-</p>
-<p>
-At last, as all things must have an end, young Dingle's aunt stopped
-talking; but without being a bit more contented than when she began. Just
-then, little Norah knelt down before her, and with tears in her eyes
-asked, would she forgive her nephew, if she (Norah) left the place for
-everwith her baby, and wint away to such parts, that none who knew her
-should ever see sight of her more.
-</p>
-<p>
-But James Dingle and Ileen stepped up to the little Dillosk-woman as soon
-as the words were out of her mouth; and one at one side, and one at the
-other, they raised her up.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I can't agree to that,” says James Dingle.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No; nor I,—nor any woman here,” says Ileen.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I don't reproach you, Norah,” continued James, “for offering to leave me;—but
-I won't allow it. It's now, perhaps for the first time, I feel how very
-dear you are to me. I'll give up all for you,—all, Norah; and it's
-much I shall be in your debt even then.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The whole that I've to say about the matter, Mrs. Dingle, is this,” quoth
-Ileen; “you've no right to look down upon Norah though she's poor and a
-Catholic, bekase you're rich and a Protestant: for you were poor yourself,
-before your husband, that's dead, turned tithe-proctor; and your own uncle
-is now Coadjutor to the Parish-Priest of Ballydalough. There's not one
-belonging to you can say his grandfather ever had two chimneys to his
-house, or more than would buy a day's dinner in his pocket:—that I
-needn't tell you though, for you know it well enough, Mrs. Dingle. The
-buttermilk blood will shew itself; but you sha'n't trample upon Norah
-Cavanagh, while I, that's her own mother's second cousin, can get within a
-mile of her. She comes of a good family, Mrs. Dingle, and if you won't be
-a mother to her, I will!—I couldn't look upon her while every one
-had a right to think she'd disgraced herself; but now she's proved to be
-what she ought, I restore her to my heart.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! why not be good humoured thin at once?” says Mick Maguire to the
-aunt; “make no more wry faces at the pill; but, though it's bitter,
-swallow it at once: why not thin, eh?—and don't be a fool!—If
-you make any more noise about it, I'll fire away all the powder I have to
-drown your voice.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll not have my aunt insulted, Mick,” says James Dingle: “neither by
-you, nor any one:—and I'd be better pleased with Heen had she said
-less.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm not one for asking lave what I shall say, before I spake, or begging
-pardon for what I've spoke, James Dingle;” replied Ileen.
-</p>
-<p>
-“That's true,” observed her husband, ould Malachi Roe, in a remarkably
-positive tone.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mrs. Dingle seemed to have a mind to begin again, when who should walk up
-to the place where the people were standing, but my lady from The Beg,
-leaning upon the arm of Pierce Veogh!—Mick Maguire let off his gun
-for joy at the sight; the piper played a merry jig; Father Killala and
-James Dingle shook hands with Pierce, and welcomed him heartily; and
-almost every body felt delighted: for Pierce, with all his faults, was
-much loved for many things;—chiefly, though, because he was born
-among us, and had been unfortunate.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Thank God!” says he, as soon as he was let speak; “Thank God! I'm here
-among my people once more; and able to stand a free man on my own ground
-again. For clearing me of all my miseries,—for recalling me to the
-right path,—for restoring me to the house of my forefathers,—I
-am indebted to my wife.” The beautiful lady who still kept her arm in his,
-blushed, and held down her head, as he spoke these words. “My last
-creditor,” continued Pierce, “that rascally mushroom, Mick Purcell, was
-forced to give me a full acquittance this morning; an hour after that we
-were married: but it's only since Mr. Dax returned to The Beg with his
-nephew, that I heard what had happened; and it grieves me to find any one
-about me wretched at such a time as this. Mrs. Dingle, I don't like to
-boast of my few good deeds; but, I believe, on one occasion, I had it in
-my power to grant you an important favour;—did I refuse?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Mrs. Dingle burst into tears, but made no reply.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I understand you object to your nephew's choice, little Norah here,
-because she's a Catholic. My wife,” continued Pierce, “was a Protestant;
-I, as you know, am not: but, with her, the difference of our creeds was no
-bar to our union.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Well—as I often say—to make a long story short, at last and in
-the long run, what with Father Killala's preaching, and Pierce Veogh's
-entreating, and his beautiful lady's winning smiles, and the tears of
-proud little Norah, James Dingle's aunt agreed to make it up with her
-nephew. Instead of going home with Norah that night to her own little mud
-cabin, he took her away to his aunt's house; and she has ever since lived
-upon good terms with the ould woman, and her nieces to boot.
-</p>
-<p>
-Pierce Veogh had intended to have made no noise about his wedding that
-day; but to have kept open house at The Beg, from the next morning, for a
-whole week. However, as he'd shewn himself to the people, and reconciled
-his richest tenant to the marriage of her nephew with one of the poorest
-on the whole domain,—though there never was a better, except my
-lady, and few so good, upon it as little Norah,—he couldn't but ask
-every body to come home with him and make merry a little.
-</p>
-<p>
-And it's merry enough they made themselves, as I can bear witness, for I
-was among them. They couldn't well get on without me; so Mick Maguire, and
-Bat Boroo, with Corney Carolan, and a whole fratarnity of them, came down
-to fetch me up to The Beg in pomp. But, bad luck to them!—they would
-have broke my neck if I hadn't a little thought for myself; for they'd a
-cup of the crature inside them before they started, and what should they
-propose but to knock out the head of a large empty cask that had been
-washed ashore close to my cabin that day week, and, as I couldn't walk, to
-roll me in it, over and over, right up to The Beg! This, of course, I
-couldn't allow; but, as there was no other vahicle to be had, I consented,—if
-they'd born square holes through the two ends of the cask, and get a pole
-to fit them,—to bestride it. So they did as I hinted, and away I
-wint, with the piper playing before me, and two or three o' them, under
-Bat Boroo's command, carrying me, straight off to The Beg; where I emptied
-so many piggins o' pothien to the health of my neighbours, that I know no
-more how or when I got home, than the man in the moon.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/309s.jpg" alt="309s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/309.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/309m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<br /><br /> <br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/310s.jpg" alt="310s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/310.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/310m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THIRD COURSE: MY COUSIN'S CLIENTS.
-</h2>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/312s.jpg" alt="312s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/312.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/312m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_INTR3" id="link2H_INTR3"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-INTRODUCTION.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s executor to my cousin, an attorney who had resided for upwards of
-thirty years in old Fumival's Inn, it became my duty to look over a
-quantity of his papers, in order to elucidate some important transactions,
-to which he had alluded in his will. The mass of documents was too weighty
-to admit of a removal; and, for some time after his decease, a variety of
-circumstances prevented me from devoting a morning to their examination at
-his chambers. At length, the feast of St. Swithin arrived:—the
-morning was ushered in, as is usually the case, with low and gloomy
-clouds; and at noon, a heavy shower, of several hours' duration, began to
-fall. The rain compelled me to abandon the business which I had intended
-to have done that day, and nothing of interest pressed for my attention at
-home. I lost an hour in going, alternately, to every window of the house;
-and, at the expiration of that time, as no symptoms of a change were
-perceptible,—Furnival's Inn being not far distant,—I resolved
-on passing the remainder of the morning at my late lamented cousin's
-chambers. So little inclination, however, had I for my task, that I should
-scarcely have had courage enough to sally forth in the rain, had I not
-felt a strong presentiment of an approaching visit from two respectable,
-but very prosing old ladies,—the poppies of every party in which
-they appeared,—who invariably took advantage of very wet days, to
-visit such of their acquaintance as were frequently from home; because, as
-they said, with some truth, scarcely any one was then out but themselves.
-Under a laudable fear of the heavy influence which these respectable old
-gentlewomen would have on my spirits, during such a remarkably dull day,
-and knowing, from past experience, that when they came, they usually
-stayed to dine, I glode forth, “like sparkle out of brode,” without saying
-a word to any body; took a hearty lunch at a coffee-house; hurried towards
-Furnival's Inn; and, at five o'clock, was jocosely reported, to the two
-old ladies whose visit I had anticipated, as being, notwithstanding the
-wetness of the day, “absent without leave.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/313s.jpg" alt="313s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/313.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/313m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-ADAM BURDOCK.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>lthough a very plodding man of business, during the summer and autumn of
-his life, my cousin Adam had been rather wayward in his youth. After the
-completion of his articles of clerkship, in the office of an eminent firm
-in the Temple, he oscillated, for several months, between Mount Parnassus
-and the Temple of Justice. During that period, he made out a <i>catalogue
-raisonné</i> of above three hundred authors,—most of them men of
-considerable eminence,—who had deserted law for literature; and my
-cousin Adam would, perhaps, have followed their example, had not a young
-lady whom he loved,—and of whose taste and judgment he entertained a
-very high opinion,—treated a copy of verses, composed by him in her
-praise, and which he considered his poetical <i>chef-d'ouvre</i>, not
-merely with coolness, but positive contempt. Her sneers at his rhapsody
-were so galling, that he set his face for ever against love and
-literature,—lived an attorney, and died a bachelor.
-</p>
-<p>
-A good hand at making out bills of costs is an invaluable acquisition to a
-legal practitioner; a superior statement of charges being, in fact, a
-concise but clear history, subdivided into items, of the suit to which it
-refers. Adam Burdock's attendance books were masterly performances in this
-respect: almost every action, or legal affair, was, as I discovered during
-my examination of his papers, an interesting little romance; and there
-appeared to be much of that quality which is, by many modern writers,
-termed poetry, in the law. My cousin's bills frequently contained moral,
-as well as pecuniary charges against his clients: for the sake of being
-explicit, he was evidently compelled, on many occasions, to envelop an
-accusation in a formal debit. All attornies, as I have since been told,
-labour, more or less, under this disadvantage: a man acts wisely,
-therefore, in keeping his legal adviser's bill “aloof from public eye;” it
-is often a record of follies and offences, for which, perhaps, after they
-are passed, he blushes and repents. A precise, old-fashioned solicitor's
-ledger would form a capital volume for the study of human nature: the
-characters of his clients, their whims, their frailties and their sins,
-are accurately unfolded in its pages; the sources and consequences of
-events may therein, without difficulty, be traced; the gradations of a
-spendthrift, from opulence to penury, are finely marked by the progressive
-<i>venues</i> from Bond Street to the Bench, in which the attendances
-against him are laid; and a wholesome moral may, very often, be found in
-the concluding items of a lawyer's bill.
-</p>
-<p>
-My cousin Adam's draft sketches of costs, the elaborate marginal memoranda
-which he had made on them, apparently, for his own amusement,—being,
-perhaps, under the influence of the <i>cacoethes</i> which, in his younger
-days, he had “scotch'd, not kill'd,”—and the documents to which such
-sketches and memoranda referred, afforded data for the following tales.
-Should they prove deficient in interest to the reader, I must either have
-erred in selecting, or failed in narrating them; for many of my cousin's
-papers, and especially his briefs, were to me such amusing details of
-matters of fact, that, for the first time in my life, I heartily enjoyed a
-wet Saint Swithin's day.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/315s.jpg" alt="315s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/315.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/315m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE MATHEMATICIAN.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> glorious morning, Hassell,” said a spruce middle-aged man, as he walked
-up one side of the old square of Furnival's Inn, with a small valise under
-his arm, to a short, pale, elderly gentleman, who was listlessly
-strolling, in a morning gown, slippers, and velvet cap, on the opposite
-pathway, and in a contrary direction;—“a glorious morning as ever
-was seen,—bright—clear—but by no means sultry:—an
-excellent morning, I protest, and just to my taste.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, sir,” replied the pale old gentleman, “I must say it's fine country
-weather; and, I dare swear, delightful to you, who are just on the brink
-of quitting the miserable metropolis until the morrow of All Souls.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, no,” interrupted the first speaker, in a brisk tone; “I shall only be
-away a month; Trout and Thomas is appointed at bar early in the term, and
-I must be home after the first three days of pheasant shooting to marshal
-my evidence. I've a <i>subpoena duces tecum</i> to produce the papers in
-Wagstaff's commission at the Cornwall assizes;—<i>that</i> carries
-me clear to Bodmin: and I'm going on a visit to an old client, who lives
-but eleven miles further; so that the costs out of pocket of my autumnal
-rustication, this year, will be but a flea-bite.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! thou'rt a fortunate fellow,” said Hassell, with a sigh; “here have I
-been tied by the leg, ever since Trinity term, with annoyances growing out
-of Joshua Kesterton's will; and fine weather makes me rabid, because I
-can't go into the country to enjoy it. Adam Burdock and I will now be the
-only two principals left in the Inn, except bed-ridden Bailey and poor mad
-Royston.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Burdock does not ruralize, I believe.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not he: and if he had a mind so to do, he couldn't just now; for he's
-shackled with the same case as myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But can't you meet each other half-way, and close it at once?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Impossible:—it's such an Augean stable, that a regiment of
-attornies, with a legal Hercules at their head, could not do the needful
-in a night. We can't get at the facts,—at least we could not until
-within these few days; and the results of our investigations are so
-unexpected and staggering, that Adam and I,—and, indeed, all parties
-concerned,—are well nigh paralysed. Such a case has not come under
-my cognizance for years: if you were not in such a hurry I'd surprise
-you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm not pressed,—not at all. I share a chaise with another witness
-who picks me up in his way from the city; so I have only to keep my eye on
-the gates:—pray step across.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, hang it! the sun shines there; see how it exposes the clefts and
-time-worn face of the building, so that the entire side of the Inn looks
-as though it were in the last stage of decrepitude: it even makes <i>you</i>
-look ten years older than you say you are, friend Waters. An elderly man
-should always walk in the shade.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What whims and fancies!” said Waters, stepping lightly across the square.
-“You're the strangest fellow!—but come, your case, in a few words.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thus it is with us, then excuse me, but even in the shade you look really
-past the figure you put yourself at:—let me Bee, fifty-four, isn't
-it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Forty-seven! my good fellow! What the deuce—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Rely upon it you're labouring under a mistake: it's full thirty years
-since I first met you in Jay's writ of right.—Speaking of you, I
-should say, in defiance of verbal statement founded on memory,—which
-is treacherous, I find, with regard to age, when we are getting grey,—but
-judging from the date written by the hand of time on the face of the deed,
-in wrinkles as crabbed as court-hand—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm sixty. Well, well, be it so; and now for your case.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, Waters, you are not sixty; because if you were, by my reckoning, I
-should be sixty-seven, which I am not: but to resume. This is our case:—Joshua
-Kesterton came to London with no character, and nothing but a penny loaf
-in his pocket Good luck threw him in the way of the well-known Paul
-Winpennie: Paul had compassion on him, and raised him, by degrees, from an
-errand boy in his office, to first clerk; and, at last, took him in as
-joint partner in all his concerns. After some time, Paul retired to enjoy
-a splendid ease for the rest of his life. At the end of five years, he
-discovered a secret, namely, that an immense quantity of leisure was the
-worst stock a mercantile man could possibly have on hand. He was suddenly
-seen in the city again: whether he was not so keen as when he left it, or
-men had grown keener during his retirement, I know not; but Paul
-Winpennie, under whose touch every thing used to turn into gold, made
-ducks and drakes of his money; and, by half-a-dozen unlucky, or, as the
-world says, mad-cap speculations, was reduced from affluence to
-comparative beggary.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, all this occurs every day, Hassell,” said Waters.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay; but these are only preliminary facts.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Unfortunately—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hold your tongue, and hear me out. Well, the inquest jury—I omitted
-to say he was found dead one morning in his room;—the inquest jury
-returned a verdict of' 'died by the visitation—'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But I thought it was generally believed that he died of a broken heart,
-produced by grief.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“We have nothing to do with broken hearts and grief, as a man of your
-standing on the rolls ought to feel; we can only be governed by the
-record. But if the coroner's return had been <i>felo de se</i>, there
-would have been little for the crown to take but his wife; and she, I
-think, from all I know of her, would have been deemed an incumbrance, by
-most people; although she soon got another husband.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What! pauper as she was?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I said no such thing: if you interrupt me, I shall punish you by being
-prolix. Joshua Kesterton departed this life very shortly after his friend
-and benefactor, Winpennie, and, in a spirit of gratitude to the founder of
-his fortune, bequeathed a legacy of ten thousand pounds to Paul's widow.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bravo!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, sir, it was not 'bravo!'—he acted like an ass; for his own
-daughter, whom he left residuary legatee, was beggared by the bequest.
-Partly through his own ignorance of the actual state of his affairs,—partly
-through unexpected but apparently valid claims, made on his estate after
-his death, and the failure of a firm, who were his principal creditors,—when
-we obtained a tolerable insight to his affairs, we discovered that, after
-satisfying the creditors, and paying the legacy to Mrs. Winpennie, which,
-you perceive, was a positive bequest, whereby she had a clear claim of
-priority over his residuary legatee, the poor girl, instead of having, as
-her father doubtlessly expected, a fine fortune, will scarcely get enough
-to pay for her mourning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A had case,” said Waters; “but won't Mrs. Winpennie do something for the
-girl?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's a riddle which I can't solve,” said Hassell; “for, before she had
-an opportunity to do so, or, in fact, before she knew that her legacy
-would make a skeleton of the estate, she got snapped up by a young fellow,
-who says he's a Dane, but whom I suspect to be a Kerryman. From all I can
-learn, he doesn't feel disposed to forego a farthing; and, as the woman
-married him without a settlement, he can do as he pleases, you know, with
-the money, when he gets it. I sincerely wish it may be soon, so that I can
-get out of town. The investigation of the claims of the principal
-creditors for whom I am concerned, is now within an ace of being
-concluded. As soon as the executors get our releases, of course, this
-gentleman, as he calls himself, who married the widow Winpennie, will
-insist on the full legacy; and however well inclined our friend Burdock,
-and his clients the executors, may be towards the poor girl, who, I must
-tell you, was married into a mighty high, but very poor family, before her
-father's death, I can't see how they can help her. By George! here she
-comes,—I dare say, on a visit to Burdock,—and without her
-husband! That's odd. Poor thing! I'd rather not seem to see her. Let us
-cross over, and I'll stroll with you to the gateway.—Don't stare at
-her, and I'll be obliged to you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The two attornies walked to the other side of the square, and the lady
-passed hastily down the Inn towards Burdock's chambers. As she ascended
-the staircase she heard him speaking, in rather a tender tone, at the door
-of his office, apparently, to some person who was taking leave of him;
-and, on reaching the first landing-place, she met a female, attired in a
-very gaudy manner, and altogether of rather singular appearance, whose
-handkerchief was held to her eyes as though she were weeping, or desirous
-of concealing her face. When his fair client reached the office door,
-which still remained open, Burdock was pacing to and fro within, evidently
-much vexed and agitated.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Are you alone, Mr. Burdock?” timidly inquired the lady, after she had
-stood at the door for a short time without being able to attract the
-notice of the attorney.
-</p>
-<p>
-“My dear madam, I ask a thousand pardons,” replied Burdock, advancing
-towards her; “I have been so annoyed that—Did you meet a lady in
-sulphur and sky-blue?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I did, sir: she appeared to be in tears.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“All! poor woman! she is much to be pitied; and yet, I protest, her
-appearance is so questionable, that I sincerely regret that the unhappy
-state of her affairs led her to pay me a visit. Had she not brought a
-letter, which I hold in my hand, from a most respectable friend in the
-country, I should certainly have scrupled to receive her. She's very
-unfortunate, though, I declare.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But what are her griefs to mine, sir?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dear Mrs. Wyburn, as I have often told you, bad as your case is, there
-are thousands who would deem your situation a state of bliss compared with
-what they suffer. Here, for instance, is this poor woman, forty years of
-age at least, weak enough to come to me with paint on her cheeks, and
-dressed in blue and brimstone, but with acute feelings, notwithstanding
-her folly, who marries a man for love, and, in a few days after the
-ceremony, is deserted and robbed by him of what should have supported her
-in old age.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Wretched woman! like me, then, she is a beggar, I suppose!” said Mrs.
-Wyburn.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I fear the poor creature is almost penniless, indeed:—her business
-with me was to receive a small sum, which my friend, from whom she brought
-the letter I hold, had confided to me three years ago, to invest for her.
-I placed it in the hands of your late lamented father; and she holds his
-note for the amount: but we can't pay her. If she had not told me she had
-a husband in whom the title now vested, having had no notice from him of
-the marriage, she must, of course, have had her money:—but now it's
-impossible. And the woman implored me so not to let her starve, that, in
-order to pacify and get rid of her, I have been compelled to request her
-to call again; for which I am now most heartily sorry. I feel ashamed to
-have her seen go out of my office. But, odso! my dear madam! how is it
-that I see you alone?—Where is your husband?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In prison!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“At whose suit?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In truth, I cannot tell: it is enough for me to know that he is a
-prisoner, and that I do not possess the means of setting him at liberty.
-Kind Mr. Burdock, will you still listen to me?—Will you give me your
-counsel?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am grieved—heartily grieved,” said Burdock; “but I really feel at
-a loss how to advise—how to benefit you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! you can—you can, indeed; or, if you cannot, there is none on
-earth who will. You know not half of my distresses. I am a thousand-fold
-more wretched than you imagine. Pity me, sir;—pity me, and I will
-pray for you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I do pity you, most sincerely,” said Burdock, considerably affected; “but
-let me implore you to be calm.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will be calm as marble, sir. I have told you my husband is in prison,
-without shedding a tear;—and now, without a sigh, I will tell you,
-that my sorrows are of such a nature that I cannot—dare not—must
-not breathe a hint to him of what I suffer.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You positively alarm me, my dear madam. I cannot imagine you to have been
-guilty of any imprudence: and if not, what is there that a wife devotedly
-attached, as I know you are, to her husband, cannot confide to his bosom?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! much, much, Mr. Burdock. I have no friend,—none in the world,
-to whom I can tell my afflictions, but you; and I have no claim on you to
-hear them: you have endured too many vexations, in your struggles for my
-welfare, already.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I regret that no better success has attended my poor endeavours, Mrs.
-Wyburn; but, believe me, that as far as prudence will allow, my best
-exertions are still at your service.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then you will hear and advise me?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will, as I hope for mercy, to the best of such judgment as I am endowed
-with.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! thank you, thank you!—on my knees I will thank you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nay, nay! I must not be repaid thus: I shall charge the consultation in
-my bill, and I hope you will one day pay it,” said the attorney, with a
-smile. “Come, again let me entreat you to be calm.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am sure I shall be so:—I have overcome the bitterness of bringing
-my mind to tell you my little tale, and I feel capable of doing so
-properly. Your kindness gives me additional courage and self-command. I
-shall endeavour to restrict myself to simple facts, and I will go through
-the task, unless my heart break in the attempt. Are we free from
-interruption?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Entirely so; my clerks are both out, and I will answer no one until you
-have done.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I will begin at once. I solemnly enjoin you, sir, not to reveal what
-I am about to tell you to any mortal; for, alas! it concerns my husband's
-honour,—nay, even his life. Much as he loves me, I think he would
-deprive me of existence, rather than let me make you acquainted with his
-weakness,—I will say his crime: but as it may save us both from
-being even more wretched than we are, I will trust it to your ear. When
-George Wyburn married me, he knew I had considerable expectations, and,
-therefore, did not demand a settlement. My poor father allowed us a
-handsome income, while he lived; George was high-spirited and gay, but not
-extravagant; and we had enough,—nay, something to spare, after our
-yearly expenses were paid, until within a few months before my father's
-death, when a sad and sudden change came over us. At Harrowgate, my
-husband,—Heaven knows how,—formed an acquaintance with a man,
-who, after a short time, was our constant visitor and George's bosom
-friend. In three months, under the influence of his associate, my husband
-became a gambler and a duellist! He was still kind to me, and I concealed
-his faults from my father. Vain were all my attempts to reclaim him: I had
-lost my power of persuading him, but yet I feel sure he loved me. I now
-bitterly lament my folly in keeping his proceedings a secret from my
-father; for he went on in his evil ways. At last the climax arrived: he
-lost more than he could pay; and, unable to bear up against the dishonour
-which his default would have brought upon him, he abruptly quitted
-Harrowgate with a determination to destroy himself. He wrote to his new
-friend, stating that, ere the letter reached its destination, he should be
-numbered with the dead. He declared that he felt unable to address his
-poor wife; but he warmly recommended her to the care of him to whom he
-wrote, and begged that her unfortunate husband's fate might be revealed to
-her as gradually as possible. The wretch came to me as he was desired: he
-told me a little, and I learnt the rest from the letter which George had
-sent him. Accompanied by this man, I made all possible haste to the place
-whence George had written. I found him alive and unhurt. His pistols were
-lying on the table before him, when I rushed into the room, and he was
-writing to me: he could not leave the world without bidding me an eternal
-adieu! He had lingered over the paper, which was damped by his tears; but,
-from the language of the sentence which he was penning when we entered,
-his resolution to destroy himself seemed to have been unshaken; and I am
-convinced that, had we not arrived sooner than he expected, and had not
-his heart urged him to assure me that he loved and blessed me in his last
-moments, I should that day have been a widow. He embraced and wept over
-me, but blushed before his friend, and seemed dreadfully enraged at our
-arrival. When I, at length, succeeded in soothing him a little, he asked
-my companion to advise him how he ought to act. The reply I can never
-forget. It was this:—'Why, truly, Mr. Wy-burn, after having stated
-that you were going to commit suicide, there is but one course to save
-your reputation, namely,—to keep your word: but as I suppose no one
-but myself, except your wife, is acquainted with the circumstance, no
-doubt you will see the wisdom of suffering certain notions, which,
-perhaps, are rather too rigorously attended to, in some quarters, giving
-place to the dictates of religion, et cetera;—that is, if you feel
-satisfied that I can be depended on to keep your secret.' 'Will you swear
-to do so?' asked my husband. 'Nay,' replied the other, 'if you doubt me,
-you have your remedy. Were I capable of wronging my friend, I surely
-should not be prevented from so doing by the comparatively cobweb fetters
-of a private oath.' Subsequently, I prevailed upon him, by reproaches and
-entreaties, to promise me solemnly that he would relinquish all thoughts
-of carrying his fatal resolution into effect: but he made the most solemn
-vow, that if either I or his friend betrayed the weakness, or, to use his
-own words, the cowardice he had shewn, in not completing what he had
-meditated, he should certainly blow out his brains the first opportunity;
-for he never could exist under the idea that he was the laughing-stock of
-the world. Summoning up his fortitude, he returned with us to Harrowgate:
-and, in a few days, a portion of what he had lost at the gaming-table was
-paid; for the remainder, he gave bonds payable on the death of my father;
-and I firmly believe he has never touched the dice-box since.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I am glad to say all seems to have ended more happily than could
-have been expected,” observed Burdock.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Not so, sir,—not so, indeed,” replied Mrs. Wyburn; “that fatal
-friend still hovers near him;—my husband still hugs the snake that
-destroys while he embraces him. Those gambling debts, I am certain, were
-contracted by my husband with the villain's confederates.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then the bonds have been, at length, put in force against him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“They have; and I now owe my husband's loss of liberty, as I once almost
-did the loss of his life, to the machinations of Blennerhagen?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Blennerhagen!” exclaimed the attorney, considerably surprised; “you
-surely do not mean <i>our</i> Mr. Blennerhagen,—he who married Paul
-Winpennie's widow!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He is the man,” replied Mrs. Wyburn: “he obtained an introduction to Mrs.
-Winpennie by means of my husband. Foolish as she is, and lucky as she has
-been, in one respect,—alas! to my sorrow,—I sincerely pity
-her; for miserable will be her fate. She is linked to a calm, determined
-villain, who entertains no spark of affection for her: the possession of
-my poor father's legacy, and not her person, was his object in marrying
-her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how do you know this, my dear madam?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, sir! Blennerhagen has thrust his confidence upon me, and I have been
-compelled to listen to him. Unhappily, he has, or pretends to have, a
-passion for me; and I have endured the confession from his own lips. He
-has boldly told me, that, had George committed suicide, he should have
-offered me his hand, as soon as decency would have permitted him to do so.
-You find, sir, that I am as good as my word: I tell you this without a
-blush or a tear, while <i>you</i> shudder!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Shudder! ay, and I well may. Thou dost not blush or weep, indeed, my poor
-young sufferer; but thy cheek is deathly pale, and thy eyes seem burning
-in their sockets. I beseech you, let us postpone this.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nay, nay, pray hear me to an end: I have brought my courage to bear it
-all; if I relapse, I cannot work upon myself to go through the ordeal
-again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But why not unmask this villain—this hypocrite—this wolf?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your honest indignation makes you forget that my husband's life is in his
-power. That fatal letter, which George wrote to him when he quitted
-Harrowgate with a determination to commit suicide, is still in the
-possession of Blennerhagen; I saw him take it from his pocket-book but two
-days ago, although he protests to George that it is destroyed: and the
-publication of it would, I fear, hurry my husband to self-destruction at
-once. I know George's temper so well, that I tremble at the idea of
-incurring so great a risk; and yet what else to do I know not; for the
-demon, after persecuting me in vain, for months, now holds that
-hand-writing before my eyes, and dares me to be virtuous!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The monster! I will move mountains, but he shall be defeated,—ay,
-and punished.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you, thank you!—my heart thanks you: I knew your will would
-be good: but, alas! I doubt your power. You know not with whom you have to
-deal. Blennerhagen prides himself on being impregnable: he talks to me of
-working like a mathematician: he says that all his plans are laid down
-with such geometrical precision that they cannot fail. He has thrown such
-a magic web about me, that I have felt myself to be almost his slaye; and
-yet, thank heaven, I am innocent, and loathe him. Save me, Mr. Burdock!—but
-not at the expense of my husband's life: save me, I implore you!—I
-have no other friend.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will save—I will extricate you, if it be in the power of man. I
-have worked like a negro for my money, and may soon be past working, and
-want it. I have debarred myself of every indulgence; but I can—I
-will afford to gratify my feelings, for once in my life, even at the risk
-of diminishing some of my hard-earned little hoard. Mrs. Wyburn, I'll back
-myself, if need be, with a thousand pounds, and,—confound the
-fellow,—have at him! Excuse me for swearing; but I'm warmed, and
-feel a pleasure in indulging—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Be temperate, sir, in your proceedings, lest you forget that next to my
-own innocence, my husband's life—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do not fear, madam. Is Mr. Wyburn in prison, or at a lock-up house?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“At the lock-up house, sir, in Serle's Buildings.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I'll bail him. Hassell may laugh at me, when he hears that I have
-stepped out of my cautious path, if he likes; but I'll begin by bailing
-Wyburn: for his liberty, at this time, is of the utmost value. Within a
-few days, the great straggle will come on, which must settle the main
-question between Hassell's clients and the executors: on the fortunate
-result of that depends your only hope; and a poor hope it is, I must
-confess: still, Wyburn should be at large to fight it out, and strive to
-the last After to-day, I ought to be in hourly consultation with him.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Blennerhagen knows all this; and, not expecting God would raise up such a
-friend to George, has caused him to be arrested. As he boasts of generally
-making his actions produce double results, he flatters himself, also, that
-I, being thus overwhelmed with this new misfortune, and deprived of the
-protecting presence of my husband,—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Curse him!—he shall be foiled! I won't put up with it, while I have
-breath!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I must tell you,—for, as you now have heard so much, you should
-know all,—that one of the threats or temptations he holds out to me,
-is this:—'Wyburn,' he says, 'will soon, in all probability, be
-entirely dependent on my bounty; for having, through my marriage with Mrs.
-Winpennie, an entire control over the ten thousand pounds legacy, which
-will, apparently, eat up the whole of your father's property, after
-payment of the debts, I can starve Wyburn, if I like.' This is a specimen
-of the language which he dares to use to me. Had I my jewels left, I could
-have raised a sufficient sum, perhaps, to procure George his liberty,
-without troubling you; but Blennerhagen obtained them from me long ago,
-without Mr. Wyburn's knowledge, by protesting that he had spent all he
-possessed to keep the bondholders quiet, and wanted money to enable him to
-make a figure before Mrs. Winpennie. I have been very weak and very
-foolish, you will say; but what could I do? Blennerhagen dares me to
-reveal a syllable of what passes at our interviews, to my husband: he
-tells me that he should instantly detect my treachery by George's conduct.
-I am forced to see—to hear him:—he is the worst of tyrants. If
-I strive to extricate myself from his wiles, I plunge deeper in his toils.
-To remain passive is to offer up myself a willing victim to a being, whom,
-of all others, I abhor. Could I have taken counsel of my husband, all
-might have been well: but I have not dared to breathe a word to him of my
-sorrows; and Blennerhagen well knows how to obtain advantages over a wife,
-deprived, as I have been, of her natural supporter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It shall be at an end, I tell you: Wyburn shall be bailed, and I'll try
-if <i>I</i> can't play off a few tricks. We'll countermine this scoundrel.
-I'll insure your husband's life for my security, and then, if he have so
-high a sense of honour as you think, he won't fix me as his bail by
-shooting himself; for I shall make him understand that the office won't
-pay, if the insured perishes by his own hands; so that we're safe until
-November: and, in the interim, I'll sacrifice a little to those feelings
-which laudable prudence has taught me, hitherto, to smother. It's hard if
-a man cannot make a fool of himself once in his life; and, should I lose
-my time and money both, humanity will be a plea for me, with my own
-conscience, and that of every honest man in the world. Besides, I'm only
-fifty, and shall not die a beggar if it comes to the worst, perhaps. I
-will fulfil my promise, madam, be assured! Time is precious:—have
-you anything more to ask of me?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A glass of water,” faintly replied Mrs. Wyburn; “a glass of water and a
-little air; for my strength is gone.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock, with great alacrity, opened the little window of his room, and
-brought Mrs. Wyburn some water, in a broken cup, time enough to save her
-from fainting. Some one knocked at the outer door, and she almost
-immediately afterwards rose to depart. Burdock conducted her to the foot
-of the staircase, begging her to keep up her spirits, and protesting that
-he thought he should prove himself as good a mathematician as
-Blen-nerhagen: “for,” added he, “I have dabbled in the science, and Euclid
-still affords me amusement in my hours of relaxation from legal business.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The person who had knocked at the office door just before Mrs. Wyburn's
-departure, was the bearer of a note from Blennerhagen's wife, in which she
-earnestly requested the favour of a consultation with Burdock, at her own
-house, on an affair of the utmost importance. The lady stated that she was
-confined to her room by indisposition, otherwise she would have paid him a
-visit in Fumival's Inn; and she protested that, if he did not so far
-indulge her as immediately to obey her summons, she would, at the risk of
-her life, wait upon him at his office.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Paul Winpennie's choice was always a fool,” muttered Burdock, as he threw
-the letter on his table, after having perused its contents; “she was
-always fantastical, and apt to magnify atoms into elephants; but I don't
-think she would write me such an epistle as this, if something
-extraordinary had not occurred: ergo, I'll go to her at once. Perhaps I
-may glean something which may assist me in extricating Wyburn: I hope I
-shall; for though I have promised his wife so much, at this moment I can't
-see my way clear a single inch beyond my nose,—except so far as
-regards bailing him, which I'll do as soon as I return. It is possible,
-that the woman has discovered something; for the most silly of her sex
-possess an astonishing acuteness on particular occasions. I may meet
-Blennerhagen with his wife, too:—at all events I'll go, and ponder
-on the way as to what proceedings I ought to take against this
-mathematical monster:—for act against him, I will; on that I'm fixed—that
-is—if I can find out a way to do so, with any prospect of success.”
- </p>
-<p>
-As Burdock concluded this little soliloquy, one of his clerks returned;
-and the old gentleman, without a moment's delay, set off towards
-Blennerhagen's house. On reaching the corner of the street in which it
-stood, he was accosted by a female, who begged him, in a very mysterious
-manner, to follow her.
-</p>
-<p>
-“My good woman,” said Burdock, “you are in error, I apprehend.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not if I am speaking to Mr. Burdock, and if you are going to Mrs.
-Blennerhagen,” replied the woman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I certainly am that man,” said Burdock; “and you are quite right in
-supposing that I am on my way to visit that lady:—what then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Follow me and I will conduct you to her. I am her woman, and act by her
-orders.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mighty odd!” exclaimed the attorney; “but lead on;—I'll follow you.
-I suppose she has her reasons for this; and it matters but little to me
-which way I go, so that—mark me, woman—so that I am not led a
-dance: for though I walk slowly, on account of an infirmity in my knees,
-time, I assure you, is precious to me. Go forward.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The woman immediately walked on towards a little back street, down which
-she proceeded a short distance, and then turned under an old arched
-gateway into a solitary yard. The buildings on one side of this place
-appeared, by a weather-beaten notice board, to have been long without
-tenants. Through a low wall, on the opposite side of the yard, there were
-entrance-doors to the back gardens of a range of respectable houses.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I perceive,” said Burdock, as the woman opened one of the garden doors,
-“that you are smuggling me in the back way.—Give my compliments to
-your mistress, and tell her, that I prefer entering in the ordinary
-manner. If you will step through the house, I dare say I shall be at the
-front door nearly as soon as you have opened it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock then turned on his heel, and strode away from his guide at rather
-a brisk pace. On reaching the front door, he found the woman there waiting
-for him. Casting on the old gentleman a look of reproach, and
-significantly putting her finger to her lips, she conducted him up stairs,
-and silently ushered him into Mrs. Blennerhagen's dressing-room. The lady,
-who was reclining on a sofa, attired in an elegant morning dress, rose as
-he entered; and, between jest and earnest, reproached him for not having
-given a more prompt attention to her note. Burdock protested that he had
-not been guilty of the least delay in obeying her commands.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, well!” said the lady, “perhaps I am wrong; but to a woman of my
-nerves, suffering at once under indisposition, and the most agonizing
-suspense, every moment seems to be an age.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What's the matter, madam?” inquired Burdock. “Where is Mr. Blennerhagen?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank Heaven! he is out:—my anxiety has been intense lest you
-should not arrive before he returned. My dear Mr. Burdock, I'm in the
-greatest distress.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then, upon my honour and conscience, madam, I don't see how I can be of
-any assistance to you; for my hands are so full of female distress just
-now—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, sir!—but not such pressing—such important distress as
-mine. Recollect that I'm a wife;—a wife, Mr. Burdock, and not
-altogether indifferent to my husband.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, madam! there are many wives who can say quite as much, I assure
-you.—But now for your facts: I am bound to hear, even if I cannot
-assist you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! you're a kind—a dear old gentleman:—I always said so, and
-now I find that I am right. You have a heart formed to sympathize with
-those who are in sorrow.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The world thinks rather differently of me,” replied Burdock: “my
-feelings, I know by experience, will bear as much as most men's. Business,
-madam,—business has hardened them:—but, allow me to ask, what
-has occurred? You seem to have been ruffled.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do I?” said Mrs. Blennerhagen, turning to a looking-glass which stood on
-the table by her side, and glancing at the reflection of her still lovely
-face, with a look of anxiety. “Well, now I see myself, I declare I'm quite
-frightened. I positively look like a hag! don't I?—I ought not to
-suffer such trifles to affect me so severely.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Trifles, my dear madam!” emphatically exclaimed the attorney: “I beg your
-pardon; but I was led to understand, from the tenor of your language—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Attribute it to the excess of my womanly fears,—increased, perhaps,
-by indisposition,—and excuse me. We are weak creatures, as you must
-know; even the very best of us are agitated into agony, by phantoms of our
-own creation. My suspicions—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Am I summoned to advise you on suspicion, then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nothing more, I assure you: and, really, I ought to be ashamed to
-entertain, for one instant, so poor an opinion of Mr. B.'s taste; and,
-permit me to say it, of my own person. Now I reflect, it was exceedingly
-wrong of me, perhaps, to be jealous of the woman.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I wish, with all my heart, madam, you had reflected an hour ago.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Would that I had! I should have been saved much—much uneasiness:—but
-I now laugh at my fears,” said the lady, affecting to titter.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I am sorry I cannot join you, madam.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah, Mr. Burdock! I know the interest you take in my happiness; and,
-therefore, I sent for you to advise,—to comfort me. I look up to you
-as to my father.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You do me an honour, Mrs. Blennerhagen, to which I never had an idea of
-aspiring.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The honour is entirely on my side, Mr. Burdock,” replied the lady, taking
-one of Burdock's hands in both her own; “I feel proud to be permitted to
-make free with so worthy and respectable a character. My confidence in you
-is unbounded, Mr. Burdock: you see, I receive you in my dressing-room—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For mine own part,” interrupted the attorney, “I should have preferred
-the parlour; and so, most probably, would Mr. Blennerhagen.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't talk so foolishly, Mr. Burdock:—attorneys, like physicians,
-are privileged persons, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“True, true, madam,” said Burdock, rather hastily quitting his seat; “and
-now, as the cause of our conference is at an end, I will take my leave.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My dear sir, you surely are not going to quit me in this state:—you
-have not heard my complaint.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I thought your mind was easy on the subject.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! by no means! I am far from soothed,—far from tranquillized:
-your discrimination may shed a new light upon my mind. I must insist on
-throwing myself upon your consideration.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For consistency's sake, don't blow hot and cold in the same moment, Mrs.
-Blennerhagen. Be in a rage, or be pacified: and if I must hear your tale
-of woe, the sooner you tell it the better.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You'll promise not to call me a silly, foolish woman, then, if you think
-my apprehensions were groundless.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of course, madam, I should scarcely call a lady a fool to her face, even
-if I thought she deserved it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How deeply I am indebted to you!—you cannot conceive how much the
-cast of your countenance, when you look pleasant, reminds me of my late
-excellent husband,—poor Mr. Winpennie!—Alas! I never was
-jealous of him, with or without a cause. He was the best—the kindest—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Excuse me, madam; but, however I may reverence the memory of Mr.
-Winpennie, my time is of too much value, and too seriously engrossed just
-now, by my duties towards the livings to listen to an eulogy on the dead.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! no doubt you are perfectly right: the value of your time, I know,
-must be great. In a few words, then, about two hours ago, my servant
-acquainted me that there was a strange-looking creature inquiring at the
-door for Mr. Blennerhagen: she was painted up to the eyes, and dressed in
-a vulgar amber-coloured pelisse, with staring sapphire ribbons—”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock here interrupted the lady, by exclaiming, “Hang me if it isn't the
-woman in brimstone and blue!” and bursting into a hearty laugh.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Why, Mr. Burdock, you astonish me!” exclaimed Mrs. Blennerhagen; “I
-beseech you to cease;—my head will split;—you shatter my
-nerves to atoms. I insist upon your explaining yourself;—I shall
-scream if you don't cease laughing, and tell me the meaning of this
-mysterious conduct.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, madam!” replied Burdock, endeavouring to resume his gravity, “do not
-be alarmed at that unhappy creature:—I sent her here.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it possible, Mr. Burdock, that a man of your respectability can have
-such acquaintance?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The woman is not what she appears, Mrs. Blennerhagen. I saw her, for the
-first time in my life, to-day. Her business with me was briefly as
-follows:—About three years ago, a certain sum was remitted to me by
-a country attorney, for whom I act as agent, to invest for this woman; and
-I deposited it in the hands of Joshua Kesterton. Circumstances now compel
-her to call in her money; but a legal difficulty occurs in paying her off;
-and I referred her to Mr. Blennerhagen, who, in all probability, will be
-the party most interested in the matter; thinking that, as the sum was
-small, he might, perhaps, from motives of charity, relieve the woman's
-wretchedness, by waiving the legal objection at his own risk. Ha, ha! And
-so I have to thank the woman in sulphur and blue for my walk, eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Burdock, I vow, sir, that you overwhelm me with confusion: but if you
-were a woman, I am sure you would admit, that when a female of this lady's
-appearance makes such particular inquiries after a newly-married man, and
-refuses to tell her business to his wife—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ha, ha, ha!” exclaimed the attorney again; “that, too, I plead guilty of
-producing. I told her, that you had nothing to do with the matter: for
-that the legal estate was vested, by your marriage, in Blennerhagen. I am
-willing to acknowledge, that the circumstances were suspicious: and, as
-long as I live, be assured that I will never send a female, in a yellow
-and azure dress, to a married man again. Hoping you will forget the
-uneasiness which I have innocently brought upon you, I now, madam, beg
-permission to withdraw.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock had risen from his chair, and was on the point of taking up his
-hat and cane, when Mrs. Bleunerhagen's servant entered the room, and said,
-in a hurried tone, that her master was at the street door.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Then, I'll wait to see him,” said Burdock, placing his hat and cane on
-the table again, and resuming his seat.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Heavens, sir! are you mad?” exclaimed Mrs. Blennerhagen. “Unfortunate
-woman, that I am!—I did not expect him this half-hour. What is to be
-done, Wilmot?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't be alarmed, madam,” replied the woman; “there's quite time enough
-for the gentleman to get into the cupboard.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is there no other resource left, Wilmot?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“None that I can see, madam!” replied the woman; “he'll meet master on the
-stairs if he goes down: and though there's time enough, there's no time to
-be lost. Sir,” added she, taking up the attorney's hat and cane, “you'd
-better slip in at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Slip in!” exclaimed Burdock; “why should I slip in?—What do you
-mean?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't speak so loud, sir:—master will hear you,” said Wilmot.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What do I care?” cried Burdock, in a stern tone; “are you out of your
-senses? Why should I hide like a galivanting beau in a farce?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! the wretch! he'll be the ruin of my reputation!” exclaimed the lady.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Reputation!—What have I to do with your reputation, Mrs
-Blennerhagen?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“This is my mistress's dressing-room, you see, sir.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, you brought me here, woman: and if it is, as your mistress says,—attorneys,
-like physicians, are privileged persons.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! he won't discriminate, Wilmot. Don't you know, you cruel man, that we
-can't blind others with what we blind ourselves? I am as pure as an angel;
-but appearance is every thing; and Mr. Blennerhagen is more jealous than a
-Turk.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That I am sure he is, madam; for he doats on you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And you, Mr. Burdock, will not be complaisant enough to save our
-connubial bliss from being wrecked for ever.—If you don't comply, I
-must scream out, and say you intruded yourself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Will you hear me speak?” cried the enraged attorney.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Hark, how he bawls! And he knows well enough the wife of Cæsar must not
-even be suspected,” said Mrs. Blennerhagen; “let the wretch ruin me;—do,
-Wilmot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed I won't, madam, if I can help it. Come, sir, if you are a
-gentleman, prove yourself to be so.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bedlamites! will you hear me?—is not my character—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! he is a bachelor attorney, and lives in chambers, Wilmot: and you
-know the character of that class of men is quite obnoxious in cases of
-reputation: but let him have his way; I must be his martyr, I see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come, come, sir,—right or wrong, be civil to a lady.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, do you think I'll make a Jack-pudding of myself?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Stop his mouth, Wilmot: don't let him speak; for I hear the creak of Mr.
-Blennerhagen's boot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The lady and her woman now seized on the astonished attorney, and thrust
-him into a closet. The door was instantly closed on him, and the key
-turned in the lock. Mrs. Blennerhagen returned to the sofa; and Wilmot was
-applying a smelling-bottle to her nose, bathing her brows, &c., as
-though she was just reviving from a fainting fit, when the majestic
-Blennerhagen entered the room.
-</p>
-<p>
-With a keen and hurried glance he seemed to survey every object around
-him, while he closed the door: he then approached the sofa, and uttered a
-few endearing epithets while he relieved Wilmot from the task of
-supporting her mistress. 'Anxious to get rid of him, Mrs. Blennerhagen
-rapidly recovered; and her husband having, apparently by accident,
-mentioned that he had left a friend in the parlour, she urged him, by all
-means, to return ta his guest, as she found herself comparatively well,
-and desirous of obtaining a little repose. Blennerhagen kissed her cheek;
-and after recommending her to the care of Wilmot, passed round the sofa to
-a writing-desk, which was placed on a table behind it, where he remained a
-few moments, and then hastily withdrew.
-</p>
-<p>
-Mrs. Blennerhagen immediately resumed her activity. “Now, my dear Wilmot,”
- said she, “our only hope is to get the attorney down the back stairs, and
-away through the garden.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That is how I have settled it, madam, in my own mind,” said the woman:
-“master won't be up again at least these ten minutes.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If you have any pity, emancipate me from this state of torture,” groaned
-poor Burdock: “I would face a roaring lion rather than remain here any
-longer; my reflections are most poignant.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Mrs. Blennerhagen, “I've lost the key.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then, of course, you will permit me to burst open the door,” said the
-attorney.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Not on any account: be patient, I beseech you. Wilmot, where could I have
-put it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't know, madam; you locked the door yourself: search in your bosom.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have; but it is not there:—nor on the sofa,—nor any where.
-You must have had it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed, madam, I never saw it since you took it off the shelf to lock the
-door.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Women!” exclaimed Burdock, whose patience was completely worn out; “rash,
-mischievous, accursed women! take notice that I am become desperate; and
-if you do not find the key and release me instantly, I shall certainly
-break out, and depart, at all hazards.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“For all our sakes have patience, sir,” said the lady, in a soothing tone;
-“be quiet but for a few moments: I hear Mr. Blennerhagen's boot again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Before his wife could reach the sofa, Blennerhagen strode in, accompanied
-by a stranger.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Outraged, injured, as I am,” said he, fixing his dark eye indignantly on
-his wife, “I make no apology for thus introducing a stranger to your
-apartment. This gentleman is my friend, and comes here with me, at my own
-request, to be a witness of my shame; so that I may be able to obtain
-legal reparation, at least, from the unknown assassin of my happiness.
-Peterson,” added he, turning to the stranger, “take the key and open that
-closet-door.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Lord! Mr. Blennerhagen,” said the lady, with a forced laugh; “don't carry
-on the joke, by making such serious faces: I told you, Wilmot, he would be
-too deep for us:—see, now, if he hasn't got the key. Where did you
-find it, love?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I took it, madam, from your hand,” replied Blennerhagen, “when your mind
-was occupied in affecting a painful and languishing recovery from syncope.
-This may be a jest to you, but it is none to me; nor shall it be to him
-who has wronged me. I have set my mark upon the villain:—perceiving
-a portion of male attire, which I could not recognise as my own, hanging
-from the crevice of the closet-door, while I appeared to be busy at the
-desk behind you, I cut it off: I have it here,” added Blennerhagen,
-producing a triangular piece of brown cloth from his pocket; “let the man
-who owns it claim it if he dare.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Adam Burdock dares to claim his own in any place,” exclaimed the
-attorney, bursting the door open with one furious effort: “that's a piece
-of the tail of my coat.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Burdock!” exclaimed Blennerhagen.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, sir, Mr. Burdock,—heartily ashamed of himself, for being made a
-ninny by your wife, or a dupe by both of you and my precious friend, Mrs.
-Wilmot. You all look astonished; but, be assured, there is no one here
-half so much astonished as myself. I believe you to be capable of
-anything, Blennerhagen; but, on a moment's consideration, I think your
-wife is too much of a simpleton to act as your confederate, in a plot on
-my pocket; and notwithstanding your skill in mathematics, I am willing to
-attribute all this to mere accident.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He calls me a simpleton, Wilmot;—he casts a slur on my intellects,
-Mr. Blennerhagen,” exclaimed the lady.
-</p>
-<p>
-“In that he is more uncharitable than myself, madam,” said Blennerhagen:
-“it may be an accident, it is true; but I question whether the gentleman,
-with all his professional skill, will be able to persuade a special jury
-to think so.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am sure my mistress is as innocent as the child unborn,” observed Mrs.
-Wilmot.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Hold your tongue, woman, and leave the room,” said Blennerhagen, angrily.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Indeed, I shall not leave the room,” said Wilmot: “I'll stand by my
-mistress to the last, and won't leave her for you or anybody else. You're
-a couple of vile wretches; and there isn't a pin to choose between you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! Wilmot, thou art thy poor heart-broken mistress's only friend, after
-all,” sobbed Mrs. Blennerhagen; “she is the victim of circumstances and
-her own refined feelings.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Peterson,” said Blennerhagen, “I am under the unpleasant necessity of
-requesting you to remember all that you have just witnessed. You will
-agree with me, I think, that I ought to make this man quit my house before
-I leave it myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Unquestionably,” replied Peterson.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I shall do no such thing,” said Burdock; “conscious of my innocence, I
-defy you;—I laugh at you: and, before I quit this roof, I will make
-you wish you had sooner crossed the path of a hungry wolf than mine. I
-dare you to give me half an hour's interview.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ought I to do so, Peterson?” calmly inquired Blennerhagen. “Not without a
-witness, I think,” was the reply.
-</p>
-<p>
-“With a score of witnesses, if you will,” said Burdock:—“events have
-precipitated my proceedings:—with a score of witnesses, if you will.
-But mark me, man, you shall lament, if we are in solitude, that there will
-be still one awful witness of your villany. I will unmask your soul; I
-will shew you to yourself, and make you grind your teeth with agony,
-unless you are, indeed, a demon in human form.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Heavens! Mr. Burdock,” exclaimed Mrs. Blennerhagen, “what can you have to
-say against my husband?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It matters not, madam; he shall hear me in this place, or elsewhere
-hereafter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I scorn your threats, sir,” said Blennerhagen; “and publicly or
-privately, I will meet any accusation you may have to make against me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Privately be it, then, if you dare.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Dare, sir! Leave the room every body:—nay, I insist;—Peterson
-and all. Now, sir,” said Blennerhagen, closing the door after his wife,
-Wilmot, and Peterson, who, in obedience to his command, had left the room;
-“now, sir, we are alone, what have you to say?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Blennerhagen,” said the attorney, fixing his keen eye on that of the
-Mathematician, “George Wyburn has been arrested.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is an event that has been long looked for. I am rather hurt that, in
-communicating with his friends on the subject, he should have given you a
-priority over myself. I lament to say that he has fallen into bad hands.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He has,” replied Burdock; “but I will endeavour to release him”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I thank you on behalf of my friend,” said Blennerhagen, with a malicious
-smile; “but I would suggest, with great humility, that you will find
-sufficient employment, at present, to extricate yourself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sir,” said Burdock, “I wanted but the key-note to your character: every
-word you utter is in unison with your actions.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“We are alone,” said Blennerhagen, “and I can allow you to be
-vituperative. Detection renders you desperate: that philosophy which
-enables me to gaze calmly on the wreck of my own peace, teaches me, also,
-to bear with those who are so unfortunate as to be guilty. I would not
-personally bruise a broken reed: I cannot descend to chastise the man, who
-has injured me deeply, for an insult in words. The highwayman who has
-robbed us, may defame our characters with impunity; the lesser merges into
-the greater offence: we do not fly into a passion, and apply the cudgel to
-his back; we pity, and let the law hang him. If your hands were quite at
-liberty, pray what course would you adopt to benefit George Wyburn?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am so far at liberty, I thank Providence,” replied Burdock, “as to be
-able to bail him; and I mean to do so within an hour.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You do?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, sir, to the confusion of his enemies, as sure as I'm a sinner. You
-seem amazed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am indeed,—to say the least,—surprised, and naturally
-delighted to find fortune should so unexpectedly raise him up a friend.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am rather surprised myself; but I'll do it, I'm determined, hap what
-will.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is truly grievous,—a matter of deep regret,—that I cannot
-fold you in my arms,” said Blennerhagen. “How strange it is that the same
-bosom should foster the most noble and the basest of thoughts. In the
-human heart, the lily and the hemlock seem to flourish together. If it
-were possible that your offence against my honour could admit of
-palliation or forgiveness—but I beg pardon; I must be permitted to
-write a hasty line, on a subject of some importance, which, until this
-moment, I had forgotten. It is the miserable lot of man, that, in the
-midst of his most acute trials, he is often compelled to attend to those
-minor duties, the neglect of which would materially prejudice some of
-those about him. I shall still give you my attention.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Every syllable—every action of this man, now amazes me,” said
-Burdock to himself, walking towards the window: “he almost subdues me from
-my purpose.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I shall be entirely at your service in an instant,” said Blennerhagen,
-advancing to the door with a note, which he had hastily written, in his
-hand: “I beg pardon,—oblige me by ringing the bell.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock mechanically complied with his request; and Blennerhagen stepped
-outside the door to give his servant some directions, as Burdock
-conceived, relative to the note. During his brief absence, the attorney,
-acting either from experience or impulse, cast a glance on the little pad,
-consisting of several sheets of blotting-paper, which lay on the
-escrutoire. Blennerhagen had dried his note on the upper sheet: it was
-rapidly penned in a full, bold hand: and the impression of nearly every
-letter was quite visible on the blotting-paper. To tear off the sheet, to
-hold it up against the looking-glass, so as to rectify the reverse
-position of the words, and to cast his eye over those which were the most
-conspicuous, was the work of a moment. It ran thus:—“Gillard—I
-must change my plan—let Wyburn be instantly released—contrive
-that he shall suspect he owes his liberty to my becoming security for the
-debts—Blennerhagen.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock had conveyed this precious document to the side-pocket of his coat
-before Blennerhagen returned: he resolved not to act rashly upon it, but
-to consider calmly what would be the most efficacious mode of using it. He
-felt highly gratified that he now possessed the means of supporting Mrs.
-Wyburn's statement as to Blennerhagen's treachery. It afforded him
-considerable satisfaction, also, that he might, in all probability, not
-only, in some measure, benefit Wyburn, but, by politic conduct, force
-Blennerhagen to desist from giving him any trouble on account of the
-awkward situation into which he had been placed by Mrs. Blennerhagen's
-folly.
-</p>
-<p>
-All these ideas darted through his brain with the rapidity of lightning.
-He felt pleased; and, doubtless, exhibited some symptoms of his internal
-satisfaction in his countenance; for Blennerhagen resumed the conversation
-by saying, “You smile, sir: the prospect of doing a good action lights up
-your countenance, and makes you forget your personal troubles. Until this
-day, you have, to me, been an object of respect. What could induce you to
-act as you have done,—to injure and then brave me? You threatened to
-unmask me—to make me crouch and tremble before you: I am still
-erect, and my hand is firm.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Let that pass, sir,” said Burdock; “the novelty—the ridiculous
-novelty, of my situation, must be my excuse. You can, perhaps, imagine the
-feelings of an innocent man, labouring under a sudden and severe
-accusation.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I can, indeed,” replied Blennerhagen. “Do you say you are innocent?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I scorn to answer such a question.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Truly, your manner staggers me;—your character has its weight, too:
-I should be exceedingly glad to see you exculpated. May I ask what brought
-you to my wife's dressing-room?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To that I will reply:—I received a summons from Mrs. Blennerhagen,
-and was conducted to this apartment by her servant: the idiot wanted to
-smuggle me in the back way, but I wouldn't put up with it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“One inquiry more, and I have done. On what occasion, and for what
-purpose, were you so summoned?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Eh! why—gadso! it's very absurd, to be sure; but there I stand at
-bay. I must consider before I answer your question: I'll speak to Hassell
-about it, and hear what he says on an A B case, without mentioning names.
-Perhaps it wouldn't be a breach of professional confidence either; but we
-shall see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Burdock, I am almost inclined to think, although appearances are
-powerful, that I have not been wronged. Mrs. Blennerhagen, although I
-respect and have married her, is not a woman for whom a man, with any
-philosophy, would carry an affair of this kind to extremities,
-particularly where the internal evidence is weak. I am willing to give you
-the full benefit of my doubts: but, sir, at the least you have been
-indiscreet. Your conduct may cost me much: my reputation is at the mercy
-of other tongues; which, however, I must admit, may be silenced. Should I
-consent to smother this matter, will you, in return, comply with such
-request as I may make, without questioning my motives or betraying my
-confidence?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What if I decline to do so?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I will accept nothing less than a thousand pounds.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“As hush-money, I suppose, you mean.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Call it what you please. I shall put you to the test, most probably,
-within a week. You know the alternative:—if you decline that too, I
-shall go on with the action, which, in justice to myself, I am compelled
-to commence immediately. That I may not be defeated, I must also leave my
-house, or turn my wife out of doors, to wait the result. But do not be
-alarmed, I will abide by what I have said,—your services or a
-thousand pounds. After this, I need scarcely say to you, that I do not
-think I have been actually injured: but the case is clear against you;
-other eyes have witnessed appearances, which go to impeach Mrs.
-Blennerhagen's virtue; and I act as any other man would, in demanding
-atonement, in some shape or other. I shall now send up my friend to see
-you out.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“<i>Hem quocunque modo rem!</i>” ejaculated the attorney, as Blennerhagen
-closed the door after him. “This fellow is a fearful one to strive with;
-and I am, unfortunately, in some degree, fettered by the fact he alludes
-to. But cheer up, Adam!—your cause is good; be courageous, and you
-shall surely conquer.” Without waiting for the arrival of Peterson,
-Burdock snatched up his hat and cane, hastily descended the stairs, and,
-without looking to the right or left, quitted the house. He got into a
-coach at the first stand he came to, and directed the coachman to set him
-down, as quickly as possible, in Serle's Buildings, Carey Street. On
-arriving at the lock-up house, he found that George Wyburn had already
-been liberated. He was, in some degree, prepared for this intelligence, by
-Blennerhagen's letter to Gillard, of which he had so luckily obtained a
-copy. His regret at being thus anticipated by the agent of Blennerhagen,
-did not make him forget that it was a full hour beyond his usual
-dinnertime: he hastened to Symond's Inn coffee-house; where,
-notwithstanding the unpleasant scenes of the morning, he ate a very hearty
-dinner, drank an extra half pint of wine, and perused the daily papers,
-before he returned to his chambers.
-</p>
-<p>
-On entering his office, one of the clerks informed him that there was a
-lady in his private room, waiting, in the utmost anxiety, for his return.
-Burdock immediately walked in, and, to his great indignation and
-amazement, beheld Mrs. Blennerhagen. He recoiled from the sight of her
-unwelcome countenance, and would, perhaps, have fairly run away from her,
-if the lady had not pounced upon him before he could retrograde a single
-pace. She dragged him into the centre of the room; where, clasping one of
-his arms in her hands, she fell on her knees, and implored him to pity and
-relieve the most ill-starred gentlewoman that ever breathed. “Nothing
-shall induce me to rise from this spot,” continued Mrs. Blennerhagen,
-“until you promise, at least, to hear me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I submit to my fate,” replied Burdock. “Pray release my hand; these
-buildings are old, and I stand exposed to a murderous rush of air. I am
-naturally susceptible of cold, and have been taught by experience to avoid
-this spot. Release me instantly, or I must call the clerks to my
-assistance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Promise, then, to hear me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Anything, madam!—Odso!—have I not already told you I would
-submit to my fate? And a hard fate it is,” continued Burdock, taking up a
-strong position behind his writing-table as soon as his arm was at
-liberty; “I consider myself particularly unfortunate in ever having heard
-of the name of Burdock, or Winpennie either.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't asperse my late husband,” said the lady; “call <i>me</i> what you
-like, but don't asperse Paul. I am a wretched woman, Mr. Burdock.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You're a very silly, self-sufficient woman, Mrs. Blenner-hagen,” replied
-the attorney. “Are you not ashamed to look me in the face, after having,
-by your absurd conduct, and the assistance of your satellite, your female
-familiar, brought me into a situation so distressing to a man of my
-respectability?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't speak against my poor Wilmot;—don't call her names: call <i>me</i>
-names, if you must be abusive, and I'll bear it all patiently. As to your
-sneer upon my being familiar with her, I can safely say that, faithful as
-she is, I have never forgotten that Wilmot is a servant. A woman who has
-seen so much of this vile, odious world, as I have, is not to be told that
-too much familiarity breeds contempt.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You misunderstand me, madam;—but to explain would be useless. Allow
-me to ask you, coolly and temperately,—after what has taken place,
-what the devil brings you here? You must be out of your senses—I'm
-sure you must—or you'd never act thus.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You will not say so when you know my motives: but, anxious as I feel to
-explain them, I can't help observing, how cruel it is for you to upbraid
-me with what took place to-day. I can lay my hand upon my heart, and
-declare that I acted for the best: any prudent woman would have done
-exactly as I did; for who could expect that ever a man of your years and
-experience would let the tail of his coat be caught in the closet-door?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pray don't go on at this rate:—go home, my good woman,—go
-home at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Good woman, indeed, Mr. Burdock! You forget, sir, that you are talking to
-the relict of the late Paul Winpennie. I hope you do not mean to add
-insult to the injury you have done me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Zounds! Mrs. Blennerhagen, it is I who have been injured,—injured
-by <i>you</i>, madam.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! I beg your pardon; if you had only recollected that your coat—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Talk no more about it;—it shall be as you please, if you will drop
-the subject, and come to the point at once. Why do I see you here?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope I may be permitted to sit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! certainly,—I beg pardon,” said Burdock, handing Mrs.
-Blennerhagen a chair, and immediately returning to his position behind the
-writing-table.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I am, at this moment, exceedingly indisposed, you will recollect,” said
-the lady; “and I ought to be in bed, with a physician by my side, rather
-than in Furnival's Inn, talking to an attorney.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You are perfectly right, madam; and I beg to suggest that you should
-avoid the fatigue of conversation as much as possible.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I thank you for your friendly hint, Mr. Burdock, and I will endeavour to
-profit by it. Now I'm going to surprise you. Wilmot—no matter how—contrived
-to overhear a great part of your conversation with Mr. Blennerhagen. It
-seems that a thousand pounds was the sum mentioned; but Wilmot thinks, and
-so do I, that, by good management, with a solemn declaration and her oath,
-half the money would settle the matter. Now, my dear Mr. Burdock, as you
-are a little obstinate and self-willed,—you know you are, for you've
-too much sense to be blind to your own little failings,—I thought I
-would come down at once, and, if you wavered, throw my eloquence and
-interest into the scale. I need not point out to you how much trouble it
-will save us both, if you can prevent this little affair from being made
-public. What say you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, truly, madam, your matchless absurdity almost deprives me of
-utterance. You heap Pelion upon Ossa with such celerity, that, before I
-can recover from the surprise which one ridiculous action has produced,
-you stun me with a still more prodigious achievement.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And can you really hesitate?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hesitate, woman! Not at all:—I'm resolute!—Blennerhagen shall
-never see the colour of my coin.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, Mr. Burdock! are you a man? Can you, for a moment, seriously think
-of suffering an injured lady's reputation to be placed in jeopardy for the
-sake of so paltry a sum?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pray hold your tongue, or, vexed as I am, I shall positively laugh in
-your face. Do you think I am mad, or that I find my money in the streets?
-But that I can scarcely conceive Blennerhagen is fool enough to think I am
-such a gudgeon as to bite at his bait, I should certainly be led to
-suspect what I hinted this morning to be true.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That I am his confederate? and that we had laid our heads together to
-entrap you?—I would rather die than you should imagine that I was so
-vile a wretch! Oh! Mr. Burdock, I could not exist under such an
-imputation. To prove that I, do not merit your odious suspicions, and as
-you are so ungenerous as not to come forward with your own money on this
-occasion, I'll tell you what I'll do:—I'll pledge the pearl
-necklace, tiara, ear-rings, &c., which poor Mr. Winpennie gave me on
-my wedding-day, and never would let me part with even when he was
-distressed,—I'll pledge those, and the ruby suite I was last married
-in, with my two gold watches, and as many little trinkets as will make up
-the money, which I'll give you before I sleep, if you will promise to keep
-the secret, and make the matter up with Blennerhagen; so that there may be
-no piece of work about it.—Now what do you think of that?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mrs. Blennerhagen,” said Burdock, advancing from the situation which he
-had hitherto occupied, and kindly taking the lady's hand, “you are a very
-weak, imprudent woman;—excuse me for saying so;—it is the
-fact: and if you are not more careful, you will, in all probability, get
-into a position, from which you will find it impossible to extricate
-yourself. The present case is bad enough, in all conscience; but I have
-some reason to hope, that it is to be got over without the sacrifice of
-your pearl necklace, or the ruby suite in which you were last married; at
-all events, let them remain in your own jewel-box for the present. We will
-not have recourse to either, unless, and until, all other earthly means
-fail. Let me, however, advise you as a friend, should you escape scot-free
-on this occasion, to be more careful in your conduct for the future. Now
-don't say another word, but go home and make yourself easy.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! Mr. Burdock,” exclaimed the lady, “this is, indeed, most fatherly of
-you. Your words are balm to my agitated spirits; a sweet calm begins to
-pervade my bosom;—good Heavens! what's that?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, madam?” eagerly inquired Burdock, casting a hurried glance around
-him.
-</p>
-<p>
-“As I'm a living creature, I heard the creak of Blenner-hagen's boot!—He's
-coming! I'm sure he's coming!”
- </p>
-<p>
-As the lady spoke, some one knocked at the outer door; and, immediately
-after, one of the clerks came in to announce, that the moment Mr. Burdock
-was disengaged, Mr. Blennerhagen would be glad to speak with him.
-</p>
-<p>
-The attorney and his fair visitor gazed upon each other in a very
-expressive manner, at this information: the lady whispered, “I shall
-faint; I'm sure I shall!” Burdock, after a brief pause, told the clerk
-that he should be at liberty in one minute, and the young man retired.
-</p>
-<p>
-“How exquisitely annoying!” exclaimed the attorney, as soon as the door
-was closed; “this is the consequence of your indiscretion, madam.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't abuse me, sir;—don't tread upon a worm!” replied the lady.
-“We should not lose time in talking, but set our wits to work at once. Oh!
-if Wilmot were here, now!—That stupid clerk! couldn't he as well
-have said you were out, or particularly occupied, and told Mr.
-Blennerhagen to call again?—Where shall I conceal myself? Have you
-no little room?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not one, I am happy to say.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nor even a cupboard?—of course you have a cupboard:—I can
-squeeze in anywhere, bless you!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There is not a hiding-place for a rat; the window is two stories from the
-ground, and excessively narrow into the bargain: so that circumstances
-luckily compel you to adopt the plain, straight-forward course, which is
-always the best. I strongly suspect your husband has followed you here: to
-conceal yourself would be useless,—nay, fatal. You must face him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! Mr. Burdock, you drive me frantic!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nay, nay, madam;—pray be calm: don't tear your hair in that
-frightful manner!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Talk not of hair:—besides, they're only ringlets which I wear in
-charity to Wilmot; it takes her an hour to dress my own:—I scarce
-know what I'm doing or saying.—Stay! if I open the upper and lower
-right-hand doors of that press or bookcase, or whatever it is, won't they
-reach to the other wall?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Possibly they may.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I can hide myself in the corner.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Notwithstanding my caution, you are acting as unwisely as ever. I protest
-against all this, and give you notice that I will be no party to the
-concealment.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do hold your tongue, and be guided by me:—you men have really no
-brains. There,” said the lady, placing herself behind the two doors,
-which, as the side of the piece of furniture to which they belonged stood
-within a short distance of the corner of the room, effectually concealed
-her from observation, “now, if you'll only get rid of him quickly, I'll
-warrant you I shall be safe.” Burdock immediately rang a little table
-bell, and his clerk ushered in the Mathematician.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You are doubtless surprised to see me so soon, sir,” said Blennerhagen.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Not at all; I shall never be surprised again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A wise man should wonder at nothing, perhaps. Unexpected circumstances,
-which I will explain, have led me to visit you this afternoon. In the
-first place, I understand, from my servant, that a female has been sent to
-my house by your directions: her appearance and story, it seems, were
-equally extraordinary. May I be excused for having a natural curiosity to
-know who she was, and what she wanted? She was sent up, I hear, to Mrs.
-Blennerhagen: I have no wish that she should trouble my wife again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Are you anxious to keep her business with you a secret from Mrs.
-Blennerhagen?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Possibly I may be; but I don't know until I discover what it is:—we
-have all been young. Why do you ask?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Simply because your wife is in this room.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't understand you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mrs. Blennerhagen is now within hearing: she stands behind the doors of
-that old book-case.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Excuse me, sir;—you have dined, no doubt;—but I am serious.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And so am I,” replied Burdock. “If you disbelieve what I say, go and
-see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! you vile creatures!” exclaimed Mrs. Blennerhagen, rushing from the
-place of her concealment:—“you pair of wretches! A plot! a plot!
-There's a vile plot laid between you to delude—to vilify—to
-destroy me. I see through it all. And you,—you old, abandoned man,”
- added the lady, addressing Burdock, “to lend yourself to such a scheme!—I'm
-ashamed of you!—You've played your parts well; but I will be a match
-for you. Oh! Heavens! is this the way to treat a wife? Mr. Blennerhagen,
-you may well look confounded.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Confounded!” exclaimed Blennerhagen; “I'm thunderstruck!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay! no doubt you are. What I am to be got rid of, I suppose, by this
-vamped-up affair between you and your satellite,—as he dares to call
-poor Wilmot,—to make room for your creature in sapphire and yellow.
-If I die in the attempt, I will see the bottom of it all, and expose you
-both!” Mrs. Blennerhagen now bustled out of the office.
-</p>
-<p>
-“This woman is foolish,” said Blennerhagen.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I think so, decidedly,” quoth the attorney.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What brought her here, pray?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, as I was a little obstinate and self-willed, she came to throw her
-interest and eloquence into the scale, (I use her own words,) and induce
-me to prevent our little affair from being made public. Her woman, who
-overheard the conversation which I had with you this morning, seems to
-think that, although you ask a thousand pounds, with a little management,
-a solemn declaration of innocence, and her own oath, half the money would
-settle the matter. Ha, ha!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Blennerhagen bit his lip. After a short pause, he inquired if the attorney
-had yet made up his mind to state, on what occasion, and for what purpose,
-he had visited Mrs. Blennerhagen in her dressing-room.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I have not spoken to Hassell on the subject,” replied Burdock; “but I
-feel no repugnance, under present circumstances, to say that she sent for
-me because she was jealous of the woman in brimstone and blue. I have her
-note, if you wish to look at it. When she heard you coming, I was pushed,
-<i>nolens volens</i>, into the cupboard, by your wife and her maid. That,
-briefly, is the whole of the matter. By-the-by, I should add, that I
-acquainted Mrs. Blennerhagen with the lady's business, and I am now
-willing to do you the same service.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You are very obliging:—to ascertain that, is partly my object in
-calling on you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock now went through the particulars of the poor woman's case with
-great minuteness. Blennerhagen listened very attentively, and, at the
-conclusion of the recital, observed, “This is all new to me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of course it is,” replied the attorney; “because, legally speaking, you
-have nothing to do with it. It concerns the executors, in the first
-instance; and not you, who, by your marriage, merely represent the
-legatee: their straight-forward course is to send the woman about her
-business, because she is a <i>feme covert</i>, and cannot give a release,—the
-title being in her blackguard husband. The executors are bound to act
-strictly; but if you, who are the party beneficially interested, out of
-motives of feeling think fit to run the risk of consenting to her paltry
-claim being paid off, out of your enormous legacy, why, of course, they
-would willingly do it. To give her a chance, I took leave to refer her to
-you, in order that you might hear the story from her own lips.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I shall be happy to be guided by you,” said Blennerhagen; “but I see
-nothing, for my own part, in this case that should induce us to go out of
-the usual course. Were we to put our hands into our pockets to relieve
-every deserving object that occurs to our notice, we should soon become
-paupers ourselves. Those who are rich have often as powerful calls on
-their charity for hundreds—nay, thousands—as pence; but they
-are compelled to exert their philosophy, and conquer their inclinations to
-relieve; in fact, for their own sakes, to marshal reason against mere
-feeling. You ground your appeal on the score of charity; but I could name
-much greater objects of charity than this woman. She must abide by the
-consequences of her own folly. She has been stripped of her property, and
-deserted by her husband, you say: well,—that's hard, I confess; but
-you know such cases are continually occurring. It would require the
-exchequer of a Croesus to remunerate,—for that is the proper word,—to
-remunerate all the women who have been plundered by those whom they have
-chosen to make legal proprietors,—observe me,—legal
-proprietors of their property. Besides, we have only this person's own
-word in support of her strange statement: how do we know but what she was
-quite as improvident as her husband? And who is to say that, instead of
-his deserting his wife, the lady herself might not have driven him from
-his home? It is in the power of some of the sex to do such things.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That may be true enough,” said Burdock; “but I am warranted in saying the
-contrary is the fact, in the present case, by the letter of a most
-respectable correspondent, which the woman brought with her. That the
-husband was a most consummate villain, I have ample evidence. My informant
-states,—but I will read that portion of his epistle,” continued
-Burdock, taking a letter from his desk: “speaking of the husband, he says,
-during his short stay in our neighbourhood, previously to the marriage, he
-contrived, by obtaining goods on credit from several tradesmen, to support
-a respectable appearance; and my unfortunate client, believing him to be a
-man of some property,—although nobody knew who he was, or where he
-came from,—encouraged his addresses,' And then, a little below, it
-is stated, that 'on account of a sudden indisposition with which she was
-attacked, the wedding was postponed. The delay thus produced had nearly
-proved fatal to the hopes of our adventurer: bills, which he had given to
-some of his creditors, became due, and were dishonoured. Proceedings being
-hinted at, he called the tradespeople together, and very coolly requested
-them to give him time. The creditors said they did not feel inclined to do
-so, because'—favour me with your attention, Mr. Blennerhagen—'because
-they had strong suspicions that the bills were forgeries; and that, if
-such were the case,—and they had but little doubt of the fact,—it
-was in their power to hang him. This intimation, which would have
-staggered any man but him to whom it was addressed, did not produce any
-visible effect on his feelings. He very calmly told them, in reply, that
-even if the bills were forgeries,—which, of course, he could not
-admit,—he should feel under no apprehension; for, said he, I know
-that you are all too needy to sacrifice your own interests for the sake of
-public justice: you cannot afford to lose your money; and lose it, you
-certainly would, as you all very well know, if you prosecuted me to
-conviction. Were I a wretch, without present means or future expectations,
-I should expect no mercy; but as you are aware that I am on the eve of
-marriage with a woman of some property, you will act upon that excellent
-maxim—charity begins at home, and keep the alleged forgeries in your
-pockets, in hopes that I shall take them up as soon as I am married. You
-owe a duty to the public, but you owe a greater to yourselves and to your
-families; and you'd much rather take ten shillings in the pound, than see
-me, even if I were guilty, dangling at your expense in any devil's larder
-in the country.'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, sir, the creditors waited.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“They did; but the deuce a bit did he pay them: he got what money he could
-together, as soon as he was married, and left them, as well as his wife,
-in the lurch. They have now sent me up the bills, as there's no hope of
-his paying them, and begged me to get hold of him if I can: they say he
-has been seen in London without his whiskers; and that, in a few days,
-they hope to afford me some clue to his present haunts. They refer me to
-his wife for a description of his person, which I mean to get of her at
-our next interview, if I can persuade the woman to be calm enough to give
-it me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What is her name?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Tonks.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then I am right in my suspicions.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To what do you allude?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Burdock,” said Blennerhagen, “I will not scruple to confess that I
-know the man. Tainted as his character now is, he has been worthy of
-esteem. Once in his life, sir, he did me so essential a service,—greatly
-to his own detriment,—that I have ever since groaned under the
-obligation, and never, until this moment, did I entertain a hope of being
-able to relieve myself from its weight.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“This is very odd,” said the attorney; “but I am resolved not to be
-amazed. And, pray, on what do your hopes to help him rest?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“On my interest with you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That is not worth a button; and, if it were, I don't see how you could
-benefit the man. Professional pursuits have not altogether destroyed my
-feelings; but I don't think that I should repent having been instrumental
-in bringing such a villain as this to justice.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do not let us be too hasty in consigning a man to infamy,” replied
-Blennerhagen. “Circumstances are often powerful palliatives of guilt; and
-circumstances, you know, are not always—are they ever?—under
-our own control. Offences, which, abstractedly considered, appear heinous,
-would lose much of their odium, were we in possession of the whole chain
-of consequences, from the first inducement to commit crime, to its final
-consummation; and it would be but common charity to hope that such may
-have been the case in the present instance. I stand excused, at least, I
-trust, for endeavouring to evince my gratitude to this man.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How can you possibly do so?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“By procuring the destruction of those bills.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What did you say?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Destroy those acceptances in my presence, and do me a trifling favour
-which I shall presently mention,—understanding, of course, that you
-will solemnly assure me I have not been injured,—and the events of
-this morning shall be buried in oblivion.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, I really thought you had more sense than to make so absurd a
-proposal,” said the attorney: “how am I to account to my clients for the
-loss of their papers?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! every one knows that man is fallible, and may mislay things: clerks,
-too,—who have access to an attorney's private room,—are poor,
-and open to temptation: laundresses frequently sweep valuable documents
-off the floor and burn them: even iron chests are not impregnable; and
-robberies take place in spite of every precaution.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I certainly never met with your equal, Blennerhagen: and I'll tell you a
-piece of my mind presently;—something has just struck me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll hear you with pleasure; but let us dispose of this little matter at
-once:—hand me over the bills, pay the woman what she wants, and send
-her back into the country to-morrow morning. Tonks has many excuses for
-his conduct, with which, however, it is needless to trouble you. He has
-acted improperly,—I will even say, criminally,—but I cannot
-let this opportunity escape of balancing our obligations. I shall feel
-much more easy after it. I must, therefore, press you to oblige me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You stated, just now, that you had some other little favour to ask.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Had we not better settle this affair first? My plan is always to clear
-away as I proceed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I, on the contrary, when any arrangement is contemplated between parties,
-like to bring every point into hotch-pot, as a preliminary step.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Say no more, Mr. Burdock;—I will yield with pleasure. It is rather
-a disagreeable subject on which I am compelled to touch; but I will go
-into it at once. Wyburn's wife has been with you to-day;—she stated
-something to my disadvantage.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What induces you to suppose so?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be candid,—your threats this morning aroused my suspicions. I
-have since seen Mrs. Wyburn, and extracted the facts from her.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What facts?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“<i>Imprimis</i>,—that she has visited you to-day.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Granted.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“<i>Item</i>,—that she has thrown out hints which, if founded in
-truth, would not, perhaps, tend materially to the enhancement of my
-reputation.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I shall say nothing on that subject.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Can you deny it?—If I am wrong, why not deny it?—Will you
-deny it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, I won't.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then it is as I imagined.—Now, sir, as you are kindly disposed
-towards my friend, I wish to warn you, seriously, against that young
-woman. She labours under gross delusions: an idea has entered her head,
-that I am her husband's enemy, and an admirer of her person. Nothing can
-be more preposterous. She has reproached me, bitterly, for every step that
-I have taken to benefit George Wyburn, under the impression that my
-proceedings would be prejudicial to him. I acquit her of malice; but she
-certainly is very deficient in common sense. Perhaps, however, I am
-uncharitable in saying this; for women, in her sphere of life, are totally
-incapable of forming a just opinion on the actions of man in mere matters
-of business. They are like those spectators of a chess-match, who, having
-obtained only a slight glimmering of the mysteries of the game, consider
-those moves of a piece which are, in fact, master-strokes of skill, as
-tending to bring the king into check-mate.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You are a chess-player, I presume, Mr. Blennerhagen,” said Burdock.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I am, sir; chess is my favourite game. But to proceed with my statement:—George
-Wyburn himself is by no means a man of business. Proud, and ridiculously
-affecting independence, although he scarcely possesses a shilling, he
-would disdain the slightest favour I could offer him: he will not
-willingly be under an obligation to any man. That assistance, which in
-extremity he might accept from a stranger, he would scorn if proffered by
-a friend: I am, therefore, under the necessity of acting in the most
-circuitous manner, to benefit him. If I do good, in my office as his
-friend, I must do so by stealth. Mrs. Wyburn has not mind enough to
-perceive this: a combination of manouvres is to her mysterious, and
-consequently fearful; for she cannot imagine how anything can be fair that
-is not manifest to her limited capacity. Now, sir, I have already made
-considerable progress in relieving my friend from his difficulties, and I
-do not wish to be thwarted, either by this woman's weakness, her whims, or
-her delusions. I can convince you, at once, of the honesty of my
-intentions; and I call on you, as at least a well-wisher to George Wyburn,
-not to countenance his wife's follies, but to put on the wisdom of the
-adder, and be deaf to her tales;—in fact, not to bring yourself into
-trouble, by becoming the confidant of another man's wife, and her abettor,
-without his knowledge, in counteracting such measures as his best friend
-may think fit to adopt for his ultimate, if not immediate, benefit. I am
-urged to make this communication; I do it unwillingly, but I think you
-will feel that I am right.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And this is your request, Mr. Blennerhagen?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Have you any thing else to ask?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Absolutely nothing:—I require nothing but your promise on this
-point.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And the bills—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh!—of course, the bills:—your promise and the bills.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You have omitted to prove to me the honesty of your intentions towards
-Mr. Wyburn.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will do so in a few words.—Although piqued at George for not
-immediately acquainting me with the circumstance of his being arrested,
-the moment I quitted you this morning, I flew to his creditors, and
-procured his instant release, by becoming security for payment of the
-bonds on which he had been arrested. You, doubtless, have ascertained that
-he is discharged: if not, you may do so at once, by sending one of your
-clerks to the lock-up house. This, you must allow, is a tolerably good
-proof of my intentions towards him. You will understand, that I do not
-wish him to know how far I have gone, as it would be needless, at
-pre-tent, to hurt his pride. We should reverence a friend's feelings,
-although, to our minds, they may appear failings. You are now convinced, I
-hope.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am!” exclaimed Burdock, with unusual energy; “I am convinced that you
-are an atrocious scoundrel!—Don't frown, or pretend to be in a
-passion, or I'll shew you no mercy. You're check-mated, Blennerhagen.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Burdock! what's the matter?—What has possessed you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A spirit to put out and amove such a monster as you are from honest
-society. To dumb-founder you, if it be possible, without more ado, know
-that I am fully acquainted with the contents of the note you wrote in my
-presence this morning:—'Gillard—I must change my plans—let
-Wyburn be instantly released—contrive that he shall suspect he owes
-his liberty to my having become security for his debts—Blennerhagen.'
-I have the words, your hear, by heart; and what's better, for my purpose,
-I have them in your own hand-writing, in my iron chest. I tore off the
-impression which you made with the note on your blotting-paper. Now, sir,
-what say you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nothing,” replied the Mathematician, with his ordinary composure of
-manner; “nothing, but that I shall be under the necessity of entering into
-a longer explanation than I could wish at this moment, in order to clear
-up the circumstance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will hear no more of your plausible explanations:—I have heard
-enough already. It is time for me to speak.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“With all my heart.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Where is the letter which George Wyburn wrote to you,—that letter
-in which he stated he was about to destroy himself?—Be brief in your
-reply—where is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Burned.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“'Tis false! I must be explicit: you shewed it to Mrs. Wyburn very lately;—say
-within these two days.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I beg to suggest, that before you gave me the lie, (I postpone the insult
-for a moment,) you should have reflected that even in two days there is
-time enough to burn ten thousand letters, and that I have not been
-deprived of volition during that period.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Admitted. But I know more than you imagine; and I will not be trifled
-with. You deem it to be so valuable a document, that you commonly have it
-about your person. Allow me merely to run my eye through your
-pocket-book.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You carry this with too high a hand, Mr. Burdock,” said Blennerhagen;
-“you ask too much, sir; and in a manner, that one who possessed less
-calmness than myself, would not tolerate. I am not to be intimidated. It
-would be as well, perhaps, if we postponed this discussion, until you are
-in a cooler mood.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not yet, sir; not yet, if you please. I have something more serious to
-say.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You are not going to unmask a battery on me, I hope,” said Blennerhagen,
-with apparent gaiety.
-</p>
-<p>
-“It may be that I am. Hear me:—I hope I shall be forgiven if I am
-wrong: should I, however, be in error, a few hours will set me right. I
-strongly suspect—I will not call you Blennerhagen, for I have little
-doubt but that—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Hold!” exclaimed Blennerhagen, placing his hand on Burdock's lips;—“hold!
-I beseech, I entreat you. Before you utter another word, I demand, I
-implore the favour of being allowed to commune for a few moments with
-myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Burdock intimated his acquiescence by a nod to this request. Blennerhagen
-rose from his seat, and paced rapidly up and down the room. A multitude of
-thoughts seemed to be hurrying through his mind; and large drops of
-perspiration trickled unheeded from his brow. After a few moments had
-elapsed, he began to recover his composure, and resumed his chair.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Mr. Burdock,” said he, “I am grateful for this indulgence. It is, I
-believe, an established principle, with professional men, that the
-confidential communications of a client should be held most sacred.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So far as regards myself, and many whom I know, that is certainly the
-case,” replied Burdock.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Allow me to ask—for whom do you consider yourself concerned under
-the late Joshua Kesterton's will?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“First, for the executors; next, for your wife and yourself; and, lastly,
-for Mrs. Wyburn and her husband.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have the honour to be your client up to this moment, I believe.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of course.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then, sir, I beg to acquaint, you, in that character, that I am Tonks.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You don't surprise me at all,” said Burdock; “I thought as much, and was
-just going to tell you so.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope I shall do myself no injury by confessing that I perceived you
-were; and availed myself of the opportunity of stating the fact, in order
-to obtain the benefit of your silence, and allow me to add,—your
-advice.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nay, nay,” replied Burdock, “I really must decline advising you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, be it so,” said Blennerhagen; “I have sense enough to see that my
-only safety is in immediate flight. I have been careless in some minute
-points of my calculations, and my air-built castle topples about my ears;
-but I must not be overwhelmed by its ruins.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Understand that I cannot assist you,” said Burdock; “understand that most
-positively. Here's a clear felony;—at least, I'm afraid it would
-turn out so. And you see, (it has just occurred to me,) although you're my
-client under Kesterton's will, yet, as the bills have actually been
-transmitted to me—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have heard you say, Mr. Burdock,” interrupted Blennerhagen, “that while
-you were concerned for a man, you would never act against him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I admit it; but, you see, in a case of felony—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Allow me to go on:—without my confidential communication, you
-would, at this moment, have nothing but conjecture to warrant you in
-calling me Tonks.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't deny it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am under your roof, too.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Granted.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Lastly,—villain as you deem me, I am unfortunate as well as guilty.
-My actions have been culpable, I confess. Money, money, has been my
-object: I have been compelled to catch little fish, to bait my hooks for
-great ones. The woman who calls herself Tonks (which is not my real name)
-has been, unfortunately for herself, one of my victims. I wanted money,
-and I scrupled not at any scheme that appeared safe, to get it:—the
-end sanctified the means. I have a father, Mr. Burdock,—a greyheaded
-man, who has pined in prison during three miserable years: I am the
-wretched cause of his sufferings. He was convicted, in large penalties,
-for offences against the revenue committed by me,—by me alone, Mr.
-Burdock. I attempted to bring the onus of the offence on myself, and to
-relieve him from the accusation; but justice, in this case, was blind,
-indeed. My father is in his cell, sir; but, although balked in my designs
-at present, yet still, while I have existence, in other scenes, in other
-lands, rather,—for I'm no longer safe here,—I will wrestle
-with fortune, at all hazards, until I procure a sufficient sum to effect
-his release.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Suppose, for a change, as you have hitherto been unsuccessful, you were
-to adopt some honest course,—I mean, if you escape.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Perhaps I may:—guilt, however, is but comparative, and—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, enough of this. What have you to say to your attempt on the virtue
-of Mrs. Wyburn?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I was under the influence of a passion which I could not control.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You'll be hung as sure as you're born, if you suffer yourself to be
-governed by such sophistry as you preach.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope not,” replied the Mathematician, “for it would break that old
-man's heart, who has no joy to support him in his captivity but his joy as
-a father in me. If I had freed him, he must not have known how I obtained
-the means to do so.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Another reason for your being honest,” observed Burdock; “make a
-beginning, and you'll find the path pleasant afterwards:—only make a
-beginning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will, immediately,” replied Blennerhagen, taking several papers from
-his pocket-book, and laying them open on the attorney's table: “there is
-George Wyburn's letter,” added he; “and there are the bonds on which he
-has been arrested.—Hush! Was not that a knock at the door of your
-chambers?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Voices were now heard in the outer office; and, in a short time, Burdock's
-clerk came into the room to announce the arrival of Mrs. Blennerhagen and
-Mrs. Tonks.
-</p>
-<p>
-“My second wife, doubtless, obtained her predecessor's address this
-morning,” said Blennerhagen, “and has been to fetch her. Come in and shut
-the door, young man,” continued he, addressing the clerk:—“I think I
-heard you close your shutters just now: how many candles have you on your
-desk?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Only one, sir,” replied the clerk, “at this moment.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oblige me by snuffing it out, apparently by accident, when you return to
-your seat, and utter some exclamation when you have done it:—do not
-delay.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The clerk paused for a moment; but, as Burdock made no remark, the young
-man interpreted his silence as a tacit acquiescence to Blennerhagen's
-request, and withdrew. In a few seconds he gave the signal: Blennerhagen
-immediately strode out, rushed across the outer office, and effected his
-escape.
-</p>
-<p>
-As soon as the clerk had procured a light, Burdock informed the ladies, in
-a few words, of Blennerhagen's villanies; and then left them, weeping in
-each other's arms, to go in quest of Wyburn and his wife.
-</p>
-<p>
-Within a week, the claims on Joshua Kesterton's estate were finally
-determined; and the amount proved to be so much less than either Hassell
-or Burdock had anticipated, as to leave a considerable sum after deducting
-the legacy. Mrs. Blennerhagen,—or, to speak more correctly, the
-widow Winpennie,—not only paid poor Mrs. Tonks her full claim, but
-very generously augmented Wyburn's residue, by allowing a handsome
-deduction in his favour out of her ten thousand pounds. Neither of his
-wives ever heard of the Mathematician again; and, to quote a facetious
-entry in the old attorney's private memorandum-book,—George Wyburn
-was convinced of the folly of his conduct,
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-He thought no more of reading Plato,
-And acting like that goose, old Cato.
-</pre>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/357s.jpg" alt="357s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/357.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/357m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE LITTLE BLACK PORTER.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ome years ago, the turnpike road, from the city of Bristol to the little
-hamlet of Jacobsford, was cleft in twain, if we may use the expression,
-for the length of rather more than a furlong, at a little distance from
-the outskirts of the village, by the lofty garden walls of an old
-parsonage house, which terminated nearly in a point, at the northern end,
-in the centre of the highway. The road was thus divided into two branches:
-these, after skirting the walls on the east and west, united again at the
-south end, leaving the parsonage grounds isolated from other property. The
-boundary walls were of an unusual height and thickness; they were
-surmounted by strong oaken palisading, the top of which presented an
-impassable barrier of long and projecting iron spikes. The brick-work,
-although evidently old, was in excellent condition: not a single leaf of
-ivy could be found upon its surface, nor was there a fissure or projection
-perceptible which would afford a footing or hold to the most expert
-bird's-nesting boy, or youthful robber of orchards, in the neighbourhood.
-The entrance gate was low, narrow, immensely thick, and barred and banded
-with iron on the inner side. The tops of several yew and elm trees might
-be seen above the palisading, but none grew within several feet of the
-wall: among their summits, rose several brick chimneys, of octagonal
-shape; and, occasionally, when the branches were blown to and fro by an
-autumnal wind, a ruddy reflection of the rising or setting sun was just
-perceptible, gleaming from the highest windows of the house, through the
-sear and scanty foliage in which it was embosomed. According to tradition,
-Prince Rupert passed a night or two there, in the time of the civil war;
-shortly after his departure, it withstood a siege of some days, by a
-detachment unprovided with artillery; and surrendered only on account of
-its garrison being destitute of food. Within the memory of a few of the
-oldest villagers, it was said to have been occupied by a society of nuns:
-of the truth of this statement, however, it appears that the respectable
-sisterhood of Shepton Mallet entertain very grave, and, apparently,
-well-founded doubts.
-</p>
-<p>
-For many years previously to and at the period when the events about to be
-recorded took place, a very excellent clergyman, of high scholastic
-attainments, resided in the parsonage house. Doctor Plympton was
-connected, by marriage, with several opulent families in Jamaica; and he
-usually had two or three West-Indian pupils, whose education was entirely
-confided to him by their friends. Occasionally, also, he directed the
-studies of one or two young gentlemen, whose relatives lived in the
-neighbourhood; but the number of his scholars seldom exceeded four, and he
-devoted nearly the whole of his time to their advancement in classical
-learning.
-</p>
-<p>
-Doctor Plympton had long been a widower: his only child, Isabel, had
-scarcely attained her sixteenth year, when she became an object of most
-ardent attachment to a young gentleman of very violent passions, and the
-most daring nature, who had spent nine years of his life under the
-Doctor's roof, and had scarcely quitted it a year, when, coming of age, he
-entered into possession of a good estate, within half an hour's ride of
-the parsonage.
-</p>
-<p>
-Charles Perry,—for that was the name of Isabel's lover,—had
-profited but little by the Doctor's instructions: wild and ungovernable
-from his boyhood, Charles, even from the time he entered his teens, was an
-object of positive terror to his father, who was a man of a remarkably
-mild and retiring disposition. As the youth advanced towards manhood, he
-grew still more boisterous; and the elder Mr. Perry, incapable of enduring
-the society of his son, yet unwilling to trust him far from home,
-contrived, by threatening to disinherit him in case of disobedience, to
-keep him under Doctor Plympton's care until he was nearly twenty years of
-age. At that time his father died, and Charles insisted upon burning his
-books and quitting his tutor's residence. On the strength of his
-expectations, and the known honesty of his heart, he immediately procured
-a supply of cash, and indulged his natural inclination for horses and
-dogs, to such an extent, that some of his fox-hunting neighbours lamented
-that a lad of his spirit had not ten or twenty thousand, instead of
-fifteen hundred a year.
-</p>
-<p>
-Young Perry had never been a favorite with Doctor Plympton; but his
-conduct, after the decease of his father, was so directly opposed to the
-worthy Doctor's ideas of propriety, that he was heard to say, on one
-occasion, when Isabel was relating some bold equestrian achievement which
-had been recently performed by her lover, that he hoped to be forgiven,
-and shortly to eradicate the evil weed from his heart, but if at that
-moment, or ever in the course of his long life, he entertained an
-antipathy towards any human being, Charles Perry was the man. It would be
-impossible to describe the worthy Doctor's indignation and alarm, on
-hearing, a few days afterwards, that Charles had declared, in the presence
-of his own grooms—in whose society he spent a great portion of his
-time—that he meant to have Isabel Plympton, by hook or by crook,
-before Candlemas-day, let who would say nay.
-</p>
-<p>
-That his child, his little girl,—as he still called the handsome and
-womanly-looking Isabel—should be an object of love, Doctor Plympton
-could scarcely believe. The idea of her marrying, even at a mature age,
-and quitting his arms for those of a husband, had never entered his brain;
-but the thought of such person as Charles Perry despoiling him of his
-darling, quite destroyed his usual equanimity of temper. He wept over
-Isabel, and very innocently poured the whole tide of his troubles on the
-subject into her ear; but he felt rather surprised to perceive no symptoms
-of alarm on his daughter's countenance, while he indignantly repeated
-young Perry's threats to carry her off. In the course of a week, the
-Doctor heard, to his utter amazement, from a good-natured friend, that
-Isabel had long been aware of Charles Ferry's attachment, and was just as
-willing to be run away with, as Charles could possibly be to run away with
-her. Several expressions which fell from Isabel, during a conversation
-which he subsequently had with her on the subject, induced Doctor Plympton
-to believe, that his good-natured friend's information was perfectly
-correct; and he, forthwith, concerted measures to frustrate young Perry's
-designs.
-</p>
-<p>
-Isabel's walks were confined within the high and almost impassable
-boundary-walls of the parsonage grounds; her father constantly carried the
-huge key of the entrance door in his pocket, and willingly submitted to
-the drudgery of personally answering every one who rang the bell. He
-altogether declined receiving his usual visitors, and became, at once, so
-attentive a gaoler over his lovely young prisoner, that nothing could
-induce him even to cross the road. He bribed Patty Wallis with a new
-Bible, Hervey's Meditations among the Tombs, and Young's Night Thoughts,
-to be a spy upon the actions of her young mistress; and paid a lame
-thatcher two shillings a week to inspect the outside of the wall every
-night, while he did the like within, In order to detect any attempt that
-might be made at a breach.
-</p>
-<p>
-But Doctor Plympton derived much more efficient assistance in his
-difficult task, from a quarter to which he had never dreamed of looking
-for aid, than either his outward ally, the thatcher, or his domestic spy,
-the waiting-maid, could possibly afford him. Doctor Plympton had two
-West-Indian pupils in his house; both of whom were deeply smitten with the
-charms of Isabel, and equally resolved on exercising the most persevering
-vigilance to prevent the blooming young coquette,—who contrived to
-make each of them suspect that he held a place in her affections,—from
-escaping to, or being carried off by, their enterprising rival, Charles
-Perry. These young gentlemen, one of whom was now nineteen years of age,
-and the other about six months younger, had been Isabel's play-fellows in
-her childhood; and Doctor Plympton, who seemed to be totally unconscious
-of their gradual approach towards man's estate, had as little apprehension
-of their falling in love with Isabel, at this period, as when they played
-blindman's buff and hunt the slipper together, eight or nine years before.
-</p>
-<p>
-Godfrey Fairfax, the elder of the two pupils,—a vain, forward,
-impetuous young man,—flattered himself that Isabel was pleased with
-his attentions: he felt satisfied, nevertheless, that the young coquette
-was of an unusually capricious disposition. He was by no means sure that
-Perry had not a decided preference over him in her heart; and if his rival
-did not already enjoy so enviable a superiority, he feared that the
-consequence of her present state of restraint would be a paroxysm of
-attachment to the individual of whom she was even forbidden to think.
-Isabel doated on a frolic; she thought nothing could be so delightful as a
-romantic elopement; and far from being unhappy at the vigilance with which
-she was guarded, she lived in a state of positive bliss. Her situation was
-that of a heroine; and all her father's precautions, to prevent her from
-passing the garden-walls, were, to her, sources of unspeakable
-satisfaction. Godfrey was perfectly acquainted with her feelings, and
-strongly tainted with the same leaven himself. He knew how much he would
-dare, were he in Charles Perry's place; and he had good reasons for
-believing, that any successful exploit to obtain possession of her person,
-would be rewarded with the willing gift of young Isabel's hand. Charles
-Perry's reckless character rendered him exceedingly formidable as a rival,
-in the affections of such a girl as Isabel Plympton: but what created more
-doubts and fears in Godfrey's breast than any other circumstance, was the
-fact of a large Newfoundland dog, the property of Charles Perry, obtaining
-frequent ingress—nobody could conceive by what means—to Doctor
-Plympton's pleasure-grounds. Godfrey suspected that a correspondence was
-carried on between Perry and Isabel by means of the dog; and he shot at
-him several times, but without success.
-</p>
-<p>
-Of his quiet, demure, and unassuming school-fellow, George Wharton,
-Godfrey did not entertain the least degree of fear: he attributed Isabel's
-familiarity with him to their having been brought up together; for that
-Wharton could really love so giddy a girl as Isabel, he would not permit
-himself to believe. But the truth is, that George passionately doated on
-Isabel; and she, much to her satisfaction, had made herself acquainted
-with the state of his feelings towards her. She had even encouraged him,
-by a blushing avowal that she esteemed him more than any other human
-being, except her father; and, in all probability, at that moment, she
-uttered the genuine language of her heart: but, it is very certain, in
-less than five minutes afterwards, Godfrey Fairfax was on his knees before
-her, and kissing her exquisite hand, with an enthusiasm of manner, which
-she did not appear at all disposed to check. Perhaps she scarcely knew
-whom she loved best; and trusted to accident for determining on which of
-the three young men her choice should fall.
-</p>
-<p>
-While matters remained in this state at the parsonage, the day of
-Godfrey's departure from the house of his venerable tutor was fast
-approaching:—the vessel, by which he was to return to his native
-island, Demerara, had already completed her cargo, and nearly concluded
-the final preparations for her voyage.—Godfrey saw that no time was
-to be lost, if he wished to make Isabel Plympton his own: he was almost
-constantly with her, and pleaded his cause with such fervour, that, by
-degrees, Isabel began to forget Charles Perry, to avoid George Wharton,
-and to feel unhappy if Godfrey Fairfax were absent but for a few moments
-from her side. Godfrey knew that it would be useless to implore Doctor
-Plympton for his consent to their union: it would have struck the old
-gentleman with horror, had a pupil of his,—a youth of Godfrey's
-immense expectations,—offered to marry Isabel. He would have spumed
-the proposal as a direct attack upon his honour; and have lost his life
-rather than suffered such a marriage to take place. It would have
-amounted, in his opinion, to a breach of his duty towards his employers,
-to have suffered one of his pupils to fall in love with Isabel. But, even
-if there were any hopes that Doctor Plympton would give his consent to the
-match, provided Godfrey obtained that of his father, the young man could
-not delay his felicity; nor would he run the hazard of Isabel's changing
-her mind, or being won by Perry, or even young Wharton, while he was
-sailing to Demerara and back again. Isabel, too, he was sure, would never
-agree to a mere common-place match with him, when another lover was
-striving; night and day, to run away with her; and Godfrey, under all the
-circumstances, deemed it most prudent to carry her off, if possible,
-without asking any body's permission but her own.
-</p>
-<p>
-He had made no arrangements for a legal union with Isabel; his sole object
-was to get her out of her father's custody, and under his own protection.
-He felt assured that his love was too sincere to permit him to act
-dishonourably towards her; and a vague idea floated across his mind of
-carrying her on board the vessel by which he was to leave England, and
-marrying her at the capstan, according to the forms and usages observed at
-sea. The principal difficulty consisted in removing her beyond the walls
-of her father's pleasure-grounds. Doctor Plympton's vigilance was still
-unabated; George Wharton, although he had scarcely spoken to Isabel for
-several days past, rarely lost sight of her for a longer period than half
-an hour; Patty Wallis slept in her room, the windows of which were
-immensely high; and the key of the door was regularly deposited under the
-Doctor's pillow. With a heavy heart Godfrey began to pack up his clothes
-and books, for the day of his departure was at hand,—when the idea
-of conveying Isabel out of the house in his large trunk, suddenly flashed
-upon him. He flew to the young lady and communicated to her what he called
-the happy discovery; and she, without a moment's hesitation, gaily agreed
-to his proposition,—appearing quite delighted with the idea of
-escaping in so mysterious and legitimately romantic a manner.
-</p>
-<p>
-Godfrey passed the remainder of the day in concealing his clothes and
-books, boring air-holes in the chest, and lining it with the softest
-materials he could procure. On the morning appointed for his departure,
-Isabel stole unperceived up to the store-room, where Godfrey was anxiously
-waiting to receive her, and stepped blithely into the trunk. Within an
-hour after, it was half a mile on the road towards Bristol, in the
-fly-wagon, which Godfrey had previously ordered to call at the parsonage
-for his heavy baggage, a short time before his own intended departure. At
-length the chaise, in which he was to leave the village for ever, drew up
-to the garden gate. Godfrey took a hurried leave of his old master and
-fellow student, leaped into the vehicle, and told the post-boy not to
-spare his spurs if he expected to be well paid.
-</p>
-<p>
-In less than an hour, the young gentleman alighted at the wagon-office.
-Assuming as cool and unconcerned an air as he possibly could, he observed,
-in a careless tone, to a clerk in the office,—“I am looking for a
-trunk of mine, but I do not see it: I suppose we must have passed your
-wagon on the road.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“All our wagons are in, sir,” replied the clerk: “we don't expect another
-arrival till to-morrow morning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! very good: then my chest must be here. I hope you have taken
-particular precautions in unloading it: I wrote 'with care—this side
-upwards,' on it, in very large letters.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Who was it addressed to, sir?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, to me, certainly;—Godfrey Fairfax, Esquire, Demrara—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be left at the office till called for?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Exactly;—where is it? I've not much time to lose.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, sir, it has been gone away from here—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gone away!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, sir; about,—let me see,” continued the clerk, lazily turning
-to look at the office clock; “why, about, as near as may be, nine or ten,—ay,
-say ten,—about ten minutes ago, sir.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ten minutes ago, sir! What do you mean?—Are you mad? I'll play the
-devil with you! Where's my chest?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I told you before, it was gone, sir.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gone, sir! How could it go, sir? Didn't I direct it to be left here till
-called for?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Very well, sir; and so it was left here till called for: it stood in the
-office for five minutes or more, and then—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And then—what then?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, then, a little black porter called for it, and took it away with him
-on a truck.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Who was he?—Where has he taken it?—I'll be the ruin of you.
-The contents of that trunk are invaluable.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I suppose you didn't insure it: we don't answer for any thing above the
-value of five pounds unless it's insured;—vide the notice on our
-tickets.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't talk to me of your tickets, but answer me, scoundrel!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Scoundrel!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Where has the villain conveyed it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Can't say.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Who was he?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Distraction! How could you be such a fool as to let him have it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why not?—How was I to know?—You'd think it odd if you was to
-send a porter for your chest—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Certainly; but—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Very well, then: how could I tell but what the little black fellow was
-sent by you?—He asked for it quite correctly, according to the
-address; and that's what we go by, of course, in these cases. And even
-now, how can I tell but what he was sent by the right owner, and that
-you're come under false pretences.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, rascal!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You'll excuse me:—but you don't authenticate yourself, you know;
-and I've a right to think as I please. If we were to hold a tight hand on
-every gentleman's luggage, until he proved his birth, parentage, and
-education, why, fifty clerks couldn't get through the work. I'll put a
-case:—suppose, now, you <i>are</i> the gentleman you represent
-yourself to be,—and, mind me, I don't say you are not,—how
-should you like, when you came here for your chest, for me to ask you for
-your certificate of baptism?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You drive me mad! Can you give me no clue?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“None in the world;—you ought to have written to us.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Write to you?—why should I write?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, to warn us against giving up the goods to anybody except under an
-order, with the same signature as that in your letter: then even if a
-forgery were committed, by a comparison of hands—don't you see?—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My good fellow!” interrupted the disconsolate and bewildered Godfrey,
-“you know not what you've done. This is a horrid act: it will be the death
-of me; and perhaps you may live to repent ever having seen this unlucky
-day. There was a lady in the chest.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The clerk turned his large dull eyes upon Godfrey, and after a long and
-deliberate stare of wonder, exclaimed, “Dead or alive?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Alive; alive, I hope that is,—alive, I mean, of course.—Do
-you take me for a body-snatcher? If you have a spark of pity in your
-bosom, you will put me in the way of tracing the villain who has inflicted
-these agonies upon me. What can I do?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, if there's a lady in the case—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There is, I declare;—I solemnly protest there is.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Young or old?” “Young—young, to be sure.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, then,—I think you ought to lose no time.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pshaw! I know that well enough.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If I were you, I should be off directly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Off!—S'death, man! you enrage me. What do you mean by be off?'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, off after him, to be sure.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Which way did he go?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! there I'm at fault.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Godfrey could bear no more:—he rushed out of the office, hallooed
-“Porter!” five or six times, and, in a few seconds, half-a-dozen knights
-of the knot were advancing, from different corners of the inn yard,
-towards him. “My good fellows,” said he, “did any of you see a little
-black fellow taking a large trunk or chest from the office, on a truck,
-this morning?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Two of them had seen the little black man, but they did not recollect in
-what direction he went after quitting the yard.
-</p>
-<p>
-“How dreadfully provoking!” exclaimed Godfrey: “My only course is to
-ransack every street—every corner, in quest of him. I'll give ten
-guineas to any one who will discover the wretch. Away with you at once;—bring
-all the black porters you know or meet with, to the office; and, perhaps,
-the clerk may identify the rascal among them. I've been robbed!—do
-you hear?—robbed—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And there's a lady in the case,” said the clerk, from the threshold of
-the office-door, where he stood, carefully nibbing a pen; “a mistake has
-occurred, it seems; and though it's no fault of ours, we should be glad to
-see the matter set to rights: therefore, my lads, look sharp, and the
-gentleman, I've no doubt, will come down handsomely. I think I've seen the
-little black rascal before, and I'm pretty certain I should know him
-again: if I shouldn't, Ikey Pope would, I reckon; for he helped him to put
-the chest on the truck.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And where is Ikey, as you call him?” eagerly inquired Godfrey.
-</p>
-<p>
-“He's asleep again, I suppose, among the luggage.—Ikey!—You
-see, he's got to sit up for the wagons at night, and never has his regular
-rest. He's like a dog—Ikey!—like a dog that turns round three
-times, and so makes his bed anywhere.—Ikey!” A short, muscular,
-dirty-looking fellow now raised his head from among the packages which lay
-in the yard, and without opening his eyes, signified that he was awake, by
-growling forth “Well, what now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ikey,” said the clerk, “didn't you help a porter to load a truck with a
-large chest, some little time ago?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Should you know him again?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No!” replied Ikey, and his head disappeared behind a large package as he
-spoke.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, there's no time to lose, comrades,” said one of the porters: “will
-the gentleman pay us for our time if we don't succeed?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! of course,” replied the clerk; “away with you!”
- </p>
-<p>
-The porters immediately departed in different directions; and Godfrey,
-after pacing the yard for a few minutes, in great anguish of mind, sallied
-forth himself in quest of the little black porter. After running through
-some of the adjacent streets, and despatching another half-dozen porters,
-whom he found standing round the door of an inn, to seek for the fellow
-who had so mysteriously borne away “his casket with its precious pearl,”
- he hastened back to the wagon-office, hoping that some of his emissaries
-might have brought in the little black porter during his absence. None of
-them, however, had yet returned. Godfrey, half frantic, ran off again: and
-after half an hour's absence, he retraced his steps towards the
-wagon-office.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, sir,” said the clerk, in his usual slow and solemn tone, as Godfrey
-entered, “I have had three or four of them back; and they've brought and
-sent in half-a-score of black porters, occasional waiters, valets out of
-place, journeymen chairmen, <i>et cetera</i>, and so forth; but,
-unfortunately—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The little delinquent was not among them, I suppose.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, nor any one like him: but I'll tell you what I did—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Speak quicker:—consider my impatience. Did you employ them all to
-hunt out the villain?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, it was a bold step, perhaps; but—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Did you, or did you not?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I did.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A thousand thanks!—I'll be off again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But, I say, sir;—you'll excuse me;—now, if I were you, I'll
-just tell you what I'd do.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, my dear friend, what?—quick—what?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, I'd roust out Ikey Pope. He's the man to beat up your game.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What! the fellow who answers without unclosing his eyelids?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, to say the truth, he don't much like daylight. Nobody sees the
-colour of his eye, I reckon, above once a week; but, for all that, there's
-few can match him. He's more like a dog than a Christian. He'll find what
-every body else has lost; but upon what principle he works, I can't say: I
-think he does it all by instinct.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Let us send him out at once, then.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not so fast, sir:—Ikey's next kin to a brute, and must be treated
-accordingly. We must manage him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, you know him, and—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, and he knows me: I have condescended to play so many tricks with
-him, that he won't trust me: but he'll believe you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And how shall I enlist him in my service? I stand on thorns:—for
-Heaven's sake be speedy.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, if you only tell him he has a good leg for a boot, and promise him
-an old pair of Hessians, he's your humble servant to command; for, ugly as
-he is, he's so proud of his leg, that—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Call him;—call him, at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The clerk now roused Ikey, and, with considerable difficulty, induced him
-to leave his hard and comfortless dormitory.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The gentleman has a job for you,” said the clerk, as Ikey staggered
-towards young Fairfax.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I don't want no jobs,” muttered Ikey. “Saturday night comes often enough
-for me. Seven-and-twenty wagons a-week, out and in, in the way of work,
-and half-a-guinea a-week, in the way of wages, is as much as I can
-manage.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ikey is very temperate, sir,” said the clerk; “very temperate, I must
-allow;—he eats little and drinks less: he keeps up his flesh by
-sleeping, and sucking his thumbs.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! you will have your joke,” said Ikey, turning towards the heap of
-luggage again.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And won't you earn a shilling or two, Ikey?” said the clerk.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No; I'm an independent man: I have as much work as I can do, and as much
-wages as I want. I wish you wouldn't wake me, when there's no wagon:—how
-should you like it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, but, friend Pope,” said Godfrey, “as you will not take money,
-perhaps you'll be generous enough to do a gentleman a favour. I shall be
-happy to make you some acceptable little present—keepsake, I mean—in
-return. I've an old pair of Hessians,—and, as I think our legs are
-about of a size—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of a size!” said Ikey, facing about towards young Fairfax, and, for the
-first time, unclosing his heavy lids; “of a size!” repeated he, a second
-time, casting a critical glance on Godfrey's leg; “I can hardly think
-that.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Ikey dropped on one knee, and, without uttering a word, proceeded to
-measure Godfrey's calves with his huge, hard hands. He then rose, and
-rather dogmatically observed, “The gentleman has got a goodish sort of a
-leg; but,” continued he, “his calves don't travel in flush enough with one
-another exactly: he couldn't hold a sixpence between his ancles, the
-middle of his legs, and his knees, as a person I'm acquainted with can,
-when he likes to turn his toes out:—but I think your boots might fit
-me, sir.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm sure they will,” cried the impatient Godfrey; “and you shall have
-them.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your hand, then;—it's a bargain,” quoth Ikey, thrusting out his
-fist, and striking a heavy blow in the centre of Godfrey's palm. “Now,
-what's the job?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Godfrey rapidly stated his case, and, with all the eloquence he possessed,
-endeavoured to stimulate the drowsy fellow, on whom his chief hopes now
-depended, to a state of activity. Ikey listened to him, with closed eyes,
-and did not seem to comprehend a tythe of what he heard. When Godfrey had
-concluded, he merely observed, “I'll have a shy!” and staggered out of the
-yard, more like a drunkard reeling home from a debauch, than a man
-despatched to find out an unknown individual in the heart of a busy and
-populous city.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The William and Mary, by which I was to sail, lies at King-road,” said
-Godfrey to the clerk, as Ikey Pope departed; “the wind, I perceive, is
-fair, and sail she will, this evening, without a doubt. Unfortunate fellow
-that I am!—every moment is an age to me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Perhaps you'd like to sit down in the office,” said the clerk; “I can
-offer you a seat and yesterday's paper.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you, thank you!” replied Godfrey; “but I fear pursuit, too:—I
-cannot rest here.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The young man again walked into the streets: he inquired of almost every
-person he met, for the little black porter; but no one could give him any
-information. At last, a crowd began to gather around him, and he was, with
-very little ceremony, unanimously voted a lunatic. Two or three fellows
-had even approached to lay hands on him, when his eye suddenly encountered
-that of Ikey Pope: breaking through the crowd at once, he hurried back,
-with Ikey, to the wagon-office.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I've won the boots,” said Ikey, as they entered the yard.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Which way?—how?—Have you seen him?—Where is he?”
- eagerly inquired Godfrey.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I can't make out where he is,” replied Ikey; “but I happened to drop into
-the house where he smokes his pipe, and there I heard the whole yam. He
-brought the chest there.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Where?—where?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, to the Dog and Dolphin.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Til fly—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! it's of no use: the landlord says it was carried away again, by a
-pair of Pill-sharks; who, from what I can get out of him and his people,
-had orders to take it down the river, and put it aboard the William and
-Mary, what's now lying in Ringroad, bound for Demerary.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! then, I dare say it's all a mistake, and no roguery's intended,” said
-the clerk, who had heard Ikey's statement: “the person found he was wrong,
-and, to make amends, has duly forwarded the trunk, pursuant to the
-direction on its cover.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A chaise and four to Lamplighter's Hall, instantly!” shouted Godfrey.
-</p>
-<p>
-“First and second turn, pull out your tits,” cried the ostler: “put to,
-while I fill up a ticket.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Are you going, sir?” said Ikey, to young Fairfax.
-</p>
-<p>
-“On the wings of love,” replied Godfrey.
-</p>
-<p>
-“But the boots!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! true. There,—there's a five pound note,—buy the best pair
-of Hessians you can get.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What about the change?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Keep it or, oddso! yes,—distribute it among the porters; and be
-sure, Ikey, if ever I return to England, I'll make your fortune: I'd do it
-now, but I really haven't time.”
- </p>
-<p>
-In a few minutes, Godfrey was seated in a chaise, behind four excellent
-horses, and dashing along, at full speed, toward's Lamplighter's Hall. On
-his arrival at that place, he found, to his utter dismay, that the William
-and Mary had already set sail. After some little delay—during which
-he ascertained that his trunk had positively been carried on board—Godfrey
-procured a pilot-boat; the master of which undertook to do all that lay in
-the power of man to overtake the vessel. After two hours of intense
-anxiety, the pilot informed Godfrey, that, if the wind did not get up
-before sunset, he felt pretty sure of success. Far beyond the Holms, and
-just as the breeze was growing brisk, Godfrey, to his unspeakable joy,
-reached the deck of the William and Mary. The pilot immediately dropped
-astern; and, as soon as Godfrey could find utterance, he inquired for his
-trunk. It had already been so securely stowed away in the hold, that, as
-Godfrey was informed, it could not be hoisted on deck in less than half an
-hour. The impatient youth entreated that not a moment might be lost; and,
-in a short time, five or six of the crew, with apparent alacrity, but real
-reluctance, set about what they considered the useless task of getting the
-trunk out of the snug berth in which they had placed it.
-</p>
-<p>
-It is now necessary for us to take up another thread of our story; for
-which purpose, we must return to that point of time when the wagon, which
-contained Godfrey's precious chest, slowly disappeared behind the brow of
-a hill, at the foot of which stood the worthy Doctor's residence. Patty
-Wallis, Isabel's maid and bosom friend, had, for some time past, been
-bought over to the interest of Charles Perry, to whom she communicated
-every transaction of importance that occurred in the house. On that
-eventful morning, she had acquainted Perry with Godfrey's plan,—the
-particulars of which her young mistress had confided to her, under a
-solemn pledge of secresy,—and Perry, from behind the hedge of an
-orchard, nearly opposite the Doctor's house, beheld young Fairfax consign
-his trunk to the care of the wagoners. Godfrey entered the house, as the
-heavy vehicle turned the summit of the hill; and Charles Perry immediately
-retreated from his place of concealment, to join his trusty groom,
-Doncaster Dick, who was waiting for him, with a pair of saddle horses, in
-a neighbouring lane.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You've marked the game, I'll lay guineas to pounds!” exclaimed Dick, as
-Charles approached. “I'm sure I'm right;—I can see it by your eyes.
-Guineas to pounds, did I say?—I'd go six to four, up to any figure,
-on it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I wish you'd a thousand or two on the event, Dick,” replied Charles
-Perry, exultingly; “you'd have a safe book at any odds.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! I always thought how it would be: if there was fifty entered for
-the young lady, you'd be my first favourite; because for why?—as
-I've said scores of times,—if you couldn't beat'em out and out,
-you'd jockey them to the wrong side of the post.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope you've not been fool enough to let any one know of Godfrey's
-scheme, or of my being acquainted with it:—'brush' is the word, if
-you have.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'd lay a new hat, sir, if the truth was known, you don't suspect me.
-You're pretty sure I'm not noodle enough to open upon the scent in a
-poaching party: I was born in Bristol and brought up at Doncaster to very
-little purpose, if ever I should be sent to heel for that fault. But won't
-you mount, sir?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm thinking, Dick,” said Perry, who stood with one foot on the ground
-and the other in the stirrup;—“I'm thinking you had better push on
-by yourself, in order to avoid suspicion. Yes, that's the plan:—take
-the high road, and I'll have a steeple-chase run of it across the country.
-Make the best of your way to old Harry Tuffin's; put up the horse, watch
-for the wagon, and, as soon as it arrives, send a porter, who doesn't know
-you, to fetch the trunk:—you know how it's directed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But where am I to—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Have it brought to Tuffin's:—bespeak a private room, at the back
-part of the house; and order a chaise and four to be ready, at a moment's
-notice.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But suppose, sir, Miss should be rusty?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm sure she loves me, Dick, let them say what they will: she wouldn't
-have attempted to ran away with this young Creole fellow, if she thought
-there was any chance of having me. Besides, what can she do?—her
-reputation, Dick,—consider that but I'm talking Greek to <i>you</i>.
-Be off—get the trunk to Tuffin's.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And a thousand to three she's yours;—that's what you mean, sir,”
- said Dick, touching his hat to Perry, as he turned his horse's head
-towards the high road. In a few moments he was out of sight, and Charles
-set off, at a brisk pace, down the lane.
-</p>
-<p>
-On his arrival at Tuffin's, Perry found his trusty servant engaged in deep
-conversation, a few paces from the door, with a short, muscular, black
-man, whose attire was scrupulously neat, although patched in several
-places; his shoes were very well polished; his neckerchief was coarse, but
-white as snow; he wore a large silver ring on the little finger of his
-left hand; his hair was tied behind with great neatness; he had a porter's
-knot hanging on his arm: and, as Perry approached, he drew a small tin box
-from his waistcoat pocket, and took snuff with the air of a finished
-coxcomb.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Is this the porter you've engaged, Dick?” inquired Perry.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I couldn't meet with another,” replied Dick, “besides, sir, he's not
-objectionable, I think;—he talks like a parson.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But he's too old for the weight, Dick, I'm afraid. What's your age,
-friend?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A rude question, as some would say,” replied the porter, with a smile and
-a bow; “but Cæsar Devallé is not a coy young beauty.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So I perceive, Caesar,—if that's your name.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You do me great honour,” said the porter, “and I'm bound to venerate you,
-Mister—what shall I say? No offence;—but mutual confidence is
-the link of society. I am so far of that opinion, that I can boast of
-seven lovely children; and Mrs. Devallé, although full two-and-thirty when
-I took her in hand, already dances divinely: indeed, I can now safely
-confide to her the instruction of our infant progeny in the first
-rudiments of Terpsichore,—graceful maid!—while I teach my
-eldest boys the violin and shaving. We must get our bread as well as
-worship the muses, you know; for teeth were not given for nothing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, certainly,” observed Dick; “we know an animal's age by'em:—what's
-yours?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In round numbers—fifty.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I fear, my learned friend,” said Perry, “you are scarcely strong enough
-for my purpose.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am not equal to Hercules,” replied the porter; “but I possess what that
-great man never did,—namely, a truck. I have often thought what
-wonders Hercules would have done, if somebody had made him a present of
-two or three trifles which we moderns almost despise. Life, you know, is
-short, and therefore machinery is esteemed: consequently, 'to bear and
-forbear' is my motto; for nobody can see the bottom of the briny waves.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You are rather out at elbows in your logic, Cæsar,” said Perry; “and your
-motto seems to me to be a <i>non sequitur</i>:—but you read, I
-perceive.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, when my numerous occupations permit me,—for spectacles are
-cheap: but I find numerous faults with the doctrine of chances; and those
-who pretend to see through a millstone, in my opinion—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Keep your eye up the street,” Dick, interrupted Charles, turning from the
-Little Black Porter to his servant; “the wagon must be near at hand, by
-this time. Allow me to ask you, friend,” continued he, again addressing
-Cæsar Devallé, “are you a regular porter?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, truly,” replied Devallé, “the winds and the weather preach such
-doctrine to us, that I occasionally shave and give lessons on the violin.
-All nature is continually shifting;—why, then, should man be
-constant, except to his wife? Night succeeds the day, and darkness, light;
-and I certainly prefer practising a cotillon with a pupil, even if she's
-barefooted, to shouldering the knot. My terms are very moderate: but some
-people think ability lies only skin deep; to which class you, sir,
-certainly do not belong;—that is, if I know anything of a well-cut
-coat.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The Little Black Porter now retired, bowing and grinning, to a little
-distance, leaving Charles with his servant.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I'll lay a pony, sir,” said Dick, “the wagon isn't here this half-hour.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Perry. Dick, however, was right; forty minutes
-elapsed before the bells on the horses' heads were heard. In another
-half-hour, Godfrey's trunk, by the exertions of Perry, Dick, and the
-Little Black Porter, was removed from the truck on which Cæsar had brought
-it from the wagon-office, and triumphantly deposited on the floor of a
-back room in old Tuffin's house.
-</p>
-<p>
-Trembling with joy, Charles Perry immediately proceeded to sever the
-cords. Leaving him occupied with that “delightful task,” we shall take
-leave to carry the reader back again to the residence of Doctor Plympton.
-</p>
-<p>
-It has already been stated that young Isabel stepped gaily into the chest.
-She continued to laugh, and actually enjoyed the novelty of her situation,
-for a few seconds after Godfrey Fairfax had closed the lid. But her
-courage began to sink, from the moment she heard the holt of the lock
-shot, with a noise, that seemed to her at once portentous and prodigious:
-she even uttered a faint scream; but her pride mastered her weakness in an
-instant, and her exclamation of alarm terminated in her usual apparently
-joyous, but, perhaps, heartless laugh. Godfrey, much to his delight, heard
-her tittering, during the short period he was occupied in securely cording
-up the trunk. “Now, my dear little heroine,” whispered he, through the
-key-hole, as he fastened the last knot, “keep up your spirits; let the
-delightful thought of our early meeting, and years of subsequent bliss,
-support you through this trifling ordeal. Remember, I—mark me,
-Isabel!—I, who love you better than any other living creature does—I,
-who deem you the greatest treasure on earth,—I say you are quite
-safe. Do not forget that my happiness or misery are at the mercy of your
-courage and patience. I hear some one coming.—Adieu!—<i>Au
-revoir</i>, my love!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Godfrey now left the room, and contrived to decoy Doctor Plympton, whom he
-met in the passage, down stairs to the study, where he amused the old
-gentleman, by some plausible detail of his future intentions with regard
-to mathematics and the dead languages, until the arrival of the wagon by
-which the trunk was to be conveyed to town.
-</p>
-<p>
-Meantime, an event of considerable importance took place in the
-store-room. Isabel had made no reply to Godfrey's adieu; for the idea that
-she was so soon to be left alone, entirely deprived her of utterance; and,
-as the sound of his footsteps died away on her ear, she began to grow not
-only weary but terrified. Though incapable of judging of the real dangers
-of her situation, and blind to the impropriety of her conduct, her spirits
-were wofully depressed by imaginary terrors, which, however, were not, for
-a short period, sufficiently powerful to render her insensible to the
-personal inconvenience which she suffered. She thought of Juliet in the
-tomb, and felt sure, that were she to fall asleep, she should go mad in
-the first few moments after waking, under the idea that she was in her
-coffin, and had been buried alive. Her courage and pride completely
-deserted her: she moaned piteously, and her senses began to be affected.
-Luckily for her, perhaps, George Wharton, having nothing else to do,
-sauntered into the store-room, to see if Godfrey had finished packing up.
-He was not a little surprised to hear the voice of one in deep affliction
-proceed from the chest. After a moment's hesitation, during which he
-almost doubted the evidence of his ears, he knocked on the lid, and
-inquired if any one were within. It is almost needless to say, that the
-reply was in the affirmative.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What trick is this?” exclaimed George. “Who is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! dear Mr. Wharton! pray let me out,” cried Isabel.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Good Heavens! Isabel!—I'll fly for assistance.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No; not for worlds! I could not wait for it. Cut the cords and break open
-the chest this moment, or I shall die.”
- </p>
-<p>
-With the aid of a pocket-knife and the poker, George soon emancipated
-Isabel from her place of confinement. Pale and sobbing, she sank into his
-arms, and vowed eternal gratitude to her kind deliverer, whom, she said,
-notwithstanding appearances, she loved better than any other being in
-existence.
-</p>
-<p>
-“If so,” said George, very naturally, “why do I find you in Godfrey's
-chest?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't I confess that appearances are against me?” exclaimed Isabel,
-pettishly; “what more would you have?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am not unreasonable, Isabel: but I shall certainly talk to Mr. Fairfax,
-on this subject, before he leaves the house;—on that, I am
-resolved.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No doubt you are; or to do anything else that you think will vex me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nay, Isabel, you are too severe.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Indeed,” said Isabel, “I am quite the contrary: it is nothing but the
-excess of my foolish good-nature that has led me into this disagreeable
-situation. My frolic has cost me dear enough. That horrid Godfrey!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“His conduct is atrocious; and I shall immediately mention it to the
-Doctor.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My father would rate him soundly for it, I know; and he richly deserves a
-very long lecture: but 'forget and forgive,' George, has always been your
-motto, and I think I shall make it mine. Godfrey has been our companion
-for years; and it would be useless to make mischief, for a trifle, at the
-moment of his leaving us; 'twere better, by far, to part friends. Besides,
-after all, poor fellow, one can scarcely blame him,” added Isabel, with a
-smile, as her eye caught the reflection of her beautiful features in an
-old looking-glass; “even you, George, who are such an icy-hearted
-creature, say you would go through fire and water to possess me; and no
-wonder that such a high-spirited fellow as Godfrey—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I feel rather inclined, Miss Plympton,” interrupted George, “to shew that
-my spirit is quite as high as his.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then be noble, George, and don't notice what has happened. It's entirely
-your own fault: you know his ardour,—his magical mode of persuading
-one almost out of one's sober senses, and yet you never can contrive to be
-in the way.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My feelings, Isabel, are too delicate to—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, then, you must put up with the consequences. I am sure that some
-people, even if one don't like them much, influence one to be more
-complaisant to them, than to others whom one really loves; because others
-will not condescend to be attentive. But, come,—pray don't look so
-grave: I am sure I was nearly frightened out of my wits just now, and I
-don't look half so sorrowful as you; although, I protest, I haven't
-recovered yet. What are you thinking of?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am thinking, Isabel,” replied George, “that, after all, I had better
-speak to Godfrey; for, if I do not, when he discovers what has happened,
-he will certainly accuse me of the singular crime of stealing his
-sweetheart out of his box.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, that's true enough: but we must contrive to avoid an
-éclaircissement. As the trunk is not perceptibly damaged, suppose you
-fasten it up again with the cords; and, by way of a joke, to make it of a
-proper weight, put in young Squire Perry's dog as my substitute. Godfrey
-vowed to kill him, you know, before he left us; and he did so, not above
-an hour ago, while the horrid creature was in the act of worrying my poor
-little Beaufidel. Godfrey said he should leave him, as a legacy, in the
-back-yard, for you to bury and bear the blame.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I must confess,” said Wharton, “it would be a pleasant retaliation: I
-certainly should enjoy it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then fly at once down the back stairs for the creature: nobody will see
-you:—go.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Will you remain here?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Fie, George! Do you think I could endure the sight of the shocking
-animal?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, well;—but will you see Godfrey again?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Certainly not: I shall keep out of the way. It is arranged that he shall
-say I have the head-ache, and am gone to my room; so he'll insist upon
-waiving my appearance at his departure. Do as I tell you, my dear George,
-and we shall get rid of him delightfully.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Isabel now tripped lightly away to her little boudoir, where she was
-secure from intrusion; and Wharton proceeded to carry her ideas into
-execution with such unusual alacrity, that he had achieved his object long
-before the arrival of the wagon. He assisted in bringing the trunk down
-stairs; but his gravity was so much disturbed, by the very strict
-injunctions which Godfrey gave the wagoners to be more than usually
-careful with his property, that, for fear of betraying himself, he was
-compelled to make a precipitate retreat into the house. As soon as he was
-out of the hearing of his young rival, he indulged in an immoderate fit of
-laughter, which was echoed by Isabel, who, peeping through the window of
-her apartment, heartily enjoyed the anxiety which Godfrey, by his looks,
-appeared to feel for the safety of his chest and its precious contents.
-She kept out of sight until young Fairfax had departed; when Fatty Wallis
-was struck speechless, for nearly a minute, at being summoned by Isabel in
-person, to dress her for dinner.
-</p>
-<p>
-The indignation and amazement of Charles Perry, on seeing his own dead dog
-in the trunk, where he had expected to find the fair form of the blooming
-and lively Isabel Plympton, may easily be imagined. His first emotions of
-wonder at the sight were quickly succeeded by the deepest regret for the
-death of his favourite dog: but his sorrow for the animal was suddenly
-extinguished by a most painful feeling of mortification, at having been so
-egregiously duped: at last, rage,—violent and ungovernable rage,
-seemed to master all other passions in his bosom. He raved like a
-Bedlamite, beat his forehead, tore his hair, stamped up and down the room,
-vowed to sacrifice, not only young Fairfax, Patty Wallis, Doctor Plympton,
-but even Doncaster Dick himself; and when his excitement had reached its
-highest pitch, he lifted the dead dog out of the chest, and hurled it,
-with all his might, at the head of Cæsar Devallé. The force of the blow
-threw the Little Black Porter on the floor, where he lay with the dog
-sprawling upon him; and his grimaces, and exclamations for rescue from the
-animal, appeared so exceedingly ludicrous to Charles Perry, that the young
-gentleman burst out into a violent and uncontrollable fit of laughter, in
-which he was most readily joined by Doncaster Dick.
-</p>
-<p>
-Long before the merriment of either master or man had subsided, Cæsar
-contrived to extricate himself from the dog; and after adjusting his
-disordered cravat, began to express his deep indignation at the insult he
-had suffered. He intimated, in a tone tremulous with agitation, but in
-rather choice terms, that he should be quite delighted to know by what law
-or custom any person was authorized to hurl the corpse of a huge mastiff
-at the head of a citizen of the world; and why the alarming position of an
-inoffensive father of seven children, struggling to escape from an animal,
-which might, for aught he knew, be alive and rabid, should exhilarate any
-gentleman, whose parents or guardians were not cannibals; or any groom,
-except a Centaur. “If we are to be treated in this way,” pursued he,
-“where is the use of tying our hair?—We may as well go about like
-logs in a stream, if gentlemen know nothing of hydrophobia, or the
-philosophy of the human heart. Even the brute creation teaches us many of
-our social duties: the cat washes her face, and even the duck smooths her
-feathers, in order that she may be known on the pond for what she is: but
-if a man is to embellish his exterior,—if we are to display the
-character of our minds by outward appearances, and yet be thrown at, for
-sport, like cocks on a Shrove Tuesday,—why, to speak plainly, the
-Ganges may as well be turned into a tea-pot, and the Arabian deserts be
-covered with Witney blankets.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The short and the long of it is,” said Dick, “he means, sir, that we
-ought to know, lookye, as how a man who ties his cravat in a small
-rosette, and shews a bit of frill, don't give or take horse-play. That's
-my translation of his rigmarole, and I'll lay a crown it's a true one.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I suspect it is,” said Perry, “and I'm sorry, porter, that—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not a word more,” interrupted Caesar, again suffering his features to
-relax from their state of grave restraint into his habitual smile;—“not
-a word more, I insist: to evince a disposition to make an ample apology,
-is quite satisfactory from one gentleman to a—to a—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To another, you would say,” said Charles.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You honour me vastly by this condescension, sir; and if ever I compose
-another cotillon, or Mrs. Devallé presents me with an eighth pledge of our
-affection, your name shall certainly be made use of. Gratitude is
-implanted even in stocks and stones; and the acorn that is only half
-munched by swine, grows into an oak, and, centuries after, becomes a ship,
-in which our celebrated breed of pigs is carried to the four quarters of
-the world. Even my namesake Cæsar, the Roman, and Hannibal, the
-Carthaginian—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Exactly,—exactly so,” said Perry, turning on his heel and biting
-his lip, as the recollection of the trick which had been played upon him
-again flashed across his mind.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I beg pardon,” said Cesar, following him; “I don't think you foresaw,
-precisely—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, what were you going to say?” inquired Charles, in a tone of
-impatience.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I was about to propose, that we should drown all future animosity in a
-bumper;—that is, if you would honour so humble a member of society
-as Cosar Devallé, by ordering the liquor. Shall I execute your commands?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Dick, get some brandy:—I could drink a glass myself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll step for a pint or so,” quoth Cæsar; “I am fond of motion: it
-exemplifies the living principle, and—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No more of your observations, but begone,” interrupted Charles. Devallé
-made a low bow, and immediately left the room. “The fellow's a fool,”
- continued Charles, as the Little Black Porter closed the door. “What say
-you, Dick, to all this?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, sir,” replied Dick, “I don't like to be over positive; but, to me,
-it looks rather like a pretty kettle of fish. Moreover, I'll lay a year's
-perquisites to half a pound, that Mr. Cæsar, the porter, is more rogue
-than ninny.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What do you mean? Why do you wink in that manner?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! I never winks without there's a notion or two in my head. A sensible
-horse don't throw his ears forward, unless there's something in the wind
-he thinks may be worth looking at. I can't make out which way we've been
-jockied in this form. Where lies the fault, sir?—that's what I want
-to know. Who put the dog in the box? I wish any one would answer that
-simple question.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So do I, Dick, with all my heart.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, then, it's clear there's a screw loose somewhere. I'll lay my leg
-it don't lie with little Patty.—Then where can it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, that's the point, Dick.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, then, if I'm any judge, this little porter isn't twopence halfpenny
-better than he should be. He was a long while going for the trunk, you'll
-recollect: and when I told him that it was directed to Godfrey Fairfax,
-Esquire, 'Ay, ay!' says he, taking the words out of my mouth, 'Godfrey
-Fairfax, Esquire, of Demerary.' It did'nt strike me, then; but it seems
-rather oddish to me, now; and, in my mind, all the roguery was done 'twixt
-here and the wagon-office: I'll bet a guinea it was.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Egad, Dick! you're generally right; and there seems some probability. But
-how shall we act?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, sir, I recommend that we should make him drunk, and pump him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But, suppose his head should prove too hard for ours, Dick.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Never fear that, sir; I'll ring the changes, so that he shall do double
-duty.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You forget, Dick, that all this time he may be making his escape. Run
-down stairs and look after him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Dick walked to the door, but returned without opening it. “I hear his hoof
-on the stairs, sir,” said he: “sharp's the word.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The Little Black Porter now entered the room, followed by a waiter with a
-decanter of brandy and three glasses. Bumpers were immediately filled, and
-the Little Black Porter and Dick drank young Perry's health: Charles then
-emptied his glass; more liquor was poured out, the Little Black Porter
-began to talk, and, in a very short time, the contents of the decanter
-were considerably diminished. Devallé drank, alternately, and it must be
-confessed, “nothing loath,” to Dick and his master; and the groom, with
-much ingenuity, contrived to make him swallow at least thrice the quantity
-that either he or young Perry took. Caesar's eyes gradually grew bright; a
-slight stutter was perceptible in his speech; he unnecessarily used words
-of considerable length; and spoke familiarly of persons far above his own
-station in life.
-</p>
-<p>
-“You seem to be acquainted with nearly all the residents of this
-neighbourhood,” said Charles, drawing the Little Black Porter to a window;
-“can you inform me who lives in yonder old brick house, the
-window-shutters of which always appear closed?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The owner, sir,” replied Cæsar, “is an opulent merchant, old and
-whimsical,—but age will have its errors; if not, why do we prop a
-tottering castle, and patch shoes? Nothing is incomprehensible if we adopt
-the doctrine of analogy; which, as more than one great writer observes, is
-an irrefragable proof that man is endowed with reasoning powers. The
-gentleman, whose house you now see, sir, sleeps by day, and dines at
-midnight. Far be it from me to say that he is wrong: there are quite
-enough of us, to dance attendance on the sun; why should not Luna have her
-votaries? There's no act of parliament to make man fall asleep at eleven
-precisely; Spitzbergen does not lie under the tropics, you know; and,
-perhaps, if I had my choice,—for flesh is grass,—I should
-prefer that latitude where it is three months day and three months night.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And why so, Caesar?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, I need not tell you there's some difference between a rhinoceros and
-a sugar-cane; and, accordingly, I, for one, seldom or ever want to go to
-sleep, except when under the influence of a more cheerful cup than I
-usually take; in fact, when I'm in a state of inebriation, which rarely
-occurs,—for many mole-hills go to a mountain. But, on the other
-hand, when I <i>do</i> sleep,—so lovely is nature!—that I
-never should wake, for three months at least, I suspect,—though, of
-course, I never tried the experiment,—if Mrs. Devallé did not deluge
-me with soap-suds. I am told that soap contains alkali; and alkali, to
-some constitutions, is wholesome;—for fire, you know, will roast an
-ox;—and the custom of bears retiring into winter quarters, meets
-with my warmest approbation.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Before Perry and Caesar returned to the table, Doncaster Dick had secretly
-procured a fresh supply of brandy; with which Charles plied the Little
-Black Porter so vigorously, that Caesar was soon pronounced by Dick to be
-sufficiently intoxicated for their purpose. Young Perry and the groom then
-began to draw Caesar's attention to the dog; and endeavoured, by dint of
-wheedling, threats, and promises, to elicit from him what had taken place,
-with regard to the trunk while it was in his possession: but, as the
-porter had nothing to confess, all their attempts, of course, proved
-ineffectual; and Caesar, at last, dropped his head on his shoulder, and
-sank into a profound sleep.
-</p>
-<p>
-“We have overdone it, Dick,” said Perry; “we gave him too much, you see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, sir,” replied Dick, “you opened too hotly upon him;—that's
-clear. If you had left him to me, I'd have drawn him as gently as a
-glove.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Dick and his master, notwithstanding their precaution, had drunk
-sufficient to intoxicate them: they were ripe for mischief, and heedless
-of consequences. When Charles Perry, therefore, asked Dick what was to be
-done with the trunk, it is scarcely a matter of surprise, that Dick
-proposed packing the porter in it, and forwarding it according to the
-address on its cover; or that Charles, irritated as he felt, and still
-suspicious that Cæsar had been a party to the trick which had been played
-off upon him, gaily assented to the proposal. Cæsar was lifted into the
-box, and the cords securely fastened, in a very few minutes. Dick then
-sallied forth to ascertain where the ship lay. He soon returned with a
-couple of Pill boatmen, who informed Charles that the William and Mary was
-lying at Kingroad, and waiting only for the tide to put to sea: they were
-just about to return to Pill, and they undertook, for a small sum, to
-carry the chest down the river in their boat, and place it safely on board
-the vessel before she sailed.
-</p>
-<p>
-It will, doubtless, be recollected that we left Godfrey Fairfax in a state
-of delightful agitation, on the deck of the William and Mary, while
-several of the crew were preparing to hoist his trunk out of the hold. As
-soon as it was brought on deck, Godfrey, with tears of joy glistening in
-his eyes, fell on his knees in front of it, and eagerly unfastened the
-cords. He trembled to find the bolt of the lock already shot back, and
-with the most anxious solicitude, threw up the cover: instead of the
-lovely face of Isabel, his eyes fell on that of the Little Black Porter!
-Uttering a shriek of horror, he leaped upon his feet, and stood aghast and
-speechless for several moments, gazing on Devallé.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/384s.jpg" alt="384s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/384.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/384m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-The crew crowded round the chest, and Cæsar, who had been roused by
-Godfrey's exclamation, raised himself, and stared on the various objects
-by which he was surrounded,—expressing the utter astonishment he
-felt at his novel situation by such strange contortions of countenance and
-incoherent expressions, that the sailors, who at the first glimpse they
-had of Cæsar, in the box, were almost as much amazed as the Little Black
-Porter himself, began to laugh most heartily. Godfrey, at length,
-recovered sufficient possession of his faculties to grasp Devallé by the
-throat, and violently exclaim,—“Villain, explain! What have you
-done?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That is precisely what I wish to know,” replied Cæsar, as soon as he
-could disengage himself from young Fairfax. “What have I done?—Why
-do I find myself here?—And where in the world am I?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In de Bristol Channel,” chuckled the black cook, who stood tuning a
-fiddle by the side of the chest. “Him shipped in good order and condition,
-aboard de good ship William and Mary.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Consigned, I see,” added a sailor, “to Godfrey Fairfax, Esquire, of
-Demerara,—whither we're bound, direct,—'with care this side
-upwards.'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Godfrey Fairfax, of Demerara!—consigned to Demerara!” exclaimed
-Caesar, leaping out of the trunk: “Don't play with my feelings,—don't,—don't!
-If you are men, don't trifle with me. Your words are poisoned arrows to my
-poor heart.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Massa Blackee no runaway slave, eh?” inquired the cook. “Unfortunate
-wretch that I am!” replied Cæsar; “flesh is frail, and liberty's wand is a
-sugar-cane. I feel driven by present circumstances to confess, that I
-certainly did escape in the hold of the Saucy Jane, from Demerara, thirty
-years ago. Fellow-creatures, do not refund me to my old master:—I
-was the property of Mr. Fairfax.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of my father!” exclaimed Godfrey.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Miserable me! His son here, too!” said Caesar. “I have been kidnapped,—cheated!
-I'm a free man, though;—a citizen of the world; a housekeeper, and
-the father of seven lovely children: do not deprive them of their paternal
-support. Remember, I stand upon my rights: there are laws even for
-rabbits; English oak is the offspring of the land of liberty, and
-consequently I command somebody to put me ashore.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How can we put you ashore, my good man?” asked a fellow in the garb of an
-hostler; “we're cantering along at the rate of twelve miles an hour before
-the wind; and I've lost sight of land this long time.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't care for that:—a kangaroo isn't a cockroach, and I demand
-my privileges. Put back the ship, I say; I'm here by mistake.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Put back the ship!” repeated the man in the stableman's dress; “don't
-make yourself so disagreeable in company. Do you think every body is to be
-turned to the right-about for you? I've got fifteen mules aboard under my
-care, and every hour is an object.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My good sir,” said Devallé, with a smile which he deemed irresistible,
-“think of my wife and family.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, nonsense! think of my mules.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If there were but a being endowed with the sublime light of reason, among
-you,” exclaimed Caesar, “I would shew by analogy,—yea, I would
-convince even any muleteer but this gentleman—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now don't fatigue yourself, nor put yourself out of the way,” interrupted
-the man whom Caesar designated as the muleteer; “we all know, that once
-free, always free; at least, so I've been told by them that ought to be
-dead as a nail upon such things: therefore it's only a pleasant trip for
-you to Demerary and back. Your old master can't take you again.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But he will,” said Cosar.
-</p>
-<p>
-“But he can't,” retorted the muleteer.
-</p>
-<p>
-“But he will, I tell you: what is the use of your saying a bull can't
-legally gore me through the stomach, when I know that he will, whether he
-can or no? I must lift up my voice,—curse that fiddle! it's all out
-of tune,” continued Devallé, snatching the instrument from the cook, who
-was scraping an old march upon it: “I shall lift up my voice, and protest
-loudly against this outrage. The downfal of Rome may be dated from the
-Sabine occurrence; therefore, I warn every body to restore me at once to
-my adopted land. Retract, I say,” pursued the Little Black Porter, almost
-unconsciously tuning the fiddle, and then handing it back to the cook as
-he spoke; “retract, and land me, or you'll find, to your cost, that
-Demosthenes didn't put pebbles into his mouth for nothing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Cæsar, however, was not endowed with sufficient eloquence to get restored
-to “home, love, and liberty.” He appealed in vain to the officers of the
-ship: they said it was impossible for them to lie to, and land him; for
-night was coming on—the wind blew a capful—time was of the
-utmost importance—they touched nowhere on the voyage—and,
-unwilling as they were to be encumbered with him,—Jack in the box,
-(as Cæsar was already familiarly termed,) must positively go with them to
-Demerara.
-</p>
-<p>
-Leaving the Little Black Porter and Godfrey Fairfax (who scarcely spoke a
-dozen words during the first week of the voyage) on board the William and
-Mary, we shall now return to some of the other characters in our tale.
-</p>
-<p>
-Firmly believing that he had been the dupe of Patty, Isabel, and one or
-both of his rivals, Squire Perry concealed the circumstances which had
-occurred at the Dog and Dolphin; and, in a few months, to the great joy of
-Doctor Plympton, he left the neighbourhood entirely. George Wharton's
-affection for Isabel, in the mean time, had become so apparent, that
-several good-natured friends alluded to it, at the Doctor's table, in such
-plain terms, that the old gentleman was, at length, compelled to notice
-it. He said nothing, however, either to Isabel or George; but wrote to the
-young gentleman's father, in Jamaica, stating, that, singular to say, the
-young people had clearly fallen in love with each other, in the opinion of
-many who were very well qualified to judge in such matters, although, for
-his own part, he protested that he could scarcely believe it. “I entreat
-you,” he continued, “not to attach any blame to me, on this occasion: I
-have done my duty to your son, who is as fine a scholar as ever I turned
-out of hand; although, I must confess, that, latterly, his diligence has
-visibly decreased. I beseech you, therefore, as he is sufficiently
-advanced in the classics to enter upon the grand stage of life, instead of
-suffering him to remain with me another year, which I believe was your
-intention, to send for him at once, and so blight this unhappy passion for
-my child in its very bud.”
- </p>
-<p>
-To the Doctor's astonishment, Mr. Wharton wrote, in reply, that nothing
-could give him greater pleasure than an alliance with so respectable a
-family as that of his old friend Plympton; that he highly approved of his
-son's choice; that he was by no means opposed to early marriages; that he
-had, by the same packet, communicated his ideas as to a settlement, to an
-able professional gentleman, who would, doubtless, speedily wait upon the
-Doctor for his approval to a draft deed; and that the sooner the match was
-made the better.
-</p>
-<p>
-Adam Burdock, the old attorney of Furnival's Inn, was the professional
-gentleman alluded to in Mr. Wharton's epistle; and, in a few days after
-its arrival, Doctor Plympton, who found himself unable to communicate what
-had transpired to George and Isabel in person, made an excuse to come to
-London, and thence, by letter, afforded them the welcome intelligence.
-</p>
-<p>
-The deeds were prepared with extraordinary despatch; and, after an absence
-of eleven days only, Doctor Plympton, accompanied by the attorney,
-returned home. On entering the parlour, he was rather surprised to find
-his own capacious elbow-chair occupied by a stranger of very singular
-appearance. After gazing for a moment at his unknown visitor, who was fast
-asleep, he turned to his companion, and muttered a few incoherent phrases,
-by which the attorney discovered that his host was extremely anxious to
-disclaim all previous acquaintance with the gentleman in the chair. The
-stranger still slept. He was attired in a short nankeen coat and
-waistcoat,—the latter lying open from the second button upward,
-evidently to display a frilled and very full-bosomed shirt; black small
-clothes, much the worse for wear; white silk stockings, hanging in bags
-about the calves, and exhibiting an elaborate specimen, from the knee-band
-to the instep, of the art of darning: his hands rested on a fine bamboo,
-and his head was embellished with a well-powdered wig:—it was the
-Little Black Porter.
-</p>
-<p>
-Doctor Plympton coughed thrice with considerable emphasis, moved a chair
-with unnecessary violence, and very energetically poked the fire; but his
-guest still snored. He inquired of the attorney, by a look, what he should
-do. Burdock shrugged up his shoulders, smiled, and took a seat. Patty
-Wallis, who had been busy hitherto in receiving the luggage from the
-driver, now entered the room; George and Isabel immediately followed; and
-the joyous laugh of the latter at once produced the desired effect on the
-Little Black Porter. He was awake and on his legs in an instant; and,
-while he stood bowing and grinning at Isabel and the Doctor, Patty
-informed George, who had just returned with Isabel from a walk, that the
-stranger knocked at the door about ten minutes before, inquired for Miss
-Plympton, and, on being informed that she was out, but would probably
-return within half an hour, requested permission to wait, as he had
-something of importance to communicate.
-</p>
-<p>
-Although the presence of his unknown guest was particularly annoying to
-him, Doctor Plympton addressed the Little Black Porter with his usual
-suavity, and begged he would resume his seat. A very awkward silence of
-several moments ensued; during which Cæsar took snuff with great
-self-complacency, brushed away the particles which had fallen on his
-frill, threw himself back in the chair, and seemed to be proud of the
-curiosity which he excited.
-</p>
-<p>
-“My friend Doctor Plympton,” at length observed the attorney, fixing his
-eye on Cæsar so firmly—to use his own expression—that he could
-not flinch from it, “my friend here, sir, would, doubtless, be happy to
-know what fortunate circumstance he is indebted to for the honour of your
-company?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I dare say he would,” replied Cæsar; “but my business is with the young
-lady.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“With Isabel Plympton!” exclaimed George.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, sir!” replied the porter; “Cupid, the little blind god of hearts, you
-know—eh! Doctor? Ha, ha!—Well! who has not been young?—Cupid
-and his bow, and then his son Hymen! My toast, when I'm in spirits, always
-is—May Cupid's arrows be cut into matches to light Hymen's torch,
-but his bow never be destroyed in the conflagration.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Come, come, sir!—this is foolery,” said Wharton, who seemed to be
-much agitated;—“your business, at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Foolery!” exclaimed Cæsar; “I will not suffer the dignity of man to be
-outraged in my person, remember; so take warning. Foolery, indeed!—but
-never mind; time is precious; wisdom has been rather improperly painted as
-an old woman with a flowing beard, and some of us have not long to live:
-so, as we are all friends, I will speak out my business without delay,
-provided I am honoured with Miss Isabel's permission.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I would rather hear it in private,” said the young lady. “Then I am
-dumb,” quoth Cæsar: “Venus has sealed my lips with adamant.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You are joking, Bell;—surely you are joking!” exclaimed young
-Wharton.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Decidedly you are, child,—I say, decidedly,” cried the Doctor.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Indeed I am not, father,” replied Isabel, with a gravity of manner which,
-with her, was almost unprecedented. “If he have aught to say to me, and to
-me alone, I will hear it alone, or not at all.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You see, gentlemen,” said Cæsar, “I should be very happy—but Venus
-has stopped my breath. I have been always a slave to the sex. Mahomet went
-to the mountain; and it is insolence in a rushlight to rival the moon. Do
-not entreat me, for I'm inflexible.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No one entreats you, man,” said George: “if Isabel Plympton, and such as
-you, have any private business with each other, I, for one, will not
-trouble you with my presence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Young Wharton had no sooner uttered these words, than he walked out of the
-room.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Good Heavens!” exclaimed the Doctor, “I never saw George so roused. Sir,”
- added he, addressing the attorney, “he's the quietest creature in
-existence,—gentle as a lamb,—meek as a dove; his enemies, if
-it were possible for one of his kind disposition to have any, would say he
-was even too passive. I'm quite alarmed;—pray come with me,—pray
-do: assist me, sir, to soothe him. I'm quite unused to such events, and
-scarcely know how to act.—Excuse me, sir, a moment.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The last words of the Doctor were addressed, as he drew the attorney out
-of the room, to the Little Black Porter. “Don't mention it, sir,” said
-Cæsar; “if we can't make free, why should crickets be respected? And now,
-young lady, as we are quite alone—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You come from Godfrey Fairfax,” interrupted Isabel.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Cæsar;—“a witch!—the world's at an
-end! But I ascribe it to Cupid. How do you know—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I guessed—I was sure of it:—I dreamt of him last night. Give
-me his letter.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“His letter?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes;—have you not one from him?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will not deny that I have; but I was only to deliver it on condition—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't talk of conditions give it to me, at once.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There it is, then: your commands are my law. I have been a martyr to my
-submission to the fair, but I don't repent; and, as philosophy and analogy
-both concur—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not another word,” interrupted Isabel, “but leave the house:—go.
-What! Cupid's messenger, and demur?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Never:—I will fly. Wish for me, and Cæsar Devallé shall appear. I
-kiss your fair fingers.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The Little Black Porter perpetrated a bow in his best style, and closed
-the front door behind him, as Doctor Plympton returned to the parlour.
-</p>
-<p>
-“He's very obstinate—George is,” said the Doctor; “I can't account
-for it;—he won't come in. But where's the gentleman of colour?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gone, father.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gone!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes; his business with me was brief, you see.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That may be; but I assure you, Bell, I do not feel exactly satisfied with
-you. I should like to know—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ask me no questions to-night, papa: I am not well, and I wish to retire.
-If you will permit me to go to my room at once. I will dutifully answer
-any thing you please in the morning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, go, my love;—go, and God bless you! but it's very mysterious
-for all that.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Isabel retired, and, in a short time, the attorney, followed by George
-Wharton, entered the parlour. They found the Doctor walking to and fro,
-with his arms folded across his breast, and evidently absorbed in thought.
-Their appearance roused him from his reverie: he advanced, very earnestly
-shook hands with both of them, and asked pardon for his want of urbanity;
-as an excuse for which, he protested, with ludicrous solemnity, that he
-scarcely knew whether he was walking on his head or his heels. “My pupil,
-too,” he continued, looking at young Wharton, but addressing the attorney,
-“I regret to perceive, still clothes his countenance in the frowns of
-displeasure.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Isabel is occupied in privately conferring somewhere with our new friend,
-I presume,” said George.
-</p>
-<p>
-“No, child—not at all,” replied the Doctor, with affected calmness;
-“she is gone to her room: one of her old attacks of head-ache has
-occurred, and we may not expect to sec her again for the remainder of the
-evening. The gentleman of colour had departed before my return to the
-parlour.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It would have been as well, I think, if you had not quitted it,” said
-young Wharton, angrily: “I remember the time when you made Miss Plympton a
-close prisoner, and would suffer none but the inmates of your own house to
-speak to her, in order that she should not hold any communication with a
-young gentleman of respectable family who was well known in the
-neighbourhood: now, you leave her with a stranger of the most suspicious
-appearance, who boldly tells you that he has private business with her,
-which she refuses to hear even in your presence! But of course, Miss
-Plympton acquainted you with the purport of his visit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, George, I declare she did not,” said the Doctor, with great humility.
-</p>
-<p>
-“What, sir! did she refuse when you insisted?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I did not insist,” replied Doctor Plympton; “I did not insist, for she
-told me beforehand that she would answer no questions till the morning,—or
-something to that effect.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You astonish me!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I confess that I was staggered myself:—but what could I do? She has
-grown out of her girlhood like a dream; and for the first time in her
-life, to my apprehension, my child stood as a woman before me. Her look,
-her tone, her posture, and, above all, the expression of her eye-brow,
-reminded me so strongly, on a sudden, of her majestic mother, that all my
-energies were suspended: the dead seemed to be raised from the grave, and
-I was awed before her. But a truce to this; it will not occur again. I was
-taken by surprise; and, by-the-by, George, on reflection, I feel compelled
-to observe, that it is impossible that I should submit to the dictatorial
-air which you thought fit to assume a few moments since. Remember, sir,
-who you are, and what I am; or rather, perhaps, what I was; for truly, I
-feel that I am not the man I recollect myself to have been:—that,
-however, is no excuse for you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“On the contrary, sir,” said George, affectionately taking the old man's
-hand, “it adds to my offence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You do not mean to convey, that you are conscious of any visible symptoms
-of my being unequal to my former self—do you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“By no means, sir; but—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, well! once more, enough of this. Let us think of our respectable
-guest, to whom I owe a thousand apologies, and order supper. Let us
-postpone all that's unpleasant until the morning; when, I have no doubt,
-this affair will prove to be a little farce, at which we shall all
-heartily laugh. The gentleman of colour is, doubtless, an itinerant vender
-of some of those numberless absurdities for the toilet or the work-box,
-which run away with a great portion of every girl's pocket-money. The idea
-did not strike me before, but I am almost persuaded that I am correct in
-my supposition; and doubtless, Isabel, piqued at your warmth,—which
-really almost electrified me,—determined to punish you, by affecting
-to be serious and making a mystery of the affair. Retaliate, George, by
-sleeping soundly to-night, and looking blithe and debonair, as the young
-Apollo newly sprung from his celestial couch, to-morrow morning.”
- </p>
-<p>
-In spite of the Doctor's occasional attempts to infuse some portion of
-gaiety into the conversation that ensued, a deep gloom reigned in his
-little parlour during the remainder of the evening. Very shortly after the
-removal of the cloth from the supper-table, the old attorney, much to the
-satisfaction of the Doctor and George, retired to his bed-room, and they
-immediately followed his example.
-</p>
-<p>
-Isabel appeared at the breakfast-table the next morning; but her usual
-gaiety had vanished: she looked pale and thoughtful, and when addressed,
-she replied only in monosyllables. George Wharton was sullen, and the
-Doctor could not avoid betraying his uneasiness: he several times made
-such observations as he thought would infallibly force Isabel into an
-elucidation of the mysteries of the preceding evening; but she was proof
-against them all, and maintained an obstinate silence on the subject.
-Under the pretence of shewing the beauties of his pleasure-ground, Doctor
-Plympton drew the attorney, who was breakfasting with the most perfect
-professional <i>non-chalance</i>, from his chocolate and egg, to one of
-the windows; and there briefly, but pathetically, laid open the state of
-his mind. “I declare,” said he, “I am nearly deprived of my reasoning
-faculties with amazement, at the conduct of Bell and the son of your
-respected client. So complete a metamorphosis has never occurred since the
-cessation of miracles. Each of them is an altered being, sir; they are the
-antipodes of what they were; and I assure you, it alarms,—it
-unnerves me. George, who used to be as bland as Zephyr, and obedient as a
-gentle child, either sits morose, or blusters, as you saw him last night,
-like a bully. And Bell, who indulged almost to an excess in the innocent
-gaieties of girlhood, is turned into marble: no one would believe, to look
-at her now, that she had ever smiled. She has lost her laugh, which used
-to pour gladness into my old heart, and is quite as dignified and almost
-as silent as some old Greek statue. How do you account for this?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sir,” replied Burdock, whose chocolate was cooling; “make yourself quite
-easy: such changes are no novelties to me; they must be attributed to the
-business of the day:—the execution of a deed of settlement, in
-contemplation of a speedy marriage, is an awful event to those who have
-never gone through the ceremony before. I have witnessed hysterics at a
-pure love-match, even when it was seasoned with money in profusion on both
-sides.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The attorney now strode back to his seat, and began his capital story
-relative to the great cause of Dukes and Driver. The Doctor reluctantly
-returned to the table, and seemed to listen to his guest; but his mind was
-occupied on a different subject; and when the cloth was removed, and the
-attorney's tale concluded, he was scarcely conscious that he had
-breakfasted, and knew no more of the merits of the case, than Beaufidel,
-who sat on a footstool, looking ruefully at his mistress, and evidently
-disappointed at not having been favoured with his usual portion of smiles
-and toast.
-</p>
-<p>
-Immediately after breakfast, Burdock produced, from the recesses of his
-bag, the marriage settlement, and in a clear and distinct manner,
-proceeded to read over its contents,—occasionally pausing to
-translate its technical provisoes into common sense, and enjoining the
-young people boldly to mention any objections that might strike them to
-the language of the deed, so as to afford him an opportunity of explaining
-them away as they occurred. In the course of a couple of hours, he had
-gone through the drudgery of perusing half-a-dozen skins of parchment; and
-the gardener and Patty were called in to witness the execution of the deed
-by the young couple, and Doctor Plympton and Adam Burdock as trustees to
-the settlement.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was a moment of interest:—George and the Doctor advanced to lead
-Isabel to the table; she started from her chair as they approached,
-hurried towards the deed, and snatched the pen which the attorney
-gallantly offered for her use. He guided her hand to the seal, against
-which she was to set her name; but the pen rested motionless on the
-parchment. After a moment's pause, the attorney looked up: Isabel's face,
-which had previously been exceedingly pale, was now of a deep crimson; her
-lips quivered; her eyes were fixed, apparently, upon some object that had
-appeared at the door of the room; and relinquishing her hold of the pen,
-she faintly articulated, “Forgive me, George,—Father, forgive me,—but
-I cannot do it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-Following the direction of her eyes, Burdock turned round while Isabel was
-speaking, and, to his surprise, beheld the Little Black Porter, who stood
-bowing and grinning at the door.
-</p>
-<p>
-George Wharton said a few words to encourage Isabel, and supported her
-with his arm; and her father, with clasped hands, repeated, in a sorrowful
-tone, “Cannot do it!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No,—no,” said Isabel; “never, father,—never;—while he
-lives and loves me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“He, child! Whom mean you?” exclaimed the old man.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Godfrey Fairfax,” replied Isabel, tremulously.
-</p>
-<p>
-Her head dropped on her shoulder as she spoke; but though she was
-evidently fainting, George withdrew his hand from her waist, with an
-exclamation of deep disgust; and she would have sunk on the floor, had not
-the Little Black Porter, who had been gradually advancing, now sprung
-suddenly forward, and, pushing young Wharton aside, received her in his
-arms. The attention of George and the Doctor had been so rivetted on
-Isabel, that they were not aware of Devallé's presence until this moment.
-George no sooner beheld him, than he rushed out of the room; the
-astonished Doctor staggered to a chair; and the two servants, instead of
-assisting their mistress, stood motionless spectators of the scene.
-Burdock alone seemed to retain perfect possession of his senses: he
-requested the gardener to fetch the usual restoratives, and gently
-reproached Patty for her neglect.
-</p>
-<p>
-While Patty, who now became very alert and clamorous, relieved the Little
-Black Porter from the burthen which he willingly supported, the attorney
-suggested to Doctor Plympton, the propriety of obtaining possession of a
-letter, the end of which was peeping out of Isabel's bosom, before she
-recovered; but the Doctor sat, heedless of his remark, gazing at his pale
-and inanimate child. Burdock, therefore, without loss of time, moved
-cautiously towards Isabel, and without being detected even by the
-waiting-maid, drew the letter forth. At that instant Isabel opened her
-eyes, and gradually recovered her senses. She intimated that she was
-perfectly aware of what Burdock had done; and, after requesting that the
-letter might be handed to her father, with the assistance of Patty she
-retired from the room.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Little Black Porter was following Isabel and Patty as closely as
-possible, and had already placed one foot outside the door, when Doctor
-Plympton peremptorily ordered him to come back. Devallé returned, bowing
-very obsequiously; and when he had arrived within a pace or two of the
-Doctor's chair, with a strange mixture of humility and impudence, he
-inquired what were the honoured gentleman's commands.
-</p>
-<p>
-The Doctor had entirely laid aside his usual suavity of deportment, and,
-in a loud voice, accompanied with violent gesticulation, he thus addressed
-the ever-smiling object of his wrath:—“Thou fell destroyer of my
-peace!—what art thou? Art thou Incubus, Succubus, or my evil spirit?
-Who sent thee? In what does thy influence over my child consist? Why am I
-tortured by thy visitation?—Speak—explain to me—unfold
-thy secret—or I shall forget my character, and do I know not what.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Pray be moderate, my dear friend,” said Burdock, interposing his person
-between the Doctor and Devallé.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, ay,—that is wisely said,—pray be moderate, my dear
-friend,” repeated Devallé; “we are all like the chaff which we blow away
-with the breath of our own nostrils. Be calm—be calm: let us be
-rational, and shew our greatest attribute. A man that is a slave to
-passion, is worse than a negro in a plantation:—he's a wild beast. I
-don't wish to be rude, for life is short; and more than one great man has
-been cut off by a cucumber: but I must observe, that a passionate
-gentleman is very likely to make holes in his manners.—What says our
-legal friend? Caesar Devallé will feel honoured in being permitted utterly
-to abandon himself to the good gentleman's opinion. Arbitration against
-argument always has my humble voice: and if a man wishes to get well
-through the world, civility is the best horse he can ride.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If your observations are addressed to me,” said the attorney, “they are
-unwelcome. Restrict your discourse to plain answers to such questions as I
-shall put to you. Now attend did you deliver this letter last night to
-Miss Plympton?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why does the gentleman ask?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I suspect you did.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Avow or deny it, sirrah! at once,” exclaimed the Doctor.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Oh, pardon me, there,” replied Devallé; “we are all men: the cat expects
-to be used after its kind; and if a man is to be treated like a dog, he
-may as well bark, and wear a tail at once. I can bear a blow as well as
-most people, from a blackguard; but, with gentlemen, I expect a certain
-behaviour. Resentment is found in the breast of a camel; and there is no
-doubt but that man is endowed with feelings:—if not, why do we
-marry?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, my good friend,” said the attorney, changing his manner entirely
-from that which he had adopted in his first category, “perhaps you may be
-right: we will not dispute the points you have raised; but you must allow
-that Doctor Plympton has some excuse for being warm. Appearances are
-strong; but I doubt not you will, as an honest man, unequivocally answer
-us, and clear them up.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, sir,” replied Devallé, “I am yours devotedly: ask me no questions;
-for I do not like to have what I know tugged out of my conscience by an
-attorney, like jaw-teeth with nippers, or corks from a bottle by a
-twisting screw; for I have a large family, and am more than fifty years
-old. I will tell you frankly, that I did give Miss that letter: I was sent
-on a special mission with it to her from Demerara. I went out in the same
-ship with Mr. Godfrey Fairfax: on landing, we found that his father had
-just died, and left him heir to all; then, as flesh is grass, he sent me
-back at once with orders—if Miss was not married—to give her
-his <i>billet-doux</i>. That's the truth: I confess it freely, for it's
-useless to deny it; and our heads will lie low enough a hundred years
-hence. Perhaps you will not take it uncivil in me to say, that you would
-have found all that I have said, and more, in fewer words, if, instead of
-calling me sirrah, and so forth, you had perused Mr. Godfrey's letter.
-Excuse me, but the philosopher could not read the stars until somebody
-told him to buy a telescope. I am for civility, mutual improvement, and
-freedom all over the world. And now, gentlemen, I hope you will permit me
-to retire. I must find my wife and family: I have not made a single
-inquiry for them yet; though they occupy all my waking thoughts, and are
-the dramatis personae of my little dreams. I humbly withdraw, but shall
-soon be in the neighbourhood again,—for locomotion is salubrious;
-and, if this present match with Miss be not strangled, I hope to have the
-honour of seeing you in church, in order, humble as I am, to forbid the
-banns. You would not smile, perhaps, if it occurred to your recollection,
-as it does to mine, that lions have been emancipated by mice, and more
-than one hero has been choked by a horsebean. It is for these reasons, I
-apprehend, judging from analogy,—a doctrine I reverence,—that
-cattle pasturing on a common or warren, abhor rabbit-burrows, and we,
-ourselves, detest and exterminate scorpions and wasps.—Gentlemen,
-your most humble and very devoted servant, Cæsar Devallé.”
- </p>
-<p>
-With his usual multitude of obeisances, the Little Black Porter now left
-Doctor Plympton and the attorney to peruse the love-letter of Godfrey
-Fairfax to Isabel. It abounded with professions of the most passionate
-attachment; the deepest regret was expressed at the writer's present
-inability to return to England; but he vowed to fly to Isabel, on the
-wings of love, early in the ensuing summer, if she still considered his
-hand worthy of her acceptance. He stated, that he was unable to solve the
-mystery of her escape from the trunk: he feared that something unpleasant
-had happened, but clearly exonerated his fond, confiding Isabel from
-having borne any share in the base plot which had evidently been played
-off against him.
-</p>
-<p>
-These allusions to the affair of the trunk, were beyond Doctor Plympton's
-comprehension; Burdock, however, obtained a tolerably dear insight to the
-circumstances from Isabel, Patty, George Wharton, and Cæsar Devallé, at an
-interview which he subsequently had with the Little Black Porter in
-Fumival's Inn. When he communicated the result of his investigations on
-the subject to the Doctor, that worthy personage protested that he should
-pass the residue of his life in mere amazement.
-</p>
-<p>
-George Wharton quitted Doctor Plympton's house, without seeing Isabel
-again, on the eventful morning when the pen was placed in her hand to
-execute the marriage settlement; and, with the full approbation of his
-father's attorney, he sailed, by the first ship, to his native land.
-Isabel prevailed upon the Doctor to write to Godfrey Fairfax, inviting him
-to fulfil his promise of paying them a visit. She also wrote to Godfrey
-herself, by the same packet: but the fickle young man had changed his mind
-before the letters reached him; and six years after the departure of
-George Wharton from England, Adam Burdock was employed to draw a marriage
-settlement between the still blooming coquette, Isabel Plympton, and her
-early admirer, Charles Perry, who for the preceding fifteen months had
-been a widower. The Little Black Porter did not think proper to return to
-Demerara again; and he was seen in a very decent wig, by the side of the
-gallery clock, when Mr. Wilberforce last spoke against slavery, in the
-House of Commons.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/399s.jpg" alt="399s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/399.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/399m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE DESSERT.
-</h2>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/400s.jpg" alt="400s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/400.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/400m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_INTR4" id="link2H_INTR4"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-INTRODUCTION.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>t a table of three courses, the guests have a right to expect some sort
-of a dessert; it is the necessary consequence of a certain order of
-dinners; and, if the host be unable to bedeck the board with choice
-rarities, he must, at any rate, be provided with a nut, an olive, and, for
-late sitters, a devilled gizzard. No man is permitted to offend form, or
-to infringe upon the privileges of diners-out, in this particular. If he
-cannot furnish what he fain would, he must offer what he can;—it
-being, properly enough no doubt, conventionally voted sheer cruelty, to
-give a man nothing to eat after he has had his fill of the best of
-everything. If no pineapple be present, an apology is peremptorily
-expected, and something must be selected to take the important character
-which it usually sustains in the festal afterpiece, “for that night only.”
- Mrs. Dousterbattle, my late much lamented friend, considered the tragedy
-train of Mrs. Siddons, as the <i>bonne bouche</i> of her Queen Katherine;
-and there are many estimable people, who regard the range of dishes at a
-dinner-table, as merely composing a dull vista, through which they can
-look forward to the fine prospect of fruit and ices at its termination.
-However good the by-gone courses may have been,—whatever may be the
-disposition of the host, whether “civil as an orange,” or sourer than a
-lemon, they sturdily maintain,—and, it must be confessed, with some
-propriety,—that every man should be treated according to his <i>dessert</i>.
-It occasionally happens, that, notwithstanding his zeal, the founder of
-the feast caters so unluckily, that some of his friends travel from Dan to
-Beersheba, among his dishes, and find all barren. A guest so situated, is
-justified in supposing that there will be, at least, one oasis in the <i>desert</i>,
-to afford him refreshment.
-</p>
-<p>
-Impressed with the force of his own arguments, the purveyor of the
-preceding courses has attempted an epilogue to his entertainment; in
-which, he trusts that he has not presumed too much on the usual leniency
-of after-dinner criticism; and that none of his guests are of the
-delightful class of censors, who flourish a flail to demolish a cobweb,—who
-indulge in proving, by very elaborate and profound arguments, that there
-is but little substance in “trifles light as air;” or who occasionally go
-so far, in fits of ultra fastidiousness, as to cross an author's <i>t,</i>
-and dot an <i>i</i> for him.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/401s.jpg" alt="401s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/401.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/401m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE DEAF POSTILION.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the month of January, 1804, Joey Duddle, a well-known postilion on the
-North Road, caught a cold, through sleeping without his night-cap;
-deafness was, eventually, the consequence; and, as it will presently
-appear, a young fortune-hunter lost twenty thousand pounds, and a handsome
-wife, through Joey Duddle's indiscretion, in omitting, on one fatal
-occasion, to wear his sixpenny woollen night-cap.
-</p>
-<p>
-Joey did not discontinue driving, after his misfortune; his eyes and his
-spurs were, generally speaking, of more utility in his monotonous
-avocation, than his ears. His stage was, invariably, nine miles up the
-road, or “a short fifteen” down towards Gretna; and he had repeated his
-two rides so often, that he could have gone over the ground blindfold.
-People in chaises are rarely given to talking with their postilions: Joey
-knew, by experience, what were the two or three important questions in
-posting, and the usual times and places when and where they were asked;
-and he was always prepared with the proper answers. At those parts of the
-road, where objects of interest to strangers occurred, Joey faced about on
-his saddle, and if he perceived the eyes of his passengers fixed upon him,
-their lips in motion, and their fingers pointing towards a gentleman's
-seat, a fertile valley, a beautiful stream, or a fine wood, he naturally
-enough presumed that they were in the act of inquiring what the seat, the
-valley, the stream, or the wood was called; and he replied according to
-the fact. The noise of the wheels was a very good excuse for such trifling
-blunders as Joey occasionally made; and whenever he found himself
-progressing towards a dilemma, he very dexterously contrived, by means of
-a sly poke with his spur, to make his hand-horse evidently require the
-whole of his attention. At the journey's end, when the gentleman he had
-driven produced a purse, Joey, without looking at his lips, knew that he
-was asking a question, to which it was his duty to reply “Thirteen and
-sixpence,” or “Two-and-twenty shillings,” according as the job had been,
-“the short up,” or “the long down.” If any more questions were asked, Joey
-suddenly recollected something that demanded his immediate attention;
-begged pardon, promised to be back in a moment, and disappeared, never to
-return. The natural expression of his features indicated a remarkably
-taciturn disposition; almost every one with whom he came in contact, was
-deterred, by his physiognomy, from asking him any but necessary questions;
-and as he was experienced enough to answer, or cunning enough to evade
-these, when he thought fit, but few travellers ever discovered that Joey
-Duddle was deaf. So blind is man in some cases, even to his bodily
-defects, that Joey, judging from his general success in giving correct
-replies to the queries propounded to him, almost doubted his own
-infirmity; and never would admit that he was above one point beyond “a
-little hard of hearing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-On the first of June, in the year 1806, about nine o'clock in the morning,
-a chaise and four was perceived approaching towards the inn kept by Joey's
-master, at a first-rate Gretna-green gallop. As it dashed up to the door,
-the post-boys vociferated the usual call for two pair of horses in a
-hurry: but, unfortunately, the innkeeper had only Joey and his tits at
-home; and as the four horses which brought the chaise from the last
-posting-house, had already done a double job that day, the lads would not
-ride them on, through so heavy a stage as “the long down.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How excessively provoking!” exclaimed one of the passengers; “I am
-certain that our pursuers are not far behind us. The idea of having the
-cup of bliss dashed from my very lips,—of such beauty and affluence
-being snatched from me, for want of a second pair of paltry posters,
-drives me frantic!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A Gretna-Green affair, I presume, sir,” observed the inquisitive
-landlord.
-</p>
-<p>
-The gentleman made no scruple of admitting that he had run away with the
-fair young creature who accompanied him, and that she was entitled to a
-fortune of twenty thousand pounds:—“one half of which,” continued
-the gentleman, “I would freely give,—if I had it,—to be, at
-this instant, behind four horses, scampering away, due north, at full
-speed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I can assure you, sir,” said the landlord, “that a fresh pair of such
-animals as I offer you, will carry you over the ground as quick as if you
-had ten dozen of the regular road-hacks. No man keeps better cattle than I
-do, and this pair beats all the others in my stables by two miles an hour.
-But in ten minutes, perhaps, and certainly within half an hour—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Half an hour! half a minute's delay might ruin me,” replied the
-gentleman; “I hope I shall find the character you have given your cattle a
-correct one;—dash on, postilion.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Before this short conversation between the gentleman and the innkeeper was
-concluded, Joey Duddle had put-to his horses,—which were, of course,
-kept harnessed,—and taken his seat, prepared to start at a moment's
-notice. He kept his eye upon the innkeeper, who gave the usual signal of a
-rapid wave of the hand, as soon as the gentleman ceased speaking; and Joey
-Duddle's cattle, in obedience to the whip and spur, hobbled off at that
-awkward and evidently painful pace, which is, perforce, adopted by the
-most praiseworthy post-horses for the first ten minutes or so of their
-journey. But the pair, over which Joey presided, were, as the innkeeper
-had asserted, very speedy; and the gentleman soon felt satisfied, that it
-would take an extraordinary quadruple team to overtake them. His hopes
-rose at the sight of each succeeding mile-stone; he ceased to put his head
-out of the window every five minutes, and gaze anxiously up the road; he
-already anticipated a triumph,—when a crack, a crush, a shriek from
-the lady, a jolt, an instant change of position, and a positive pause
-occurred, in the order in which they are stated, with such suddenness and
-relative rapidity, that the gentleman was, for a moment or two, utterly
-deprived of his presence of mind by alarm and astonishment. The bolt which
-connects the fore-wheels, splinter-bar, springs, fore-bed, axle-tree, et
-cetera, with the perch, that passes under the body of the chaise, to the
-hind wheel-springs and carriage, had snapped asunder: the whole of the
-fore parts were instantly dragged onward by the horses; the braces by
-which the body was attached to the fore-springs, gave way; the chaise fell
-forward, and, of course, remained stationary with its contents, in the
-middle of the road; while the Deaf Postilion rode on, with his eyes
-intently fixed on vacuity before him, as though nothing whatever had
-happened.
-</p>
-<p>
-Alarmed, and indignant in the highest degree, at the postilion's conduct,
-the gentleman shouted with all his might such exclamations as any man
-would naturally use on such an occasion; but Joey, although still but at a
-little distance, took no notice of what had occurred behind his back, and
-very complacently trotted his horses on at the rate of eleven or twelve
-miles an hour. He thought the cattle went better than ever; his mind was
-occupied with the prospect of a speedy termination to his journey; he felt
-elated at the idea of outstripping the pursuers,—for Joey had
-discrimination enough to perceive, at a glance, that his passengers were
-runaway lovers,—and he went on very much to his own satisfaction. As
-he approached the inn, which terminated “the long down,” Joey, as usual,
-put his horses upon their mettle, and they, having nothing but a
-fore-carriage and a young lady's trunk behind them, rattled up to the door
-at a rate unexampled in the annals of posting, with all the little boys
-and girls of the neighbourhood hallooing in their rear.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was not until he drew up to the inn-door, and alighted from his saddle,
-that Joey discovered his disaster; and nothing could equal the utter
-astonishment which his features then displayed. He gazed at the place
-where the body of his chaise, his passengers, and hind-wheels ought to
-have been, for above a minute: and then suddenly started down the road on
-foot, under an idea that he must very recently have dropped them. On
-reaching a little elevation, which commanded above two miles of the ground
-over which he had come, he found, to his utter dismay, that no traces of
-the main body of his chaise were perceptible; nor could he discover his
-passengers, who had, as it appeared in the sequel, been overtaken by the
-young lady's friends. Poor Joey immediately ran into a neighbouring
-hay-loft, where he hid himself, in despair, for three days; and when
-discovered, he was, with great difficulty, persuaded by his master, who
-highly esteemed him, to resume his whip and return to his saddle.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0035" id="linkimage-0035"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/407s.jpg" alt="407s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/407.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/407m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-CONJUGATING A VERB.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>ick Orrod and his brother Giles were fine specimens of the bumpkin boys
-of the West of England: their father, who was a flourishing farmer, sent
-them to pick up a little learning at an expensive academy, in a large town
-about twenty miles from the village where he lived. The master had but
-recently purchased the school from his predecessor; and, stranger as he
-was to the dialect of that part of the country, he could scarcely
-understand above one half of what Dick and Giles Orrod and a few more of
-his pupils meant when they spoke. “I <i>knowed</i>, I <i>rinned</i>, and I
-<i>hut”.</i> were barbarisms, to which his ear had never been accustomed;
-and it was only by degrees he discovered that they were translations, into
-the rural tongue, of “I knew, I ran, and I hit.” But there were few so
-rude of speech as Dick and Giles Orrod.
-</p>
-<p>
-Fraternal affection was a virtue that did not flourish in the bosoms of
-either of these young gentlemen. Dick's greatest enemy on earth was Giles;
-and if honest Giles hated any human being except the master, it was Dick.
-They were excellent spies on each other's conduct; Giles never missed an
-opportunity of procuring Dick a castigation; and Dick was equally active
-in making the master acquainted with every punishable peccadillo that his
-brother committed.
-</p>
-<p>
-One day an accusation was preferred against Master Richard, by one of the
-monitors, of having cut down a small tree in the shrubbery; but there was
-not sufficient evidence to bring the offence home to the supposed culprit.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Does no young gentleman happen to know any thing more of this matter?”
- inquired the master.
-</p>
-<p>
-Giles immediately walked from his seat, and, taking a place by the side of
-his brother, looked as though he had something relevant to communicate.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Well, sir;” said the master, “what do you know about the tree?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“If you plaze, sir,” growled Giles, “if you plaze, sir, I sawed un.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! you 'sawed un,' did you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Iss, I did:—Dick seed I saw un.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is this true, master Richard?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Iss,” said Dick; and Giles, much to his astonishment, was immediately
-flogged.
-</p>
-<p>
-At the termination of the ceremony, it occurred to the master to ask
-Giles, how he had obtained the saw. “About your saw, young gentleman;”
- said he, “where do you get a saw when you want one?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Giles had some faint notions of grammar floating in his brain, and
-thinking that the master meant the verb, and not the substantive,
-blubbered out—“From <i>see</i>.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“<i>Sea!</i>—so you go on board the vessels in the dock, do you, out
-of school hours, and expend your pocket money, in purchasing implements to
-cut down my shrubbery?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Noa, sir,” said Giles; “I doant goa aboard no ships, nor cut down noa
-shrubberies.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, sirrah! did you not confess it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Noa, sir; I said I sawed brother Dick cut down the tree, and he seed I
-sawed un, and a couldn't deny it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I didn't deny it,” said Dick.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Then possibly you are the real delinquent, after all, Master Richard,”
- exclaimed the master.
-</p>
-<p>
-Dick confessed that he was, but he hoped the master would not beat him,
-after having flogged his brother for the same offence: in his way, he
-humbly submitted that one punishment, no matter who received it,—but
-especially as it had been bestowed on one of the same family as the
-delinquent,—was, to all intents and purposes, enough for one crime.
-</p>
-<p>
-The master, however, did not coincide with Dick on this grave point, and
-the young gentleman was duly horsed.
-</p>
-<p>
-“As for Master Giles,” said the master, as he laid down the birch, “he
-well merited a flogging for his astonishing—his wilful stupidity. If
-boys positively will not profit by my instructions, I am bound, in duty to
-their parents, to try the effect of castigation. No man grieves more
-sincerely than I do, at the necessity which exists for using the birch and
-cane as instruments of liberal education; and yet, unfortunately, no man,
-I verily believe, is compelled to use them more frequently than myself. I
-was occupied for full half an hour, in drumming this identical verb into
-Giles Orrod, only yesterday morning: and you, sir,” added he, turning to
-Dick, “you, I suppose, are quite as great a blockhead as your brother. Now
-attend to me, both of you:—what's the past of <i>see?</i>”
- </p>
-<p>
-Neither of the young gentlemen replied.
-</p>
-<p>
-“I thought as much!” quoth the master. “The perfect of <i>see</i> is the
-present of <i>saw</i>,—See, Saw.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“See, Saw,” shouted the boys; but that unfortunate verb was the
-stumbling-block to their advancement. They never could comprehend how the
-perfect of <i>see</i> could be the present of <i>saw</i>; and days, weeks,
-months,—nay, years after,—they were still at their endless,
-and, to them, incomprehensible game of <i>see-saw</i>.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0036" id="linkimage-0036"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/410s.jpg" alt="410s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/410.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/410m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-POSTHUMOUS PRAISE.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f posterity were to judge of us on the evidence of our gravestones, it
-would certainly pronounce this to be an age of affectionate husbands,
-tender wives, dutiful children, loving parents, and most sincere and
-disinterested friends: it would conclude, from the testimony of our
-epitaphs, that we were all either deeply lamented, universally respected,
-or the most benevolent and amiable of men. We should have the credit of
-possessing every talent that can adorn humanity, except that of writing
-good English;—of being excellent painters, architects, statesmen,
-and philosophers; but, strange to say, most pitiful poetasters. <i>De
-mortuis nil nisi bonum</i>, is a maxim which no man ventures to offend,
-either in prose or verse, when composing an epitaph. Many persons who
-never could obtain a syllable of praise while alive, get very good
-characters given them after their decease. I always entertained an opinion
-that Hinks, the attorney, was a low, pettifogging scoundrel, and
-frequently beat his wife; until one day I discovered, in the course of a
-stroll round the church-yard, where his remains were deposited, that he
-was a “tender husband” and “an ornament to his profession.” The most
-impatient patient whose pulse was ever felt by a physician, is described
-on his tomb-stone as one “who bore afflictions sore,” with laudable
-resignation. The monument-makers, it appears, have always a stock of
-lettered slabs in their ware-rooms, which, like the skeleton promissory
-notes sold at the stationers', may be completed at the shortest notice, by
-filling up the blanks with names and dates. Death's heads have lately been
-at a discount; but poetical praise on marble is still rather above par;
-and lines that have been used on more than five hundred occasions, are
-considered “better than new,” on account of their popularity. Hexameters
-fetch high prices, but Alexandrines are enormous. Those who are desirous
-of being at once laudatory and economical, are compelled to put the
-defunct on short commons: in these cases, an hour or so may be
-advantageously employed in searching for synonyms, and culling the
-shortest epithets that can be found words of above two syllables being
-generally at a premium. This is the case, also, it seems, in the newspaper
-obituaries. Some short time ago, a gentleman called at the office of a
-popular morning paper, with an advertisement, announcing the death of an
-old lady, for insertion on the following day. He found the person to whom
-it was necessary to apply on this occasion, rather more gruff, short,
-snappish, and disagreeable, if possible, than usual. This “brief-spoken
-and surly-burly” personage, after glancing for a moment at the slip of
-paper on which the announcement was written, growled “Seven and sixpence.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Seven and sixpence!” exclaimed the gentleman:—“how is that? On the
-last occasion, when I had the melancholy duty to perform of announcing the
-death of a person in your paper, I paid only seven shillings.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Seven and sixpence:—if you don't like it, don't leave it,” said old
-Surly-burly. “Well, but allow me to ask, what is the occasion of the
-difference of price?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why,” said Surly-burly, frowning severely, “if I <i>must</i> gratify your
-curiosity, you've put in 'universally lamented;' and we always charge
-sixpence extra for 'universally lamented.'”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Very well,” said the gentleman, “there's the money; and allow me to say,
-that I am quite certain no one will ever go to the additional expense for
-you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0037" id="linkimage-0037"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/412s.jpg" alt="412s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/412.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/412m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE DOS-A-DOS TETE-A-TETE.
-</h2>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-My wife loathes pickled pork, and I hate ham;
-I doat on pancakes—she likes fritters:
-And thus, alas! just like my morning dram,
-The evening of my life is <i>dash'd with bitters!</i>
-
-Old as we are, the ninnyhammer wants
-To teach me French,—and I won't learn it:
-My nightly path, where e'er I roam, she haunts,
-And grudges me my glass, though well I earn it.
-
-The other day, while sitting back to back,
-She roused me from my short, sweet slumbers,
-By taxing me at such a rate, good lack!
-And summing up her griefs in these sad numbers:—
-
-“Though you lay your head thus against mine,
-You hate me, you brute, and you know it
-But why not in secret repine,
-Instead of delighting to shew it?—
-
-You question my knowledge of French,
-And won't believe '<i>rummage</i>' is cheese;—
-Why can't you look cool on 'the wench?'
-To me you're all <i>shiver-de-freeze!</i>
-
-“When around you quite fondly I've clung,
-You have oftentimes said in a rage,—
-'Such folly may do for the young,
-But I take it to be <i>bad-in-age!</i>'
-
-A reticule-bag if I buy,
-(A trifle becoming each belle,)
-'At Jericho, madam,' you cry,—
-'I wish you and your <i>bag-at-elle!</i>
-
-“When I had in some cordials, so rich!—
-With letters all labell'd quite handy;
-Says you, 'I'll inquire, you old witch,
-If O D V doesn't mean brandy!'
-
-Whenever I sink to repose,
-You rouse me, you wretch! with a sneeze;
-And, lastly, if I <i>doze-a-doee</i>,
-To <i>w</i>ex me, you just <i>wheeze-a-wheeze?</i>
-</pre>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0038" id="linkimage-0038"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/414s.jpg" alt="414s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/414.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/414m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-A TOAD IN A HOLE.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Friars of Fairoak were assembled in a chamber adjoining the great hall
-of their house: the Abbot was seated in his chair of eminence, and all
-eyes were turned on Father Nicodemus.
-</p>
-<p>
-Not a word was uttered, until he who seemed to be the object of so much
-interest, at length ventured to speak. “It be-hoveth not one of my years,
-perchance,” said he, “to disturb the silence of my elders and superiors;
-but, truly, I know not what meaneth this meeting; and surely my desire to
-be edified is lawful. Hath it been decided that we should follow the
-example of our next-door neighbours, the Arroasian Friars, and,
-henceforth, be tongue-tied? If not, do we come here to eat, or pray, or
-hold council?—Ye seem somewhat too grave for those bidden to a
-feast, and there lurk too many smiles about the faces of many of ye, for
-this your silence to be a prelude to prayers. I cannot think, we are about
-to consult on aught; because, with reverence be it spoken, those who pass
-for the wisest among us, look more silly than is their wont. But if we be
-here to eat—let us eat; if to pray, let us pray; and if to hold
-council, what is to be the knotty subject of our debate?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thyself,” replied the Abbot.
-</p>
-<p>
-“On what score?” inquired Nicodemus.
-</p>
-<p>
-“On divers scores,” quoth the Abbot; “thy misdeeds have grown rank: we
-must even root them out of thee, or root thee out of our fraternity, on
-which thou art bringing contumely. I tell thee, Brother Nicodemus, thy
-offences are numberless as the weeds which grow by the way-side. Here be
-many who have much to say of thee:—speak, Brother Ulick!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Brother Nicodemus,” said Father Ulick, “hath, truly, ever been a gross
-feeder.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And a lover of deep and most frequent potations,” quoth Father Edmund.
-</p>
-<p>
-“And a roamer beyond due bounds,” added Father Hugo.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Yea, and given to the utterance of many fictions,” muttered his brother.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Very voluble also, and not altogether of so staid aspect, as becometh one
-of his order and mellow years,” drawled Father James.
-</p>
-<p>
-“To speak plainly—a glutton,” said the first speaker.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, and a drunkard,” said the second.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Moreover, a night-walker,” said the third.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Also a liar,” said the fourth.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Finally, a babbler and a buffoon,” said the fifth.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ye rate me roundly, brethren,” cried Nicodemus; “and, truly, were ye my
-judges, I should speedily be convicted of these offences whereof I am
-accused: but not a man among you is fitted to sit in judgment on the
-special misfeasance with which he chargeth me. And I will reason with you,
-and tell you why. Now, first, to deal with Brother Ulick—who
-upbraideth me with gross feeding:—until he can prove that his
-stomach and mine are of the same quality, clamour, and power digestive, I
-will not, without protest, permit him to accuse me of devouring swinishly.
-He is of so poor and weak a frame, that he cannot eat aught but soppets,
-without suffering the pangs of indigestion, and the nocturnal visits of
-incubi, and more sprites than tempted Saint Anthony. It is no virtue in
-him to be abstemious; he is enforced to avoid eating the tithe of what
-would be needful to a man of moderate stomach; and behold, how lean he
-looks! Next, Brother Edmund hath twitted me with being a deep drinker:—now,
-it is well known, that Brother Edmund must not take a second cup after his
-repast; being so puny of brain, that if he do, his head is racked with
-myriads of pains and aches on the morrow, and it lieth like a log on his
-shoulder,—if perchance he be enabled to rise from his pallet. Shall
-he, then, pronounce dogmatically on the quantity of potation lawful to a
-man in good health? I say, nay. Brother Hugo, who chargeth me with
-roaming, is lame; and his brother, who saith that I am an utterer of
-fictions, hath a brain which is truly incompetent to conceive an idea, or
-to comprehend a fact. Brother James, who arraigneth me of volubility,
-passeth for a sage pillar of the church; because, having nought to say, he
-looks grave and holds his peace. I will be tried, if you will, by Brother
-James, for gross feeding; he having a good digestion and an appetite equal
-to mine own:—or by Brother Hugo, for drinking abundantly; inasmuch
-as he is wont to solace himself under his infirmity, with a full flask:—or
-by Brother Ulick, for the utterance of fictions; because he hath written a
-history of some of The Fathers, and admireth the blossoms of the brain:—or
-by Brother Edmund, for not being sufficiently sedate; as he is, truly, a
-comfortable talker himself and although forced to eschew wine, of a most
-cheerful countenance. By Hugo's brother I will be tried on no charge;—seeing
-that he is, was, and ever will be—in charity I speak it—an
-egregious fool. Have ye aught else to set up against me, brethren?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Much more, Brother Nicodemus,” said the Abbot, “much more, to our sorrow.
-The cry of our vassals hath come up against thee; and it is now grown so
-loud and frequent, that we are unwillingly enforced to assume our
-authority, as their lord and thy Superior, to redress their grievances and
-correct thy errors.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Correct <i>me!</i>” exclaimed Father Nicodemus; “Why, what say the
-rogues? Dare they throw blur, blain, or blemish on my good name? Would
-that I might hear one of them!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thou shalt be gratified:—call in John of the Hough.”
- </p>
-<p>
-In a few moments John of the Hough appeared, with his head bound up, and
-looking alarmed as a recently-punished hound when brought again into the
-presence of him by whom he has been chastised.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Fear not,” said the Abbot; “fear not, John o' the Hough, but speak
-boldly; and our benison or malison be on thee, as thou speakest true or
-false.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Father Nicodemus,” said John o' the Hough, in a voice rendered almost
-inaudible by fear, “broke my head with a cudgel he weareth under his
-cloak.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“When did he do this?” inquired the Abbot.
-</p>
-<p>
-“On the feast of St. James and Jude; oft before, and since, too, without
-provocation; and, lastly, on Monday se'nnight.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, thou strangely perverse varlet, dost thou say it was I who beat
-thee?” demanded the accused friar.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Ay, truly, most respected Father Nicodemus.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Dost thou dare to repeat it? I am amazed at thy boldness;—or,
-rather, thy stupidity; or, perhaps, at thy loss of memory. Know, thou
-naughty hind, it was thyself who cudgelled thee! Didst thou not know that
-if thou wert to vex a dog he would snap at thee?—or hew and hack a
-tree, and not fly, it would fall on thee?—or grieve and wound the
-feelings of thy ghostly friend Father Nicodemus, he would cudgel thee?—Did
-I rouse myself into a rage? Did I call myself a thief?—Answer me, my
-son; did?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, truly, Father Nicodemus.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Did I threaten, if I were not a son of Holy Mother Church, to kick myself
-out of thy house? Answer me, my son; did I?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, truly, Father Nicodemus.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Am I less than a dog, or a tree? Answer me, my son; am I?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, truly, Father Nicodemus; but, truly, also—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“None of thy buts, my son; respond to me with plain ay or no. Didst thou
-not do all these things antecedent to my breaking thy sconce?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay, truly, Father Nicodemus.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then how canst thou say <i>I</i> beat thee? Should I have carried my
-staff to thy house, did I not know thee to be a churl, and an enemy to the
-good brotherhood of this house? Was I to go into the lion's den without my
-defence? Should I have demeaned myself to phlebotomize thee with my
-cudgel, (and doubtless the operation was salubrious,) hadst thou not
-aspersed me? Was it for me to stand by, tamely, with three feet of
-blackthorn at my belt, and hear a brother of this religious order
-betwitted, as I was by thee, with petty larceny? Was it not thine own
-breath, then, that brought the cudgel upon thy caput? Answer me, my son.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Lead forth John of the Hough, and call in the miller of Homford,” said
-the Abbot, before John of the Hough could reply. “Now, miller,” continued
-he, as soon as the miller entered, “what hast thou to allege against this
-our good brother, Nicodemus?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I allege,” replied the miller, “that he is naught.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! thou especial rogue!” exclaimed Father Nicodemus; “dost <i>thou</i>
-come here to bear witness against me? I will impeach thy testimony by one
-assertion, which thou canst not gainsay; for the evidence of it is written
-on thy brow, thou brawny villain! Thou bearest malice against me, because
-I, some six years ago, inflicted a cracked crown on thee, for robbing this
-holy house of its lawful meal. I deemed the punishment adequate to the
-offence, and spoke not of it to the Abbot, in consideration of thy
-promising to mend thy ways. Hadst thou not well merited that mark of my
-attention to the interests of my brethren, the whole lordship would have
-heard of it. And didst thou ever say I made the wound? Never:—thy
-tale was that some of thy mill-gear had done it. But I will be judged by
-any here, if the scar be not of my blackthorn's making. I will summon
-three score, at least, who shall prove it to be my mark. Let it be viewed
-with that on the head of thy foster-brother, John of the Hongh:—I
-will abide by the comparison. Thou hast hoarded malice in thy heart from
-that day; and now thou comest here to vomit it forth, as thou deemest, to
-my undoing. But, be sure, caitiff, that I shall testify upon thy sconce
-hereafter: for I know thou art rogue enough to rob if thou canst, and fool
-enough to rob with so little discretion as to be easily detected; and even
-if my present staff be worn out, there be others in the woods:—ergo—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Peace, Brother Nicodemus!” exclaimed the Abbot; “approach not a single
-pace nearer to the miller; neither do thou threaten nor browbeat him, I
-enjoin thee.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Were it not for the reverence I owe to those who are round me, and my
-unwillingness to commit even so trifling a sin,” said Nicodemus, “I would
-take this slanderous and ungrateful knave betwixt my finger and thumb, and
-drop him among the hungry eels of his own mill-stream. I chafe apace:—lay
-hands on me, brethren!—for I wax wroth, and am sure, in these moods,—so
-weak is man—to do mischief ere my humour subside.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Speak on, miller,” said the Abbot; “and thou, Brother Nicodemus, give way
-to thine inward enemy, at thy peril.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I will tell him,—an' you will hold him back and seize his staff,”
- said the miller,—“how he and the roystering boatman of Frampton
-Ferry—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“My time is coming,” exclaimed Nicodemus, interrupting the miller: “bid
-him withdraw, or he will have a sore head at his supper.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“They caroused and carolled,” said the miller, “with two travellers, like
-skeldring Jacks o' the flagon, until—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Lay hands on Nicodemus, all!” cried the Abbot, as the enraged friar
-strode towards the miller;—“lay hands on the madman at once!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“It is too late,” said Nicodemus, drawing forth a cudgel from beneath his
-cloak; “do not hinder me now, for my blackthorn reverences not the heads
-of the holy fraternity of Fairoak. Hold off, I say!” exclaimed he, as
-several of his brethren roughly attempted to seize him; “hold off, and mar
-me not in this mood; or to-day will, hereafter, be called the Feast of
-Blows. Nay, then, if you will not, I strike:—may you be marked, but
-not maimed!” The friar began to level a few of the most resolute of those
-about him as he spoke. “I will deal lightly as my cudgel will let me,”
- pursued he. “I strike indiscriminately, and without malice, I protest. May
-blessings follow these blows! Brother Ulick, I grieve that you have thrust
-yourself within my reach. Look to the Abbot, some of ye, for,—miserable
-me!—I have laid him low. Man is weak, and this must be atoned for by
-fasting. Where is the author of this mischief? Miller, where art thou?”
- </p>
-<p>
-Father Nicodemus continued to lay about him very lustily for several
-minutes; but, before he could deal with the miller as he wished, Friar
-Hugo's brother, who was on the floor, caught him by the legs, and suddenly
-threw him prostrate. He was immediately overwhelmed by numbers, bound hand
-and foot, and carried to his own cell; where he was closely confined, and
-most vigilantly watched, until the superiors of his order could be
-assembled. He was tried in the chamber which had been the scene of his
-exploits: the charge of having rudely raised his hand against the Abbot,
-and belaboured the holy brotherhood, was fully proved; and, ere
-twenty-four hours had elapsed, Father Nicodemus found himself enclosed,
-with a pitcher of water and a loaf, in a niche of a stone wall, in the
-lowest vault of Fairoak Abbey.
-</p>
-<p>
-He soon began to feel round him, in order to ascertain if there were any
-chance of escaping from the tomb to which he had been consigned: the walls
-were old, but tolerably sound; he considered, however, that it was his
-duty to break out if he could; and he immediately determined on making an
-attempt. Putting his back to the wall, which had been built up to enclose
-him for ever from the world, and his feet against the opposite side of the
-niche, he strained every nerve to push one of them down. The old wall at
-length began to move: he reversed his position, and with his feet firmly
-planted against the new work, he made such a tremendous effort, that the
-ancient stones and mortar gave way behind him: the next moment he found
-himself lying on his back, with a quantity of rubbish about him, on the
-cold pavement of a vault, into which sufficient light glimmered, through a
-grating, to enable him to ascertain that he was no longer in any part of
-Fairoak Abbey.
-</p>
-<p>
-The tongue-tied neighbours to whom Nicodemus had alluded, when he broke
-silence at that meeting of his brethren which terminated so unfortunately,
-were monks of the same order as those of Fairoak Abbey; among whom, about
-a century and a half before the time of Nicodemus, such dissensions took
-place, that the heads of the order were compelled to interfere; and under
-their sanction and advice, two-and-twenty monks, who were desirous of
-following the fine example of the Arroasians of Saint Augustin,—who
-neither wore linen nor ate flesh, and observed a perpetual silence,—seceded
-from the community, and elected an Abbot of their own. The left-wing of
-Fairoak Abbey was assigned to them for a residence, and the rents of a
-certain portion of its lands were set apart for their support. Their first
-care was to separate themselves, by stout walls, from all communication
-with their late brethren; and up to the days of Nicodemus, no friendly
-communion had taken place between the Arroasian and its mother Abbey.
-</p>
-<p>
-Nicodemus had no doubt but that he was in one of the vaults of the silent
-monks: in order that he might not be recognised as a brother of Fairoak,
-he took off his black cloak and hood, and even his cassock and rochet, and
-concealed them beneath a few stones, in a corner of the recess from which
-he had just liberated himself. With some difficulty, he reached the
-inhabited part of the building: after terrifying several of the
-Arroasians, by abruptly breaking upon their meditations, he at length
-found an old white cloak and hood, arrayed in which he took a seat at the
-table of the refectory, and, to the amazement of the monks, tacitly helped
-himself to a portion of their frugal repast. The Superior of the
-community, by signs, requested him to state who and what he was; but
-Nicodemus, pointing to the old Arroasian habit which he now wore, wisely
-held his peace. The good friars knew not how to act:—Nicodemus was
-suffered to enter into quiet possession of a vacant cell; he joined in
-their silent devotions, and acted in every respect as though he had been
-an Arroasian all his life.
-</p>
-<p>
-By degrees the good monks became reconciled to his presence, and looked
-upon him as a brother. He behaved most discreetly for several months: but
-at length having grown weary of bread, water, and silence, he, one
-evening, stole over the garden-wall, resolving to have an eel-pie and some
-malmsey, spiced with a little jovial chat, in the company of his trusty
-friend, the boatman of Frampton Ferry. His first care, on finding himself
-at large, was to go to the coppice of Fairoak, and cut a yard of good
-blackthorn, which he slung by a hazel gad to his girdle, but beneath his
-cassock. Resuming his path towards the Ferry, he strode on at a brisk rate
-for a few minutes; when, to his great dismay, he heard the sound of the
-bell which summoned the Arroasians to meet in the chapel of their Abbey.
-</p>
-<p>
-“A murrain on thy noisy tongue!” exclaimed Nicodemus, “on what emergency
-is thy tail tugged, to make thee yell at this unwonted hour? There is a
-grievous penalty attached to the offence of quitting the walls, either by
-day or by night; and as I am now deemed a true Arroasian, by Botolph, I
-stand here in jeopardy; for they will assuredly discover my absence. I
-will return at once, slink into my cell, and be found there afflicted with
-a lethargy, when they come to search for me; or, if occasion serve, join
-my brethren boldly in the chapel.”
- </p>
-<p>
-The bell had scarcely ceased to toll, when Nicodemus reached the
-garden-wall again: he clambered over it, alighted safely on a heap of
-manure, and was immediately seized by half a score of the stoutest among
-the Arroasians. Unluckily for Nicodemus, the Superior himself had seen a
-figure, in the costume of the Abbey, scaling the garden-wall, and had
-immediately ordered the bell to be rung, and a watch to be set, in order
-to take the offender in the fact, on his return. The mode of administering
-justice among the Arroasians, was much more summary than in the Abbey of
-Fairoak. Nicodemus was brought into the Superior's cell, and divested of
-his cloak; his cassock was then turned down from his belt, and a
-bull's-hide thong severely applied to his back, before he could recover
-himself from the surprise into which his sudden capture had thrown him.
-His wrath rose, not gradually as it did of old,—but in a moment,
-under the pain and indignity of the thong, it mounted to its highest
-pitch. Breaking from those who were holding him, he plucked the blackthorn
-he had cut, from beneath his cassock, and without either benediction or
-excuse, silently but severely belaboured all present, the Superior himself
-not excepted. When his rage and strength were somewhat exhausted, the
-prostrate brethren rallied a little, and with the aid of the remainder of
-the community, who came to their assistance, they contrived to despoil
-Nicodemus of his staff, and to secure him from doing further mischief.
-</p>
-<p>
-The next morning, Nicodemus was stripped of his Arroasian habit; and,
-attired in nothing but the linen in which he had first appeared among the
-brethren, he was conducted, with very little ceremony, to the vaults
-beneath the Abbey. Every member of the community advanced to give him a
-parting embrace, and the Superior pointed with his finger to a recess in
-the wall: Nicodemus was immediately ushered into it, the wall was built up
-behind him, and once more he found himself entombed alive.
-</p>
-<p>
-“But that I am not so strong as I was of yore, after the lenten fare of my
-late brethren,” said Nicodemus, “I should not be content to die thus, in a
-coffin of stones and mortar. What luck hast thou here, Nicodemus?”
- continued the friar, as, poking about the floor of his narrow cell, he
-felt something like a garment, with his foot. “By rood and by rochet, mine
-own attire!—the cloak and cassock, or I am much mistaken, which I
-left behind me when I was last here;—for surely these are my old
-quarters! I did not think to be twice tenant of this hole; but man is
-weak, and I was born to be the bane of blackthorn. The lazy rogues found
-this niche ready-made to their hands, and, truth to say, they have walled
-me up like workmen. Ah, me! there is no soft place for me to bulge my back
-through now. Hope have I none: but I will betake me to my anthems; and
-perchance, in due season, I may light upon some means of making egress.”
- </p>
-<p>
-Nicodemus had, by this time, contrived to put on his cassock and cloak,
-which somewhat comforted his shivering body, and he forthwith began to
-chant his favourite anthem in such a lusty tone, that it was faintly heard
-by the Fairoak Abbey cellarman, and one of the friars who was in the
-vaults with him, selecting the ripest wines. On the alarm being given, a
-score of the brethren betook themselves to the vaults; and, with torches
-in their hands, searched every corner for the anthem-singer, but without
-success. At length the cellarman ventured to observe, that, in his
-opinion, the sounds came from the wall; and the colour left the cheeks of
-all as the recollection of Nicodemus flashed upon them. They gathered
-round the place where they had enclosed him, and soon felt satisfied that
-the awful anthem was there more distinctly heard, than in any other part
-of the vault. The whole fraternity soon assembled, and endeavoured to come
-to some resolution as to how they ought to act. With fear and trembling,
-Father Hugo's brother moved that they should at once open the wall: this
-proposal was at first rejected with contempt, on account of the known
-stupidity of the person with whom it originated; but as no one ventured to
-suggest anything, either better or worse, it was at last unanimously
-agreed to. With much solemnity, they proceeded to make a large opening in
-the wall. In a few minutes, Father Nicodemus appeared before them, arrayed
-in his cloak and cassock, and not much leaner or less rosy than when they
-bade him, as they thought, an eternal adieu, nearly a year before. The
-friars shouted, “A miracle! a miracle!” and Nicodemus did not deem it by
-any means necessary to contradict them. “Ho, ho! brethren,” exclaimed he,
-“you are coming to do me justice at last, are you? By faith and troth, but
-you are tardy! Your consciences, methinks, might have urged you to enact
-this piece of good-fellowship some week or two ago. To dwell ten months
-and more in so dark and solitary a den, like a toad in a hole, is no
-child's-play. Let the man who doubts, assume my place, and judge for
-himself. I ask no one to believe me on my bare word. You have wronged me,
-brethren, much; but I forgive you freely.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“A miracle! a miracle!” again shouted the amazed monks: they most
-respectfully declined the proffered familiarities of Nicodemus, and still
-gazed on him with profound awe, even after the most incredulous among them
-were convinced, by the celerity with which a venison pasty, flanked by a
-platter of brawn, and a capacious jack of Cyprus wine vanished before him,
-in the refectory, that he was truly their Brother Nicodemus, and still in
-the flesh. Ere long, the jolly friar became Abbot of Fairoak: he was
-dubbed a saint after his decease; but as no miracles were ever wrought at
-his shrine, his name has since been struck out of the calendar.
-</p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-THE PAIR OF PUMPS.
-</h2>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“Where is the pumps?” cried Mrs. Jones,
-“Where is the pumps, I say?
-They can't be lost; and, by the bones!
-I'll have them found to-day.
-
-“There is but three beneath the roof,
-That's master, you, and I;—
-How they has walked I'll have good proof,
-Or know the reason why.
-
-“Your master wore them this day week;
-You knows he did, you jade!
-That you're a thief, albeit so meek,
-In truth I'm half afraid.
-
-“Don't answer me, you saucy minx!
-You're lazy as you're long;
-At thousands of your faults I winks,
-Although I knows 'tis wrong.
-
-“You looks the baker in the face,
-When he comes with the bread;
-You trims your cap with shilling lace,
-And flirts with Butcher Ned.
-
-“You acts as though you thought yourself
-The fairest of the fair;
-And seems to think that master's pelf
-You're qualified to share.
-
-“Now don't deny it—hussy, don't!
-For I has watched you long;
-But I can tell you, Miss, you won't
-Win master with a song.
-
-“In vain at him you sets your cap;
-He's not the sort of man;
-With all your ogles bait your trap,
-And catch him if you can!
-
-“Beneath his roof, for fifteen years,
-Housekeeper I have been;
-I cares not if my speech he hears—
-No wrong in me he's seen.
-
-“I slaves like any Trojan Turk;
-I makes his bed and mine;
-While you, you hussy! does no work,
-And yet you dares repine!
-
-“Why don't you take a pattern by
-Your master, slut, and me?
-We never thinks a thought awry,—
-There is but few like we!
-
-“The pumps was worn but this day week;
-You knows they were, you jade!
-That you're a thief, albeit so meek,
-In truth I'm half afraid.
-
-“You stands accused of stealing them—
-A very naughty sin;
-And if you're hoity-toity, Me'em,
-I'll call the neighbours in!”
-
-And hoity-toity Kitty was,
-She didn't care a pin!
-Says Mistress Jones, “I vow, that's poz!
-I'll have the neighbours in!”
-
-And in she call'd them one by one,
-By two, and three, and four;
-Such lots came in to see the fan,
-The house could hold no more.
-
-“Oh! what's the matter?” quoth they all,
-“And what is here amiss?”
- Says Mrs. Jones, “Pray don't you bawl;
-My friends, the case is this:—
-
-“I keeps my master's house; and he,
-Good soul! is half afraid,
-That spite of all precaution, we
-Is robb'd by Kate, our maid.
-
-“Of all the lazy, idle drones
-That ever yet I knew,
-Not one could match,” says Mrs. Jones,
-“The girl you have in view.
-
-“In all the house three beds we makes,
-For master, she, and me;
-Both master's and my own I takes,
-She does but one of three.
-
-“And though she grumbles,—yes, indeed,—
-That she is worked too much;
-Yet she can oft her novels read,
-Ay, and the likes of such.
-
-“She won't by me a pattern take,
-Although full well she knows,
-In books 'tis said, 'the wayward rake
-Contemns the gather'd rose.'
-
-“I've lost a pair of stockings, and
-About a week ago,
-I'd master's pumps in this here hand,
-A-looking at'em so.
-
-“I hung'em up upon the pegs,
-I recollects it well;
-How they has walked without their legs,
-Miss Kate, perhaps, can tell.”
-
-“False Mrs. Jones!” young Kate replies,
-As forward now she jumps;
-“She would not ask, were she but wise,
-If I had stol'n the pumps.
-
-“There is but three beds in the house,
-And Mrs. Jones makes two;
-We haven't room to stow a mouse;—
-So far her story 's true.
-
-“She brags about her virtue, but
-She's got a silly head;
-A week ago, the pumps
-I put <i>In Mrs, Jones's bed!</i>”
- </pre>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0039" id="linkimage-0039"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/428s.jpg" alt="428s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/428.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/428m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-WANTED A PARTNER.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>h! now, Michael, be quiet,—why can't you?—It brakes the
-heart o' me, cousin,—so it does thin, and I'll own it,—to see
-you laugh that way, and the pair of us ruined, as we are!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Is it ruined, Thady?—and yourself there with a bull and a hog in
-your pocket?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What's half-a-crown and a shilling? A bull and a hog is but
-three-and-sixpence.—I'll be starved intirely whin that's gone; for
-there's no work for us, far or near. I tell you we're ruined.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then let's go partners; and who knows but we'll make a fine fortune?
-What's invention but the daughter of necessity?—So now's the time to
-shew our abilities, if we have any.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Divil of any abilities have I, Michael; and you know it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! Thady, Thady—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll give you my oath I hav'n't!—so don't be suspecting me. If I'd
-abilities, do you think I'd be such a blackguard as to consale them? Not
-I, thin!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well but, Thady, boy, hav'n't you three-and-sixpence?—hav'n't you
-now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I have,—I won't deny it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And hav'n't I abilities?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I won't deny that either, unless you've lost them since we last saw one
-another,—that's two years ago, I think:—I won't deny but
-you've abilities, Michael; if I did I'd be giving you the lie; for it's
-often you tould me you had grand ones, if you'd only a field large enough
-to display them. But where'll we get a field, big or little, for a bull? I
-would'nt risk more than that of my money upon your abilities,—though
-it's much I respect them.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thady, you're a fool, with your big field and your bull!—Besides,
-I've a reaping hook, and a long rope.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I see you have: but tell me, Michael, as we're spaking of reap-hooks and
-abilities, how did you lose your last place? Wasn't your master a good
-one?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Say 'employer,' Thady, the next time you mintion him. Well, thin, he
-wasn't so bad, but for two things:—being an Englishman, he hadn't
-exactly got into our mode of transacting things, don't you see, Thady?—he
-stuck to the letter o' the law too closely for me.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You didn't rob him Michael,—did you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Of a little time only, Thady: he'd too many eyes to be robbed of anything
-else,—if I was dishonest,—but I'm not, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So I say, Michael, to <i>every</i> one who spakes of you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you, Thady, for that:—and, faith! the time I took wasn't
-worth noticing. He put me into a little patch of peas, and bid me reap
-them as fast as I could. So I began to work as though I'd the strength of
-ten; and he stood by me and tould me I was a fine fellow. I got on well
-enough till he wint, and a while after even,—so I did. But I'd
-over-rated my own powers, and was soon obliged to lay down, just by the
-way of recruiting myself a little, under the hedge. By-and-by, who should
-be passing that way again but my employer; and, says he, putting his toe
-in my ribs, 'What did you lie there for,' says he, 'you blackguard?' 'To
-repose a little, sir,' says L 'Bad luck to you!' says he, 'didn't I hire
-you to reap <i>peas?</i>' 'Well, sir,' says I, mimicking his way of
-spaking, 'and isn't sleep a weary man's harvest? and,' says I, quite
-pleasant, 'if it isn't in sleep I'd reap <i>ease</i>, how else would I?'
-'Don't be quibbling that way,' says he; I'll be obeyed to the very
-letter.' 'Well, sir,' says I, 'O's and P's ar'n't far apart; they're next
-door to one another in the alphabet.' But it wouldn't do for him; he'd
-have the letter itself; and if he paid me to reap peas, he wouldn't have
-me repose: so we parted. But don't let's be losing time: there's a rope
-and a reaping-hook, and they're mine, ar'n't they?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'd be wrong if I denied that, whin I see them in your hand, and
-possession is nine points of the law. But what of your rope and your
-reap-hook, Michael?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, thin, let them be our stock, and your three-and-six-pence our
-capital, and us partners and sole and only proprietors. What say you to
-that? You'll own it looks like business, I hope.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes, Michael; but where'll the customers come from?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't bother about them; they'll come fast enough when we want them, as
-you'll see. It's no use to be reckoning our chickens before they're
-hatched, is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not a bit:—what you say can't very soon find one that'll contradict
-it. It is no use to be reckoning our chickens before they're hatched.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So far, thin, we go on by mutual consint. Now, Thady, would you like to
-make a great stroke or a little one?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The sooner we make money the better, I think.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But little fishes are sweet, you fool!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“So they are, Michael: I'm vexed that I didn't think of that; and it's but
-little we'll risk by way o' bait to catch them.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But what's the use, Thady,—answer me now, you who set yourself up
-for a sinsible man—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not I, thin! I'd fall out with you if you said so.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, thin, where's the use, I'll ask you—fool as you are,—of
-our catching sprats and wullawaughs, when there's sea-cows and whales in
-the ocean?—A sprat isn't a sea-cow, is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, faith!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nor a wullawaugh a whale?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“How should it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Then why not try for a sea-cow?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bekase I wouldn't like to risk my silver bull, Michael.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, thin, you're a lunatic,—so you are. Suppose you lost your bull—tell
-me now, where'd your hog be?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Gone to try to bring back my bull, may be. I don't think we'll try for a
-sea-cow, or a whale, Michael.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thin you'll be contint with catching wullawaughs and shrimps, is it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not exactly: I'd like to try for a whale, but not so as to risk what
-money I have.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, I'll tell you what we'll do:—let us set up a show.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That plazes me. But what'll we shew, Michael? Is it your reap-hook,
-that's worn out doing divil a ha'p'orth but going to the grinstone?—or
-your rope, bekase you found it?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, Thady; that wouldn't do: but I think if you'd tar and feather
-yourself, I might make something of you, by swearing you were a monster,—a
-big bird I caught on a furze-bush with bird-lime.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll not consint to that; for if you'd be showman, you'd take all the
-money.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And what thin?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Suppose you took yourself off one day?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And what thin?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Suppose you took the money with you, thin what'd I do? Sore, you know, I
-couldn't run after you in my tar and feathers; for, if I did, wouldn't the
-people see me without paying?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That would be a loss, I'll admit, if it happened: but I'd have you to
-know, Thady—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Now don't look big, for I'll apologize: but I may spake my mind, I hope.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You certainly may.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, thin, I won't tar and feather myself; bekase, how'd we get tar and
-feathers to do it, without risking my bull, or my hog at the least?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! thin, if you've doubts in your mind, I'll abandon the project: but
-I'll insist upon it that you don't take advantage of my idea, and tar and
-feather yourself for your own benefit.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I give you my word, I won't:—but listen, Michael, and I'll tell you
-what we'll do, and there's no risk in it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'd like to hear:—though I expect you'll be proposing to shoot the
-stars with a big bow and arrow, and sell them for diamonds.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That wouldn't be bad, if we'd a bow and arrow that could do it; but I'm
-afraid we'd find it hard to get one. That's not my plan, Michael; but this
-is it:—there's a big hole, a stone's-throw from this; dark and deep
-it is, for I've looked down it; and far below, at the very bottom, runs a
-stream, that goes under the waters, and under the land, away off to the
-Red Sea: and it's often a big ould crocodile comes to it, for a day or so,
-in the summer, by the way of getting a change of air and retirement.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, Thady, and suppose he does?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, thin, this is my plan:—let us fish for the crocodile, and make
-a show of him if we catch him.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Arrah! Thady! I didn't think it was in you. But what'll we do for a hook
-and line?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Haven't you your reap-hook and rope?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's true, Thady, so I have; but by way of a bait—you know
-crocodiles ates man's flesh, Thady.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I know it: and it's the beauty o' my plan, that we've bait, hook, and
-line,—all the materials, without a penny expense.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! I see:—faith I you're a genius, Thady:—you'd have me bait
-the hook with yourself.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not a bit of it, Michael; I couldn't separate you from your hook;—I
-wouldn't like to part with my money, and why should I ask you to part with
-your hook?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But don't you see, Thady, I run all the risk?—may be I'll lose my
-property;—the crocodile may carry it off. If we're to be partners,
-you must risk a little as well as me. I'll be my hook and my rope, with
-all the pleasure in life, if you'll be yourself—if you'll let me tie
-you to them by the way of a bait.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Nonsinse, Michael! what good would I be? Sure he feeds upon blacks—the
-crocodile does; and, fair as I am, he wouldn't know I was good to ate.
-Now, as you've a fine dark complexion—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, I havn't.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Faith! you have;—and it's what you're admired for, by me among
-many: I'd like to have it myself. Why, thin, as you're within a few shades
-of the raal thing, may be, in the dark, he'd take you for the raal thing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! thin, crocodiles ar'n't bamboozled so aisily; we'd better make sure,—and
-I'll tell how we'll do it:—I'll get some soot, and black you from
-head to foot.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'd be afraid, Michael.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What harm could happen you, man? When he made his bite, wouldn't my
-reap-hook stick in his jaws and stop him from shutting them, until I'd
-pull him up?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Suppose he'd nibble and not bite?—suppose, too, he'd untie the cord
-and make a meal of me, and then pick his teeth with your reap-hook?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'll tie the knot so that he can't: or, I'll tell you what we'll do;—we'll
-toss up which of us shall be bait.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“With all my heart:—but what'll we toss with?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Isn't it with your money? You'll lend me your bull.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, I won't lend you my bull, Michael.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well! toss your bull yourself, and let me have your hog.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I won't do that, either; for I couldn't risk my money.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What! do you suspect me?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Far from it; but, as there's grass here, we might lose it, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But I'll be responsible; and you can't doubt my honour.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not a bit; but—what's as bad,—I doubt your means. If I lost
-my bull, and you couldn't give me another if you would, that's the same
-thing to me as if you wouldn't give me another if you could,—don't
-you see?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, I've another plan: and I think it must plaze you:—did you
-ever throw a summerset?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I tried once, but didn't succeed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's just my own case; so we're even, and it don't matter which does
-it. Now hark to this, Thady; you'll throw your summerset as well as you
-can, and while you're throwing it. I'll cry 'head' or 'tail,' just which I
-like: if I say 'tail,' and you I'll on your head, it's you that wins.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, Michael; you must toss yourself; for I've no tail to my coat, and you
-have.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Arrah, man! won't I lend you mine? Sure, we'll exchange.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, but suppose I lost?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thin you'd strip yourself, and I'd black you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But why strip myself, Michael?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Don't the crocodiles always catch people that's swimming? And suppose
-they didn't, don't the blacks go naked? They do, Thady: so that if you
-were in your clothes, the crature couldn't know you were a man, and we
-wouldn't catch him. If there was a fish that ate apples, you wouldn't bait
-your hook with a dumpling, would you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I wouldn't: still, I couldn't leave my clothes.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why not, thin, eh?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Bekase there's my bull and my hog in the pocket; and I'd not like to risk
-them, with nobody on the bank, but yourself, to take care o' them.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I don't know how it is, Thady, but nothing plazes you;—you're too
-particular by half.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm fool enough to be too fond of my money, I'm afraid.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm afraid you are:—but will I tell you what you'll do with it,—once
-for all now?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“What, Michael?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, thin, you'll just lend me two-and-sixpence, and I'll go and do
-something in the way of speculation with it; so that, whin we meet again,
-I'll be able to give you back your bull, with something handsome to the
-tail of it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's not bad, Michael: but I'd be afraid we wouldn't have the luck of
-meeting whin we'd wish. Who knows but one of us might be looking for the
-other, all over the wide world, like a needle in a bundle of hay?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thady, is it trash your trying to talk? People meets where hills and
-mountains don't, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“That's true: but I've found out that though one meets with them one don't
-want to see nine times a week, one goes a whole year, and more, without
-getting a sight o' them one wishes to come across. Who knows but, if I
-lent you my bull, the sight o' you would be good for sore eyes?—For
-that rason, I'll not lay you under the obligation, I think, Michael.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! bad luck to you, and every bit of you! Get out o' that, for I don't
-like you;—giving people trouble, by making believe you're a fool,
-whin all the while you ar'n't!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm beginning to think you'd bad intuitions, Michael.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Do you think I'd chate my cousin?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You would thin,—I'll say that for your abilities,—if you
-could get anything by it. Ar'n't you trying to bully me out o' my bull?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Get out o' that, I tell you!—go away intirely:—I dissolve the
-partnership. Go at once, for I'm in a passion.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Who cares for you, Michael? Go away yourself. I'll engage you'll find
-many's the one who wants a partner that's active, and won't mind about
-capital; but I don't think he'll be a man of property. Why should you crow
-over me, I'd like to know?—is it bekase you've a cock in your eye?”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0040" id="linkimage-0040"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/435s.jpg" alt="435s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/435.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/435m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-HANDSOME HANDS.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>n elderly bachelor of my acquaintance is one of the warmest admirers in
-the world of a beautiful female hand. “A fine hand,” he will say, “is a
-vastly fine thing, sir. As I always turned my attention very particularly
-to that part of the person, and have been king's page, and this, that, and
-t'other about a court, during many of my best years, the very finest of
-hands have fallen under my notice. Believe me, I am not at all captious,
-but merely critical, or in a trifling degree historical, when I say, that
-your fine hands of the present day, are very different from the fine hands
-of the old school. My father was convinced that bands had degenerated
-since Charles the Second's time; but he could not help confessing that, in
-my time,—I mean, when he was seventy, and I was thirty—hands
-were still handsome. And, mark me, he spoke of hands generally:—but,
-adad! <i>now</i>, if you meet with a fine hand once in a year or so,
-you're in luck, and ought to sacrifice a kid to Fortune. The fact is, that
-fine hands are very much talked about, but they are not properly
-cultivated; true beauty of form is no longer understood or appreciated;
-and the classical style of hand is, I fear, almost out of fashion. I am
-acquainted with two or three exquisite pair in town, and one,—its
-fellow, unfortunately, is deformed—one matchless hand at Putney. But
-nobody else admires them; I have them all to myself; and what is most
-provoking, these treasures,—these living and lovely reliques of a
-former age of grace and beauty,—these symbols of glorious pedigree,—these
-aristocratic heir-looms, are thrown away upon persons, who, if it were not
-for a spice of self-love, and that they're their own, would deem them but
-middling specimens. They positively try to coax them out of a beautiful
-into a barbarous style, so as to make them look like those of their
-neighbours, which the senseless young fellows of the modern school have
-the bad taste to admire. There never, perhaps, was a woman with such
-delightful hands as the charming Aurelia Pettigrew, afterwards Mrs. Watts,
-of Grange Hill, subsequently Mrs. Jervis, of Eton; whom I attempted at
-once to console and immortalize, by a copy of verses, written on the
-occasion of her having met with an accident, from an awkward
-waiting-woman's scissors, which produced a slight, but, in the opinion of
-many, a pleasing and piquant obliquity of the visual organ. These are the
-stanzas:—
-</p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-“'When Chloe wandered o'er the mead,
-To pluck the grateful flower;
-Strephon and every shepherd swain,
-Confess'd her beauty's power.
-
-Enamour'd Colin, gazing knelt,
-And soon resign'd his breath;
-While each fond youth ambitious sighed,
-To die so sweet a death.
-
-Two suns the earth could ne'er endure,
-Nor man <i>her</i> double glance;
-So nature bade the right blaze on,
-And turn'd the left askance.'
-</pre>
-<p>
-“I did not sing the charms of her hands, for they were above all praise:—small,
-plump, and graceful, with tapering fingers, and dimples where the knuckles
-lay, which, to the eye of fancy, seemed to smile like those in Love's own
-cheek. Miss Pettigrew was not of a very excellent figure; nor had she,
-with the exception of her eyes, particularly beautiful features; but her
-hands were matchless! They won her one husband, and many hearts,—my
-own among them,—at nineteen; and another husband with more than one
-suitor,—I was among'em, again—when she was a widow, at forty.
-There are some Goths and Vandals, who would have their nails half as long
-as the fingers:—filbert-nails, I think is the term for such
-pretended beauties; which, in my opinion, bear a striking resemblance to
-the convex side of the bowl of a horn spoon. But, though I consider a deep
-margin to a nail vulgar in the extreme, and would never, on any account,
-suffer its disk to peep over the Aurora-tinted horizon of the finger's
-summit, yet, understand me, I am no advocate for cutting them down to the
-quick. Of the two extremes,—a woman who pares her nails to the
-skin's edge, and a Chinese lady, who suffers hers to shoot forth into
-talons, I know not which is the more provoking. The Chinese female has at
-least the custom of the country in her favour; her, therefore, I have no
-right to blame, because it occurs that I am not a Chinese: but if I meet
-with one of my countrywomen, with claws at the ends of her fingers, I
-always long to call in a gardener or a sheep-shearer, with the necessary
-implement to prune or clip them down to a state of decorum. I do not
-possess sufficient talent to invent an appropriate and adequate punishment
-for a lady who is so enamoured with ugliness as to bite her nails. For her
-friends' sake, she ought to cannibalize in private, and conceal the
-revolting relics of her feast by wearing gloves, even in the presence of
-her most intimate friends. Those little machines which look like old
-gloves cropped to the knuckles, are gross outrages upon taste: they are
-called, I believe, mittens; and many excellent young ladies wear them,
-particularly in the country, during cold weather. The sight of a hand in
-one of these things invariably produces an emotion of pity in my bosom for
-the four long, cold, naked fingers, which protrude from the sockets of the
-stalls. In the matter of gloves, women are frequently so rash and
-inconsiderate, as 'to make the judicious grieve.' I have told every lady,
-with whom I have the honour to be intimate, and who has happened to have
-large, ignoble hands, that she ought not to wear tight gloves; I have
-declared, on the honour of a gentleman, that they increase rather than
-dimmish the apparent size of the hand: but my preaching has never proved
-of much effect. A lady with an excellent, or even a good hand, should
-never have a wrinkle in her glove; but it is an absurd notion of many,
-that mere tightness is perfection: on the contrary, a glove that is well
-adapted to the hand never appears tight, but fits smooth and unwrinkled as
-the fair skin which it conceals. The kid should lie close against the palm
-of the hand; the fingers should have no awkward bags at their extremities,
-and no bridges between their bases; indeed, the glove should fit as though
-it were an admirable mould, endowed with such elasticity as to assume
-every variety of form into which graceful action can possibly throw the
-hand. It, doubtless, has been to many persons, as well as to myself, a
-matter of astonishment, that the thousand and one elegant and delicate
-pieces of workmanship, in various materials, which seem to be fashioned by
-the exquisite fingers of a Belinda, are found, on inquiry, to be the
-productions of huge awkward paws, apparently fit only to wield flails and
-pull about blocks of granite. A celebrated frizeur, whose name I won't
-mention, has a very laudable antipathy to what he terms 'hugeous hands—he
-is a little lax in his language, but a very good frizeur for all that.
-Some years ago, he wanted a few assistants in his hair-cutting rooms; and
-inserted an advertisement in the paper to that effect. Among other
-applicants there was a good-looking youth, whose appearance, and answers
-to the preliminary questions put on such occasions, were highly
-satisfactory. 'Will your last master give you a character for civility?'
-inquired the hair-dresser. The boy answered in the affirmative. 'Well, and
-where are your gloves, young gentleman?' 'I don't wear any, sir!' 'Not
-wear gloves! I protest, I never heard of such a thing in all my born days.
-Take your hands out of your breeches pockets then, boy, and let me inspect
-them.' The boy, with some difficulty, produced a pair of rather large and
-very high-coloured hands, and artlessly exhibited them to the frizeur.
-'Oh! go away, boy—go away,' exclaimed the latter, recoiling three
-paces from the spectacle; 'you won't suit me at all: the advertisement
-particularly said, Wanted a few <i>good hands</i>, you know. It's not
-possible for me to take a young man into my establishment, with great,
-large, red bits of beef, hanging out at the ends of his coat sleeves.—Go
-along!'”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0041" id="linkimage-0041"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/439s.jpg" alt="439s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/439.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/439m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a>
-</p>
-<div style="height: 4em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-<h2>
-MISLED BY A NAME.
-</h2>
-<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was my fortune to pass a portion of my youth at a celebrated
-watering-place, to which it was the fashion, at that time, with the
-faculty, in all parts of the kingdom, to consign their patients, usually
-in compliance with the desires of the latter, when medicine could be of no
-more avail; and there was such a constant influx of pale people of
-fortune, who were buried within so brief a period after the announcement
-of their arrival, that I sincerely pitied persons of opulence, because
-they seemed to be Death's favourite prey. Burials occurred so frequently,
-that at least a tithe of the inhabitants were undertakers.
-</p>
-<p>
-It was really laughable to witness the intrigue that took place in the
-event of a death. The funeral was generally bespoke, even before the
-patient had been given over by the resident physicians: the sick
-gentleman's grocer, his tailor, his shoemaker, the master of the inn where
-he had put up on his arrival, the person in whose house he was expiring,
-the barber who shaved him when he was no longer able to shave himself, his
-butler, who had become tainted with the mania of the place, and the man
-over the way, whose wife was a laundress, were all undertakers in
-disguise, and sighing for his dissolution. This is a true sketch of the
-state of things some years ago, at ——, and, doubtless, at many
-other equally celebrated resorts of the afflicted. The various candidates
-for “a black job,”—that was the technical term,—frequently
-formed a coalition of interests. One of the party was nominated to bury
-the deceased, and divide the profits among all. Bribery to the domestics,
-in these cases, was carried on to a shocking extent; for the resident
-tradesmen of the place, rendered callous by custom, purchased the votes of
-every individual who was likely to have any voice in the election of an
-undertaker. Humorous mistakes frequently occurred in the ardour of the
-pursuit, and in the rivalry existing between the real gentlemen of the
-hearse, and those who were constantly on the alert to obtain a share of
-their profits. A case occurs to my recollection, which may, perhaps, be
-deemed not altogether devoid of interest.
-</p>
-<p>
-An undertaker, who had received intelligence from one of the numerous
-jackals of the place, that the doctors had received their last fee from
-the friends of a patient, who lodged at Mr. B.'s house in a certain
-crescent, immediately repaired to the scene of action. He knocked at the
-door, but the footman (having received a bribe, and very particular
-instructions from a rival undertaker, who had purchased the same
-intelligence a few moments earlier from a the same identical jackal, and
-who was then in the pantry, trying to buy over the butler,) told him that
-he had mistaken the number; that his master was perfectly well; and that,
-in all probability, the gentleman who was dying, lived at Mr. B.'s other
-lodging-house, No. 7, in the same crescent.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Do you know his name?” inquired the undertaker.
-</p>
-<p>
-“The Reverend Mr. Morgan,” replied the footman.
-</p>
-<p>
-“Do you know his servant?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes; he's a thick-set man, with a slight cast in his eye.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“In or out of livery?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Out.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“May I use your name?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“With all my heart, on your tipping the usual.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“There's a crown; it's all speculation,—neck or nothing; so I can't
-afford more. What's your name?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I am Sir Joseph Morgan's under-butler.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you;—good day:—but stop, allow me to trouble you with a
-dozen of my cards; a judicious use of them may pay you: I come down
-handsomely, and you may make it worth your while, as well as mine, should
-anything occur in your family. Will you do what you can?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“With pleasure.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Much obliged: and,—d'ye hear?—here's another: if you know of
-any house where the ravens roost,—you understand me—stick it
-in the frame of the house-keeper's looking-glass. Good morning!”
- </p>
-<p>
-The Reverend Mr. Morgan, to whose lodgings the under-butler had referred
-the undertaker, was a middle-aged gentleman, lately married, and in daily
-expectation of having an heir to his name and the little freehold which
-his uncle had devised to him in the county of Brecon. He was just the sort
-of man that the under-butler had in his eye, when describing his servant.
-As the undertaker approached the door of No. 7, the reverend gentleman, in
-his usual neat, but homely dress, made his appearance. The undertaker,
-suspecting that he was the servant, accosted him the moment he had closed
-the door behind him, and the following dialogue ensued:—
-</p>
-<p>
-“Your most obedient, sir.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yours, sir;—I ask pardon, but as I am in a hurry—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“One moment—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Really, sir, if you knew the situation of affairs—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I do, sir;—I do, indeed.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, it's rather odd. But I cannot stand here gossipping. Mrs. Morgan—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! poor dear creature! but these things will happen, you know:—transitory
-life—sublunary world—rad mortality—vale of tears!—Going
-for the doctor?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“No, not just yet; but—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah! still the event is pretty certain, I believe.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, yes; I flatter myself it is.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Good. Pardon me for being intrusive, my dear friend; but it lies in your
-power to do me a favour, I think: will you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! yes,—anything;—provided it costs me nothing.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not a penny:—you'll be in pocket by it. But, before I explain,
-allow me to ask,—have you any interest with, or influence over Mrs.
-Morgan? Be candid.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, sir, I think I ought to have.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! I see:—a managed matter;—a candidate for dead men's
-shoes, eh?—Ah! you sly dog!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sly dog!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You'll soon be master, I guess.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I hope so; I have been long trying for it.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ha, ha! I know it. Oh! I can see things. But now to business:—the
-fact is, I'm a professional man.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes,—you understand:—and as soon as any thing occurs, call me
-in; and I'll make matters agreeable to you.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“But Mrs. Morgan,—she must be consulted: I'm just going to see a
-gentleman on this very business.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be sure Mrs. M. must be consulted! Far be it from me to think of
-intruding myself without her permission. But you can use your influence. A
-word in your ear: I'm empowered to mention the name of Sir Joseph Morgan's
-under-butler. Manage it well, and I'll tip you a five pound note.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Sir Joseph Morgan's under-butler! Me? Tip me?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh, honour! honour among thieves, you know. Ha, ha! Harkye;—the
-moment he goes off—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Goes off! Who?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The parson.—I say, the moment he goes off—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ah!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Smuggle me up to his wife.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To Mrs. M.? Smuggle you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! these things must be done with decorum, you know.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Well, but—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Leave me to manage the rest. I flatter myself that my talent and
-experience will ensure us the desired success. Act well your part, and
-depend upon it I shall be the happy man.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“The happy man!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay; see him home, as we say.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“See who home?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Why, M., to be sure.”
- </p>
-<h3>
-“M.?”
- </h3>
-<p>
-“Yes. Really, though, now I look at you, you don't seem to follow my ideas
-exactly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Not with that precision which I could wish.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Psha! In plain English, then,—the parson being about to kick the
-bucket—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Kick the—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ay,—hop the twig,—or pop off the hooks:—pick and
-choose, I've a variety.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And pray, sir, what may his kicking the bucket be to you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thirty pounds, at least, if his widow's a trump, and things turn out
-kindly.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“I'm quite in a fog!—Pray, sir, who and what are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Didn't I say I was a professional man—an undertaker?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Oh! you're an undertaker, are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“At your service.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Thank you. And so you think of seeing M. home, do you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes; box him up, as we say;—Ha, ha!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And I'm to have five pounds—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Exclusive of the usual jollification on the occasion, with the mutes and
-mourners; and an additional guinea, if you think proper to officiate with
-a black stick and hat-band. Pull your hat over your eyes, hold a white
-pocket-handkerchief to your face, and nobody will know you:—that's
-the way to manage. Ha, ha!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Very good; very good, indeed. Ha, ha!”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Ha, ha! But come—what say you to a cheerful glass on this
-melancholy occasion? Sorrow is dry, you know;—I'll be a bottle.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“You're very good. And so you're an undertaker, after all, are you?”
- </p>
-<p>
-“To be sure I am:—come along.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“And I'm to smuggle you up to Mrs. M., eh?—Ha, ha!—I must say
-I admire your mode of doing business much.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Tact, my dear fellow,—tact and decorum; I display no other
-talents.”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Your gay manner, too—”
- </p>
-<p>
-“Yes; 'we're the lads for life and joy,' as the song says. I'm naturally
-cheerful; but when I feel pretty sure of my man—as I now do—oddsheart!
-I'm as merry as a grig. Take my arm.” The undertaker marched off in
-triumph with his supposed prey leaning on his arm, towards a neighbouring
-tavern; but whether the reverend gentleman blighted his hopes by an early
-explanation, or forgot Mrs. M. for a few moments longer, and partook of
-the proffered bottle, “the chronicler cannot state.”
- </p>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0042" id="linkimage-0042"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/444s.jpg" alt="444s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/444.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/444m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-In my little parlour, where,
-Seated in an easy chair,
-At the dull decline of day,
-Oft I doze an hour away;—
-Yester-eve I had a dream,
-Of such seeming misery,
-That, at last, my own loud scream,
-Roused me to reality:
-And, though strange my say may seem,
-Sleep I'd rather never more,
-Than hear again what then I bore.
-
-Time, methought, was journeying fast:
-Years, like moments, fleetly passed;
-Still on they flowed,—behind,—before,
-Across what seemed a dismal sea,
-To break like billows on the shore
-Of measureless Eternity.
-From all his leaden clogs releas'd,
-Anon, the speed of Time increas'd;
-Till even light could scarcely vie,
-With the speed of a passing century.
-
-The hills were grey,—the world was old;
-Its hour was come, its sands were told;
-The knell of a million years had rung;
-And I, alone, continued young,
-And, now, the work of woe began,
-Despair through every bosom ran;
-Death stalked abroad in open day,
-And, visibly, attack'd his prey:
-No more by slow disease he work'd,
-Or in the cup of nectar lurk'd;
-No host was now in battle slain,
-No man set up,—a butt for Pain
-To shoot her lingering arrows through;
-No more the earth devour'd a town;
-But Death walk'd openly in view,
-And, with his scythe, mow'd myriads down.
-I clos'd my eyes,—I saw no more,
-Until a voice close to my ear,—
-A voice I ne'er had heard before,
-So dismal that I quail'd with fear,
-And utter'd that wild horrid scream,
-Which rous'd me from my wretched dream!
-Bade me awake, methought, and see
-Him, whose doom it was to be,
-The last of human kind!
-An awful form before me stood,
-Whose aspect boded aught but good:
-His looks were grim, his locks were grey;
-He seem'd like one near life's last goal;
-And thrice, methought, I heard him say,
-That he came to cast my soul!
-
-My sight grew dim, I gasped for breath;—
-(For who can brave a sudden death?)—
-A moment's fearful pause ensued,
-Then he,—the object of my dread,—
-Address'd me thus in accents rude;
-I listened, less alive than dead.
-“I've said it once, I've said it twice,
-I've raised my voice, and said it thrice:
-My time is short,—I've much to do;—
-I've lately lost my brother;—
-I cannot wait all night on you,
-For I must cast another.
-To make your boot fit well, a tree
-You've ordered, as I'm told;
-And, once again, I say, in me,
-The <i>last</i>-man you behold.”
- </pre>
-<p>
-<br /><br />
-</p>
-<hr />
-<p>
-<a name="linkimage-0043" id="linkimage-0043"> </a>
-</p>
-<div class="fig" style="width:35%;">
-<img src="images/447s.jpg" alt="447s " width="100%" /><br />
-</div>
-<h4>
-<a href="images/447.jpg"><i>Original Size</i></a> -- <a
-href="images/447m.jpg"><i>Medium-Size</i></a>
-</h4>
-<div style="height: 6em;">
-<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg's Three Courses and a Dessert, by Anonymous
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-</pre>
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