THE
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
OF
MICHAEL ARMSTRONG,
THE FACTORY BOY.
BY
QpUtiCij*- )
FRANCES TROLLOP E.
•1
LIBRARY
•FTHE
eup.'.ceuNciL,
SO/JURISDICTION-
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, GREAT MARLBOROUGH-STREET.
BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH.
JOHN CUMMING a DUBLIN.
1840.
T3 LS3
C 6
p.y*
WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND.
Council A.A»S#*»
library of Supreme
Aug 10*1940
/J
PREFACE.
WfiEX the author of " Michael Armstrong" first determined on
attempting to draw the attention of her countrymen to the fearful
evils inherent in the Factory System, as carried out in our manufac-
turing towns, she intended to divide her work into two portions, which
should present the same subject under two different phases. It was
her intention in the first of these to drag into the light of day, and
place before the eyes of Englishmen, the hideous mass of injustice
and suffering to which thousands of infant labourers are subjected, who
toil in our monster spinning-mills. In the second, she proposed that the
hero of her tale, having lived through his toil-worn boyhood, should
have*been seen embarked in those perfectly constitutional struggles
for the amelioration of the sufferings of his class, in which many of
the more enlightened operatives have been for some years engaged.
The first division of the subject has been some time in the reader's
hands. The true but most painful picture has been drawn faithfully
and conscientiously. Of course voices have been raised to deny
loudly the truth of all the author's statements, and to assert the whole
to be a mere tissue of invention and falsehood. The same charges
have been made against her upon another occasion, and she has lived
to see the truth of her statements, so impugned, universally admitted.
She awaits with perfect confidence the time when similar justice shall
be rendered to these pages.
But with respect to that division of the subject which it was in-
tended to bring forward in the latter part of her work, the author's
views have undergone very considerable change. Knowing the immense
amount of evil to be remedied, and the urgent necessity, for many
reasons, that this remedy should not be delayed, it is grievous to see
IV PREFACE.
misguided and unfortunate men pursuing a course which must neces-
sarily neutralize the efforts of their true friends. When those in whose
behalf she hoped to move the sympathy of their country are found
busy in scenes of outrage and lawless violence, and uniting themselves
with individuals whose doctrines are subversive of every species of
social order, the author feels that it would be alike acting in violation
of her own principles, and doing injury to the cause she wishes to
serve, were she to persist in an attempt to hold up as objects of public
sympathy, men who have stained their righteous cause with deeds of
violence and blood. The author is well aware that many, as well
operatives as their superiors, who were engaged in a virtuous struggle
against the lawless power which oppresses them, deplore the madness
of these ill-advised men as much as herself. But the cause has been
too much sullied, and the sufferers too closely associated in the public
eye with those who have been guilty of all she most deprecates, to
permit her continuing the work as she intended.
Under these circumstances she has determined that the existence of
her hero as an operative shall close with his childhood. No miscon-
struction of principles, no misconception of motives can exist with
regard to an attempt to ameliorate the lot of infant labourers. That her
pages may assist in promoting this object is her humble and most
ardent hope. " The Life and Adventures of Michael Armstrong" are,
therefore, concluded in the twelfth number.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Description of Dowling Lodge and its appurtenances — Of its master —
Of its mistress — And all the Masters and Misses Dowling — A large
dinner-party — A hot drawing-room, and the way to escape from it ... I
CHAPTER II.
A delightful ramble — Friendship and the Muse — An adventure— Danger
and escape — Gratitude and benevolence 9
CHAPTER III.
Introduction of Michael Armstrong into the family of Sir Matthew
Dowling — Conjectures concerning his parentage — A confabulation
between Sir Matthew and Mr. Joseph Parsons 24
CHAPTER IV.
A little cottage gossip — Avisit of charity — Practical benevolence 35
CHAPTER V.
A separation of loving hearts— A specimen of finished composition —
Condescension and generosity — Sir Matthew clothes little Michael
with his own hands 44
CHAPTER VI.
Michael's introduction to all the Miss Dowlings — Sir Matthew feeds
him with his own hand, aud presents him to all his most valued
friends , ., 52
CHAPTER VII.
A popular character—More benevolence— Interesting intelligence re-
ceived with becoming animation — A select committee— A farewell
full of meaning.... , .».».,»„. ,,..,..i..4... ..;.<♦ 67
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VIII.
PAGE
A very innocent tete-a-tete, but in which Miss Martha Dowling comes
to a wrong conclusion — An unfortunate embassy— An agreeable ex-
cursion — A philosophical disquisition— A visit to the factory 72
CHAPTER IX.
Some particulars respecting Miss Brotherton — A demonstration of
neighbourly friendship and anxiety — The wilfulness of an heiress — A
gleam of light caught in the darkness 84
CHAPTER X.
More wilfulness on the part of the heiress — Private theatricals — Failure
of a young performer, and its consequences — Philosophical breakfast-
table — A morning's excursion 95
CHAPTER XI.
Miss Brotherton pushes her inquiries further — A well-arranged scheme
disagreeably defeated — A visit, and its consequences 112
CHAPTER XII.
An unfortunate rencounter — An adventure — Miss Brotherton grows wiser
every day 123
CHAPTER XIII.
Disagreeable meditations— A confidential interview with a faithful ser-
vant — Another interview, not quite so confidential, with a daughter —
Martha and Michael take a pleasant walk together to visit the widow
Armstrong — A consultation 137
CHAPTER XIV.
Mary Brotherton continues sick in heart and mind— But is roused and
cheered by her own steadfast will — An o'er true tale 1 48
CHAPTER XV.
A tHc*u-tete walk"— Lively if not instructive conversation — The rich
visiting the podr— Misplaced confidence — Innocent sin 158
CHAPTER XVL
Miss Brotherton visits the widow Armstrong, and lays the foundation of
a very lasting friendship— She then calls at Dowling Lodge, but fails
of obtaining what she went for ,..< 163
CONTENTS. VU
CHAPTER XVII.
PAGE
A journey begun in very good style, but ending not quite so well — A
faithful description of a valley in Derbyshire — Michael makes some
new acquaintance 174
CHAPTER XVIII.
An explanatory epistle, which does not prove satisfactory — Plans for the
future, followed by active measures to carry them into effect — A
morning visit to Mrs, Gabberly 188
CHAPTER XIX.
A Voyage of discovery — A plain statement, leading to the conviction
that even where ignorance is not bliss, knowledge is not always hap-
piness—A hasty friendship that may nevertheless prove lasting 198
CHAPTER XX.
Trade in a flourishing state — The benefits conferred thereby to those
employed in it — The natural logic of religion — Its fallibility when
put to the test 212
CHAPTER XXI.
Miss Brotherton exerts her eloquence, and nurse Tremlett is brought to
reason thereby — The heiress hardens her heart, and speaks harsh
truths to Martha Dowling, but all in vain — She conceives a project,
and sets about putting it in execution with great spirit 219
CHAPTER XXII.
Miss Brotherton sets off on her travels, and feels frightened at her own
temerity — But speedily recovers her courage, and plays the heroine —
Siie visits some factories, and is introduced to a Sunday-school — She
approaches the precincts of the Deep Valley 235
CHAPTER XXIII.
Miss Brotherton and her friend arrive at the Deep Valley — A review —
Disappointment — " A sudden thought strikes" the heiress — She con-
cludes a bargain, though not the one for which she meditated — She
sets out upon a walk 254
CHAPTER XXIV.
The walk proves too fatiguing to one of the party, but not to Miss Bro-
therton — She wanders further, and meets with an adventure, but at
last returns in safety to her inn — A journey homeward, and a fact re-
lated without ornament 262
Vlll CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXV.
PAGE
The narrative returns to its hero — And relates why and wherefore he
was kept alive— The boy grows tall, and takes to thinking 278
CHAPTER XXVI.
A dismal enterprise, and its melancholy result — Martha Dowling pu-
nished more severely than she deserved — Very wild projects conceived
by Miss Brotherton, and speedily put in execution 289
CHAPTER XXVII.
Michael Armstrong sets out upon a dangerous expedition — Its termi-
nation proves rather more than he can bear — He meets a good man
and takes service under him — He asks and obtains a holiday, and
meets several adventures in the course of it 297
CHAPTER XXVIII.
An important interview — Doubts and fears 821
CHAPTER XXIX.
Michael calls his wisdom to council, and the points to be discussed puzzle
them — An early walk — An old friend with a changed face 334
CHAPTER XXX.
Michael grows rich, and takes a very delightful walk back to Westmor-
land — His preparations for a longer journey are suddenly stopped —
He makes a painful visit, but meets many old acquaintances 340
CHAPTER XXXI.
A friendly consultation — A dangerous embassy — Lady Clarissa receives
some disagreeable intelligence — An awkward contest — Unpleasant
visions — A fitting termination to the confidential union between
master and man 357
CHAPTER XXXII.
Mr. Augustus Dowling gives his sister Martha notice to quit the pre-
mises, which occasions Michael to appear in a new character — A long
journey taken by novices, but they do not lose their way, and arrive
at the right place at last 370
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A tite~a~t$te—A second— A third— A mysterious result— Conclusion .... 379
w ^z&& ,
THE
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
OF
MICHAEL ARMSTRONG,
THE FACTORY BOY.
CHAPTER I.
DESCRIPTION OF DOWLING LODGE AND ITS APPURTENANCES
OF ITS MASTER — OF ITS MISTRESS AND ALL THE MASTERS AND
MISSES DOWLING A LARGE DINNER-PARTY A HOT DRAWING-
ROOM, AND THE WAY TO ESCAPE FROM IT.
No traveller can ride or drive within sight of Dowling Lodge,
without being tempted to inquire, "Whose house is that ?"
It forms, indeed, a very striking object on the right of the London
road, as the hill rises gradually, and overlooks the town of Ashleigh,
one of the busiest in Lancashire, to the left ; for although the trees
about the mansion are not yet of sufficient growth to make it pic-
turesque, its lofty portico, well-proportioned wings, and command-
ing site, render it an ornament to the neighbourhood for miles
round.
Those who are admitted to a nearer view of the house (and, for
the convenience of the public, every Wednesday is set apart for
its being shown), will find still more to admire, than such as see it
only from a distance. It has its park and its pinery ; conservatories,
which cause the mercury in the thermometer, when paraded through
them, to run up to the cocoa-ripening heat of the tropics, and ice-
houses that would bring it down again to the temperature of Bhering's
Straits. It has three drawing-rooms, two dining-rooms, a great
library, all full of new books; as many bedrooms, dressing-rooms,
and boudoirs, as a great man's house ought to have, and a study
besides — Sir Matthew Dowling's own private study. This de-
lightful little apartment is small, not more than twelve feet square ;
but nothing can be more agreeable and convenient. It opens by
one door from the great hall of entrance, and by another commu-
B
2 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
nicates through a long stone-passage with the offices of the mansion ;
enabling the knight to receive, without interruption, not only his
overlookers (Sir Matthew being the proprietor of many cotton-mills),
but his coachman, gardener, bailiff, and whomever else he might
wish to transact business with.
Of the fitting up of this princely mansion, it is only necessary to
say, that it is done in a spirit of emulative imitation, which ren-
ders it fully equal, in this respect, to the most finished private
dwellings in Europe. The furniture is uniformly rich throughout :
the picture-frames in the best style of art ; Saxony carpets in the
drawing-rooms, Turkey ditto in the dining-rooms, Brussels in the
bedrooms, and indeed not a single inch of Kidderminster any
where, except in the garrets.
I will not attempt to state the amount of Sir Matthew Dowling's
wealth ; Cocker himself would have found it a laborious task to
make the calculation ; and it is sufficient for the gratification of all
reasonable curiosity to say, that throughout the whole line of that
Golconda country, which, being the busiest of the manufacturing
districts, is probably the richest in the world, there was not any one
who could vie in wealth with him. In a word, he shone amidst his
rich neighbours like a golden sun, surrounded by silver moons.
But Sir Matthew was a superior man in all ways. He was six
feet two inches in height, and stout in proportion, with hands and
feet that might have sufficed a giant. His intellectual gifts were
also of no ordinary character. He liked well enough, perhaps, to
stand pre-eminent in the commercial estimation of his neighbours ;
but so enlightened was his spirit, that he liked better still to shine be-
fore their eyes as a man of taste, a literary and accomplished gentle-
man, a speaker of modern languages, a critical French scholar, a
playful votary of the muses himself, and a universal Mecsenas to all
who wielded a pen in their service. But beyond all else, Sir
Matthew valued himself upon his reputation for the lighter graces of
wit and gallantry : he sought to make himself into something of
a delightful mixture between Kiiligrew and the Count de Gra-
mont ; and there was no receptacle of wit from Joe Miller downwards,
no gallant memoirs in an intelligible tongue, that he did not study
with assiduity and perseverance of the highest order.
He was often heard to declare, that he loved nothing so well as
the promotion of mirth and light-heartedness among his fellow-
creatures ; but tragedy and comedy often walk through the
world hand in hand together, and their alliance may be traced
without difficulty in the career of Sir Matthew Dowling.
The wife of this prosperous gentleman had also many admirable
qualities. She was not one of the idle gossipers who delight in
chattering about their own concerns to every one who will listen ;
she despised such weakness, and had never been heard to hint at
her own parentage, or early history, to any one; rightly considering,
that when such matters are unceasingly discussed, they may be ex-
ceedingly likely to prevent people's minding their own business,
while devoting an undue share of attention to that of others.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 3
Nevertheless, with nice and laudable discrimination, she took care
that her neighbours should be well acquainted with all such facts
respecting her as it concerned them to know. There was hardly an
individual within ten miles who was not aware that Lady Dowling
kept two carriages, six horses, one coachman, one postilion, five
gardeners, two grooms, three footmen, one butler, and a page —
not to mention two nurses, four nursery-maids, and more ladies'-
maids, housemaids, cookmaids, kitchen-maids, laundry-maids, still-
room maids, dairy-maids, and the like, than any other lady in the
county. Neither could any be ignorant that, except in the article
of jewels, her wardrobe might vie with that of any duchess in the
land, and all might see, moreover, that she was comely still, both
in form and feature. She conversed with great ability on all sub-
jects connected with fashionable life ; and though some few carping
critics thought that she was too apt to diversify the monotony of the
English language, by indulging in some remarkable variations from
its ordinary laws, nobody, or scarcely any body, attempted to deny
that she was on the whole a very charming woman. Such was the
testimony of her general acquaintance ; those who knew her better
were aware that her moral qualities outshone, as they always ought
to do, all her external graces. She was a faithful and exceedingly
fond wife, and doted upon all her children ; no woman could more
heartily detest every species of light flirting airs in females, and,
being deeply sensible of the dangerous attractions of youth and
beauty in her own sex, she studiously avoided bringing those of
her family who might suffer thereby from coming in contact with
any thing of the kind ; so that the female portion of her establish-
ment consisted of the ugliest set of neat and carefully dressed
middle-aged women that ever were found assembled together.
The knight and his excellent lady were blessed with a very
numerous progeny, certainly not less than eighteen or twenty ; but,
as they were rarely all at home together, it was at no time easy to
count them.
Augustus, the eldest of the family, was a prodigiously fine young
man, just returned from college. He had not indeed thought it
necessary to take a degree, nor did Sir Matthew or her ladyship
particularly wish it ; both of them being of opinion that little dis-
tinction could be gained by the assumption of a title which was never
used in society, and to which he conceived every Englishman to be
eligible who could just read and write a little. But as, on all points
that concerned the interest of his eldest son, Sir Matthew was too
deeply interested to run any risk of blundering : he did not give his
consent for the return of Augustus, without his having gone through
this idle academic ceremony, till he had paid a visit to the rector
of his parish, to elicit from him some information on the subject.
" May I ask, sir," said Sir Matthew abruptly, " what degree you
took at the university V*
Mr. Hetherington was a new incumbent, and might, perhaps, have
been a little affronted at a question which, by the blunt manner of
it, seemed almost to insinuate a doubt whether he had taken any
b2
4 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
degree at all ; but, though a good man, and an excellent clergyman
to boot, he had a strong taste for humour, and had already dis-
covered that his neighbour at the great house was rich in more
ways than one. It was, therefore, with the utmost civility that he
answered, " My degree, Sir Matthew, was that of Master of Arts."
" And pray, sir, does it give you any title by which you can be
distinguished as in any way a superior sort of person in society ?"
" I am afraid not, Sir Matthew," was the reply.
" I thank you, sir, for your sincerity," rejoined the knight. " It
was important that I should ascertain the truth on this point. — You
are, then, never addressed in company as Mr. Master of Arts, or
any thing of that kind ?"
" I have never yet, Sir Matthew, met with any one of sufficient
politeness to do me that honour," replied Mr. Hetherington gravely.
" And I suppose you have lived in respectable society ?"
" Very decent society — very decent, Sir Matthew," replied
Hetherington, whose mother was the daughter of a distinguished
nobleman.
" Good morning, sir; I shall be happy to see you at Bowling
Lodge — that is to say, sir, if your gown does not lead you to object
to elegant amusements. I love science, Mr. Hetherington, and am
indeed devoted to every thing intellectual ; but, notwithstanding
this, I am a worshipper at the shrine of grace and wit, and could
not exist among people who did not relish the lighter embellish-
ments of society."
" I shall be happy, Sir Matthew, to share in your gayer hours,
provided I am fortunate enough to find that you have no objection
to profit by my graver ones," replied the clergyman.
Sir Matthew returned from this visit very well pleased with the
new rector. Mr. Augustus was immediately comforted by a letter,
informing him that he might call in his accounts, and prepare to
leave the university as soon as he pleased ; and, within ten days
after receiving it, the amiable young man was restored to the bosom
of his family.
Next to this primal hope of the Dowling race, came three young
ladies, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one; the two
eldest of them being as like as two peas, and the third like nothing
on earth but herself. Then followed several young gentlemen,
who were placed at different fashionable schools ; for Sir Matthew,
who was a man of very enlarged mind, declared it to be his opinion
and his principle, that the patronage of such a fortune as his should
be extended as widely as possible. After these young gentlemen
came, one after the other, with the interval of about eleven months
between them, ever so many little girls, who, for the present, were
all educated at home, having a particularly clever French governess.
All the rest were nice little children of different degrees of baby-
hood ; the dear little girls being remarkable for their long plaited
hair, short frocks, and furbelowed trousers, and the dear little boys
for the manly bustle with which they wore their Scotch bonnets and
plaided tunics, which, considering that neither Sir Matthew nor his
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 5
lady had ever been in Scotland in their lives, showed great enlarge-
ment of national feeling. Altogether, it was considered to be the
finest family ever seen.
It happened upon a broiling day about the middle of July, during
one of the hottest summers England had ever known, that Sir
Matthew and Lady Dowling " entertained a party of distinguished
fashionables" at dinner.
It may have been remarked by those who study such subjects,
that there is a difference between a dinner-party given at such a
grand mansion as that of Sir Matthew Dowling, and one at a dwell-
ing of perhaps not a quarter the size, where the owners are of a dif-
ferent order of the aristocracy, having a longer pedigree, and a
shorter purse. At both, probably, the banquet will be a costly one,
yet the one entertainment will come off in a manner as unlike as
possible to the other. There is something in the usual way of wearing
stiff new-made grandeur, not far unlike that of wearing stiff new-
made clothes. Neither the one nor the other sit easily.
At this splendid dinner at Dowling Lodge, the company consisted
of a selection from the neighbouring families, made on the most le-
gitimate principles of exclusiveness ; no family being invited who
did not drive four horses at the races. To this there were indeed
two exceptions. The first was the Right Honourable Lady Clarissa
Shrimpton ; but this distinguished lady, though she drove only one
pony instead of four horses, was considered by all the country
round as the one thing needful to render a party completely elegant.
She was, indeed, neither young, handsome, nor rich, but she was
Lady Clarissa, and this was enough.
The other exception was to be found in the rotund person of Dr.
Crockley, who having formerly been a celebrated quack, made a
little fortune, and taken out a diploma, had lately married a beauty,
and settled in the town of Ashleigh, where he was well pleased to
pick up a few guinea fees, both as a public evidence of his being a
real M.D., and as a private fund wherewith to indulge his still
very tender passion, by buying finery for his pretty young wife.
This fat little gentleman was an especial favourite with Sir Mat-
thew, chiefly on account of his jocund humour and ready laugh ;
and also, perhaps, because he had a pleasant way, peculiar to him-
self, of paying compliments in the bluntest and most unstudied
manner possible.
But, notwithstanding the presence of all these distinguished per-
sons, the dinner moved on very slowly. Sir Matthew, indeed, was
as brilliant as it was possible for any man to be under the circum-
stances, and Lady Clarissa, who did not scruple to declare that she
was very partial to him, listened to all he said to her with as much
attention at least as any lady could be expected to do, who was
making one of sixteen at a dinner, where there were an equal num-
ber of dishes of hot meats reeking upon the table, and the thermo-
meter standing at 87°. Dr. Crockley, too, laughed repeatedly ;
but his laugh was like a Lucifer match that fails, just kindling and
6
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
sputtering a little, but going out before it is able to communicate its
light.
The very sight of the servants as they panted round the table,
was quite enough to smother and stifle all inclination for enjoyment
— their shoes creaked — their faces shone — ice became water — the
salad looked as if it were stewed — the cucumbers seemed to have
fainted away — the prodigious turbot smelt fishy, and its attendant
lobster-sauce glowed not with a deeper tint, than did my Lady Dow-
ling's cheeks as her nose caught the unfragrant gale. In short,
it was a great dinner in the dog-days, and no more need be said of
it.
Great was the inward satisfaction of every guest, when at last
Lady Dowling rose, and gave signal that the party was to be
divided in half. The languid ladies welcomed the coolness of the
marble hall as they passed through it, and the gentlemen gazed
eagerly at the butler as he brought forward a fresh supply of claret,
and a reinforcement of ice. But the enjoyment of neither party
lasted long; for Lady Dowling was too grand and too solemn not
to marshal all her company into her fine drawing-room, where they
were all ceremoniously deposited on satin sofas, amidst swelling
pillows that might have defied the frosts of January ; while seven or
eight hot-looking children were commanded to walk round the circle
and kiss every body.
Nor did the gentlemen fare much better ; for scarcely had the
drawing-room door closed after the ladies, before the shining bald-
head of Dr. Crockley stretched itself up nearly to a level with the
long-backed Sir Matthew's breast-pin, whilst, with a very ominous
sort of growl, making itself heard before his lips opened, he first
preluded, and then uttered the following speech.
" I don't like it, Sir Matthew. — I don't like this business at the
"Weavers' Arms."
" What business, Doctor ?" replied his friend sharply.
""Why this meeting, Sir Matthew. I can't get the notion of a strike
out of my head." Every chair was drawn towards the little doctor : no-
body had heard a word of it. " Well, gentlemen, perhaps I am mis-
taken — perhaps there has been no meeting," resumed the friendly
doctor. " God knows, I don't wish to spoil the enjoyment of this
delightful hour ; but at any rate, my good friends, it is as well for
you to be on the look-out." Then lowering his voice, he muttered,
as near to the ear of Sir Matthew as he could reach, " I know that
your people are meeting, in doors and out of doors. But you are
such a good, generous, kind-hearted creature, that I dare say we
shall hear, before long, of your having done some d — d good-
natured thing or other, and that perhaps will set all right ; who
knows?"
Sir Matthew gave an almost imperceptible nod, and pushed on
the claret-jug; but the gaiety of the party had been effectually
checked, and it was not long before the second richest man in com-
pany (Sir Matthew of course being the first) said, " I do think and
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. /
believe, Sir Matthew, that my lady's coffee would do more to cool
us than your wine." The opinion was not opposed, and, much
earlier than usual, the gentlemen rose, and followed the ladies.
But this movement did not appear greatly to increase the enjoy-
ment of either party. It was near nine o'clock, but the heat con-
tinued to be most oppressive, and the company being for the most
part massive in all ways, their union produced more additional ca-
loric than gaiety. The whole process seemed to have the power of
turning the hours into molten lead as they passed, a portion
of which appeared to drop, and weigh heavily on each individual
head. In vain Sir Matthew made the circuit of the company,
pausing in front either of the richest or handsomest ladies, as duty
or inclination preponderated ; in vain he uttered his newest puns
and freshest bon-mots — not one of them had strength to laugh,
beyond a little feeble " he, he !" and even that was evidently a
painful effort.
Things were in this state, when Lady Clarissa Shrimpton suddenly
rose from the silken couch amidst whose pillows she was im-
bedded, and, without explaining her intentions to my Lady Dowling,
or any one else, darted through the open French-window, and out
upon the well-shaven lawn.
Had it been possible that any one in the room could have been
ignorant of the rank of Lady Clarissa, he must from that moment
have felt an innate conviction that she was somebody ; for nobody that
was not somebody could have ventured upon so daring an escapade
from such a solemn presence-chamber. The effect it produced was
electric. Sir Matthew darted across the room with the eagerness of a
man of gallantry and gaiety. He piqued himself upon being, of all the
great men in the neighbourhood, the one upon whom Lady Clarissa
bestowed the most attention. His estimate of the outward advan-
tages of his extensive person was indeed not a low one ; and, despite
all his lady could do to crush such an odious idea, he was conscious
that he was devoted to the fair sex, and flattered himself that the
fair sex was not ungrateful. In fact, his general manner to ladies
had a good deal of what in female slang is called swaining ; but to
Lady Clarissa it was certainly something more. Had she been simply
Miss Shrimpton, it is probable that, notwithstanding her great
mental advantages, she would never have been exposed to the
danger of this fascinating distinction, for she was nearly forty years
old, had a sharp nose, and was deplorably thin. But Sir Matthew
was not a man to be insensible to the charm of getting talked of in
the neighbourhood about his devotion to Lady Clarissa any body,
even had she been a skeleton with a Gorgon's head. There was,
however, independently of her bewitching title, a charm in her con-
versation and character, to which the knight was peculiarly sensible.
Her ladyship was celebrated for her devotion both to literature and
art ; and she permitted all the world to know, for indeed she never
ceased to repeat it, that talent of every kind was to her an object of
idolatry. Now Sir Matthew knew that he was full of talent — poe-
8
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
tical talent, pictorial talent, epigrammatic talent, every kind of talent,
and it was certainly very delightful to be appreciated by such a
superior creature as Lady Clarissa. So strongly indeed did this
intellectual sympathy between them occasionally manifest itself,
that not even the sharp elbows and red-tipped nose of the noble
lady, who, to borrow the phrase of an inimitable describer, was in
every sense " preter-blve perfect," could render Lady Dowling
quite easy respecting the nature of the friendship. Nor was it
without something like a pang that she marked the sudden alacrity
of movement with which Sir Matthew now strode across the floor to
accompany Lady Clarissa in the extraordinary frolic which led her,
in white satin shoes and a gauze dress, to exchange the drawing-
room for the garden, at nine o'clock in the evening.
But upon this occasion, as upon many others, Lady Dowling
found consolation in the well-known fact, that Lady Clarissa rarely
moved a step without being obsequiously attended by her humble
companion, Miss Mogg. This young lady had been selected to fill
her present enviable situation, principally from her appeaiance,
though she was indeed by no means void of many other qualifica-
tions admirably suited to it. But in appearance she was a striking
contrast to her tall and slender patroness; and, notwithstanding
Lady Clarissa's mental superiority, she was not insensible to the
advantage of having a foil that should set off the charms upon
which she particularly prided herself. Lady Clarissa had a thin,
narrow foot, and an ancle that resembled nothing so much as the
leg of a Robin red-breast ; the person of Miss Mogg was supported
on shafts that told her Saxon origin, and feet that need not have
shrunk from sustaining an ox. Lady Clarissa's slender waist might
have been encircled by a ring of six inches diameter ; a cestus of
nearly double the span had often gone nigh to suffocate her plump
companion. The throat of Lady Clarissa had not only all the flexile
length of the swan's, but might even be said to resemble that of the
stork in its proportions ; while the head of Miss Mogg was separated
from her shoulders by an interval so trifling, as hardly to be percep-
tible at all. The hair of her ladyship, though not very abundant,
was as black as ink, and its straighten ature enabled her to lay it in
classic bands upon her forehead, furnishing a graceful foundation
for the wreath of oak leaves with which, in judicious imitation of
Domenichino's exquisite head of Sappho, she usually adorned herself
when in full dress : while Miss Mogg, on the contrary, had a bushy
abundance of flaxen curls, which gave a round fussy sort of contour
to her face, that could not fail of setting off to advantage the severer
outline of the noble lady ; and, in a word, the contrast was alto-
gether perfect.
To the great satisfaction of Lady Dowling, this round little per-
sonage arose, as usual, when her principal rose, and waddled to the
window after her. Many people are apt to overlook and forget
companions, and the poor toady is as much used to be trod upon as
the despised reptile whose name she bears. But if the world in
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. V
general be found guilty of this scorn towards what is too lowly to
turn, and scorn again, more especially was our knight liable to the
weakness.
As he now hastened to offer his hand to Lady Clarissa in order
to assist her in stepping over the window-sill, he very nearly over-
turned Miss Mogg as he passed her ; but heeding neither the re-
sistance her plump person offered to his passing elbow, nor yet the
timid " oh !" which spoke her alarm, he hurried onward, and,
manfully seizing the hand whose touch was honour, walked out
side by side with the titled lady upon the lawn.
CHAPTER II.
A DELIGHTFUL RAMBLE FRIENDSHIP AND THE MUSE AN AD-
VENTURE DANGER AND ESCAPE GRATITUDE AND BENEVO-
LENCE.
*• Only see that ! How very extraordinary !" exclaimed Lady
Dowling, suddenly rising, and addressing herself to no one in parti-
cular.
"Oh! how delightful!" cried several ladies at once. "How
clever Lady Clarissa is ! Such a delicious refreshment I" " To be
sure, it is the only thing in the world to do on such an evening
as this," exclaimed Miss Brotherton ; who, as being the richest
young lady in company, very properly thought she ought to speak
first. " I am sure I shall follow her example;" and so saying, she
rose and walked towards the window. Three of the most daunt-
less ladies in the party started up to follow her ; which, strange as
the manoeuvre appeared to the full-dressed Lady Dowling, she did
not oppose, greatly preferring that the garden party should be
enlarged. But, though not by her, the adventurous fair ones were
stopped before they accomplished their design, by a chorus of re-
monstrances from all the rest of the company, male and female.
" My dear Miss Brotherton, you will catch your death !" cried
one.
" Oh ! look at your satin shoes !" screamed another. " What
would Mr. Tomkins say if he was here, Mrs. Tomkins V demanded
a third.
" And your neck and shoulders, Miss Williamson !" whispered a
fourth.
"And your blonde dress, Mrs. Simpkins !" vociferated a fifth ;
with a vast deal more in the same strain. So that before the sortie
was accomplished, every lady, save Miss Brotherton, yielded before
the storm of reasons that pelted them on all sides. The rich young
10 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
lady, however, stood firm : what young lady with two hundred
thousand pounds would not ?
" Mr. Augustus Dowling," said she, still pursuing her way
window-ward, but pausing ere she stepped out, " will you have
the excessive kindness, — vraiment j'ai honte; but will you have the
charity to look in the hall for my pink satin mantelet, trimmed with
swansdown ; without it I fear my poor little shoulders will be
arrosees — ' too rudely, alas !' with the dews of night."
Now the young lady's shoulders were really very pretty little
shoulders, and, moreover, Mr. Augustus Dowling, notwithstanding
all his elegant nonchalance, perfectly well remembered that she
had two hundred thousand pounds; so, before she had stamped with
her little foot twice, in her impatience to join those who, from their
gaiety, seemed to be so greatly enjoying the fresh air, he returned
with the mantelet, and having, as usual, adjusted his glass in the
corner of his eye to prevent his making any mistakes, placed it on
her shoulders.
" Now, then !" she cried, " give me your arm. Is not this good
fun?"
The young gentleman obeyed, declaring it was delightful, and in
a moment they were beside Lady Clarissa and Sir Matthew ; good
Miss Mogg keeping a step or two behind.
" Nobody but your ladyship had wit enough to find out that
there was more air to be got out of doors than in," said the heiress,
venturing to pass her arm through that of her noble friend. But,
upon this occasion, Lady Clarissa, though particularly intimate
with Miss Brotherton, and seldom refusing to use her carriage and
act as her chaperone to all the parties in the neighbourhood, seemed
inclined to check her advances.
" My dear child," said she, " I am delighted to see you come
out. I am sure you must have been half stifled, as well as myself.
But you and Mr. Augustus must wander away by yourselves, and
you may take Mogg with you, if you like it, for I have just got into
a discussion with Sir Matthew, that I would not break off for the
world. So away with you, my dear, as fast as you can."
Lady Clarissa's will was of course law, even to the heiress, but
it was not without a little toss of the head that she turned ofT to
another walk ; nor was it without a considerable struggle between
her inclination and a sense of propriety, which, all things consi-
dered, really did her honour, that she permitted poor Miss Mogg
to obey the hint of her patroness, and follow after.
" And so you really have not seen this gifted young man yet, Sir
Matthew V resumed her ladyship, as soon as they were again alone.
" You have never yet seen this Osmund Norval?"
" No, my lady, I have not," replied the knight; " and to say the
truth," he added, venturing to press with his stout arm the slender
one that rested on it, " to say the truth, though I have heard a
monstrous deal about him, I was determined that I would have
nothing to say to him, till I had heard your opinion, my lady."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 11
" How kind ! how flattering, Sir Matthew ! But you will let
me bring him to you now ?"
" Will I?" (again pressing the lean arm.) " Fancy me saying
no, when you tell me to say yes ! Ah ! my lady, you know better
than that, or I am greatly mistaken."
" Oh ! Sir Matthew, you are always so kind ! What magnificent
gardens you have ! By the way, I think I never tasted such a pine
as that we had to-day. I assure you, my brother, Lord Highland-
loch, is celebrated for his pines — quite celebrated. They are the
finest in all Scotland, but I give you my honour, I never saw one
equal to it at his table."
" Oh ! my lady, that is only your amiable condescension," replied
Sir Matthew, greatly touched by this preference. " But if you
really can be so polite as to think them good, I must entreat you
just to let me knock at the head-gardener's door, who lives close
outside this gate. I don't let him live inside, because of his
children, Lady Clarissa. I know what birds peck the worst — ha !
ha ! ha ! However, you must just let me pass through the gate to
tell him to put up a brace for your ladyship. They shall be well
taken care of now, my lady, trust me for that ; I never valued them
so much before, I promise you."
" You are too kind a thousand times !" said the lady, stretching
out her own hand to open the gate. " I will go with you ; there is
nothing I doat upon like visiting a gardener. Could he not take
us into the hot-houses, Sir Matthew ? You have no idea how I
should enjoy it."
By no means displeased to show off the high-born lady upon his
arm, even to the eyes of his gardener, the knight joyfully assented
to the proposal.
" Macnab !" he cried,' knocking as he passed the cottage-win-
dow, " Macnab ! come here directly, and bring a knife and a
basket with you ; you must come directly — this very moment, and
unlock the hot-houses — her ladyship wishes to walk through them,
and I must have one or two of the finest pines cut, and packed in a
basket, to be put into Miss Brotherton's carriage : but mind, they
are for Lady Clarissa Shrimpton ; so you had better give them in
charge to her ladyship's own man."
Mr. Alexander Macnab promptly left the seeds he was sorting,
and prepared himself, basket in hand, to follow his master. The
knight and the lady left the cottage, arm-and-arm together ; but
before they again entered the garden, a fancy seized her lively lady-
ship, that a short ramble in the green lane outside it would be the
most agreeable thing in the world.
" Dear me ! what a poetical idea !" exclaimed Sir Matthew with
enthusiasm. " There's only one thing," he said, stopping short,
"but that will spoil my pleasure altogether: I am so dreadfully afraid
that your ladyship will take cold."
" Ask the gardener's wife to lend me one of her kerchiefs," said
Lady Clarissa, laughing. " But it will only be to satisfy you, Sir
Matthew, for there is no catching cold in such weather as this."
12 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
It was with something quite like tender anxiety that the knight
stepped back, asked for and obtained a neat shawl, and himself
wrapped it round the slender person of his amiable companion.
" Thank you ! thank you a thousand times-! But, dear Sir Mat-
thew, I must not lose my pines by my frolic : will you give the gar-
dener orders to get them without waiting for us? and perhaps you
would let him put up a bunch of grapes, and a few peaches at the
same time — it is no good to let him wait for us; Sir Matthew ; — when
you and I get into a chat together, we shall neither of us think of
the pines again."
Quitting her highly-valued aristocratic arm for an instant, the
flattered knight ran back and gave the necessary orders ; and then,
almost unconscious, in his full contentment, that his own gray head
was as bare as that of the oak-crowned nymph by his side, he re-
turned to his bewitching companion and led her gently onward over
the mossy turf that bordered the road.
The gardener and his wife stood together for a moment looking
after them. " Who would think now that she was one of the true
old gentlefolks, and Scotch to boot, to see her pair off that way with
our rogue of a spinner there ? How, in God's name, can she choose to
be so free and friendly with such as he?" said the gardener.
" Just for the same reason as yourself, Sawny," replied his wife ;
" to get all she can out of him."
" And that's true," replied Sawny, setting off upon his business.
" I had like to forget the pines, and the grapes, and the peaches.
She's not so far wrong after all ; and yet 'tis a pity, too."
* * * * ' *
The evening was still oppressively sultry, and hardly a breath of
air disturbed either the leaves on the oaks beside the road, or those
that mimicked them so abominably on the lady's brow ; but, never-
theless, there was a freshness in the smell of the hedges and the grass,
which could not fail to be agreeable to any nerves that had endured
the steaming dinner, and the irksome drawing-room of Dowling
Lodge.
The shady lane in which the knight and the lady were thus re-
creating themselves, after skirting the extensive and lofty walls of
the garden, turned at right angles both to the right and the left at
the corner of it. The branch to the left followed the boundary of
the garden, and led to the stable-yard and back entrance to the
house ; that to the right conducted to the factory, which was the
source and head-spring of all the wealth that flowed over, and irri-
gated with its fructifying stream, meadows, parks, hot-beds and
flower-gardens, till it made itself a prodigious cistern in the depths
and heights of Dowling Lodge.
When the strangely-matched pair came to this point, Sir Matthew
made a halt, till Lady Clarissa came to the end of a little poem,
which the protege whom she was so desirous of introducing to her
rich and (to use her own words) '« really very clever friend," had in-
scribed in her album.
Nothing could be more agreeable to her ladyship than this pause.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 13
In the first place it was the greatest possible relief to her lungs, for
the lines she was reciting were much too full of deep feeling to be
repeated without a painful effort, while walking; and in the second,
the halt, accompanied as it was by a look of earnest attention from
her apparently-delighted companion, furnished the most agreeable
commentary in the world upon the poem itself, as well as on her
manner of reciting it.
It said so plainly, " Stay ! — move not ! — lest a word, an intona-
tion, a cadence, be lost to me !"
Lady Clarissa was really touched by it; and let Sawny the gar*
dener, and his wife Janet, say or think what they would, neither
peaches nor pines had any thing to do with the gratification she at
this moment experienced in the society of the great manufacturer.
His eyes were fixed on her face, and she bore the gaze, and
returned it with that sort of courage and confidence, which genuine
enthusiasm alone can give.
She had just finished a stanza when Sir Matthew ceased to move,
and feeling that he did so under the influence of a spell, which she
well knew would be more powerful still were it spoken when she
were at rest — for Lady Clarissa was aware that she was exceedingly
short-breathed — she repeated the last eight lines in a manner that
showed she felt the pleasure she was producing — a pleasure, as she
thought, like that occasionally caused by the repetition of some
delicious phrase in a musical composition, reiterated as if to fill the
soul with its sweetness.
" And should the eye for which I write
By sun-lit morn, or moon-lit night,
Drop on this record of my soul,
Which tells a part — ah ! not the whole,
Of hopes that trembling, faltering, timid,
Now fire my cheek, now turn it livid, —
Should that soft eye but drop one tear,
I'd hug my chain, and call it dear I"
The tear asked for, almost came as she ceased.
" You feel it, dear Sir Matthew !" she said, in a voice of consider-
able emotion.
" I'd hug my chain, and call it dear!" — she again murmured,
hanging on his arm with such an evident degree of weakness, as
showed the slender form to be less powerful than the ardent spirit
it enshrined.
" Let us turn back," said Sir Matthew. " My dear friend,"
faintly ejaculated Lady Clarissa, " you are moved too strongly. —
But — no, no ! Sir Matthew ! Believe me, it were far better for both
of us that we should proceed. — Are we, either of us, my dear friend,
in a state at this moment to meet the curious stare of idle eyes ? —
Come on, dear Sir Matthew!" — and she gently pulled him forward
as she spoke — " this soft glade invites us."
Though perfectly determined to find some excuse for not leading
his fascinating companion within sight of his grim-looking factory,
which another turn in the lane at no great distance would have
made very unpicturesquely visible, it was impossible at that moment
14 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
not to yield to the gentle violence which carried him forward ; and,
in what Lady Clarissa felt to be very eloquent silence, he proceeded
for a few steps farther. Considerably, however, before they had
reached the dreaded turning, his good star shot a ray upon him in
the shape of a very large cow, with a pair of enormous horns, that
slowly turned the corner, and fronted them.
" Good heaven !" he exclaimed in an accent of great alarm. —
" There is that horrid spotted cow ! she is the worst beast in
the whole parish. Turn back, dearest Lady Clarissa ! turn back
instantly."
" How kindly considerate !" returned Lady Clarissa. " But you
little know the strength of your friend's mind, Sir Matthew. Were
I alone, indeed, I might tremble and turn as pale as the veriest
child that ever hid its face on a nurse's lap ; but with you !" — and
here the lady turned a very flattering glance on the athletic form
of her protector —
" Heaven knows," replied Sir Matthew, once more pressing her
lean arm, " Heaven knows that all which the strength of man could
do to protect you, would not be left undone by me — but consider
the dog!" he added, pointing to a little cur that always followed
him; '* its power of irritating an animal of this kind is quite
extraordinary." And as he spoke, he whistled in a note which meant,
as his dog Spite knew as well as he did, neither more nor less than
— " At her, Spite !"
" If any thing can keep Spite quiet," resumed the knight, " it is
whistling to him."
Obedient to the true meaning of the signal, however, the dog
sprang forward, and of course there ensued the scene which always
follows on such occasions. The dog yelped, and affected to spring
at the nose of the cow, while she, somewhat accelerating her stately
pace, threw up her tail, and bent down her head till her horns
nearly touched the ground, offering so exact an image of " the cow
with the crumpled horn," with whose portrait her ladyship's early
studies had made her familiar, that her confidence in the prowess
of Sir Matthew could sustain her no longer, and she rapidly uttered
a succession of tremendous screams.
The purpose of the knight was accomplished , and he therefore
indulged the fair lady by letting her scream on for at least a minute
and a half, while he supported her with every appearance of the
most pitying tenderness. Meanwhile, two little boys, who were
making their way from the factory homewards, across a field by the
side of the lane, ran with terrified curiosity, and all the strength
they had, to a gate, through which they could see the interesting
spectacle of a fine full-dressed lady, screaming with all her might
from between the sheltering arms of the magnificent Sir Matthew
Dowling, and a little dog worrying an old half-starved cow.
" Come here, you young scamps !" cried the knight, on perceiving
the two little heads peeping over the gate : " Don't you see what's
going on ? Clamber over the gate, can't you, and drive back that devil
of a beast."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 15
The youngest, but by far the stoutest and tallest of the two boys,
instantly obeyed this command, and placing himself midway be-
tween the tormented cow and the fair creature, whose nerves her
menacing attitude had so cruelly shaken, he stood manfully astride
in the middle of the lane, flourished his ragged hat on high, and
with a few lusty " wough ! woughs !" repeated at the top of his
young voice, succeeded in turning the front of the enemy, which
was presently seen to wheel round, and, by a sort of feeble, ambling
little trot, speedily got out of sight round the corner.
" Now, then," said Sir Matthew, " let me lead you home, my dear
lady !"
" Not till I have thanked my little deliverer," exclaimed Lady
Clarissa, with very sentimental fervour. " Good heaven ! what
might have been my fate without him ! I know — I feel, Sir Matthew,
that you never could have borne to leave me, and what then could
have stopped the fearful approach of that most vicious animal ? —
Death, or worse than death — dislocation of limb, disfigurement of
feature ! Oh, Sir Matthew, your heart, I know, will go side by side
with mine. Tell me, what can I do — what can we both do, to reward
the astonishing bravery of that noble little fellow V
11 Depend upon it, my lady, he will be delighted if you will give
him sixpence."
" Sixpence !" cried her ladyship, turning extremely red, — but in a
moment she recovered herself and said : " Oh ! Sir Matthew ! do I not
know how dearly you love a jest ? Men of wit and humour can rarely
be grave for long together, even under circumstances that most keenly
touch their feelings ; did I not know you well, my friend, what
should I not think of your proposal? But come, come — be serious
for a moment longer : we have, it is true, escaped a tremendous
danger, and it may well make us feel light at heart ; but we will not
laugh over it, till we have settled in what way that heroic child
shall receive the meed he has earned. I shall not rest in peace, my
friend, unless his destiny be as favourably influenced by me, as
mine has probably been by him. Sir Matthew, you have great
power, enormous wealth, a generous heart, a noble nature, and in-
tellect, before which, if I mistake not, all difficulties will melt away
like a mist before the sun. Of all this I am quite certain. There
is but one if in the business. If you value me, Sir Matthew, as much
as I think you do, that little boy now getting over the gate will be
clothed, educated, fed, lodged by you. Do I deceive myself? or will
the daily sight of him, by renewing the memory of this evening,
rather cause you pleasure than pain ?"
Sir Matthew Dowling clearly saw, that sending " the little black-
guard to the devil," which was decidedly what his heart whispered
to him, would, at this stage of the business, be inevitably sending
her sentimental ladyship to at least an equal distance from himself;
and this he had no inclination to do. She was the only Lady Some-
body Something in the whole neighbourhood, and he was quite aware
that he had already acquired more envy and hatred among his
friends and neighbours, by the superior degree of intimacy he had
16 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
contrived to achieve with her, than by all his successful struggles
to outspend them all.
This pleasure was not to be given up for a trifle, especially at a
moment when it seemed so very clear that it only depended on him-
self to make all the world perceive that they were dearer friends
than ever; so, making a virtue of necessity, he looked in her face
with one of his wittiest smiles, and cleverly taking the cue she had
given, replied — " If you had not found out that I was jesting with
you, Lady Clarissa, I never should have believed in your friendship
more! Come here, my boy, v he continued, raising his loud voice to
a note that must have been heard as far as the factory, " come here,
I say."
The little fellow, on hearing these imperative accents,!which were
not quite unknown to him, thought this was the first time he had
been so greatly honoured as to have them addressed to himself,
again let go the hand of his brother, by whose side he had begun to
resume his progress homeward, and once more clambering over
the gate, presented himself, cap in hand, before the illustrious
pair.
" You are a happy little boy," said Lady Clarissa, " in having had
the extraordinary good fortune of looking over yonder gate at the
moment you did ; and you are a brave little fellow into the bargain
for not running away, as you certainly might have done, when you
saw that dreadful beast. Oh ! those tremendous horns, Sir Matthew !
they haunt me still ! I am quite sure it will be weeks before I lay
my head on my pillow without dreaming of them. But you drove
them away, my dear child, and as a reward for it, you shall be com-
fortably clothed and fed for the rest of your life. You will like that,
won't you?"
" I should very much like never to go to work at the factory any
more," replied the child ; " but, please ma'am," he added the minute
after, " I'd sooner you'd clothe and feed Teddy than me. He looked
over the gate first, please ma'am."
" Did he, my dear ? Then that is another reason why this good
gentleman's favour should be shown to you ; for if your brother saw
my distress first, it was you who were the first to relieve it."
"That was only because Teddy is so lame, please ma'am," said
the boy.
" Lame, is he?'' repeated her ladyship, " Poor fellow ! However,
my little man, if I do not greatly mistake, you have this day made
a friend by serving me, who will put you in a situation where, if you
behave well, you will be able to assist all who belong to you."
The child opened a pair of remarkably large eyes, and fixing
them on her face, said, " What ! mother and all?"
" Yes, I should think so, my dear. He is a fine intelligent look-
ing little fellow, is he not, Sir Matthew ? But he does not look
healthy. However, I dare say he will improve in that respect.
Plenty of food generally cures all poor people's complaints, par-
ticularly when they are young. How old are you, my dear ?"
" Nine last birthday," replied the boy.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 17
* A tall little fellow for his age, though very thin, to be sure.
And what is your name?"
" Michael Armstrong, ma'am."
" Michael Armstrong : I shall not forget it, I assure you ; for truly
do I believe that I should have been trampled in the dust by this
time, if you had not been heart-strong as well as Armstrong. And
what shall we do with him at first, Sir Matthew ? Shall we take
him home with us ?"
" What ! to your cottage, my dear lady ? — Yes, certainly, if it
will srive you pleasure."
"My dearest Sir Matthew! there you are at your jestings
again."
"Ha! ha! ha! Lady Clarissa, you begin to know me so well,
that I shall never be able to cut my little dry jokes upon you," re-
plied the knight laughing, as it seemed, most heartily, but inwardly
cursing the audacious exaction of his fair friend, in attempting to
make him pay the enormous price she hinted at, for permitting him
to enjoy the honour and glory of flirting with her. The idea of
being thus entrapped, and forced to adopt " a bag of rags out of
his own factory" (for it was thus he inwardly designated little
Michael), galled him for a moment so severely, that he was within an
ace of exclaiming, " Confound you, and the beggar s brat together,
you old fool /" But, most fortunately 'for all parties, he^did no such
thing ; on the contrary, he happily remembered at that critical
moment the important hints he had received from his excellent
friend Dr. Crockley, and instantly decided " that this absurd whim
of her ladyship's should be worked up into the d — d good-natured
thing that was to set all right."
At the very same moment, as if to confirm his resolution, Lady
Clarissa drew from her pocket a cambric pocket-handkerchief,
something the worse for wear, perhaps, but most elaborately em-
broidered at each corner with the coronet of a countess. It was
one of a dozen bequeathed to her a few years before by her thrifty
and truly admirable mother, the late Countess of Highlandloch.
This coincidence appeared to be the work of Providence.
" Give me your arm, my charming friend !" said the well-satisfied
knight, with an air of tender gallantry, "and only remember, that
all I shall do in this business, will proceed wholly from my devoted
friendship to you. Follow us, little boy, and you shall learn what
it is to have served Sir Matthew Dowling's most honoured friend."
Having said this, he began leading his fair companion back
towards the house as rapidly as might be consistent with the delicate
style in which she was shod.
"Please ma'am, may I go and tell Teddy?" said little Michael,
walking after them.
"Teddy? — who is Teddy, my little man V inquired Lady Cla-
rissa, graciously smiling upon him ; for her ladyship, at no time
an ill-natured woman, was at this moment in the best of all possible
humours with herself, and every body else. There had been
various passages in what had passed between herself and Sir
c
18 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Matthew, during this most delightful walk, which convinced her that
the knight, notwithstanding the homage he paid to her rank,
could not wholly resist the fascinations of her person, talents,
and manners ; — and the conviction pleased her. But let not the
character of this noble lady be for a moment misunderstood.
Lucretia herself would hardly have shrunk with greater horror from
an improper attachment. All she dreamed of in her intimacy with
Sir Matthew Dowling, with the young poet, Osmund Norval, and
with a few other gentlemen whom she was in the habit of meeting,
was but that their admiring friendship should be animated by a
lambent, innoxious flickering of the flame, which, after a peculiar
theory of her own, she believed to pervade the universe, cheering
the well-conducted by its mild platonic warmth, but scorching,
burning, and destroying those who permitted it to exercise over
them a too-sovereign sway and masterdom. That she had reached
the age of forty, unsolicited in marriage by any suitor of any de-
gree, she attributed, rightly enough perhaps, to the unfortunate
disproportion between her fortune and her rank — but must she,
therefore, live and die without the sweet consciousness of having
been loved ? Where was the law that enforced such cruelty ? She
knew it not ; and accordingly had, for many years, and quite upon
principle, made up her mind to permit as many gentlemen, of all
ages, ranks, and conditions, to deserve " the soft impeachment, "
whether they owned it or not, as it was in her power to captivate.
For most of these tender and really very innocent friendships, she
was able to assign to herself some excellent cause — as poetical
sympathy with one, botanical sympathy with another, philosophical
religious sympathy with a third, and so on ; but in the case of Sir
Matthew Dowling, she sometimes felt a little puzzled herself.
It was not, however, that she was weak enough in the least de-
gree to blame herself for wishing to be admired by a vulgar man.
She had long ago given such feelings to the winds. From the time
she quitted, on the death of her mother, the floods and the fells of
her native land, to inhabit a pretty little cottage (the timely gift of
an English godmother), which happened to be situated in the midst
of a manufacturing district, she had been schooling her spirit to en-
dure the change from poor lairds of a hundred descents, to rich ma-
nufacturers, who would have been, for the most part, quite as pleased
had they been unable to trace one. Just at first, her Scotch pride
rebelled a little ; but an hour or two of quiet meditation on the
subject, led her to perceive so clearly all she might lose, and all
she might gain, by being or not being on friendly terms with her
neighbours, that she made up her mind on the matter at once,
and thenceforward feasted upon delicate cates, and battened in the
fructifying sunshine of universal popularity, in a neighbourhood that
might be safely described as the richest in the world.
But still this did not quite explain the terms she was upon with
Sir Matthew Dowling, and she did feel sometimes conscious of
taking more pains to please him than she quite knew why — uncon-
scious that it arose from a latent wish to be distinguished by a man,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 19
celebrated for the warmth of his devotion to the fair sex. But for
this, she must not be out of measure blamed, inasmuch as those
who have reached the age for looking on upon the drama of life,
can many of them testify that in this she only yielded to a weak-
ness very unaccountably common to the majority of the sex.
But poor little Michael Armstrong has been left unmercifully
long, looking up in her ladyship's smiling face, as she inquired who
Teddy was.
" Teddy is my brother, please ma'am," was his answer.
" Is he still waiting for you at the gate, my dear?" said the lady.
" I don't see him."
" He can't stand very well, ma'am, because he is lame," replied
Michael. " I shouldn't wonder if he was set down, and gone to
" Gone to sleep ! — why it is hardly bedtime yet, my dear, is it?
However, I suppose he had better go to see, Sir Matthew ? — Your
brother," turning again to the child, " is younger than you are, I
suppose, if he falls asleep on the grass like a baby. Is he old
enough to go home by himself, and tell the great news that has
happened to you ?"
" Teddy is two years older than me — only he is always so tired,"
replied the boy.
" Well, then, just step back, and bid him run along home by
himself, and tell all the family what a fine act you have done, and
that Sir Matthew Dowling is going to take care of you all the rest
of your life."
Michael now, for the first time, ventured to look steadily up into
the face of the majestic Sir Matthew, and his little heart sank with-
in him. It was quite evident from the child's speaking-countenance,
that no pleasurable ideas were suggested, by the assurance that Sir
Matthew would take care of him all the rest of his life. The knight
saw this, and would for a moment have desired no better sport than
wringing his neck round ; nevertheless, he patted his head with as-
tonishing condescension, and said, " It is quite true, my boy. For
the sake of this charming lady, for whose happiness you must pray
morning, noon, and night, I will undertake to provide for you.
You may step back, if you will, and tell your brother so, who, if he
be two years older than you, will be able to make your friends un-
derstand the good fortune that has happened to you."
" I have got no friends, please sir," said the boy.
" Where do you live then ?"
" With mother, sir."
" Is not she your friend, my poor child ?" demanded Lady Clarissa
in an accent of great feeling.
" Please ma'am, she is my mother," answered Michael, while a
slight flash mantled his pale cheek, and something like a tear
twinkled in his eye.
" How very odd !" exclaimed Lady Clarissa. " Is she not kind
to you, my boy ?"
" Kind ?" responded Michael, staring at her.
c 2
"20 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Do you love her, my little fellow ?"
( * Love her ?" again echoed Michael.
" "Whatever she is, she has not taught you good manners, my
lad, or you would not answer her ladyship this way," said the
knight rather indignantly.
The little boy was certainly very foolish, for, large as his eyes were,
they could not contain the salt rheum which, for no reason in the
world that the lady or gentleman could guess, first filled them and
then ran down in two great big drops upon his cheeks.
" I dare say he is hungry," exclaimed Lady Clarissa with sudden
animation. " How delightful, dearest Sir Matthew, to have found
a little creature so greatly in want! Are you hungry, my dear?
Tell the truth— don't be afraid."
" Not very," said the child.
" Poor little fellow ! — It is quite evident, Sir Matthew, that he is
exceedingly shy. Let us go back, shall we? — just as far as the
gate, and give the message ourselves to that lazy fellow that he says
is asleep under the hedge — and two years older than this one. —
Only conceive ! — I am delighted that he is not to be the object of
your bounty, for there is nothing so detestable as idleness."
Sir Matthew had turned in compliance with the word and action,
which expressed her ladyship's desire that he should do so, and in
another minute they reached the gate.
" Where is this brother of yours ? — I don't see him/' said Lady
Clarissa, looking about.
" There he is, ma'am, if you please," replied Michael, once more
climbing over the gate ; and presently he was close under the
flowery hedge, extending his two hands to raise a miserably sick-
looking child, who was, in truth, soundly sleeping there. In con-
sequence of a few words whispered to him by little Michael, the
boy came forward with a shuffling gait, his knees sloping inwards,
and his legs frightfully emaciated ; but the moment he reached the
gate, Lady Clarissa exclaimed, " Good gracious ! how beautiful !"
It was indeed a lovely face that was then turned up to meet her
-eye; and when, as if somewhat daunted by her earnest gaze, he
removed his own from her countenance to that of Sir Matthew, the
bright flash that lighted it up for a moment made it appear more
beautiful still.
" And what is your name, my pretty boy ?" said the lady.
" Edward Armstrong," was the reply.
" But, my dear child, you don't look well, and you ought not to
go to sleep so, quite late in the evening, upon the grass. What
enakes you so very sleepy, my dear ? Have you been at play?"
'" No, ma'am," replied the toy, furtively glancing at Sir Matthew,
" I have been at work."
" At work ! You can't have done much work, my poor little
fellow, looking as you do."
" I have been at work since" —
" My -"ear Lady Clarissa, I really will not let you stay another
moment," suddenly exclaimed Sir Matthew. '« The heat is gone
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 21
off, and I am sure you will be quite chilled if you remain any longer
out. of doors."
" I believe you are right, my dear friend," said Lady Clarissa,
with a glance of affectionate gratitude for this earnest zeal. " Let
us go. Never can I forget the kindness you have shown me during"
this eventful walk, and heartless indeed must I be were I to refuse
to acknowledge that it has made a deep impression on me."
For a moment Lady Clarissa held her coroneted handkerchief to
her eyes, and then resumed. " Go home, little Edward — tell your
mother, who, by the by, I trust is not harsh to you, that your brother
Michael is rewarded for an act of bravery that probably saved the
life of an earl's daughter — has been most generously and nobly
adopted by her friend Sir Matthew Dowling, and that henceforward
she need have no anxiety whatever on his account. Now, then, Sir
Matthew, I am ready."
" Are we never to see Michael again ?" said the lame boy, while
a sudden expression of anguish passed across his beautiful features.
" Why not, child?" replied her ladyship rather sharply. " Bo
you suppose that Sir Matthew and I are going to hide him?"
" It is all very well then," returned Edward, limping away.
" But be sure to go and tell mother all about it yourself to-morrow,
Mike."
" Come along, little one !" said Lady Clarissa, moving off.
" Follow behind this generous gentleman, and see the palace of a
home which your bravery has won."
So saying, she moved on ; the obsequious knight at her side, and
the wondering Michael Armstrong after her.
On reaching the gate beside the gardener's house, Sir Matthew
paused. He had been meditating, while seemingly listening in rapt
attention to the lady's talk, on the effect which would be produced
on the party they were about to rejoin, by the appearance of the
ragged little companion they had brought back with them.
Had he been a ragged sailor-boy, or a ragged plough-boy, or
even a ragged chimney-sweeper, there might by possibility have been
excited some feeling of curiosity and interest ; but a ragged factory-
boy was of all created beings the one least likely to give birth to
such emotions, among his friends and neighbours, or indeed to any
other emotion fit to be exhibited in good society. So, merely saying-
to his fair friend, f Excuse me, my lady, for one moment," he once
more knocked at the cottage-window, and called aloud for " Mac-
nab!"
The obedient North Briton appeared immediately, and was about
to forestal the inquiry he anticipated by assurances that her lady-
ship's pines, peaches, and grapes, had all been consigned to the care
of her ladyship's own serving-man, when he was very literally struck
dumb by his master saying —
" Macnab, take this lttle boy into the servants' hall, and tell the
servants to take care of him — do you hear ? — and he is to have a
bed made up for him, and — and supper, and breakfast — and all that;
and to-morrow I will talk to Parsons about whatmustbe done for him.
22 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Observe, Macnab, and take care, if you please, that all the servants
about the place know it, that this boy is to be the object of the
greatest benevolence."
" The greatest — what was you pleased to say, sir V said the
Scotch gardener, really and truly doubting his own ears.
" Benevolence, sir !" shouted the knight vehemently ; " and
woe to any one on my estate who dares to question or thwart my
design !"
" How inspiring is this angelic goodness," exclaimed Lady Clarissa
affectionately. " Ah, Sir Matthew! how few there are who know
you as I know you !"
" Come along, my man," said the Scotchman, leading away
Michael ; and he said no more till he was quite sure that the knight
and the lady had got far enough in their progress across the garden,
to be out of hearing, and then he added : " And now, my little
fellow, tell me in God's name what all this means ? Why, you look
for all the world like one of the little raggamuffins out of the
factory."
" I am one of the raggamuffins out of the factory," replied
Michael.
" You are ? and our master's going to make a house-pet of ye?
Why, now, you'll be made the talk of the whole country. I should
not have been one-half so much surprised if he had taken one of our
sucking pigs into the drawing-room."
" Nor I, sir," said Michael timidly, but with half a smile.
" So, then,' you don't understand it much better than I do, it
seems ? But what did he say it was for? He didn't take the Earl
of Highlandloch's daughter among the infernal whirligigs, did he,
and pick you out as a specimen to be kept in a glass case ?"
u I hope he won't put me in a glass case, sir," said Michael, taking
courage from the gardener's good-humour ; "but why he brought me
here at all, I don't very well understand. The lady said it was be-
cause I held up my hat, and cried ' Wough !' to Dame Knight's old
cow : but of course she was only making fun."
" At any rate, he was making no fun, for he roared like a bull-
dog, didn't he ? So his bidding I'll do, let it mean what it will ;
and if it brings you food and lodging, I don't suppose you'll break
your heart for being taken out of the factory — shall you V*
" Not if he'll take Edward out too," said the boy.
" Edward out too ! Oh ! Lord, oh ! Lord, how many more ?
Did he cry 'Wough !' to the cow, too ?"
" I wish he had !" said Michael, shaking his head very myste-
riously.
*****
Meanwhile Lady Clarissa and the gallant knight re-entered my
Lady Dowling's drawing-room, amidst a perfect storm of questions,
exclamations of admiration, wonder, fears for the lady's safety, and
so forth.
Miss Brotherton, who always took more liberties than any one
else, laughed immoderately ; Lady Dowling looked the picture of
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 23
conjugal woe; and good Miss Mogg bustled forward with her
usual amiable attention, put a footstool under the lady's misused
white satin shoes, took Mrs. Janet Macnab's shawl off her shoulders,
and whispered in her ear, that she was dreadfully afraid she must
have caught cold.
But Lady Clarissa, with a lively action of both hands at once,
not only drove Miss Mogg back, but every one else who attempted
to crowd round her, saying, " Give me space ! give me space, I
entreat you ! I must have ' ample room and verge enough' to
breathe. Such a series of adventures ! Lady Dowling, you have no
idea ! Good heaven ! I can hardly believe it myself. I have been
in the greatest possible danger of losing my life — a beast — a monster
— the most terrific animal certainly that nature ever permitted on
the earth ! You know, Mogg, I fear nothing — I have the spirit of
my race within me. Who ever heard of a Highlandloch being afraid ?
But I give you my honour — I pledge my nobie word to you all, that
such a monster as that which I have escaped from this night, might
have made the black Douglas fear !"
" Or the Earl of Warwick either, perhaps," said Miss Brotherton,
for she had heard Sir Matthew utter the word " cow," in answer to
the importunate inquiries of his eldest son.
"But what shall I say of Sir Matthew Dowling?" resumed Lady-
Clarissa, with increased energy. " Such benevolence ! such noble,
disinterested conduct ! — No, I cannot — I really have no strength left.
Miss Brotherton, my dear, pray do order your carriage ; my nerves
are in disorder, so is my dress — in short, 1 long to get home, and
meditate in solitude on my providential escape."
Here. Lady Clarissa found it necessary to lie down upon a sofa,
her faithful Mogg endeavouring in vain to pull her dress over her
slender feet and ankles, for her ladyship was restless, feverish, and
unable to remain in the same attitude for a minute together.
Ere long, however, the carriage of the heiress was announced,
and the languid Lady Clarissa exerted herself to reach it, with the
aid of Miss Mogg's substantial arm on one side, and that of Sir
Matthew Dowling on the other.
" Farewell, my friend !" she uttered with some effort, after taking
her seat : " ere long I shall call upon you, and shall hope to see our
interesting protege looking very differently from what he did when
we parted from him. Farewell ! I do assure you I am almost
fainting ! Do ask — will you, dear Sir Matthew ? — if the fruit, the
pines particularly, are put in. I really think they will do me
good, and I am sure I want it. Thank you ! thank you ! Adieu !
24 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER III,
INTRODUCTION OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG INTO THE FAMILY OF
Sill MATTHEW DOWLING CONJECTURES CONCERNING HIS PARENT-
AGE A CONFABULATION BETWEEN SIR MATTHEW AND MR.
JOSEPH PARSONS.
When Mr. Macnab and his little companion entered the kitchen,
in their way to the servants' hall, to which place of honour the
wondering: Scotchman remembered he had been commanded to
conduct his charge, the first person they encountered was Mr.
Simkins, the butler, whom some accidental wish or want had led to
enter a region but rarely honoured by the sunshine of his pre-
sence.
" Good morning, Macnab. What ! empty-handed ? I am afraid
you have forgotten the little basket of peaches I desired to
have ; and upon my word, sir, if you leave it much longer, I shall
not consider them worth presenting to the lady for whom I desired
to have them. Be pleased to recoliect, good Mr. Sawney, that
when every garden-wall is hung with ripe fruit, a bottle of comfort
will be rather too high a price for a dozen."
, " Your discourse, Mr. Simkins, is neither civil nor discreet in any
way,*' replied the offended North Briton : " my word, sir, is as good
as the bank, either in England or Scotland ; and it is beneath a
gentleman, to say nothing of your rank as a butler, Mr. Simkins,
to suspect that I should forget it."
" Well, well, the sooner the better, that's all. But who in God's
name have you got here V
" That is more than I am able to tell you, sir," replied Macnab.
" All I know about him is a mystery. Sir Matthew, and a lady that
was hardly born to he so free in his company, came to the garden-
house about an hour ago, and Sir Matthew was as gay as a lark,
and ambled and smirked ; while the Highlandloch's daughter, old
fool ! looked as weU pleased as if she had been gallanted by the
Duke of Argyle. Well, sir, he ordered a basket of the choicest
and best for her ladyship, and it went against me, Mr. Simkins,
both ways — for first it ought to choke her, seeing who she is, and
who he is, and next I thought upon my promise to you, sir. How-
ever, and nevertheless, Mr. Simkins, I will keep my word with you,
if it cost me a ton of coals more in the forcing."
" But what's all this to do with your ragged companion there?
The child looks as if he was ready to drop. I'll bet a bottle you
caught him thieving in the fruit-garden."
The boy's colour rose on hearing these words. He spoke not, how-
ever,; but his large eyes were turned up to the face of his compa-
nion, and the fingers of his little hand pressed the hard palm that
held them, almost convulsively. Sawney understood the appearand
answered it : for though, like many other gentlemen, his code of
/ / / / " / ' /
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 25
honour was at some points a little loosened and enlarged, to fit and
suit his individual circumstances, he felt the value of character as
much as any man ; and promptly replied, in good Scotch, which
must, however, for sundry weighty reasons, be here translated into
English : " No, no, Mr. Butler ! no such thing, I assure you ; the
lad's as honest as I am, for aught that I know to the contrary. But,
to make a short story of a long one, my lady walked off up the
lane, after borrowing a shawl from my wife, and your master with
her, Mr. Simkins, who but he — Well, I had picked the fruit, packed
it, and delivered it over to my lady's man, and (was just set down
again to my seed-picking, when I heard Sir Matthew's big voice
again halloaing to me, and when I came out, there stood the ill-
sorted pair, arm in arm together, as before, and this ragged chap
beside them."
" Well ! and what then?'* ejaculated the portly butler, impa-
tiently. " What a long-winded man you are, Macnab."
" Hoot, man !" retorted Macnab, " if you want the story, you
must just find patience to hear it. 'Take this boy to the servants'
hall,' said Sir Matthew, quite upon the strut, ' and order supper and
a bed for him.' "
"To the servants' hall?" repeated the indignant man of bottles,
measuring the little fellow from head to foot with an eye, which,
notwithstanding it was small and bloodshot, was eloquent of scorn.
"To the servants' hall 1 Sir Matthew will inflict his own company
upon us next, I suppose. Why, look at the cotton fluff mixed with
his hair ! He is neither more nor less than a factory-boy."
" To'be sure he is," replied the gardener, shrugging his shoul-
ders, " but it's no fault of mine, Mr. Simkins ; to the servants' hall I
must take him, right or wrong. Come along, boy."
" Stop one moment, if you please, Macnab. Let me step to Mrs.
Thompson's room, and speak one word to her about it. Sit down,
sit down, will you, for one moment." And away hurried Mr.
Simkins, scattering dismay as he traversed the passages, by uttering
as he passed along to footmen and housemaids, abigail and page,
" Go to the kitchen, do, in God's name! go and see the company
Sir Matthew has been ordering into the servants' hall !"
And away they flew, one after another, eager to see the wonder ;
so that by the time Mr. Simkins himself returned to the kitchen,
marshalling the housekeeper before him, at least half-a-dozen ser-
vants had assembled there, all of whom w r ere gazing at little
Michael, very much as if he had been caught in a forest, and con-
veyed thither to gratify their desire of studying natural history.
" Who is that dirty little boy, Macnab ?" said the magnificent
Mrs. Thompson, advancing to the spot where the gardener was
seated with his frightened charge standing beside him, and all the
lookers-on making way for her as she passed.
"*' It is a factory-boy sent here by Sir Matthew, Mrs. Thompson,"
replied Macnab, while, forestalling, it may be, the storm likely to
follow the intelligence, he seemed to settle himself in the arm-chair
either to enjoy the fun, or abide the tempest.
26 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
But he was, as it should seem, mistaken as to Mrs. Thompson's
feelings ; for that lady, though usually considered by the subordi-
nates as somewhat warm in temper, appeared on this occasion to
be as mild as a lamb.
" A factory-boy, certainly," she replied with the dignity that was
peculiar to her, " nobody is likely to doubt that, Mr. Macnab ; one
might know his calling at half a mile's distance. The vulgar fac-
tory itself, with its millions of windows, is not more easily known
than the things that crawl out of it, with their millions of cotton
specks — that is not the main point of the question, Mr. Macnab : it
is not what the boy is, but who he is, and for what reason any
one has dared to say that he was to sup in the servants' hall."
" Oh ! dear me, ma'am," replied the gardener, endeavouring to
look very grave, " that wasn't one half of it. To you, ma'am, it's
my duty to repeat Sir Matthew's words exact, and this is what he
said. ' Macnab,' or * Mr. Macnab,' for he calls me both at times,
'take this little boy,' says he, ' into the servants' hall, and tell
every body there to take care of him — every body to take care of
him' — that was it, Mrs. Thompson, word for word. And then he
went on : ' He is to have a bed,' says he, ' made up on purpose for
him, and he is to be waited upon with supper and breakfast,' and a
great deal more, that Mr. Parsons is to make known to-morrow.
But you have not heard all yet, ma'am," continued Macnab, raising
his voice, on perceiving that the stately housekeeper was putting
herself in act to speak. " Sir Matthew went on, raising his arm
like one of his own steem-engines, ' Observe, Mr. Macnab,' says he,
' and take care that all the servants, little and great, know it, that
this boy is to be the object of the greatest benevolence/ That's
something new for you, Mrs. Thompson, isn't it?"
" Sir Matthew may settle about his benevolence with himself,
when he is in his own pew at church," replied Mrs. Thompson, with
a very satirical sort of smile ; "but most certainly it shall not be
brought to dirty my premises ; so let me hear no more about it, gar-
dener, if you please." And with these words, she turned haughtily
away.
" But, ma'am — Mrs. Thompson, you had better stop if you please,
for go I must, if that's your answer, and tell Sir Matthew of it."
If Mr. Macnab had been a blacksmith instead of a gardener, he
might have been less surprised at the phenomena which followed
these words ; for he would have known that white heat is stronger
than red heat, though it does not look so fierce. He had fancied
the housekeeper particularly calm and placable upon this occasion,
because, forsooth, she looked rather pale than red when she entered
the kitchen ; but no sooner had he uttered this threat of reporting
her words to Sir Matthew, than the fact of her being in an exceed-
ingly terrible rage became evident. Notwithstanding the usual
dignified gentility of her manner, on which, indeed, when more self-
possessed, she greatly prided herself, she clenched her fists, raised
her arms on high, and from one of the most imposing housekeepers
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 2j
in the British dominions, suddenly assumed the aspect of an in-
spired fury.
" Tell ! — You ? — Sir Matthew ? — Blackguard ! scoundrel ! —
base-born spinning' spider! — I, that have lived with the Duke of
Clarington !"
" Tis two, too bad, and that's the fact I" exclaimed my Lady
Dowling's own footman, who always sided with the principal person
in company, which gave him very much the air of being a superior
person himself; " and if I was Mrs. Thompson, I'd throw my salary
in the vulgar fellow's face, before I'd bear to have a factory-boy
pushed into my company."
" And so I will, Mr. Jennings, you may depend upon it," replied
the incensed prime ministeress, somewhat softened : " so now, Mr.
Macnab, you may just take yourself off, and leave the brat in the
kitchen, or take him away with you, as you like best."
" I have done my share of the benevolent job, so I will wish you
good night, Mrs. Thompson ; and whether this little fellow eats his
supper and breakfast in the kitchen or the hall, it will be much the
same to him, I fancy." So saying, the gardener rose, and giving a
sort of general nod to the company, left the kitchen.
Considering that there had been nothing very affectionate in the
nature of the intercourse which had taken place between them, it
was rather singular that the little Michael should feel as sorry as he
did at the departure of Mr. Macnab. But he did feel sorry, and
when the door shut after him, he turned away, and hid his face with
his uplifted arm.
Pride of place, and elevation of character, having been in a con-
siderable degree satisfied by Mrs. Thompson's energetic expression
of her feelings, something like curiosity awoke within her to learn
what the circumstances had been which had induced Sir Matthew
Dowling to declare an intention of acting benevolently. For a
moment she struggled against it, and again seemed about to leave
the room ; but as she turned her eyes upon the child, she seemed
to feel that before one so very abject, no loss of importance could be
feared, even if she did question him. So, with the air of a judge
walking up to the bench, she stalked onwards to the seat Mr. Mac-
nab had left, and placing her austere person in it, made a signal
with her hand, that the kitchen-maid who had ventured to approach
the little boy should stand back, and leave her space to examine
him.
On one side of this space stood the lordly butler, with his arms
folded, and a look of scorn upon his countenance that seemed to
question the propriety of the measure Mrs. Thompson had thought
proper to adopt. On the other was the courtly Jennings, with an
arm resting upon her chair, as if to give evidence that he was near
at hand to support her. An extremely fat and very professional-
looking cook came next, while my lady's own maid, with all the
elegant superiority of attire which marks the station, held a scent-
bottle to her nose, that the curiosity which led her to be a witness
28 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
of this extraordinary scene, might be punished with as little suffer-
ing as possible. Two sprightly housemaids seemed to find some-
thing vastly amusing in the whole business, though their evident
merriment was restrained by the solemnity of Mrs. Thompson's
manner.
" Look up in my face, little boy," said the housekeeper, as soon
as she had seated herself and saw that those around her stood still,
as if they had taken their places, and were prepared to listen.
Michael did not move ; he was probably ashamed to show that
he was weeping, before the face of a lady who spoke so very
grandly.
The kitchen-maid gave him a nudge, but a gentle one, whisper-
ing at the same time — " Look up, my boy. What be you 'feard of?
There's nobody as wants to hurt you here."
Thus encouraged, Michael let his arm drop by his side, and dis-
covered a face that was indeed sallow, and by no means very
plump, but with features and expression which, whatever Sir Mat-
thew Dowling's men and maids might think of it, might have suf-
ficed to make the fortune of an able painter.
"Whose child are you?" demanded the housekeeper. "Mo-
ther's," replied the boy.
" I suspected as much," rejoined the inquisitor, half aside to Mr.
Jennings.
u And I beant no ways surprised to hear it, I promise you," he
replied.
Mrs. Thompson sighed deeply. " It is dreadful !" said she.
Then, after taking a moment to recover herself, she resumed, " And
where does the unhappy person live ?"
" Please, ma'am, who?" said the puzzled boy.
f< The — your mother, child. — Shame upon you for forcing me to
name her !"
Michael gave a little shake of the head, which seemed to the
merciful kitchen-maid to say, that he did not know what the great
lady meant ; but he presently replied, as if discreetly determined to
mind only what he did understand, " Mother lives in Hoxley Lane,
ma'am."
" The most deplorable situation in the whole parish ! inhabited
only by the very lowest !" observed the housekeeper, with another
indignant sigh.
" So much the worse for she," muttered the kitchen-maid ; but
not loud enough to be heard by her in whose hands rested the
appointment of kitchen-maids as well as cooks.
" And why does such as you come here?" resumed the house-
keeper.
" Because the squire ordered t'other man to bring me," answered
Michael.
" I suspect that the boy is a natural fool," observed Mrs.
Thompson, addressing the butler. " It is a sure fact, and a great
dispensation — bad parents have almost always children out of
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 29
shape, both mind and body. You may take my word for that, all
of you," she added, looking round her; " and you will do well to
teach it to your children after you."
" I'll be burnt if I don't think it very likely that it was his own
father sent him here, and no one else," said Mr. Jennings, chuckling.
"Fie! Jennings, fie!" returned Mrs. Thompson, with a frown.
" God in heaven only knows what may have been the cause of it !
— Not but what it does look strange, there's no denying that."
" Do you know any thing about your father, child ?" said Mr.
Simkins in a magisterial tone.
" Father's in heaven," replied the child.
" Mercy on me ! do you hear him ? Is not that like mocking
the Lord's prayer ?" exclaimed the lady's-maid.
" No, it is not !" said Michael, while a flash of youthful indigna-
tion rushed into his face. " My father is in heaven along with God."
", I dare say he means that his father is dead," observed the
butler with an air of great sagacity ; " and if what has been jealoused
at is correct," he added, winking his eye at Mr. Jennings, " it is
very natural that he should have been told to say so."
M That's very true," said the housekeeper, " and it may be,
certainly, that the child knows nothing about it whatever, either one
way or t'other — indeed I think it's a good deal the most likely that
he does not; — but, any how, it's a very shocking business, and, as
far as 1 am concerned, I'll neither make nor meddle in the
matter. — Of course, the men-servants may do just as they like about
taking notice of him — for here he is, and here he will bide, I dare say ;
but 1 recommend the maids to follow my example, and not to injure
their characters, nor to corrupt their morals by having any thing to do
with the offspring of It is more decent not to finish what I was
going to say for your goods, young women, — and lucky it is that
there is no need. You must all understand me without it."
Mrs. Thompson then rose from her chair, and turning her eyes,
and indeed her head, aside, to prevent herself from again seeing
Michael, she walked with a degree of stateliness and majesty that
few housekeepers ever attained, through the kitchen, along the
passage, across the servants' hall, into the sacred shelter of her own
parlour, where she gave way to emotions which rendered a glass of
prime London Madeira absolutely necessary.
Meanwhile Michael remained in no very happy condition in the
kitchen. He was very tired, very sleepy, very thirsty, very much
longing to see his mother and brother, and very greatly puzzled
as to himself.
But though accounted to be a brave little fellow for his age, he
could not muster courage enough to ask any questions of those
around him, and if he had, it would have been of no avail ; for the
very moment Mrs. Thompson was out of sight, so many of the
servants began talking together, that no sounds his voice could
produce would have been heard.
Jokes and gibes about Sir Matthew, mingled with ridiculous
anecdotes, and very cordial abuse of him and all his race, furnished
30 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
the first subject, and filled the first chorus. Then followed some
facetious observations from Mr. Jennings concerning Mrs. Thomp-
son, and a few of her peculiarities ; and it was in the midst of the
giggling which these occasioned, that the kitchen-maid ventured
to say —
" Well, now, you are all so keen, and so clever about her, that I
wonder it don't come into your heads to find out that she spoke
just like an old fool and no better, when she invented all that rig-
marole about the boy. Master might be just the devil you says he
is, and ten times worser too, for any thing I know about him ; but
the worser he is, the farther I'd be, if I was such a mighty good
gentlewoman as she thinks herself, from giving such a bad father
out of my own invention to any body — whether they corned out of
the factory or not."
" I do think Molly's right," said one of the housemaids. — " What
business has the old frump to find a father for him ? Nobody asked
her."
" That may be all very true, Rebecca/' observed the lady's-maid,
shaking her head very gravely. " I know well enough, that Mrs.
Thompson does not always wait for right and reason before she
speaks — but that makes no difference as to our having any fami-
liarity with this dirty little boy ; for it certainly does appear plain
enough, that his mother is very little better than she ought to be."
" Lord bless us ! and how much better be you than you ought to
be, I should like to know V said the fat cook, who had her own
reasons for not t being at all partial to Mrs. Wittington, her ladyship's
waiting-maid.
" I ! — You miserable lump of kitchen- stuff, that no man in his
senses would ever deign to look upon twice ! Do you dare to say
that I'm no better than I ought to be ?"
Now the cook was an Irishwoman ; and though she had famous
black eyes, and teeth like an elephant, her principal claim to the
coveted attentions of the other sex (setting aside the attractions
which it is but fair to presume her profession gave her), arose from
the ready sauciness of her tongue, which, in a brogue as strong as
that of the Scotch gardener, and equally dangerous for the untaught
to meddle with, was wont to rattle about her, right and left, some-
times scolding, but oftener making sport of all who crossed her
humour.
Now this virtuous outbreak of Mrs. Wittington, was too fair an
opportunity to be lost ; and accordingly, putting on as demure a look
as her wicked eyes would let her, she replied, " You be better than
you ought to be, be you ? Well now, that's a trouble for your con-
scious, isn't it ? — Is there nobody as can help her out of it ? — -Think
what it is, gentlemen, to be so burdened, and she, poor soul, un-
able to confess to a priest, seeing she's a heretic ! — Oh ! she's better
than she ought to be ! and you've her own word for it too, and
that's the reason you see why she's obliged, whether she will or no,
to turn her back on this poor little fellow, just because he's father-
less. Isn't that a sore strait for a young lady's conscious ? — Praise
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 31
and glory to the Holy Virgin, and all the company of saints, now
and for ever more, that I beant one bit better than I ought to be,
and I hope you beant neither, Molly ; and so just run to the larder,
will you, girl, and bring out something for supper, fit for a hungry
little boy, that havn't the misfortune to be so burdened in mind as
pretty Mrs. Wittington. — Oh ! the poor soul ! she's better than she
ought to be !"
Molly, the kitchen-maid, did not waitjfora second order ; and if a
capital dish of cold cutlets could have set little Michael's heart at
rest, he might then have been a very happy fellow ; but, in truth, he
was longing for his own porridge, by his own mother's bedside; and
except from the relief afforded by a copious draught of milk, he went
to the bed prepared for him by his friend, the kitchen-maid, so little
elated in spirit, and so little thankful for the extraordinary change
which had befallen him, that, had his noble patroness been made
aware of it, she would, beyond all doubt, have punished his ingra-
titude, by requesting Sir Matthew to turn him out of doors again ;
and, moreover, have for ever abandoned the generous idea of sur-
rounding his young head, as she poetically expressed it, with a halo
of immortality, by means of getting Mr. Osmund Norval to relate
his adventure in verse.
Sir Matthew Dowling went to his bed also, hardly better
pleased with what had occurred than little Michael. But there
was this difference between them : little Michael said his prayers,
which the great Sir Matthew did not ; but, on the contrary, spent his
last waking moment in cursing, with great fervour of spirit, the
folly of the hideous old maid, who had entailed such a detestable
burden upon him — the result of which, as a peace-offering to the
whole body of operatives, was at any rate but problematical .
Nevertheless, when he awoke the next morning with his head
quite cool, he felt disposed to think more of the hint given him by
his friend and favourite Dr. Crockley, and less of the inconvenience
of having a few pounds to pay out of hundreds of thousands for a
job, which, if well managed, might help, perhaps, to avert a monstrous
deal of mischief.
With these rational thoughts working strongly in his ever-active
brain, he rang his bell, and ordered that Joseph Parsons, his prin-
cipal overlooker, should be sent for instantly, and shown into his
study.
A short half-hour brought the master and man to a tete-a-tcte in
the snug little apartment described in the first chapter.
" Good morning, Parsons," said Sir Matthew.
The overlooker bowed his head respectfully.
" Have you heard any thing of this meeting at the Weavers' Arms,
Parsons ?" inquired Sir Matthew.
" As much as a man was likely to'hear, Sir Matthew, who, as you
will easily believe, was not intended to hear any thing," replied the
confidential servant.
"And how much was that, Parsons? Sit down, Parsons — sit
down, and let us hear all about it."
32 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" I was a coming, sir, if you hadn't a sent for me," rejoined the
overlooker ; «' for to say truth, my mind misgives me, that there's
mischief brewing."
" I have heard as much," said the master; '« but it can hardly
have gone very far yet, if such a sharp-sighted fellow as you only
suspect."
"That's true, sir," said the man, with a grim smile, in acknow-
ledgment of the compliment; " and I've not been idle, I promise
you. But all T know for certain is, that the people, old and young,
our own people I mean, have, one and all, taken dudgeon about that
girl Stephens, that died the week before last, just after leaving the
mill. She had been at work all day in the spinning-mill, and who
was to guess that she was that low ?"
" It was a d — d stupid thing though, Parsons, to have a girl go on
working, and not know whether she was dying or not."
'* And how is one to know, sir ? I'll defy any man to find out,
what with their tricks, and what with their real faintings."
if You won't tell me, Parsons, that if you set your wits to work,
you can't tell whether they are shamming or not?"
" That's not the question, Sir Matthew, asking your pardon.
There's no great difficulty in finding out whether they are in a real
faint, or only making the most of being a little sickish from stand-
ing, and want of air. That's not the difficulty. The thing is to
know, when they really take to the downright faintings, whether
they are likely to live through it or not."
"And where is the great difficulty of that? You know Dr.
Crockley would come at a moment's warning at any time, and feel
their pulses."
" And he does do it, sir. But, in the first place, I doubt if any
man can justly tell whether girls are likely to go on fainting, and
up again, as lots and lots of 'em do for years, or drop down and
die, as Nancy Stephens did. That's one thing; and another is,
that Dr. Crockley is so fond of a joke, that 'tis rarely one knows
when he speaks earnest, and when he does not. He did see Nancy
Stephens, about a month ago, and all he said was, * she do look
a little pale in the gills, to be sure, but a dance would cure her, I
have no doubt.' A dance! says I, doctor. And please to tell me,
says I, how the work is to get on, if the factory boys and girls sets
off dancing?"
" ' Maybe you haven't got a fiddle V " said he.
" Maybe I haven't," said I.
" * Well, then,' says he, ' if it don't suit you to let them dance to
the fiddle, I'll bet ten to one you'll be after making 'em dance to
the strap.' And with that, if you'll believe me, sir, he set off caper-
ing, and making antics, just as if there had been somebody behind
a-strapping him. To be sure, it was fit to make one die of laughing
to see him ; but that's not the way you know, sir, to do one any
good as to finding out the real condition of the people."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 33
Sir Matthew could not resist a hearty laugh at this characteristic
trait of his friend, but he concluded by acknowledging that Parsons
was quite right in saying that this way of doing business was more
agreeable than useful.
" However, Parsons," he continued, " we must not talk about
that now, for I have something else to say to you. It is quite plain
that they are getting again to their grumblings; and Crockley,
who you know is up to every thing, says that he'll bet his life
they have got some new mischief into their cursed heads.
Now this must be prevented, Parsons, some way or other; for any
harm they can do the machinery, is not the worst of it. — Tis the
rousing up people's attention again, Parsons, there's the danger. —
Just see what they've done about the blackamoor slaves, by going
on boring for everlasting, ding-dong, ding-dong, till they actually
got the thing done at last. Now the Philadelphy people and the
Boston people are just playing the very same game t'other side the
water; and when they have got their way, where will their national
wealth be I should like to know ? — And where will our national
wealth be, when these rascals hg]^, contrived to stop the mills in-
stead of working them ?" of the
" Lord have mercy upon us ! Sir Matthew ; — if you don't make
me creep all over to hear you !" exclaimed Parsons. " 'Tis a pity,
sir, and often's the time I have said it, that you arn't in parliament
yourself — you'd pretty soon show 'em what their meddling with fac-
tories would do for the country."
" 'Tis likely I might, Parsons; but a man can't be in two places
at once — and depend upon it, there's good to be done here, if we
knew how to set about it. I shall make you stare, perhaps, Mr.
Parsons, when I tell you what I am about now. It came into my
head by accident at first ; but if I don't greatly mistake, I'll make
a capital thing of it before I have done."
" There's no doubt of that, Sir Matthew, if you sets your mind
to it, let it be what it will," replied the confidential overlooker ;
" and if it isn't a secret, sir, I should like uncommon much to hear
it."
" No, it's no secret, Parsons — any thing in the world but that,"
replied Sir Matthew, laughing. " What should you say now, Mr.
Superintendent, to my taking a dirty little dog of a piecer out of
the factory into my own house, and dressing him, and feeding him,
and lodging him, all for the love of pure benevolence, and little
boys ?"
" I don't quite understand you, sir," replied Mr. Joseph Parsons,
looking very grave.
" No, I dare say you don't. But I think I do, Parsons, and
that's more to the purpose. Trust me, man, it will do good if it's
only by giving the people something to talk of just now, besides
this confounded girl's death. And now, my good fellow, tell me all
you know of a boy called Michael Armstrong, for he you must un-
derstand, is the hero of my tale."
*' That's the boy, is it ? — Then that's why the chap didn't come
D
34 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
to work this morning," replied Mr. Parsons ; "I knows him well
enough, Sir Matthew, in course ; for he's going on for eight or nine,
and he corned to the factory just about five."
" And what sort of a boy is he, Parsons V
" Nothing very particular, Sir Matthew, unless it is because of
the unaccountable fuss he makes about his elder brother, who is
but a poor rickety, shriveldy sort of a child. For some reason or
other, his bones never seemed to come rightly straight, and this
Mike makes as great a fuss about him, as if he was his grand-
mother,"
"Are the parents living?" inquired Sir Matthew.
" The mother is. She is a bedridden woman, and ought to be
in the workhouse ; but she's upish, and can't abide it, and so she
lies abed, doing plain work and that, and the two boys' wages main-
tains 'em. But I did hear t'other day, she had given in, and
was a begging to go into the house, and take the eldest boy with her.
These creturs never know what they would be at. I suspect, how-
somever, that she has got hold of a notion, that because he's so
cripply, he beant to work no more ; but I shall take care to see
Butchel, the parish-overseer, about it. It is altogether a trick that,
what won't answer — his fingers is just as able to handle the reels,
and piece the threads as ever they was ; and in course, a little dwarf
like him, with his legs like crooked drumsticks, can't look for any
but the youngest wages ; so after all, he's one of them as answers
best."
" No ! Parsons, no ! ejaculated Sir Matthew with sudden energy.
That woman must not go into the workhouse. The whole thing
shall be got up, I tell you, in the best possible style. What d'ye
say now to getting the woman arrested for debt ? — or having all her
things sold ? — and we just stepping in at the very nick of time, to
save her from destruction !"
There was something so truly comic in the expression of the
knight's countenance, as he said this, that even the saturnine Mr.
Parsons could not help laughing.
" If the born devils don't sing your praises through the country,
sir," said he, as soon as he had recovered his gravity, " why we must
find some other way to go to work with them."
" Now then be off, Parsons, and contrive some clever scheme or
other to throw the unhappy family into a quandary."
" I understand, sir," said Parsons, nodding his head, and so
parted the master and the man.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 35
CHAPTER IV.
A LITTLE COTTAGE GOSSIP A VISIT OF CHARITY PRACTICAL
BENEVOLENCE.
The promptitude of the measures taken by Mr. Joseph Parsons,
to bring to effect the wishes of his master, showed him to be de-
serving the post of confidence he held, as principal superintendent
of Sir Matthew Dowling's factory. He lost not a moment in ob-
taining a short interview with one of the parish-officers, who was his
particular friend, and then made his way to Hoxley-lane, with the
intention of questioning the widowed mother of the two Arm-
strongs, as to the situation of her affairs, and the particular species
of misery from which she might, at that precise moment, be suffer-
ing the most.
The statement pronounced in Sir Matthew's kitchen respecting
the general eligibility of Hoxley-lane as a place of residence, was
perfectly correct. It was the most deplorable hole in the parish — a
narrow, deep-rutted parish-road (too hopelessly bad to be indicted),
led from the turnpike down a steep hill to the town of Ashleigh.
Exactly at the bottom of the hill, just at the point where every
summer storm and winter torrent deposited their gatherings, there
to remain and be absorbed as they might, began a long, closely-
packed double row of miserable dwellings, crowded to excess by
the population drawn together by the neighbouring factories. There
was a squalid, untrimmed look about them all, that spoke fully as
much of want of care, as of want of cash in the unthrifty tribe
who dwelt there. It was like the moral delinquencies of a corporate
body, of which no man is ashamed, because no man can be pointed
at as the guilty one. It was not the business of No. 1 to look
after the filth accumulated in front of No. 2 ; and the inhabitants
of No. 3, saw no use in mending the gate that swung on one hinge,
because No. 4 had no gate at all ; and the dogs and the pigs who
made good their entry there, of course found their way easy
enough through the make-believe hedge, which throughout the
row divided one tenement from another. The very vilest rags were
hanging before most of the doors, as demonstration that washing of
garments was occasionally resorted to within. Crawling infants,
half-starved cats, mangy curs, and fowls that looked as if each
particular feather had been used as a scavenger's broom, shared the
dust and the sunshine between them, while an odour, which seemed
compounded of a multitude of villanous smells, all reeking toge-
ther into one, floated over them, driving the pure untainted air of
heaven aloft, far beyond the reach of any human lungs abiding in
Hoxley-lane.
" Where does widow Armstrong live V* demanded Mr. Parsons
of a woman who was whipping a child for tumbling in the dung-
hill before No. 5.
d 2
36 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
"In the back kitchen of No. 12, please your honour," replied
the woman, making a low reverence to the well-known superin-
tendent.
" No. 12 ! — why that's Sykes's tenement — and they're on the
ground-floor themselves."
" Yes, please your honour ; but since the rents have been raised
by Sir Matthew, the Sykes's have been obliged to let off the back-
kitchen, and live in the front one."
" Why there's a matter of a dozen of 'em, isn't there?"
" Yes, your honour, they lies terrible close."
'* Obstinate dolt-heads ! — That's just because they pretend to
fancy that it is not good for the small children to work — I know,
for certain, that they have got two above five years, that they won't
send to the factory ; and then they have the outdaciousness to com-
plain that the rents are raised — as if because they are above choosing
to earn money in an honest way, Sir Matthew was not to make what
he could of his own. Tis disgusting to see such airs, where people
ought to be thankful and happy to get work."
" That's quite true, no doubt, sir," answered the woman, con-
tinuing to shake, and occasionally to slap the grub of a child she
had taken off the dunghill. " But Robert Sykes's children are
very weakly ; and them as your honour talks of, is almost too small
— though 'tisn't to be doubted that it is the bounden duty of us all
to send 'em, sooner than see 'em starve.*'
" I fancy so, indeed," replied Mr. Parsons ; adding, with a finger
pointed at the squalling child, who still continued under the cleans-
ing process above described, " And isn't it a comfort now, Mrs.
Miller, to get rid of the plague of 'em ?"
The woman ceased to shake her little boy, and looking for a mo-
ment at the clear blue eyes that, notwithstanding her rough disci-
pline, were very lovingly turned up to her face — something like a
shudder passed over her.
" Get along in with you, Bill," said she, as if afraid that the
blighting glance of the superintendent should rest upon him ; and
then added, " as long as they be so very small, your honour, they
can't do no good if they be sent."
" Stuff and nonsense ! there's ways to teach 'em. But don't
fancy that I want you to send your brats — confound 'em ! They're
the greatest plagues in natur ; and nothing on God's earth but
good-heartedness and love of his country would ever make Sir
Matthew, for one, trouble himself or his men with any of the creturs.
—No. 12, is it, where I shall find the widow Armstrong ?"
" Yes, please your honour — you'll be sure to find her. She's a
cripple pour soul, and can't stir."
" She's made up her mind to go into the workhouse, hasn't she V 9
demanded the manager.
"Have she indeed, poor thing?" responded the woman, in an
accent of compassion.
" I heard so, as I come along, and that's the reason I'm going to
her. Our good Sir Matthew, who to be sure is the kindest-hearted
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 37
man in the whole world, has taken a fancy to her boy, and he'll be
a father to him, I'll be bound to say he will ; and that's why 1 think
he'd like me to give her a call, just to tell her not to fret herself
about the workhouse. If she don't like going there, she needn't, I
dare say, with such a good friend as she's got."
The woman stared at him with an air of such genuine astonish-
ment, that the superintendent felt disconcerted, and turning abruptly
away, continued his progress down the lane.
By the time he had reached No. 12, however, he had begun to
doubt whether his sudden appearance at the bedside of the widow
Armstrong might not produce an effect unfavourable to the object
he had in view.
" As sure as steam's steam," thought he, " she'll be more
inclined to fancy that I am come scolding about the. boys for some-
thing, than to take her part, or do her pleasure ; so I'll just say a civil
word to the Sykeses, and then stroll away on, till such time as the
parish officers have been after her. I'll engage for it, that Sam
Butchel won't let no grass grow under his feet after what I said to
him ; and if I turn in when he's there, as if to see what was going
on, it would certainly be more natural-like, and believable."
In accordance with this improved projet de charite, Mr. Joseph
Parsons walked on ; but he had not proceeded far ere, on turning
his head round to reconnoitre, he perceived, not the tali and burly
Sam Butchel, the overseer of the parish, but the lean and lathy
person of little Michael, advancing with an eager and rapid step
towards his mother's dwelling.
"Soh!" ejaculated the sagacious Parsons, "here comes the
charity job ! It would be worth a week's wages to hear him tell his
own story."
Mr. Joseph Parsons had a Napoleon-like promptitude of action,
which the unlearned operatives described by calling him " a word-
and-a-blow man," but which in reality often deserved the higher
epithet above bestowed.
Scarcely had the thought of overhearing little Michael's tale sug-
gested itself, ere a sidelong movement ensconced him for a moment
behind a favouring pig-sty, from whence, unseen, he watched the
boy enter the door of No. 12.
Again Napoleon-like, he remembered all he had heard from her
neighbour, concerning the position of the widow's dwelling-place ;
and rightly judging that Sykes's back-kitchen must, in some way
or other, be in a condition to favour the emission of sound, he
troubled not the household by making his approaches through the
principal entrance, but striding over the inefficient fence of the tiny
cabbage-plot behind, obtained a station as favourable to his pur-
pose, as he could possibly desire. This was a nook between a pro-
tuberance intended for an oven, and the window close beside the
widow Armstrong's bed, from whence prophetic fate, favouring the
yet latent purpose of the manager, had caused three panes to be ex-
tracted by a volley of pebbles, intended for mother Sykes's cat, at
least two months before.
38 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
To this safe and commodious crouching-place, he made his way
just in time to hear the widow say, " Understand one word of
Edward's story, Mike; so sit down dear boy, and tell me all."
" Why mother, 'tis like a story-book — and it's very fine to be sure
— but yet — " And the boy stopped short.
"But yet you don't like it, Mike?" rejoined his mother.
" That's what you was going to say. Tell the" truth, my child,
and don't go to keep nothing from me."
"That was it," said Mike.
61 Ungrateful viper !" muttered the confidential superintendent
between his closed teeth.
"Poor fellow! poor dear Michael!" exclaimed the woman,
soothingly. " It was hard to go to sleep without kissing mother,
wasn't it?"
" Yes, I didn't like that — nor I didn't like being without Teddy
neither — and I didn't like the grumpy old lady as corned into the
kitchen, and abused me ; nor the gentlemen servants either, except
the gardener, and he took hold of my hand, and led me along kind
enough — and I like Molly too, that's she as give me my supper and
my bed, and my breakfast this morning, mother. Oh, mother!
how I did long to bring away some of the milk and bread and
butter home with me!"
" Never think of such a thing, for your life, boy !" exclaimed the
mother eagerly. " It would be thieving, nothing else, Michael —
nothing more nor less than thieving—never mention that again to
me, dear, that's a darling."
" I won't, mother ; but I know I shall think of it every time I see
them big pounds of butter, and jugs of milk, and minds how care-
ful you be over your little scrimped bit in the broken saucer, and
how you drinks your drop of tea without ever having any milk at
all."
" Never you mind that, darling. But what are they going to do
with you, Mike ? And what for do they want to have you up at
the great house ? 'Tis, a mystery to me, and thankful as we ought
to be for any help, I can't say but I should be easier in my mind,
if I understood something about it."
" Impertinent hag !" growled the surly Parsons from his lair.
" Does she think they are going to trap him like a rabbit, for the
sake of his skin ?"
" But, mother, I don't understand any thing about it myself,"
said Michael, rather dolefully.
To this avowal, no reply was made for some minutes; upon
which the superintendent grew impatient, and stretching forward
his neck a little, contrived athwart the sheltering branches of an
elder-bush, to peep through the broken window.
To the agent of Sir Matthew Dowling's benevolence the sight that
presented itself was really revolting; though there may be others
who would have been affected differently by it. Michael had flung
himself across the bed ; his arms were thrown round his mother, who
was sitting upright with some piece of needlework in her hands,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 39
and his dark curls set off in strong contrast the extreme paleness of
the face that looked down upon him. The widow Armstrong was
still rather a young woman, and would still have been a very lovely
one, had not sickness and poor living sharpened the delicate fea-
tures, and destroyed the oval outline that nature had made perfect.
Yet she had quite enough of beauty left to detain the eye ; and
such a history of patient suffering might be read in every line of her
speaking countenance, that few ever looked upon her harshly.
Spite of her extreme poverty too, she was clean — her cap was clean,
the bedclothes were clean, and the pale hands too, looked so very
white, that if Mr. Parsons from his hiding-place had ventured to
speak any opinion concerning her, he would certainly'Jiave given utter-
ance to a strong expression of indignation, at the abominable air of
delicacy which her appearance displayed.
She looked as if she were struggling with some painful feeling,
but did not weep, though her boy did, heartily.
For a little while she suffered his tears to flow without interrup-
tion or reproof, and then she kissed him once, twice, thrice.
" There now, Michael," she said, looking at him fondly ; " have
you not played baby long enough? Stand up, darling, and listen
to me. You don't seem over-glad, Mike, of this great change, and
if you did, perhaps I might have been over-sorry ; but sorrow
would be sin for either of us, when God has sent us help. Tis you
that be the heartiest Mike, and 'tis you that want food the most,
growing at the rate you do, and heart-sore have I been at meal-
times to see you so stinted. So never let us trouble ourselves
any more about the reasons for your getting so into favour, but
just thank God, and be contented."
" But mother ! How will you get on without me V replied
Michael, shaking his head; "I am sure that Teddy can't make
your bed as I do — he hasn't the strength in his arms. And who's
to fetch water? 'Deed and 'deed mother, you'd better thank Sir
Matthew, and say no, unless he'll just please to let Teddy go
instead."
" That won't do my dear child, in anyway. 'Tis I must watch
poor Edward. Little as I can do for him, I don't think he'd like to
part from me, as long as God is pleased to let me stay."
" That's true mother — that's very true ! Teddy would break his
heart. No, no, 'tisn't he shall be parted from you ; I'll show him
how to make the bed, if I can't come over myself; but perhaps
they'll let me, mother ?"
" What's the business that you'll have to do, Michael ?" inquired
the widow.
" I haven't been told of any business yet," replied the boy.
'* But you don't expect that you're going to be kept for nothing,
clear ?" said the mother, smiling.
" 'Tisn't for my work, mother ; 'tis for the cow," replied Michael,
gravely.
" The cow, child ? What is it you and Teddy have got into your
heads about a cow ? A poor starved beast, he says it was, that
40 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
wouldn't have frightened a mouse, and you made it turn round,
Mike — that's all I can make out. But he must be mistaken
surely. What was it you did about the cow, darling;?"
At this question, the boy burst into a hearty fit of laughter,
which to say truth, offended the listening ears of Mr. Joseph Par-
sons, still more than his weeping had done.
" I'll do his business for him, he. may depend upon it," thought
he. " If master must have a charity job, he must ; but it don't fol-
low that the cretur shan't be made to know himself just as well as if
he was in the factory. I'll be your overlooker yet, master Mike."
Just as this prophetic sketching of the future had made itself
distinctly visible to his mind's eye, the bodily senses of the agent
announced to him that the tranquil tete-a-tete within the widow's
chamber was disturbed by the entrance of persons, whose voice and
step announced that they were men. Mr. Parsons was at no loss
to guess their errand. "Here they cornel" muttered he. "Now
we'll see how Master Butchel manages his job.
" We be commed to see," said a gruff voice within the widow's
chamber, " whether or no you be commed to your senses, Mrs.
Armstrong."
" Sir?" said the trembling woman in return.
" You knows well enough what I means, without my going into
it again ; you knows well enough as I comes to talk to ye about
the house again. We've had Larkins the baker, coming to inquire
if there's parish pay to look to, for your bill, Mrs. Armstrong — and
I have told him, no, not a farthing, not the quarter of a farthing,
unless you'll come into the house. The parish have gone on allow-
ing you two shilling a week, week after week, God knows how long
— 'tis a perfect shame and imposition, and the board says they won't
do it no longer. You and the boys too may come in if you will,
that's one thing; but living here, cramming 'em with as much
wheaten bread as they'll eat without paying for it, is another, and
it's what no honest parish don't tolerate. I'll be bound to say now,
as you have brought up the scamps without their ever knowing the
taste of gruel ? Tell the truth, did you ever take the trouble to
make a drop of gruel for 'era ?"
" As long as I had my legs to stand upon, sir, I never minded
trouble ; and, when my husband was living, we did a deal better,
and 1 have done cooking for 'em then, such as a few potatoes and a
cabbage, may be, with a scrap of bacon on a Sunday ; but, from
the hour he died, we have never had a pot upon the fire."
" That's what 'tis to be so obstinate. If you'd come into the
house you'd see the pot upon the fire all day long, a'most."
" But the children would be in one room, after they came from
the factory, and I should be in another," pleaded the widow, " and
I've got a few of the decent things as I married with, when I came
from service, and it would be a grief tome to see 'em all §pld."
"If the parish don't sell 'em, Larkins the baker will, you may
take my word for that, Mrs. Armstrong," replied the overseer.
" However, 'tis your business, not mine. Here's a decent, respect-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 41
able man, as is ready to take all you've got at a valiation, fair and
honourable, but that's just as you please. I only called, as in duty
bound, to tell ye that the parish don't mean to continy no such ex-
travagance as paying you two shilling a week, no longer."
" God help me !" answered the widow gently. " If 'tis his will
that so it should be, it would be a sin for me to complain."
" That's vastly fine, beant it*?" said the brutal Butchel, " and
now let's hear what you'll be after saying to Master Larkins, for
here he comes, as sure as eggs be eggs."
An abrupt, and most peremptory demand, for three pounds two
shillings and seven pence, was here made, by a sour-looking little
man, who entered the small room without ceremony, making a group
of intruders round the widows bed, equally unwonted and unwelcome.
Her over-taxed courage seemed to fail, for it was with something
like a sob that she replied to his demand by saying, " I shall have
twelve shillings to take for needlework, when this is done, and you
shall have it every farthing sir, if you'll be so merciful."
" And who's to pay your rent, Missis Armstrong ? if I may be
so bold," said Mr. Butchel.
The widow had not a word to say for herself, and, covering her
face with her hands, wept bitterly.
" Now's my time !" said Parsons to himself, as he stealthily crept
from his hiding-place. " Now for Sir Matthew's benevolence." And,
in a minute afterwards, his tall, gaunt figure, and hard counte-
nance, were added to the company. The noise he made in entering,
caused the widow to uncover her eyes, and it was with an emotion
little short of terror that she recognised the tyrant, at whose name
her children's cheeks grew pale. Instinctively she stretched out
her hand, and took hold of that of Michael, who was still seated
on the side of the bed. But the boy shook it off, as if his mother's
love was a secret treasure that the overlooker must not see, and,
suddenly standing up, he remained, with his eyes fixed on the
ground, and his hands hanging by his sides, as if petrified.
" Hollo! — why what's the matter now? Is all the parish come to
wish joy to this good woman here ?" said the overlooker, with as
jocund an air as he could persuade his iron features to assume.
" Wish her joy ?" responded the well-tutored parish-officer, " and
for what, Mr. Parsons, if you please? For having an honest
tradesman come upon her with the gripe of the law, in hopes to get
what's his own ? She's got into trouble, I promise you, and I don't
very well see how she's to get out of it."
" You don't say so ?" said the confidential agent. " What ! is
that you, Mr. Larkins, coming to take the law of a poor body this
way? I didn't think you was so hard-hearted."
" I don't deserve that character, sir," replied the baker sharply;
for though desired to call and enforce his claim by the parish
overseer, j^r. Larkins knew not a word about Sir Matthew's scheme
of benevolence; " and the proof that my heart isn't harder than
other people's" he continued, " is, that I gave the widow here
42 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
credit for what has been, excepting a few ounces of tea, her whole
and sole living for months past."
" And very kind of ye too," observed the conciliating superin-
tendent.
" I should like to know, then, what became of all the money
the two boys got, besides her own needlework, and, of late, two
shilling a week from the parish, beside?" observed Mr. Butchel.
" Why, that is rather puzzling, I must say," replied Mr. Parsons,
" but no matter for that, no matter for that, just now. This family
have got a kind friend, I promise you."
" Yes, but it does matter," returned Larkins. " It can't be right,
no how, for me. to be out of three pounds two shillings and seven
pence, and she with such lots of money."
" Indeed, indeed, sir!" said the widow, once more looking up at
him, " I have done my very best, paying a little and a little at a
time, as you know I never stopped doing, only for two weeks that
my biggest — that is my oldest boy, was making up time that was
lost, when he was home sick, and so got no wages. But the seven
shillings a week that they get between 'em, and my uncertain bit of
needle-work, gentlemen, can't stand for food, and clothes, and
rent' — and a little soap to keep us decent, and a bit of firing to
boil a drop of water — it can't do all that, gentlemen, without
getting behindhand, when any making up time comes in the
factory."
" Well then, that's just the reason why you must come into the
house," replied Butchel ; " and, at any rate, you may depend upon
getting no more money out of it."
Upon hearing these words, " the decent, respectable man," who
was willing to take the widow's goods, at a " valiation fair and
honourable," began examining the condition of a chair that stood
near him ; an operation which the widow eyed with the most piteous
look imaginable.
" Come into the house, I tell you, without more ado," resumed
Butchel. " And what, in God's name, d'ye think we want you in for
but your own good ? D'ye think the parish have a fancy for main-
taining crippled women and children, by way of a pleasure ? Tis
ruination any way ; but when you're in, we know the worst of it at
once, and that's something. The boys' wages will go a bit to help,
and at any rate there'll be no two shillings to pay, which is what
the overseers hates above all things ; and what they won't continy to
do. So now I have said my say."
And here Mr. Butchel began to move his heavy person towards
the door.
" Stop a minute, Mr. Butchel, if you please sir," ejaculated Sir
Matthew's superintendent. " I should be sorry to let you go back
to your employers under any delusion or mistake whatever, and the
fact is, that this good woman, the widow Armstrong, is no more
likely to go into the workhouse than you are yourself, Mr. Butchel ;
begging your pardon for naming such a thing."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 43
" Then I suppose as it's yourself as means to keep her out of it,
Mr. Parsons?" replied the parish officer jocosely.
" Not exactly me, myself," replied the other in the same tone,
" but it's one as much more able as he is willing. It is Sir Matthew
Dowling as intends to befriend her, and that not only on account of
the general charitableness of his temper, which all who know him
really well are quite aware is very great, but because that little boy
as stands there, and who is one of our factory children, saved a
friend of Lady Dowling's, last night, from something she looked
upon to be a considerable danger."
" And does Sir Matthew mean to see me paid ?" demanded the
baker. V
" Upon my word, Mr. Larkin, that's more than what I've got
authority to say," replied Parsons; "but, howsomever, I don't
think that you had best go on, just at this particular minute, to
persecute about it, seeing that in course Sir Matthew won't take it
civil, when he's being such a friend himself to the widow."
"I don't want to do nothing uncivil to nobody," replied the
baker, " but I don't quite understand this business. It is some-
thing new, isn't it, Sir Matthew setting up for a soft-hearted gentle-
man, among the factory folks ?"
"New to. you, may be, Mr. Larkin, but not to me," replied the
trustworthy agent. " There isn't another to be found, look which
way you will, that can be compared with Sir Matthew Dowling, for
real, true, benevolent, charitableness, when he finds proper objects
for it."
The baker stared ; the man of old chairs and tables scratched
his puzzled head ; the intelligent Mr. Butchel looked at the speaker
with a knowing wink; the widow fixed her eyes upon her patchwork
quilt ; and little Michael in astonishment, which conquered terror,
raised his eyes to the superintendent's face, while that worthy advo-
cate of a master's virtues stood firmly, striking his stout cane upon
the ground, with the air of a man ready to do battle with all the
world in support of what he has asserted.
•' Well then, at any rate my business is done and ended," said
Mr. Butchel moving off, " and I wish you joy Mussiss Armstrong of
your unaccountable good fortune."
" Come along, Jim !" said the baker to the respectable dealer in
seized goods, " there's nothing to be done to-day, that's clear. But
I hope you'll remember the twelve shillings as you've promised me,
Mrs. Armstrong."
"I will indeed, sir !" answered the widow earnestly; and, on
receiving this assurance, Mr. Larkin took his departure with his
professional friend, leaving Mr. Joseph Parsons, the widow Arm-
strong, and her son Michael to carry on whatever conversation they
might wish for, without interruption. .
" Well now, if I : ain't glad they're gone, them fellows," said
the superintendent shutting the door after _ them. " You are a
favoured woman, Mrs. Armstrong, to get rid of 'em as you have
44 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
done, and I don't and won't, question that you are thankful to those
to whom thanks are due,"
" I always wish to be so, sir," said the widow.
" Well, there's no hardship in that I suppose. But about this
son of yours, this young Master Michael, you must see to his doing
his duty to his benefactor, if he was to prove ungrateful, Mrs.
Armstrong, it is but fair to tell you that I wouldn't undertake to
answer for the consequences."
" God forbid he ever should be ungrateful to any as was kind to
him !" replied the poor woman ; " but indeed, sir, I don't think it is
in his heart to be so. Since the day he was born, God bless him,
I.have had little besides love to give him, and indeed, sir, I think the
child would die for me."
Michael slily stole his little hand sideways under the bed-
clothes, where it was soon clasped in that of his mother, but his
eyes were again firmly rivetted upon the ground.
" Ay, ay, that's all very well ; but it has nothing to do in any
way with his duty and obligations to Sir Matthew. What I want
to know is, whether he is ready and willing to do that which Sir
Matthew will require of him — that's the main question, you see,
Mrs. Armstrong."
" And what v/ill that be, sir?" said the widow, while Michael's
eyes were again raised for a moment to the face of his taskmaster.
" He is to be made a gentleman of — that's to be the first work
put upon him." The poor woman smiled ; but little Michael shook
his head. The superintendent appeared to pay no attention to
either ; but again striking his cane magisterially upon the ground,
he added, " Let him make up his mind to do all that he's bid, and
come back to Dovvling Lodge with as little delay as possible."
With these words, and without deigning to bestow any species of
parting salutation upon those to whom they were addressed, Mr.
Parsons left the room.
CHAPTER V.
A SEPARATION OF LOVING HEARTS — A SPECIMEN OF FINISHED
COMPOSITION CONDESCENSION AND GENEROSITY— SIR MATTHEW
CLOTHES LITTLE MICHAEL WITH HIS OWN HANDS.
While the superintendent, in his serpentine course homeward,
scattered the tidings of his master's munificence towards the factory-
boy, Michael Armstrong and. his mother indulged themselves in a
few parting words and very tender caresses ; the mother continuing
to repeat at intervals, " Be sure, darling, to be a good boy, and do
what you're bid," while the son reiterated his entreaties that she
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 45
and Teddy would take care one of t'other, and have him back
again, spite of every thing, if they found that they could not do so
well without him.
But even while this went on, Michael was improving liis toilet by
putting on the more carefully patched garments, which had hitherto
been kept sacred for Sundays. When this operation was completed,
and his hair, face, and hands made as clean as the joint efforts of
himself and his mother could contrive to make them, the little boy
turned to leave the miserable shed that had been his home, with a re-
luctant step and heavy heart, retracing the short distance between his
mother's bed and the door, once and again to take another kiss, and
to repeat, with increased earnestness, the questions, " Isn't there
nothing more I can do for you, mother, before I go away 1 — and
will you be sure to tell Teddy to stop for me, morning- and night,
at the gate in the lane, where it all happened ? — will you mother?"
But at length the lingering separation was completed, and
Michael set off upon his return to Dowling Lodge. In the mean
time, Sir Matthew himself had not been idle : but, retiring to his
study, he composed a paragraph for the county newspaper, which,
after considerable study and repeated corrections, was at length
completed, and despatched by the post, in a feigned hand, the wax
being stamped with the handle of the seal instead of his arms, and
the postage paid.
The paragraph ran thus :
"ENGLISH BENEVOLENCE.
"There is, perhaps, no class of men so cruelly misrepresented
as the manufacturers of Great Britain ; surrounded on all sides by
a population of labourers, crowded together exactly in proportion
to the quantity of work the neighbouring factories are able to fur-
nish — they are continually reproached both with giving too many
hours of employment to their poor neighbours on the one hand, and
with the poverty which is the inevitable lot of operatives with large
families on the other.
"That all manufacturers, however, are not the cruel mercenary
tyrants they are so often, and so unjustly described to be, was
shown within the last few days by an incident which occurred near
the town of Ashleigh, not a hundred miles from D — 1 — g L — d — e.
The owner of that splendid mansion, while escorting the amiable
Lady — round his grounds, had occasion to remark some
symptoms of a very noble disposition in one of the children be-
longing to a neighbouring factory on his estate. On making in-
quiries, he discovered him to be the son of a poor widow, whose
failing health made her, and her orphan children peculiarly eligible
as objects of charity. This fact having been satisfactorily ascer-
tained, Sir M — th — w D — 1 — g gave way to the warm impulses of
his generous heart, and adopting the little orphan among his own
children, at once gratified the gentle feelings of his amiable nature,
and set them an example which it is impossible they should ever
forget. It is more easy for the recorder of this charming anecdote
46 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
to relate thus the principal circumstances of it, than to enter into
any detail of the numberless delicate traits of character exhibited
by Sir M. D — 1 — g in the course of the transaction. Those who
know him thoroughly, will, however, be at no loss how to supply
these ; and those who do not, would scarcely understand the de-
scription, were it given with all the detail possible."
The value and the accuracy of the statements contained in this
announcement, belonged wholly to the author of it ; the phraseo-
logy to a private MS. digest of newspaper eloquence, the result of
many years of steady research, during which no morsel of fine writ-
ing that might assist in such occasional addresses to the public as
the present, had been ever suffered to flow down the stream of time,
and perish, without having been first carefully noted in the knight's
repertory of fine periods.
Having concluded this business, Sir Matthew Dowling rang his
bell. As it was only the study-bell, it was answered, as usual, by
one of the housemaids.
" Where is the little boy, my dear, that I sent into the servants'
hall last night ?" inquired Sir Matthew.
" Upon my word, Sir Matthew, I can't tell," she replied ; adding,
in that tone of familiar confidence which her master's condescension
encouraged, "but if you sent him into the hall, Sir Matthew,
he never got there, nor never will, you may take my word for that,
as long as Madam Thompson reigns."
The housemaid was not a beauty — none such, as was before stated,
ever made part of Lady Dowling's household ; but she was a wit,
and Sir Matthew was too clever himself not to feel the value of
cleverness in others ; he, therefore, raised his eyebrows in a comic
grimace, very good-humouredly chucked the maid under her ugly
chin, and instead of putting himself in a rage, as might have
happened under other circumstances, he only said, " And how was
that my dear ? Come, tell me all about it — I like your stories,
Peggy, they are always so funny."
" Whose stories wouldn't he funny, Sir Matthew, if they told of
the airs and graces of Mother Thompson !" replied the lively dam-
sel ; " she's for all the world like an old owl, as sits winking his
eyes and trying to look wise."
" But she's a prime favourite with my lady, Peggy, and into the
bargain, knows a thing or two about soups and hashes ; so we
must be very respectful, my dear, in talking of her — but as to her
daring to say, that the boy I ordered into the hall was to be turned
out of it, that's rather more than possible, I think."
" That's because you don't know Mrs. Thompson, Sir Matthew.
I only wish you had heard and seen 'em last night, she, and the
butler, and Mrs. Fine Airs, my lady's maid, and Mr. Fine Airs, my
lady's footman ! If it was not enough to make one sick, I wish I
may never see you again, Sir Matthew."
u They are a confounded impertinent set of rubbish," replied
Sir Matthew ; but still without losing his good humour. " How-
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 47
ever, all people of fashion, that is, rich people, Peggy, always do
have a confounded impertinent set of servants about 'em. That's
one of the great differences between high people and low."
"To be sure you must know best, Sir Matthew," replied the
saucy grisette, but with a look and accent somewhat ironical. " I
don't mean to doubt that in the least, I'm sure ; but in the places
I've lived at — Lord Wilmot's, Lord Crampton's, and such like, I
never did hear of my lord's commands being treated in that fashion.
They might have their jokes in the hall, and the housekeeper's
room too, no doubt of it, and impudent enough if you like it ;
but for downright flat disobedience, I never did hear of such a
thing."
Sir Matthew on hearing this, became rather white about the lips,
and red about the forehead ; but Peggy knew the rising storm was
not at all likely to fall on her, so nothing daunted, she went on.
" I don't think I should have taken much notice about it, Sir
Matthew, if it had n't been for not liking to see you treated with dis-
respect ; for I'm not over and above partial to beggar children my-
self; but that sort of natural dislike was nothing in comparison to
my feelings about you, sir : and if I had been placed in power, in-
stead of having none, your will would have been obeyed, if every
servant in the house had flowed at me for it."
" You're an excellent girl, Peggy," replied the knight, approach-
ing her very condescendingly. " You know well enough that you
are a favourite, and I know well enough, my dear, that you deserve
to be so ; and I tell you what, Peggy, I'll take care to let those
animals, my servants, know that I am master here, as well as in the
factory — and that my word's law !"
" And so it ought to be, Sir Matthew," replied the obedient do-
mestic. " I hope I know my duty too Avell to dispute my master's
will in any thing ;" and as she spoke she very meekly yielded her-
self to receive the condescending salute, with which Sir Matthew
was pleased to reward her excellent sentiments.
" You are an excellent good girl, Peggy !" he resumed after this
little interruption ; " and don't fear but I shall find means to reward
you. But you must give me your help, my dear, to confound the
impertinence of these fellow-servants of yours ; if I don't make 'em
wait upon that beggar's brat as if he was their lord and master, never
trust me with a kiss more. Where is the little factory vermin,
Peggy?"
" I ain't able to answer you, Sir Matthew ; all I know is, that
Mrs. Thompson marched us all out of the kitchen where she sat in
judgment on him, last night, and there he was left with the kitchen-
maid and the fat cook ; but what's come of him since, I am no
ways able to say."
On hearing this, Sir Matthew raised his hand towards the bell,
but suddenly recollecting himself, he smiled and said, " No, no,
that won't do, Peggy, will it ? Go, my dear, and ask where the boy
is, and then come back and tell me."
The damsel, in return, furtively smiled too, in acquiescence and
48 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
approval of his discretion ; and upon leaving his study for the pur-
pose of prosecuting her inquiries among the servants, she encoun-
tered the object of them, as he entered the back-door, on his return
from visiting his mother's cottage.
" Soh ! here you are then? Well, you must come along this mi-
nute to Sir Matthew," said she, addressing him somewhat gruffly,
and not too well pleased, perhaps, at this interruption to the confi-
dential conversation with her master, which it had been her purpose
to renew. But to the ears of Michael, the name of Sir Matthew
was sufficient to render all other words indifferent ; and conscious
only, that into his dreaded presence he must go if commanded to do
so, he followed the girl with a beating heart, and in a few minutes
stood pale, and almost breathless, before the awful countenance of
the great man.
Sir Matthew gazed at him for a moment with a sort of sneer,
which, if interpreted skilfully, would have been found to address itself
inwardly. Sir Matthew could not choose but sneer at the whim-
sical arrangements of accidents, which had converted him into a
Mr. Allworthy. The sneer, however, as far as it concerned himself,
had no mixture of contempt in it. " Had another done this thing,"
thought he, " should I not have called him fool ? and is it not
ninety-nine chances to a hundred, that thereby I should have de-
scribed him truly ? May the same be said of me ? No ! By the
living God, it may not ! How now, little boy ? you have made
yourself smart, I see — vastly fine, indeed ! An inch of clean dow-
las, a piece of span-new green baize for a patch, a pair of bony legs
without stockings, and magnificent shoes — I did not say a pair,
Peggy — but very magnificent shoes ; one I suppose won in battle
from a giant, and the other from a dwarf. Fine as a prince ! isn't
he, Peggy ?■'
As he thus jeered the little fellow, his eye wandered with malig-
nant jocularity over his person, which was, in truth, the very model of
make-shift poverty ; while the child, as if he felt his eye palpably
crawl like a reptile over him, shuddered he knew not why.
Then, changing his tone so suddenly, as to make even the con-
fiding Peggy start, he continued, " You horrid lump of rags stand
back — stand back ! back ! back ! behind that high chair — d'ye
hear ? Stand close and stand still — if he does not make me as sick
as a dog, Peggy, let me never smell musk more !"
" He does smell horrid bad to be sure, Sir Matthew !" replied
the girl. " Hadn't I better take him back to Molly the kitchen-
maid, and make her scour him ?"
" No, hang him — that won't take it out of him — I know 'em all.
No, Peggy, let the scouring alone, and just go up stairs to the
nursery-maids, and tell them to send me down a good hand-
some suit of clothes, complete, of Master Duodecimus's — -he is the
nearest in size to this scaramouch ; and I will dress him, Peggy, as
if he were the son of a duke. It will be fun, capital fun, and will it
not be generous, Peggy ?"
« Generous, Sir Matthew? It will be past all belief! What?
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 49
Him to be dressed up in the clothes of Master Duodecimus? oh,
my ! Sir Matthew, you must sure-ly be joking."
" I'm as serious as an undertaker, girl. Get along with you,
and do what I bid you — the longer you're about it, mind, the
longer I shall have to sit in the same room with the ragamuffin in
his own full dress — so make haste, if you please."
This was said in a manner to remove all doubts as to the munifi-
cent knight's being in earnest ; and the active Peggy went and
returned with as little delay as was consistent with the necessity
she felt herself under, of entering into some short explanation with
the nursery ladies ; one and all of whom seemed much inclined, on
the first opening of her mission, to treat the whole business as a
hoax. When at length, however, she had succeeded in making it
apparent that Sir Matthew was waiting for the suit of clothes in a
most monstrous outrageous passion of a hurry, the messenger's arms
were speedily loaded in exact conformity to the orders she had
brought, and she returned to the knight's study with all that was
needful to convert the rude exterior of little Michael into the
nearest resemblance that nature would permit, to the elegant and
accomplished Master Duodecimus.
Considering the loathing and disgust manifested by Sir Matthew
towards the person and the poverty of his protege, it was extraor-
dinary to see the amusement he seemed to derive from dressing him
up. Though the alert and obedient Peggy stood close by to do
his pleasure, it was his own large hands that thrust the little limbs
of Michael into the clothing he chose they should wear, and it was
amidst shouts of laughter from both, that the ludicrous metamor-
phosis was completed.
But somehow or other when they had finished their masquerading
work, the result was not altogether what Sir Matthew anticipated.
The clothes were very handsome, well-made clothes, and as poor
Michael, notwithstanding his leanness, was a very handsome, well-
made boy, the incongruity between them seemed to vanish in the
most unaccountable manner, as the operation drew towards a con-
clusion.
Peggy, however, was not such a fool as not to understand what
was expected of her ; so when the knight, catching up his son's tas-
selled cap, pressed it down upon the little curly head as a lusty packer
of worthless goods thrusts down the cover that is to enclose them,
and then pushed the child towards her with an impulse that nearly
brought him upon his nose, she very judiciously renewed her noisy
laughter, exclaiming, " Did any one ever see such a little quiz !"
" Quiz, girl ?" replied Sir Matthew, eyeing him with no very fond
expression. " It would be well for the scamp if that was the worst
you could say of him — I know a thing or two Peggy, and that
boy will be lucky if he gets drowned. I'll bet a hundred guineas
that with a few lessons, he would forge any writing you could show
him ; and before he is twenty, he will have taken as many shapes as
Turpin. That boy was born with a halter round his neck, 1 want
no gipsy to tell me that."
E
50 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
During the whole of the undressing and redressing operations, the
boy's cheeks had been dyed with blushes, and his eyes so fixedly
nailed to the floor, that neither Sir Matthew nor his maid had been
able to enjoy their embarrassed expression ; but as this dark pro-
phecy fell on him, he looked up, and it was well for him that his
munificent patron at the same instant turned his mocking glances
towards the servant, as he said, u There — gather up his rags, girl,
and be sure you wash well after it ;" for, had he met that speaking
young eye, he could hardly have misunderstood the scorn that shot
from it. As it was, however, he saw nothing but the patched gar-
ments that were scattered round, and once more sneering as he
looked at them, he added, " Lead the little blackguard through
the servants'-hall, and into Mrs. Thompson's parlour — d'ye hear,
Peggy, up to her very nose, and tell her that I have sent him to pay
her a visit, and when she has had enough of the compliment, lead
him round to Mademoiselle's room, and we'll have a little fun among
the children."
By no means displeased with an errand which permitted her to
affront with impunity the autocrat of all the offices, Peggy gathered
together Michael's discarded wardrobe and then clutching hold of
his hand, led him, bongre malgre, to the presence of the imperious
housekeeper.
Mrs. Willis, my Lady Dowling's own maid, and Mr. Jennings,
my Lady Dowling's own man, were enjoying with that important
functionary a slight morning repast of fruit, cakes, and wine, and at
the moment Peggy and her charge entered, they were enjoying some
very excellent jokes together. But, Mr. Jennings no sooner cast
his eyes on the little factory-boy, than he arose, looking rather
abashed at being caught by a drawing-room guest of even nine
years old, with a glass of claret in one hand, and a slice of pine-
apple in the other.
Peggy, to whom the conciliatory smiles of this gay gentleman did
not descend, enjoyed his mystification exceedingly ; and relaxing
her rough hold of Michael's wrist, she led him respectfully towards
the table saying, " My master has sent this young gentleman to
pay you a visit, Mrs. Thompson ; perhaps he would like a little fruit.
There, my dear, that's the housekeeper Sir Matthew told you of, and
if you will please to go and sit down by her, I dare say she will give
you something nice."
Mr. Jennings immediately placed a chair beside the gracious
Mrs. Thompson, who, after filling and setting before the young
gentleman a plate with whatever she supposed would be most
agreeable, said in a half whisper to his conductor, " Who is it,
Peggy ? I didn't hear never a carriage."
Before she could, or at least before she would answer, Michael,
who had not accepted the chair offered to him, took his cap from
his head, and with considerably more courage than he had yet
shown said, " [ am Michael Armstrong, the factory-boy."
"Who! What?" screamed the housekeeper ; " what bold joke
is this, Mrs. Peggy Perkins? Do you think you have got a patent
for your place, that you dare play such tricks as this ?"
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 51
"If I keeps my place, I don't think I shall have to thank you for
it, ma'am," replied the favoured housemaid, with very little civility.
" My master ordered me to bring the boy to pay you a visit ; those
was his very words, Mrs. Thompson, and as I was bid, so I have
done."
" There's some people as will do every thing and any thing they
are bid," observed Mrs. Willis, again drawing out her favourite
smelling-bottle, while with the other hand she extended a wine-glass
to Mr, Jennings, for a little Madeira, which she felt was absolutely
necessary to support her in this very disagreeable emergency.
" Master, or no master, Sir Matthew Dowling doesn't know
how to behave himself — it's I says it, and I don't care who repeats
it to him."
Mr. Jennings stared at the factory-boy for a full minute very
attentively, and then gave a long low whistle, at the same time
turning his eyes with a look of much intelligence full in the face of
the housekeeper.
" He isn't at all like any of 'em, Mrs. Thompson," said he.
Mrs. Thompson shook her head. " There is nothing at all in that,
Mr. Jennings, I'm sorry to say. But remember I do desire, and
insist, that the subject is never alluded to in my presence again.
When I lived with his grace, I always made it a rule that none of
the household should ever discourse in my presence of any thing
that it was not decent to hear."
" Well, ma'am," said Peggy ; " when you have done looking
at him, he is to go into Momsell's room for the children to see
him."
The housekeeper, the lady's-maid, and the footman, all simulta-
neously lifted up their hands and eyes to heaven.
" Please to let me put on my old clothes and go home," said
Michael.
" You little ungrateful wretch !" exclaimed Peggy; " when Sir
Matthew dressed you up himself with his own hands. What d'ye
mean by that, you bad boy?"
" They'll laugh at me," said Michael, resolutely ; " and I don't
like it."
" You don't? Isn't that a good one V said Mr. Jennings, clap-
ping his hands in ecstasy. " Oh, Lord ! pray let us have him back
again, Mrs. Peggy, that is to say if Sir Matthew can bear to part
with him. He's the finest fun I've got sight of this many a day."
M You must find fun for yourself, Mr. Jennings, for I shan't be at
the trouble of bringing you none," replied the self-satisfied Peggy,
again seizing the hand of Michael, and leading him off.
; ' Well, for a broom-maid, I hope she's saucy enough," said Mr.
Jennings ; but the subject of his remark was already beyond hear-
ing, threading her way through the long stone passages which con-
ducted to the opposite wing of the mansion, the whole of which was
appropriated to the younger branches of the Dowling family.
e2
52 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER VI.
Michael's introduction to all the miss dowlings — sir
matthew feeds him with his own hand, and presents
him to all his most valued friends.
Having given a sharp rap on the door, Peggy was told to " com
een," by the voice of Mademoiselle Beaujoie; whereupon she threw
the door wide open before her, and stood with Michael Armstrong in
her hand, in the presence of three grown-up Miss Dowlings, three
middle-sized Miss Dowlings, two little Miss Dowlings, and their
French governess.
The five youngest, all rushed as by one accord towards Michael.
" What a pretty little boy !" was exclaimed by two or three of
them. " Are you come to play with us ? Mayn't we have a holi-
day, Ma'mselle ?"
" What an elegant-looking creature !" exclaimed the eldest Miss
Dowling, who with her two grown-up sisters, had come into the
room for the advantage of practising duets on a venerable pianoforte
totally out of tune, and whose loudest note could by no means
compete with the shrill accents of the animated group who inha-
bited the apartment. "Did you ever see a prettier boy, Harriet ?"
" Who is he, I wonder?" replied the young lady she addressed.
" How he blushes !" said the governess, tittering.
"What's your name, dear?" demanded Miss Martha, the third
daughter of the Dowling race.
" Michael Armstrong, ma'am," replied the boy, looking up with
an air of surprise, for Miss Martha, queer-looking as she was, spoke
kindly. And queer-looking as she was, Michael met her eye with
pleasure, for that too spoke kindly, though it was neither large nor
bright.
Martha Dowling was in truth, about as ugly as it was possible for
a girl of seventeen to be, who was neither deformed nor marked by
the smallpox, — short, fat, snub-nosed, red-faced, with a quantity of
sandy hair, that, if not red, looked very much as if it intended to
be so; eyes of a light, very light gray, and without any thing
whatever in external appearance to recommend her, except a
smooth, plump, neck and shoulders, with hands and arms to match,
which, in truth, were very fair and nice-looking, and a set of well-
formed, stout white teeth.
What made the unlucky appearance of this young lady the
more remarkable, was the contrast it presented to the rest of her
family. All the other young people were, like both their parents,
" more than common tall," for their respective ages, and, like most
other tall young people, rather thin, so that Lady Dowling was apt to
indulge herself by declaring that, " though certainly some of her
children might be considered prettier than the rest, there was not
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 53
one of the whole set (except that poor vulgar Martha), who was not
most particular genteel-looking."
" Genteel /ooki?ig" she certainly was not, nor graceful, nor
beautiful in any way ; and the consequence was, that father, mo-
ther, brothers, and sisters, were all most heartily ashamed of her.
This was a misfortune, and she felt it to be so pretty sharply, fox-
poor vulgar Martha was far from being a stupid girl. But, in her
case, as in a million of others, it might be seen that adversity,
though
" Like the toad, ugty and venomous,
Weareth a precious jewel in its head."
for of all her race she was the only one w r hose heart was not seared
and hardened by the ceaseless operation of opulent self-indul-
gence. She felt that she was rather an object of pity than of admi-
ration, of contempt than of envy, of dislike than of love. This is
severe schooling for a young girl's heart, but if it produce not
reckless indifference, or callous insensibility, it often purifies,
softens, and even elevates the character. Such were its effects on
Martha Dowling : that coarse-seeming exterior contained the only
spark of refinement of which the Dowling family could boast.
Never did a high-born Hidalgo, in Spain's proudest days, inculcate
among his race the immeasurable importance of pure descent, with
more ceaseless or more sedulous earnestness, than did Sir Matthew,
the omnipotence of wealth among his. Every child was taught, as
soon as its mind became capable of receiving the important truth,
that not only was it agreeable to enjoy and cherish all the good
things which wealth can procure, but that it was their bounden and
special duty to make it visible before the eyes of all men that they
could, and that they did, have more money spent upon them, than
any other family in the whole country ; but Martha felt that all this
could not apply to her.
Strange to say, the only tie resembling affection which prevented
the total isolation of this poor girl among her family, was that
which existed between her hard-natured father and herself; but it
was a sentiment not easy to analyze. In Sir Matthew it. pro-
bably arose at first from his having been told that the little girl was
very like him ; and, on hers, from his being the only person in the
house who had ever bestowed a caress upon her. In both cases,
cause and effect went on increasing. Martha's face (saving its ex-
pression), was incontrovertibly like her father's ; and, for that rea-
son, or from the habit it had at first created, her father, though
rather ashamed to confess it, was certainly very fond of her.
That, as a child, she should love him in return, was almost in-
evitable ; but that, as she advanced in years, she should feel for the
being, the most completely formed by nature to be hateful to her,
an affection the most unchanging and devoted, had something of
mystery in it less easy to be explained. Yet, so it was. Martha
Dowling adored her hard-hearted, vicious, unprincipled, illiterate,
vulgar father, as heartily as if he had been the model of every thing-
she most admired and approved. Nay, it may be, that she loved him
54 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
better, or, at any rate, more strongly still ; for it was rather with
fanaticism than devotion, or like the pitying fondness with which a
mother dotes on a deformed child, who sees only that because it is
less loveable it has more need of love than the rest.
It was not, however, on the same principle, that Sir Matthew's
affection for his ugly daughter increased as years rolled on ; for he
saw, that though as a child she had been like him, she was now
grown very plain : and, in company, he felt almost as much
ashamed of her, as Lady Dowling herself. But he could not mis-
take her love and true affection, nor resist the charm of feeling that
at least there was one being in existence, who would have che-
rished him, even if he had not been the great man he was.
In private he scrupled not to yield to this feeling, and certainly
derived ' considerable pleasure from it; but before witnesses, he
always joined in the family tone respecting " -poor Martha" and
scrupled not to push her on one side, upon all occasions on which
any display of Dowling elegance was contemplated.
It was this ugly Martha Dowling who now startled little Michael
with her voice of kindness, and, notwithstanding all her lady mother
said about the " horrid vulgarity of her manners," poor Martha
had a sweet and gentle voice. The child looked up at her, and
with the weakness that appeared constitutionally peculiar to him,
his eyes were immediately filled with tears. Yet Michael was not a
whimpering boy either ; many had seen him harshly treated, for he
had worked almost from babyhood in the cotton-factory, but nobody
had ever seen him cry under it. But if his mother, or his poor sickly
brother, touched his little heart, either with joy or tenderness, he
would weep and laugh both, with very infantine susceptibility. So
it was with him now, for when Martha added with a good-humoured
smile, " And what brings you here, Master Armstrong?" he laughed
outright as he replied, " Indeed, ma'am, I ain't Master Armstrong,
and I don't know a bit what 1 be here for."
This speech, though addressed to Martha, being heard by all, the
contrast between his appearance and his language considerably ex-
cited the curiosity of the two eldest Miss Dowlings.
" La ! how he talks ! I thought he was a gentleman by his
jacket, didn't you, Arabella?" said Miss Harriet.
" Yes to be sure I did," replied the eldest sister. '* But I am
sure he is not, with that horrid way of speaking, what did you bring
him here for Peggy ?" continued the young lady with an air of
authority.
" Because master bid me, miss," was the satisfactory reply.
" Well to be sure, that is queer ! I suppose he's the son of some-
body or other, or papa would never have sent him in to us. It is
not at all his way to patronise vulgarity. Where do you live, young
gentleman ?"
Michael looked very much as if he were in danger of laughing
again, but he did not, and replied very demurely, " in Mr. Sykes's
back-kitchen, ma'am, in Hoxley-lane."
Though the answer was addressed to the inquirer, his eye turned
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 55
to Martha as he uttered it, as if anxious to see how she bore it, but he
encountered a look that altogether puzzled him ; for though it was
at least as kind as before, there was uneasiness in it, and she looked
round her, as if uncomfortably doubtful of what would happen
next.
She did not, however, wait long for the result; for Miss Sophia,.
Miss Louisa, and Miss Charlotte, the three middling-sized Miss
Dowlings, who had approached very near to the little boy, and were
even growing so familiar that Miss Charlotte had taken hold of one
of his dark curls, were severally and suddenly drawn off by the re-
spective hands of their two eldest sisters, and the governess.
" Then he is not a young gentleman after all ?" said Miss
Sophia.
" La ; how funny !" exclaimed Miss Louisa, u where did he get
his clothes from?" interrogated Miss Harriet.
" Most likely he stole them," responded Miss Arabella.
" Why 'tis Duodecimus's jacket !" ejaculated the observing Miss
Charlotte.
" Oh ! quelle horreur !" cried the governess driving her pupils
all before her to the other end of the room.
At this moment, and before any more active measures could be re-
sorted to for the safety of the young ladies, the door of the school- room
was again thrown open, and the portly person of Sir Matthew
appeared at it, accompanied by the globe-like figure of Doctor
Crockley.
" Good morning young ladies !" said the proud father, looking
round him, and immediately entering into the jest that he saw was
afloat. " How do you like the young beau I have sent you*?"
" Good gracious, papa!" exclaimed the elegant and much ad-
mired Miss Arabella, " he is a beggar-boy and a thief!"
Sir Matthew, and his friend Doctor Crockley, both burst into
such a shout of laughter at this sally, that it was a minute before
either of them could speak ; but at length the knight, turning to the
doctor, said,
" Leave my girls alone, Crockley, for finding out what's what ; I
don't believe there's one of them but what would have found that
fellow out, if I had wrapped him up in the king's own mantle."
" They are sharp enough, there is no doubt of that," replied his
friend, " but I must say you don't perform your charitable acts by
halves, Sir Matthew. You have dressed up the little scamp so
superbly, that nothing but the vulgar dark complexion could make
one know that he was not one of your own."
" Why yes, there is some difference in the skins I must say," re-
plied Sir Matthew, looking with most parental complacency on the
fair skins, flaxen hair, and light eyelashes of his race.
Difference, indeed ! 'Tis Africa and Europe. And is it not re-
markable Sir Matthew to see the look of him ? Hasn't he got a
sort of slavish, terrified air with it? I tell you what, Sir Matthew,
I should not be at all surprised to find, when the march of philo-
sophy has got a little farther, that the blackamoor look comes along
56 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
with the condition, and, that the influence of wealth and conse-
quence is as quickly shown npon the external appearance of men,
women, and children, as a field of clover upon the inferior animals.
And why not? It is quite natural — perfectly conformable to the
analogy, that, by accurately tracing cause and effect, may be
followed through all creation. You have a head, Sir Matthew, for
that sort of thing ; you can understand me, if nobody else can."
The little doctor knew that this was one of the soft points at
which his wealthy neighbour was assailable. Sir Matthew loved to
be assured that his head was of a superior fabric.
" But why, papa, should you send a nasty beggar-boy to us, with
Duo's clothes on ?" inquired the intelligent Louisa. Before he
replied to this, the knight exchanged a glance with his friend,
which seemed to say, " that's the right sort — she's in the clover-
field."
" I have taken him in for charity, my dear," replied the knight,
with a sort of pomposity that seemed of a new pattern. The young
ladies had never seen papa look so before. Martha, from having
found herself rather more frequently the object of Dr. Crockley's
jokes than she desired, had, on his entering the room, retired to the
window, but now she came up to her father, and quietly, and as
often happened, almost unnoticed, kissed his hand.
For charity !" exclaimed the fair-haired Arabella, moving a step
or two farther away from the object of this extraordinary caprice.
u La Papa! why don't you send him to the hospital?"
Doctor Crockley laughed outrageously. " That girl, Sir Mat-
thew," he said, when he had recovered his voice, " that girl is be-
yond all comparison the most thoroughly-born lady that ever I
happened to hit upon — and that is saying something, I promise you.
She hasn't a commonplace vulgar notion in her from top to toe. It
is what I call the physiology of wealth — it is upon my soul — it is a
study, a science. I have not got to the end of it, but I am certain
I shall make a system out of it — and you'll be able to follow me,
there's some comfort in that. I declare to God, that if I had not
found you in the neighbourhood, I should have bolted. I cannot
exist without occasionally bringing my mind in contact with superior
intellect ; you find that, too, Sir Matthew, I'm sure you do."
Sir Matthew assured him that he did, very much ; and then
pulling a Belinda lock that adorned the olive-coloured throat of
Mademoiselle Beaujoie, he asked her if she had ever seen a brat,
taken in for charity, so nicely dressed as that little blackguard."
"Brawt? 9a veut dire petit vaut-rien. No, my honor Sire
Matue, nayver ! you are viddout no reval de most — "
Whilst the French governess struggled to find a word sufficiently
expressive of admiration, and if possible, with some little meaning
besides, Sir Matthew took the liberty of pinching her ear, while he
whispered into it, " What, you little rogue? what ?"
She gave him a Parisian osillade, by no means an unkind one,
and turned away, while the two smallest Miss Dowlings ran up to
her, and, in the jargon in which their mamma and papa delighted.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 57
demanded " si papa voulait let them jouer avec the little beggar-
boy?"
This question, repeated nearly in the same words by Mademoi-
selle Beaujoie to the knight, appeared to cause him some perplexity,
and, after reflecting upon it for a minute, he turned to consult his
philosophical friend.
" I say Crockley, what do you think of that V Then lowering his
voice, he added, " you comprehend the job, doctor, — which will do
best to help it ? Parlour or kitchen, school-room or factory,
drawing-room or scullery?
" All and every of them," replied his friend, in the same low
tone, but very decisively. " No doubt in nature about that, Sir
Matthew ; he must be here, there, and every where, and the thing
will fly like mad."
" You are always right Crockley, there is nobody like you," re-
plied the grateful knight, cordially slapping the round shoulders of
his friend, " I twig, I twig, and so it shall be, by the Lord
Harry."
"You are as rapid as lightning, Sir Matthew ! I remember no in-
stance of a cerebral formation so absolutely perfect as yours. Now
then, let us visit my lady, shall we ? I am as dry as brickdust,
and it is about lunch-time I take it. Bring the boy with you, and
introduce him before the servants in style."
" So I will — that's it — I twig, Crockley. Go, Martha, and see if
the luncheon is laid."
The report being favourable to the wishes of the gentleman, the
party, consisting of the three eldest Miss Dowlings, their papa and the
doctor, left the young ladies and their governess to dine, while, with
little Michael, who was ordered to follow, they all repaired to the
dining-room, where a well-covered table awaited them.
Her ladyship and Mr. Augustus were already there, and both
expressed exactly the degree of curiosity which the knight desired,
as to who the little gentleman might be whom they brought with
them.
Miss Dowling,* and Miss Harriet Dowling, burst into a loud
laugh ; Sir Matthew looked towards the sideboard, and seeing two
servants in attendance there, spoke as follows :
" My dear Lady Dowling, I must bespeak your munificent cha-
rity, and universal benevolence in favour of this little unhappy boy.
His mother is a widow, and— and something, I forget exactly what,
is very unhappy about her — -and this little boy behaved remarkably
well — " Here Sir Matthew broke off in some degree of embarrass-
ment, not wishing particularly to impress upon his lady's mind that
it was his tender care for the Lady Clarissa Shrimpton, which had first
introduced the fortunate factory-boy to his notice. But he passed
all that over very skilfully, and ended his harangue by saying, " I
know perfectly well, my dear lady Dowling, that there is not in the
whole world so amiable a person as yourself, and therefore I enter-
tain not the slightest doubt, that the benevolence which warms my
heart on this occasion, will communicate itself to yours."
58 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Lady Dowling raised her light eyebrows, and her still lighter
eyelashes, into a look of the most unmitigated astonishment, and
remained thus for a while, contemplating the extraordinary spec-
tacle, of one of the handsomest boys she had ever seen, dressed in
a style of unquestionable fashion, and presented to her as a being
so deplorably miserable, as to have excited the pity of her hus-
band. The first clear and distinct idea that suggested itself was,
the necessity of inquiring respecting this beautiful child's mother,
and of finding out whether she might not happen to be beautiful too ;
the next arose from the sudden recognition of her own son's own
clothes, and the complexion of the lady became extremely florid."
" I should like to know where he got those clothes from," she
said in accents that by no means spoke composure of spirit.
" My dearest love," replied the most amiable and the most polite
of husbands, u that is entirely my doing. You have known me
long enough, my sweetest, to be aware that I never do any thing by
halves — I saw that little fellow ragged and wretched, and I- clothed
him !"
" Well, I must say, I do think — " began her ladyship, when Sir
Matthew, seating himself at the table, thrust a knife and fork into
the very centre of a pigeon-pie, and accompanied the act by a
sound, something between a slight cough and a grunt, which, in '
language matrimonial, was known to mean, ; ' You had better hold
your tongue and mind your business." Whereupon, Lady Dowling
sat down too, but her fair complexion was rather more rosy than
was becoming, and it was in no very sweet voice that she said to
Martha, who ventured to take a chair next her, " Do get a little
farther, child, can't you? — You know- I hate to be crushed and
crammed up so*"
Here Dr. Crockley, who had already fallen with vehemence upon
a cold ham, stopped for a moment, and laughed vehemently.
" My dear madam, you are of the slight and elegant order your-
self, and you don't make allowance for poor people who are as fat
and roundabout as Miss Martha and I — we can't squeeze ourselves
into an eggshell, Miss Martha, can we ?"
Her slim sisters tittered, and the witty Augustus observed, that
" To be sure, Martha did look more like a collar of Oxford brawn,
than any thing else in creation."
Meanwhile, the meal proceeded, and little' Michael continued to
stand half-way between the door and the table, as fixedly as if he
had taken root there.
Martha was, in general, very philosophically inclined to let all
things round her take their course ; but she sat exactly opposite to the
object of her father's benevolence, and there was something in the
expression of his eye, as it rested upon the dainties before him, that
was more than she could bear. " May I give the little boy some-
thing to eat, papa?" said she addressing her father in a timid
voice.
" How shall we manage about that, Crockley ?" whispered Sir
Matthew into the ear of the doctor who sat close to him.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 59
" Cram him, cram him, Sir Matthew. — You'll find it like oil on
the surface of water, spreading far and wide," replied his counsellor,
whispering in return, " Let the boy have to boast of his high
feeding-, and it will do move good than if you were to endow him
with lands and houses, and keep him lean."
" Say you so, my wise man! Faith, then, the matter is easy
enough, for I believe Dowling Lodge is rather celebrated for its su-
perfluity of good cheer. We'll have him gasping with indigestion
within a week, see if we don't." Then raising his voice, he an-
swered the petition of Martha, by repeating her words, " May you
give the little boy something to eat V and then added with a laugh,
" By all manner of means, Miss Martha ; and," taking some half-
demolished fragments off his own plate, " he may boast of feeding
as well as his master. Here, Master Factory, catch!" And so
saying, the benevolent owner of Dowling Lodge skilfully cut the
air with half a pigeon, which, taking exactly the direction he in-
tended, struck Michael in the middle of his forehead. Whatever
might be the effect of this liberality of heart and hand out of
doors, Sir Matthew had every reason to be satisfied with the result
within.
The whole Dowling family, with the exception of stupid Martha,
' burst into a simultaneous shout of delight, while Dr. Crockley
clapped his hands, and vociferated, " Bravo !" as loud as he could
scream.
Just at this moment, the great bell at the front door, and it was
a very great bell, resounded along passage and halls with prodigious
clamour. This is a sound which produces, in those who hear it,
emotions varying according to their varying temperaments. Ge-
nuinely fine, poco curante people, if they hear it, heed it not.
Fussy folks, of whatever rank or station, prepare their looks and their
books, themselves and their belongings, to receive the threatened
visitation advantageously ; but in a mansion of such professional
display as Dowling Lodge, a ring at the door-bell is an event of
serious importance. In such an establishment, the luxuries, or
even the comforts of the family, are confessedly of no importance
at all, when placed in competition with the display of their
grandeur; and upon the present occasion, the whole family has-
tened to leave their unfinished repast, in order to receive the wel-
come spectator of their fine clothes and fine furniture in the draw-
ing-room.
" My Lady Dowling, and her two light-coloured elder daughters,
Sir Matthew, his eldest son, and his learned friend, succeeded in
reaching their respective sofas and bergeres half a minute before
the door was thrown open, and Lady Clarissa Shrimpton, Miss
Brotherton, Miss Mogg, and Mr. Osmond Norval were an-
nounced.
Great, of course, and very zealous was the joy expressed by the
Dowling family at the sight of their illustrious friend and her cor-
tege. Miss Brotherton was, indeed of herself, or rather of her purse,
a personage pretty sure of being well received every where ; but
60 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
even Miss Mogg was (in yankee phrase) well shaken, and Mr.
Osmond Norval gazed at by the young ladies, as an emanation
from the rays that encircle the brow of Apollo ; while even the ex-
quisite Augustus ventured, in compliment to his titled patroness,
to shake him too, though he had never been introduced to him at
Oxford.
But the feelings of Sir Matthew, at this prompt reappearance of
his fair and noble friend, were something vastly different from any
thing his family could participate in, nor did Lady Clarissa mistake
them. There was a look that spoke infinitely more than any tongue
could utter, and a meaning in the silent pressure of the hand, con-
firming the idea, which had often recurred to her during the night,
that it would soon be necessary to make Sir Matthew understand
the exact nature and extent of the flattering, but perfectly innocent
preference she was conscious of feeling for him.
This first delightful, but somewhat agitating moment over, Lady
Clarissa hastened to explain the purpose of her visit.
" You guess why I am come, do you not, Sir Matthew V she
said, pointing to Mr. Osmond Norval. " Permit me to present to
you, and your highly-educated family, this young votary of the
muses, who, if my judgment errs not, may fairly claim competi-
tion with the first poets of the age. Nor should we, of this remote
neighbourhood, be insensible to the honour of being the first to
assist in pluming the yet unfledged wing, which shall one day bear
him aloft into the empyrean regions of eternal fame."
Nothing could be more touching than the manner in which Mr.
Osmond Norval pressed his hat between his two hands, and bowed
low, low, low, to the noble lady who thus announced him. Sir
Matthew, with a stride which, for the vigorous distance it carried
him, might have been compared to that of the knave of hearts, ap-
proached the young man, and strenuously pressing one of his
slender hands in both his own capacious fists, attested the value he
attached to her ladyship's introduction by saying, " Mr. Osmond
Norval ! — I will not deny, that I do occasionally myself offer tri-
bute at the muse's shrine ; and that being in some sort a brother of
the craft, I most unfeignedly rejoice in making the acquaintance of
a gentleman so distinguished in it as yourself. But that is not the
feeling, sir, which principally leads me to tell you, that from this
time forth, I shall hold you as one of my most esteemed friends —
you understand me. That lady, sir," pointing to Lady Clarissa,
" is a person whose lightest word ought to be law in this neighbour-
hood, — and to me, is so. If you publish any works, put Sir Matthew
Bowling's name down, sir, for fifty copies ; should you find yourself
at any time in want of a library, pray remember that there is one
of no very small limits at Dowling Lodge ; and your reception, sir,
in my drawing-room, and at my dinner- table, will ever be such as
befits me to bestow on one honoured by the patronage of Lady
Clarissa Shrimpton."
Before this speech was quite finished, Lady Dowling becoming
rather fidgetty, ventured to mutter something about its being far
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 61
better to sit down to talk ; but Miss Brothertoii was greatly too
much amused by what was passing to hear her; and for Miss Mogg
to sit while her patroness stood, was quite out of the question; so
that Lady Dowling, and the too eldest Miss Dowlings, continued
to stand like three finely-dressed flaxen-headed statues, to the end
of it.
Sir Matthew than led the high-born lady to a chair, while Miss
Brotherton perceiving that her conversation with the knight was
now reduced to a whisper, and that consequently there would be
no more fun in listening to it, condescended at last to answer a few
of the amiable inquiries after her health, which were addressed to
her by Mr. Augustus and his two sisters. Meanwhile, the young
Norval, with pensive eye intent on nature's beauties, stole his way
to the open window, and there having twice or thrice passed his
fingers through his long locks, which descendedjin disordered curls
almost to his shoulders, and once and again buttoned and unbut-
toned the broad shirt-collar which fell back, unrestrained by that
most unintellectual ligature, a cravat, remained partly, it might be,
to let the young ladies look at him, and partly to receive the fra-
grant breeze of summer upon his brow.
It was now that Dr. Crockley felt he was called upon to do
something that might bring him into notice, and waddling up to
the young poet, he addressed him with an air of incipient friend-
ship, which seemed to say, i( And I too am somebody."
" You will find this neighbourhood not very prolific, young gen-
tleman, in such gifts of intellect as a poet requires in order to be
duly appreciated. Nevertheless, I will not deny that there is
amongst us a knot, a little knot, Mr. Norval, whom, upon further
acquaintance, you may find not altogether uncongenial. For my-
self, I may venture to say, that I am as warmly devoted to every
subject, directly or indirectly, connected with the divine, ethereal,
immaterial, intellectual part of our composite formation, as it is
possible for a man to be, and it will give me pleasure, sir, to make
your acquaintance." As this was spoken with energy, the fsultry
season made itself felt under the exertion, and Dr. Crockley found
it necessary so far to remember the viler portion of his composite
formation, as to wipe his face and bald head assiduously.
The poet bowed, but not as he had bowed to Lady Clarissa.
Meanwhile, Lady Dowling, her light-coloured daughters, and
Miss Mogg, sat profoundly silent upon two chairs and one sofa of
the splendid apartment ; Miss Brotherton and Mr. Augustus con-
tinued to talk about nothing, and Sir Matthew and Lady Clarissa
ceased not to mutter, what none but themselves could hear, upon
an ottoman, which stood in front of a distant window. If eye-
beams could have interrupted a tete-a-tete, theirs would not have
long continued to proceed undisturbed ; for the mistress of Dowling
Lodge did certainly cast not a few anxious glances towards the
master of it ; but it was not for that reason that he at length got
up and rather hastily left the room.
62 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
While all this was passing in the drawing-room, Martha Dow-
ling" and Michael Armstrong remained alone together in the
dining-room.
The flying pigeon, impelled by the beneficent Sir Matthew, having
hit the forehead of his highly-favoured protege at the very moment
that the larum, announcing Lady Clarissa's arrival made itself
heard, the greatly amused company left the room before it was
possible to ascertain what would become of it.
The child " caught it ere it came to the ground ;" but having
done so, held it by one leg with an air of very comical 'indecision,
till Dr. Crockley, who respectfully walked the last out of the room,
shut the door behind him.
The eyes of the factory-boy and the ugly girl then met. " Come
to the table, my dear," said Martha; i( and if you like that bird,
eat it — here is a plate and knife and fork for you ; but if you like
any thing else better, leave it, and tell me what you will have."
Michael opened his magnificent black eyes, and looked earnestly
at her. He approached the table, laid down the half-dissected
pigeon, but said not a word.
" You would like something else better, would you not?" said
Martha, smiling at him.
"I don't know," answered Michael, returning the smile.
" You don't know? — cannot you tell what you should like?"
" No ma'am, if you please ; I don't know what any of it is."
" My dear child, it is all very good, I believe, only you know
some people like one thing, and some another. Little boys gene-
rally like something very sweet. Here is some cake, what do you
say to that ?"
** I know what I should like best," said Michael.
" Do you ? — then you shall have it, if you will tell me what it
is."
" Something good for mother," said the child, blushing violently ;
" but you must send me, and order me to take it to her, or else it
will be stealing it"
" Very well, I will send something to her ; but you must eat
something yourself first. What shall it be, Michael ?" This ar-
rangement seemed to put the boy into a state of perfect ecstasy ;
he clapped his hands, raised one foot, and then the other, with
childish glee, and exclaimed in an accent from which all timidity
had fled, " Oh ! dear, oh ! dear, how nice !"
" What, the cake ? — or the grapes ? — or what ?"
" Taking it to mother ! Taking it to mother !" cried Michael.
" Then you love mother very much, Michael?" said Martha,
drawing the child towards her, and kissing his smooth dark fore-
head. Michael nodded his head, and nestled closer to her.
" Well, then, never mind about the cake at present ; but I must
find a little basket, must I not ? — I will give you a basket if you
will take care of it and bring it back to me, because perhaps we
may want it again. — There, you may eat that if you are hungry,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 63
while I am gone away — I shall be back again in a minute." So
saying, she placed some bread and meat before him, and left the
room.
Michael had by no means lost his appetite by his morning walk
to Hoxley-lane, and being in excellent spirits to boot, he sat down
and began to devour what had been set before him with very zealous
eagerness.
He had not, however, done one-half of what he was capable of
performing, when another door, opposite to the one by which
Martha had made her exit, opened, and Sir Matthew Dowling
walked in.
Michael's knife and active fingers remained suspended midway
between his mouth and the plate ; the colour forsook his cheek,
and his eye sunk as if unable to meet that of his munificent
patron.
" What stuffing still, you greedy little rascal ? What have you
touched with your nasty factory fingers ? Not the grapes, I hope V
Michael tried to say " no," but did not succeed in producing
the sound ; so contented himself by letting the forefinger of his
left hand drop into his plate to show how he had been engaged.
" Don't look so like a fool, you oaf/' said Sir Matthew, taking
him by the shoulder, and shaking him with some vivacity. " You
are to come along with me, do you hear that ? and see a lot of fine
folks, and to look up at them too, do you hear that ; and by G — d
if you blubber, or look grumpish, I'll have you strapped ten times
over, worse than you ever saw done at the factory. Come along ! —
and mind what I have promised, for I'll keep it, and worse, that you
may rely."
Michael behaved like a little hero. He remembered the promised
basket, and the voice that had told him he should have it; he re-
membered Hoxley-lane too, and his mother, and Teddy, and their
morsel of dry bread; so he walked manfully along beside Sir
Matthew, and when they reached the drawing-room door, and his
benefactor stretched forth a hand to take his, he yielded it to him,
with scarcely any perceptible shudder.
Sir Matthew walked some steps forward, with the boy in his
hand, into the drawing-room, and then standing quite still, pointed
to the child, and said, " Lady Clarissa ! behold the factory-boy !"
Nothing could be more skilful than this form of presentation, for
it told Lady Clarissa every thing, and Lady Dowling nothing.
Lady Clarissa sprung from her seat and ran towards the child. " Is
it possible !" she exclaimed, with every appearance of violent
emotion. * 4 Oh ! Sir Matthew !" these last words were audible
only to the knight and the little boy; but as the latter could make
nothing of them, and the former almost any thing he pleased, it was
evident that the lady was as well skilled in saying more than met
the ear, as the gentleman.
" Indeed, indeed," said Lady Clarissa, drawing forth another of
the coronetted handkerchiefs, " indeed, indeed, this is a noble act,
Sir Matthew !"
64 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Here her ladyship pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and
remained in the eloquent silence of that position for a moment,
then raising herself from the softness that, as she hinted to Sir
Matthew, in a whisper, she felt stealing upon her., she called to Mr.
Osmond Norval, and said in a tone audible to all present, " Os-
mond Norval ! favoured of Heaven, and the muse ! Let not this
beautiful subject escape you ! Look at this pretty boy — look at
the delicate air of aristocratic refinement which pervades his person.
Osmond, the earth has not made her daily circuit round the sun
since I beheld this child the very type of - sordid wretchedness;
would you know the hand that wrought this wondrous change?
Would you learn what heart suggested it? Behold them here !"
and Lady Clarissa laid her noble fingers on the coat-sleeve of Sir
Matthew Dowling.
" Her ladyship does Sir Matthew Dowling no more than justice
Mr. Norval," said Doctor Crockley approaching the group. " This
is an act that ought to be given to fame, and, if Sir Matthew him-
self does not object to it, I would suggest its being recorded by
your pen, in such a form as may give it general circulation.
The poet pressed his hand upon his heart, and bowed profoundly,
and then, raising the other hand to his forehead, he stood for some
time silently meditating on the theme thus offered to him. During
this interval, the different groups which surrounded him formed a
most charming picture. The young man himself stood apart, and
unconsciously, perhaps, became the centre to which every eye-beam
converged. Lady Clarissa and Sir Matthew, side by side, and, at
no great distance from him, awaited his reply ; her ladyship with
an affectionate smile on her lip, that spoke at once her confidence
in his power and will to do what she required of him. Sir Mat-
thew's expression of countenance could not be read so plainly;
it was grave, but it might be doubtful whether its gravity proceeded
from displeasure that the answer should be delayed, or solely from
the deep interest the subject possessed for him. Lady Dowling, with
her hands crossed before her, was seated on a sofa exactly in front
of them, with her light eyes rather more widely open than usual,
looking straight forward, and her small features seeming to indicate
that she was not in the sweetest humour in the world. Dr. Crock-
ley, his hands in his waistcoat-pockets, and his short legs rather
widely extended, in what dancing-masters term the second position,
swayed himself with nice balance to and fro, as if measuring the
interval of suspense by seconds vibrated by his person. Miss
Arabella Dowling, and Miss Harriet Dowling sat close together
upon an ottoman, "like to a double cherry," of the Bigarreau
kind, with their four eyes so fixed upon the poet that it seemed as if
they had but one heart and one soul between them ; and on this sub-
ject at least, their hearts and souls, if not one, were the same ; for
they had both, and at the very same instant, fallen violently in love
with Mr. Osmond Norval.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 65
In a deep arm-chair, in which she had almost buried herself, sat,
or rather lay, little Miss Brotherton, almost convulsed with laughter,
and with her pocket-handkerchief by no means elegantly applied to
her mouth (being nearly half of it within it), in the hope of stifling,
at least, the sound of her mirth, while Mr. Augustus leant in an
attitude of very distinguished elegance on the back of her chair.
A little behind her appeared Miss Mogg, who was in truth neither
sitting nor standing, but perched very insecurely on the extreme
edge of a couch, which uncomfortable attitude she had chosen from
not feeling quite certain whether she ought to stand like Lady
Clarissa, or sit like Miss Brotherton. The first she feared was too
dignified and distinguished for her ; the last too comfortable, and
she deserved credit for hitting upon a position so far removed from
either; and lastly, very near the door by which he had entered, and
to which he had slunk back he knew not how, stood Michael.
This picturesque state of things having lasted quite long enough,
Osmond Norval raised his eyes from the ground to the face of Lady
Clarissa, and making a sudden step forwards, dropped on one knee
and seized her hand. He attempted to speak, but for some time
his voice appeared perfectly choked by emotion. At last, how-
ever, he recovered the power of articulation and said, " Such a sub-
ject ! — Oh, heaven ! — at your bidding too ! Best and dearest Lady
Clarissa ! Can you doubt that all my power and strength will be
put in requisition for it ? But — may I ask — Is it to be published
by subscription V
Without immediately replying to this interesting, and to Mr.
Osmond Norval most important inquiry, Lady Clarissa suddenly
clapped her hands together with a sort of vehement enthusiasm that
looked very like delirium. Even Sir Matthew, though his intimacy
with her had more than once made him the witness to some extraor*-
dinary freaks, looked at her with astonishment ; Lady Dowling's
eyes were more widely opened than ever ; Miss Mogg instinctively
thrust her hand into her bag in search of a smelling-bottle ; and
Miss Brotherton took her handkerchief out of her mouth, and
looked grave.
" I have got it ! Oh, I have got it !" she exclaimed. " What a
delicious idea ! — Let us sit down ! Mogg, push forward that couch,
child. — Poor girl ! She really is almost too fat to move. Gracious
heaven, Sir Matthew ! what would become of my etherealized
spirit if it were so encumbered ? But sit down, — sit down all of
you. — Norval ! Place yourself on that tabouret. — Mary Brotherton !
Draw near and listen. — And all the rest of you give ear to what I am
going to say, and answer the questions I shall ask with freedom and
sincerity."
Thus conjured, every one in the room, except Lady Dowling, who
stirred not an inch, drew round the place where Lady Clarissa had
seated herself, and prepared with considerable curiosity to hear what
she was going to say.
" Is not amusement the very soul of life?" she began.
F
66 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" No doubt of it, my lady," from the lips of Dr. Crockley, was
the most articulate of the many acquiescent answers which fol-
lowed.
" Is not a country neighbourhood fearfully, lamentably diffident
in this ?" pursued the animated inquirer.
" There cannot be two opinions on that point," replied Sir Mat-
thew, with authority.
" And is it not the duty of neighbours, residing within reach of
each other as we do, to exert every facility with which nature has
endowed them, in order as much as possible to soften to each other
the privations to which their distance from the metropolis obliges
them to submit?"
In reply to this demand, there was a perfect clamour of approba-
tion. " Well then," continued Lady Clarissa, " if such be your
feelings, I am certain of success in the project that has come, like
a spirit of light borne upon silver wings to visit my dull spirit. This
noble act of Sir Matthew's must not pass away like an ordinary
deed that is [hardly performed, ere it be forgotten. No! it shall
live in story — it shall live in song — it shall live again in action !
Norval, dear gifted friend, did you ever write a drama V
" Occasionally a scene or two, Lady Clarissa."
" That is enough, dear Osmond. I ask not a hackneyed worn-out
pen. I will relate to him, *Sir Matthew, this interesting anecdote
exactly as it occurred — he shall dramatize it — perhaps introduce an
episode, or underplot, to increase the business of the scene — we
will all act it," and here Lady Clarissa gracefully bowed to the
whole party, " and all the neighbourhood shall be assembled to
enjoy the fete. What say you to this, Sir Matthew ?"
Upon my word, my lady, I think it is one of the cleverest and
most agreeable ideas that ever entered a lady's head. If you and
Mr. Norval will arrange the drama, Lady Clarissa, I will take care
to have one of the rooms fitted up as a theatre, and depend upon
it we shall be in no want of actors. Upon my word I never liked
any idea so much in my life."
" Will it not be pleasant, Mary Brotherton ?" said Lady Clarissa,
in her most caressing tone, to the heiress.
" Very pleasant, indeed," replied the young lady. " I should
ask no better fun."
" And what does my Lady Dowling say ?" resumed Lady Clarissa,
with that stiffness of manner with which her ladyship now and then
refreshed the memory of her plebeian friends, as to the difference
of rank between them."
" Oh ! dear me, I am sure I don't know," replied Lady Dowling,
looking frightened.
" Well ! we must not torment Lady Dowling by forcing her to
act, Sir Matthew. There cannot be a doubt that we shall have
volunteers in abundance. You will act, Mary Brotherton, will you
not?"
" Act? — Most assuredly I will act, Lady Clarissa," replied the
heiress. " People as much at liberty to please themselves as I am,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 67
seldom refuse to aid and abet a scheme so exceedingly full of
amusement as this seems to be."
" We will set such an example," cried Dr. Crockley, rubbing his
hands joyously, " that every county in England shall hear of us
with envy — I know what Sir Matthew can make of a thing if he
takes to it. Leave him alone for giving the go-by to all the world.
Write away, young gentleman, write away; depend upon it you'll
have a theatre, and actors too, that will do you justice."
At this interesting moment, just as the fair-haired Miss Dowlings
began to whisper to each other something about characters and
dresses, and Mr. Augustus to whisper to Miss Brotherton his hope
that he should have to act a great deal with her, the great bell sent
forth another peal, upon which Lady Clarissa held up her finger in
token of silence ; and before the new visiter entered, all the bright
sallies of the party were as effectually extinguished as if they had
been supplied by gas, which was suddenly turned off.
CHAPTER VII.
A POPULAR CHARACTER MORE BENEVOLENCE INTERESTING IN-
TELLIGENCE RECEIVED WITH BECOMING ANIMATION A SELECT
COMMITTEE A FAREWELL FULL OF MEANING.
The person who produced this very powerful effect was a lady
not particularly distinguished either by wealth or station ; but she
seemed to possess the faculty of finding her way into every house
within her reach, whether the owner of it desired her presence or
not.
Mrs. Gabberlywas the widow of a clergyman, who had formerly been
vicar of the parish of St. Mary's, Ashleigh, and having made herself
the very largest acquaintance that ever was enjoyed by any country
lady without a carriage, she determined upon continuing amongst
them after her husband died, as it might have taken her, she said,
more years than she was likely to live, before she could expect to
make so many friends all over again. She therefore, on leaving
the vicarage, contented herself with a very small house, as near the
town as possible, and went on very much as she had done before,
only having one maid-servant instead of two, and contenting herself
with a donkey-chair and a very little boy to drive it, instead of a
one-horse chaise, and a steady man-servant of all work.
Considering the wealth and splendour of the neighbourhood in
which accident had first placed her, and to which choice now held
her bound, it may be looked upon as a matter of wonder that she
should have made any intimacies at all. But, though the vicarage
f 2
68 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
of St. Mary's, Ashleigh, was far enough from being richly endowed,
and the private fortune of the late incumbent not such as to
enable him to approach to any thing like an equality in his style of
living to even the least wealthy among the manufacturers in the dis-
trict, there is still a species of respect for the profession of a
clergyman, which opens to him and his family the houses of many,
greatly their superiors in point of wealth ; and it therefore pretty
generally depends on the clergy themselves, whether they are on in-
timate terms with their neighbours, or not.
Now Mr. Gabberly, or more properly speaking, Mrs. Gabberly,
who in strength of will had ever been his far better half, did greatly
desire to be on intimate terms with her neighbours. Rich or poor,
gentle or simple, old or young, she was determined to be intimate
with them all. And she was intimate with them all, very intimate.
One word more, and Mrs. Gabberly shall be left to speak for her-
self, which she was certainly able to do, with as little impediment of
any kind, as most people. Mrs. Gabberly was the daughter of a
physician ; and from her earliest years had acquired so decided a
taste for the theory and practice of medicine, that she could never
wean herself entirely from it, but was thought by many to let it still
occupy rather too large a share of her conversation and thoughts.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Gabberly was exceedingly popular, for though
her discourse ran much upon bruises and bowels, rickets and
rheums, spasms and spines, it ran also upon matters more attractive.
If she could not tell what every body for three miles round had for
dinner on the very day on which she was speaking, it was a hundred to
one but she could tell, within a cutlet or a hash, what they had been
all eating for a week before. She knew, with an approach to cor-
rectness that was perfectly astonishing, the amount of every body's
expenditure, and every body's debts ; could tell to the fraction of a
new ribbon, how many bonnets each lady consumed per annum ;
and was perfectly au fait of the quantity of corn and hay got through
in every body's stables. No flirtation ever escaped either her eyes
or her tongue, and the Morning Post was a less faithful record of
fine parties, than the tablets of her comprehensive memory.
The Dowling family was aware of all this ; and each in their way
had a peculiar value for her society, for Mrs. Gabberly knew how
to be all things to all men, women, and children; but, at the present
moment, it was Sir Matthew who felt the most decided movement
of satisfaction at beholding her sharp black eyes, brisk step, and
eager manner of reconnoitring every individual present, as she en-
tered the room.
" Here is my general advertiser," thought the knight, as he ex-
tended his huge hand to welcome her. " We will have a theatrical
representation that shall immortalize my charity, and here's the one
that shall act the part of Fame, and trumpet it round the country."
" My goodness ! what a charming party of you is got all together
this morning," exclaimed Mrs. Gabberly, smiling and bowing, and
nodding, and courtesying, to every body in succession, all the time
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 69
^that Sir Matthew continued his cordial hand-shaking. " Now you
must just tell me what you are all about, for if you don't I shall
die, and there's the truth."
" No, no, Mrs. Gabberly, you shan't die, if we can save your
life," replied Sir Matthew, in his most jovial tone. " We are a gay
and happy party, at this moment, I do believe, one and all," and
here the knight thought proper to send a glance after little Michael,
who, notwithstanding his fine clothes, was looking pale and sad
enough, in the most distant corner from the principal group to which
he had been able to creep.
The experienced eye of Sir Matthew read past suffering and
present terror in his speaking features, and he cursed the trembling
child in his heart of hearts. But Sir Matthew Dowling might have
removed as many coatings as the grave-digger in Hamlet, ere the
looker-on could have penetrated so far ; and it must have been a
quick observer that could have detected the sort of lurid glare that
for half an instant gleamed in the savage look he cast upon the boy.
It was for no longer space that his joyous gaiety was obscured, and
he then turned again his admiring glances upon the Lady Clarissa,
and resumed his speech.
" This is the person, Mrs. Gabberly, who must let you into the
mystery. You must entreat her ladyship to be pleased to inform
you what it is she is going to make us all do."
" Well then, I hope her ladyship won't refuse. You won't be so
cruel, will you, my lady ?"
" No, certainly !" replied Lady Clarissa smiling complacently on
the knight. " If Sir Matthew complies with my proposal, I shall
have no objection to its being proclaimed to all the world."
And here glances were exchanged between the knight and the
lady, perfectly intelligible to each other, and which said very dis-
tinctly, ," Ah ! Lady Clarissa 1" on the one part ; and, " Oh ! Sir
Matthew ! on the other.
" Speak then, my lady !" said the gallant manufacturer with a
low bow ; " and whatever you shall say, shall be law."
" Now then, ladies and gentlemen ! all of you give ear ; for not
Mrs. Gabberly alone, but every one present, should pay attention to
what I am about to say." And here Lady Clarissa turned her eyes
round about her in search of the hero of the scene. " W T here is
the little boy ?" said she, in a tone of great theatrical feeling.
" Come here, my dear little fellow !" said Sir Matthew, again
turning his glances towards Michael, and now looking amiable and
benignant with all his might. But the child seemed to wither be-
neath this sunshine, even more conspicuously than when he had
been left in the shade ; and it was not till the knight made some
gigantic strides forwards to meet him, that poor Michael formed the
desperate courage necessary to bring him from his corner to the
spot where his noble benefactress stood. Nay, the last steps were
not made without the helping hand of Sir Matthew, which heavily
laid upon his shoulder performed a twofold office ; ostensibly ca-
70
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
ressing, while, in truth, it forcibly impelled the little trembler for-
ward.
" Now then, Mrs. Gabberly," said Lady Clarissa, " look at this
interesting little fellow ! It is he who is the hero of out fete"
" Indeed ! And pray what may the young gentleman's name
be?" said Mrs. Gabberly.
" Is not that delicious V cried Lady Clarissa. " Oh, Sir Mat-
thew ! how I envy you your feelings ! Note that, dear Norval. The
touch is exquisitely dramatic, and must on no account be omitted.
This young gentleman, Mrs. Gabberly," continued Lady Clarissa,
with increasing animation, " this young gentleman as you most
naturally call him, was a few short hours ago, a wretched, ragged
beggar-boy ! Sir Matthew Dowling, from motives, that I dare not
wound his generous heart by thus publicly dwelling upon, has
rescued him from poverty and destruction. This deed, so beautiful
in itself, and so beneficial in its influence as an example, is about to
be immortalized as it ought to be, by the pen, the rapid, brilliant,
touching pen of my young friend, Mr. Osmond Norval. He has
undertaken to dramatize this charming trait of benevolence, and
our excellent Sir Matthew, has consented to tit up a little
theatre for the representation of it, at which all the neighbourhood
are to be present as invited guests."
" Well (now ! If ever I heard any thing so delightful as that!"
exclaimed Mrs. Gabberly, clapping her hands in ecstasy. " Are
the cards sent out, Sir Matthew V
" Not yet, Mrs. Gabberly," replied the knight, with his most
friendly smile ; " but depend upon it that when they are, you will
not be forgotten."
" Well now, my dear Lady Dowling ! I am sure you are always
so kind to me !" cried the delighted Mrs. Gabberly, making her
way towards the sofa, where sat the lady of the mansion in frown-
ing state ; " I should not wonder if you were to contrive a bed for
me on this great occasion, it would be just like you. And oh ! my !
I have got such a quantity of things I want to tell you, but I can't
stop one instant longer now, if you'd give me the whole world. So,
good by to you all, my dears ! I've heard something about you,
Miss Arabella, but it must keep, my dear ; and I've a secret for
Miss Harriet's ear, too, when we have got leisure. But, good by,
good by ! Good morning, my Lady Clarissa," and away bustled Sir
Matthew's public advertiser to spread the glorious news of private
theatricals at Dowling Lodge, throughout the country. She paused
for one moment, however, as she passed by Michael ; and putting
her hand upon his head, so as to make him turn his face up towards
her, she said, after looking at him very earnestly,
" Well now, for a beggar-child, he is to be sure the genteelest-
looking little fellow, I ever did see ; but, perhaps that may be owing
to his being so pale and thin, which is certainly a great deal more
elegant than fatness and red cheeks, though it don't quite seem so
healthy."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 71
" Oh ! he is in perfect health, I do assure you, Mrs. Gabberly, as
you would have said, if you had seen the dear little fellow eating his
luncheon with usjust now," said the amiable Sir Matthew chucking
him under the chin. " But, by the way," continued the merry
knight, " I rather suspect that I called him away before he had
quite finished, and that's what it is makes him look so doleful",
isn't it, dear ? Well ! never be ashamed about it — go back again,
there's a darling 1 and don't forget to take a nice bit home to
mother and brother — d'ye hear, Michael ? Pretty fellow ! how he
blushes !"
And here the benevolent Sir Matthew himself opened the door
leading to the dining-room, and playfully pushed the " darling "
through it.
" Well now !" again exclaimed the astonished Mrs. Gabberly
" did ever any body see such a beautiful spectacle of charity as
that?"
And without waiting for any reply, the brisk little lady made her
exit without further pause or delay of any kind, and so completely
charged " to the top of her bent" with wonderful intelligence, that
she actually suffered from the repletion till half a dozen gossippings
had relieved it.
Meanwhile, the party she left resolved themselves into a commit-
tee of management upon the business in hand. Mr. Osmond
Norval was entreated to urge his eloquent pen with the greatest pos-
sible rapidity ; while on his part, Sir Matthew promised that the
necessary workmen should immediately be employed in preparing
one of the largest rooms in the house as a theatre.
When the consultation reached this point, Lady Dowling sud-
denly rose and left the room ; but this circumstance did not appear
to produce much emotion in any of the party, and they remained
together in a most delightful state of hubbub and excitement till
the heiress grew tired, and ventured to hint that she thought it
would be best for her to drive home first, and then send her carriage
back for the accommodation of her noble friend.
This proposal brought the meeting to a conclusion ; but not till
Lady Clarissa had confessed in a whisper to Sir Matthew, that she
never in her whole life remembered to have taken any thing that
did her so much good, as the delicious grapes he had sent home
with her the evening before.
72 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER VIII.
A VERY INNOCENT TETE-A-TETE, BUT IN WHICH MISS MARTHA
DOWLING COMES TO A WRONG CONCLUSION AN UNFORTUNATE
EMBASSY AN AGREEABLE EXCURSION A PHILOSOPHICAL DIS-
QUISITION A VISIT TO THE FACTORY.
While these things were going on in ray Lady Dowling's morn-
ing drawing-room, the forgotten Martha — forgotten at least by all
but little Michael — employed herself in seeking such a basket, as
might answer the purpose of a viaticum between the object of her
father's charity, and the mother and brother of whom he had so
fondly spoken. Having at length succeeded in her quest, she re-
turned to the dining-room, and was almost as much disappointed
at finding the object of her good-natured exertions flown, as the
poor child himself had been, when obliged to quit the room to
which this kind friend had promised to return. But Martha,
though not a person very highly favoured by circumstances, was
nevertheless better off than Michael, inasmuch as by keeping out of
sight she could pretty generally contrive to remain where she
chose, and do what she liked. These enviable privileges enabled
her now to sit down at one of the large open windows of the dining-
room, and to draw from her unseemly-sized pocket, a volume of
Shakspeare, with which she determined to beguile the time till the
boy should return, or till by some means or other, she might be able
to discover what had become of him.
When therefore, impelled by the playful, but very effectual im-
pulse of Sir Matthew's shove, Michael once more entered the
diniug-parlour, he had the satisfaction of being again greeted by
the friendly eye and friendly voice, whicrf had already so greatly
cheered him.
" So, here you are again, my little man," said Martha, repocket-
ing her book, and rising ; " I thought you would hardly forget
the basket : see, here it is, and now you shall help me pack it."
The help thus asked for, was afforded by the happy child's hold-
ing the basket in his hand, as he followed her round the table,
while with a smile that spoke as much pleasure as his own, she se-
lected all sorts of good things to put into it.
" There ! now I don't think we can put in any more, Michael ;
so set off, and carry it to your mother."
With eyes beaming rapture, and little hands that trembled with
delight, Michael closed the lid of the basket, and proceeded to-
wards the door; but ere he had fully reached it, he stopped short,
and addressing Martha, in a tone as fearless and confidential as if
she had been his sister, he said,
" But what d'ye think about Teddy ? Mightn't I change into my
old clothes again, and just step into the factory for one minute?
Teddy can't almost never eat the dinner as we takes to the factory,
and a bit of this would do him so much good ! — May I V
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 73
M Upon my word, Michael, I am rather puzzled what to say," re-
plied his friend ; " as papa has ordered you to have these clothes,
he might not be pleased at your taking them off again, and it would
be a great pity to make him angry with you when he is so very good
and kind, wouldn't it?"
Michael hung his head, and said nothing.
" But why need you change your clothes, my dear boy? — I dare
say Teddy would be very proud to see you look so nice."
Still Michael answered not, but began assiduously picking to
pieces the handle of Martha's delicate basket.
" Don't do that, dear," said Martha, approaching, and taking
the offending hand in hers ; " but tell me what you are thinking
about?"
" I am thinking," said Michael, " that if I walked into the midst
of 'em this way, and up to poor Teddy, in his dirty ragged clothes,
it would look" — and here he stopped without finishing the sentence.
" It would look, how ? — as if you were proud, perhaps ?" said
Martha.
The child shook his head.
" No, not that. Teddy would not think that," he replied.
" What would he think, then? — Tell me all that is passing in
your little head, and then I shall be able to advise you."
" Why, he'd think," said Michael, and tears started as he spoke —
" he'd think that he and I could never be right down brothers any
more."
Martha involuntarily kissed the little face that was turned up to
hers, but replied, laughingly,
" Oh ! that's foolish, Michael; do you think that a fine jacket
could separate two little brothers that love each other ? — I think I
could love you quite as well in a shabby coat, as in a fine one."
Michael looked at her very earnestly for a minute or two, and
then said, almost in a whisper, " Is Sir Matthew Dowling, as owns
our factory, your father ?"
" Yes, Michael," replied Martha, colouring from some painful
feeling which the expression of the boy's speaking features had given
rise to. The child coloured too, but said, with good courage,
" Please, ma'am, I should love Teddy just as well, and Teddy
would love me, only the others may-be would mock at him and me
too — and I know Teddy could not bear it."
" Then they would not be as good children as I think you are.
But tell me, Michael, something about the mill : papa has neveiylet
us see it yet, but I believe it is only because mamma thinks it is a
dirty place. Is it very dirty, Michael ?"
'* Yes, please ma'am."
" And what makes it so, my dear? The cotton that goes into it
looks as white as snow. I never can get any body to tell me any
thing about a mill, but I think it must be very curious — and I want
to know, Michael, what good such very little creatures as you can
do there ; yet I have heard papa say, that he pays a vast quantity of
money to quite little children, and that's the reason, he says, that
74 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
the factories are such a blessing to the country. You get wages,
don't you, my little fellow ?"
" Yes, ma'am ; I gets two shilling a week, and Teddy eighteen-
pence, 'cause he's weaker."
"That is not much, to be sure; but it's better than nothing,
isn't it?"
" Yes, ma'am."
" Do the children in general like it V
" Like what, ma'am?"
lt Working in the factory, my dear, and getting money for their
poor parents."
" The children likes to have the wages," replied Michael.
" But perhaps they do not like to do any work for them,
Michael ?" said Martha, laughing. " That's what papa says. But
it is not right, my dear, for little boys and girls to be always at play,
you know. Don't you think, Michael that it is proper for poor
people's children to do something to help themselves if they can ?"
" Yes, ma'am," said Michael, but in so low a tone, that it was as
much as Martha could do to hear it ; and so melancholy a look ac-
companied the words, that she could not help thinking there was a
great deal of truth in what she had constantly heard repeated by
most of her father's friends and neighbours, as well as himself —
namely, that the factory children were a race of very idle, ungrateful
little creatures ; spoilt by the high wages and indulgence they re-
ceived, and quite unconscious of the inestimable advantages they
possessed over all the other children in the British dominions.
But, nevertheless, though this disagreeable conviction pressed
very painfully upon her, Martha could not help feeling very k ndly
disposed towards little Michael ; and upon his presently saying,
" Shall I go to mother and Teddy, if you please, ma'am?" she al-
most forgot all the naughtiness she attributed to him and his fra-
ternity, and only remembering the disadvantage that any disobedience
to her father's wishes might bring upon him, said, " Wait one
moment, Michael, and I will find papa, and ask if you may change
your dress, in order to visit your brother in the factory."
So saying, she left the room, and having ascertained that the
visiters were gone, ventured to seek her father in the drawing-room ;
where she found him deep in consultation with Dr. Crockley, his two
eldest daughters, and his son, as to the possibility of converting the
school-room into a theatre : all being of opinion that the great draw-
ing-room must be reserved for the ball, and the dining-room for the
supper, which it was agreed on all sides must follow the representa-
tion.
. " May I speak to you, papa ?" said Martha, timidly, on perceiving
that the whole party were exceedingly earnest upon some theme
or other.
" Oh ! goodness, Martha, don't come to plague us now !" exclaimed
Arabella.
" It is very odd, but Martha always does come in the way of every
thing," said Harriet.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 75
" I wish you were married or buried, child !" cried the lively
Augustus ; "for you make a monstrous bad hand at playing the young
lady of fashion. Upon my life you grow fatter every day. Doesn't
she, doctor ? I wish you would dose her a little."
" That Miss Martha is a little opaque, I will not deny," replied
Dr. Crockley, familiarly coming behind her, and measuring the ex-
panse of her waist with his two hands.
" May I speak to you, papa ?" repeated the patient Martha, quietly
retreating from the jocose hands of Dr. Crockley, but apparently quite
insensible to all the other attacks.
" What do you want to say, Martha ?" demanded Sir Matthew.
Thus much encouraged, she drew near and whispered to him,
" The little boy that you have taken in, papa, wants to know if he
may put on his old clothes again, and go to speak to his brother in
the factory?"
" Do you hear this, doctor?" exclaimed Sir Matthew ; " the boy
wants to go back to the factory'again. Isn't that an answer to all
the trash that people have been trying to get up about their being
over- worked ? It is just like 'em — that's the very model of a factory
child — do what you will, you can never content 'em."
" The chap want's to get back to the factory ?" said Dr. Crockley,
addressing himself to Martha, with an accent that indicated surprise.
" That's curious enough, any how."
" No, sir, I do not believe he wants to do any more than speak to
his brother, who is at work there — he wanted to take him something
that was left at luncheon, papa."
" And to show off his own good living to the factory ? That's it,
I suspect, doctor ; one can understand that — and what do you say
to it ? I should have no objection, I think ; what's your opinion ?
only I don't see the fun of his going in his old rags, if he went as
you saw him just now, it would make some fun, wouldn't it ?"
" Capital, by Jove !" replied the doctor. " How quick you are.
Sir Matthew ! you seize every thing in a moment. What do you say
to our going along with him ? Mightn't we catch a hint or two, as
to how things were going on?"
" If I'm quick, Crockley, upon my soul you # are not slow," re-
plied the knight. " You've got your horse here, of course?" The
doctor nodded assent. " Then I will order mine, and we'll ride down
to the mill together. So get along, Martha, and tell the boy that I
will take him to the factorv with me, but that he is not to change his
clothes."
Martha felt quite aware that she had not executed her commission
successfully. But there was no help for it, and therefore with the
best grace she could, she told her little client the result of it.
The whole aspect of the boy changed as he heard it, and, as if
instinctively, he placed the precious basket, that till now he had
continued to hold firmly in his hand, upon a table near him.
" But take your basket, Michael," said the kind-hearted Martha,
in a voice that was intended to cheer him ; "lam sure papa won't
be angry at your doing that, for I told him about it."
" No, please ma'am, I'd rather not," said Michael.
76 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Well, then, go into the hall, by that door, and wait till Sir
Matthew comes through. Perhaps he will speak to you about it,
and at any rate you had better carry it as far as that/'
The child obeyed her, and taking up again the treasure he no
longer valued, passed out into the hall : but before Sir Matthew and
his friend entered it, Michael had put the worthless basket out of
sight.
Hardly had he done so, when he heard the coarse laugh of Sir
Matthew and the respondent titter of the doctor approaching. The
little fellow started, and jumped aside, in order to place himself out
of their way ; but the knight, striding to the place where he stood,
seized him by the shoulder with his hand, while with a vigorous
action of his enormous foot, he sent him forward towards the hcuse-
door. This feat, which was performed with considerable dexterity,
met its reward, in the shout of laughter with which Dr. Crockley
welcomed it. " By Jove, Sir Matthew !" he exclaimed, as soon as he
had recovered his breath ; " there is nothing like you on the face
of God's earth. — It is a confounded monopoly though, let me tell you.
No man has a right to be the deepest reasoner, the best jester, and
the most finished man of taste of his age. It's monstrous, Sir
knight, and a conspiracy against you would be a very honest plot."
And as he spoke he held his sides, as if still suffering from the
effects of his excessive merriment.
A servant who followed the facetious pair now opened the door,
and on the broad esplanade of gravel before it a couple of grooms
were holding the gentlemen's horses. As soon as they were seated
in their saddles, with a mounted attendant behind them, the great
manufacturer turned round his head to seek the object of his charity.
Michael stood doubting and trembling on the lowest step of the
portico, while a faint hope fluttered at his heart, that the grand
gentlemen would ride away and forget him; but it was quickly
chased by the voice of Sir Matthew, who, bringing his horse's head
so close upon the child, as to touch him/ while he seemed almost to
shrink into the pillar by which he stood, to escape it, said in a voice,
the jeering tone of which again almost convulsed Dr. Crockley with
laughter,
" Pray, young gentleman, may you happen to know the way to
Brookford factory V*
The boy looked out upon the wide-spreading park; and though,
despite the carefully-chosen position of the mansion, many towering
grim-looking chimney cones were seen to rise amidst their own
lurid smoke in the distance (for in that direction lay the town of
Ashleigh), he could catch no glimpse of the hated walls that for
years past had formed his daily prison-house. He, therefore,
answered, but not very audibly, " No, sir, if you please."
" Speak up, my hero !" vociferated Sir Matthew, advancing upon
him, — "Yes, or no?"
// /,/ ///////
a, /A-// 7 cw //'/■//.# ■ //v,v///.'
•"' !. ■ ■ !
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 77
So saying, Sir Matthew gave a merry look of intelligence to his
friend, and they set off together at a brisk trot.
Michael, for a piecer,* was a tall child for his age; and, though
his limbs were wretchedly thin and attenuated, they had sufficient
elasticity to enable him for some time to keep at no great distance,
though it was a constantly increasing one, from the two gentlemen ;
but, by degrees, his breath and strength failed, and perforce his
speed relaxed into a panting, shuffling, walk.
Sir Matthew, who from time to time turned round a laughing
face to look at him, now reined up his horse and awaited his ap-
proach ; upon which Michael redoubled his efforts, and in a few
minutes stood beside his benefactor.
" Step on, young gentleman ; step a little quicker, if you please ;
or, perhaps, \ may find a way to mend your pace : I am not very
fond of such lazy company." And, suiting his action to his words,
he gave the quivering child several sharp cuts across the shoulders
with his riding-whip.
" He trots out in style now, doesn't he, doctor?" said Sir Mat-
thew gaily, making his well-bitted horse cross and recross the road
in such a manner, that, at each manoeuvre, the goaded child fancied
himself already trampled beneath his feet. " Don't you think I
should make a good dancing-master, Crockley ?"
" Capital, by Jove ! — Egad, the youngster has learned some
vastly pretty steps already. By the way, Sir Matthew," continued
the philosophical physician, " when one watches that pale-faced
young scamp making such active caprioles for no reason on the
earth, but because he hears your pretty gentle jennet snuffing at
his shoulder, — when one watches that, it is impossible not to see that
nothing in God's world but sheer wilful laziness makes those ob-
stinate little brutes, at the factory, pretend to totter, and stumble,
and faint, and the devil knows what ; when all their work is to
walk backwards and forwards as leisurely as if they were parading
for pleasure. Nothing shall ever make me believe but that all the
grunting and grumbling we hear about overworked children, pro-
ceeds from a regular conspiracy among the worst of the parents.
And, upon my soul, if you yield to it, you'll soon have to look after
the wheels yourself."
" Get on with ye, to the lodge there, you lazy cur," said the
knight, addressing his panting protege, " and wait till we come
up." Then reining up his horse, Sir Matthew drew close to his
highly-valued intellectual companion, and falling into a gentle foot-
pace, continued the scientific discussion with deep interest, and a
wonderful clearness of perception.
"It is quite curious to me, Crockley," he said, "to observe
how common sense and observation will often make a man of to-
lerable ability hit upon the very same facts, and come exactly to
the very same conclusions as the man of science, who has passed
* The children whose duty it is to walk backwards and forwards before the
reels, on which the cotton, silk, or worsted is wound, for the purpose of joining
the threads when they break, are called piecers, or pieceners.
78 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
his whole life in study. What you have mentioned now, is precisely
what has occurred to me over and over again, a thousand times, I
am sure, at the very least, since I have been working Brookford
factory. For just watch, my dear Crockley, any little village
vagabond that you may chance to see as you ride about the
country — just watch him at play; and tell me where you'll find
a grown man that can keep moving as he does V 9
" Nowhere, Sir Matthew, nowhere upon the face of the earth ;
and it stands to reason, in spite of all that the confounded canters
can say to the contrary, that nature made them so on purpose.
Why, what's steam ? — Let them answer me that. Is steam man's
making ? Isn't it sent by Providence ? And what for, I should
like to know ? Isn't it for the good of mankind ? And how is that
good to be had, if the nimbleness of children is not brought to bear
upon it ? It is neither more nor less than a most shocking impiety,
Sir Matthew ; and, upon my soul, if I were you I would build a
meeting-house of my own, and hire a preacher too, at a pretty good
salary, to preach against it. But no Church of England parson
remember ; because, if they don't preach the doctrine you like, you
would have no power to turn 'em out."
" You're right, Crockley. That's a devilish good idea ; I'll turn
it over in my head, and I shall like to hear some more of your
notions about it. By the way, Crockley, you must not think of
going home to dinner to-day. We'll have a cool bottle of claret,
and talk the matter comfortably over. And there's another thing,
too, I want to speak to you about. There's a devilish deal of talk
about the health of the factory brats ; and I have a notion of ap-
pointing a regular medical practitioner upon my establishment, who
might always be ready, if called upon, to answer any questions that
might be asked. Now, I hear you are a man, Crockley, capable
of obliging a friend that deserves it ; and, if it's agreeable to you,
instead of looking in now and then to give us an opinion as you do
now, you shall have a regular appointment, with a couple of hun-
dred a year, just to look after the health of the children."
" I should like such an arrangement exceedingly well, Sir Mat-
thew. You know my love of science ; and this would give me a
capital opportunity for speculating upon different constitutions.
Egad, Sir Matthew, I should like to write a book upon the subject.
I think a monstrous deal of good might be done that way."
"No doubt about it, Crockley: a clever fellow, like you, may
throw an amazing deal of light upon a subject that is really be-
coming exceedingly important; especially when one recollects that the
national wealth and prosperity depends upon it altogether. You must
come and dine with me often, Crockley, without any ceremony;
and we may be able to hit out many a good thing over the bottle."
The two gentlemen now reached the lodge-gates, where little
Michael stood waiting for them ; and as the high-road soon turned
in such a direction as to make Brookford factory visible, he was
ordered to run on, and wait at the gates without minding them. They
accordingly proceeded in their conversation without interruption ;
and in the course of it, some very excellent hints were thrown out
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 79
relative to the manufacturing interests in general, and to that of
Brook ford factory in particular.
Having reached the gates of what was generally termed his
" magnificent establishment," and waited till the stylish groom in
attendance upon him came up, Sir Matthew, and his estimable
friend, left their horses with him, and entered the court, which,
protected by a very lofty wall, surrounded the buildings on all
sides.
Those persons who have, once in their lives, seen a large cotton-
factory, need no description of it ; for it has features which, once
looked upon, can never be forgotten ; but, for the information of
those who have not, a slight sketch of Sir Matthew Dowling's
establishment shall be given.
It consisted of very extensive buildings constructed in the centre
of the enclosed court, and forming three sides of a vast square ; the
fourth being open on the side fronting the principal gates of en-
trance. When it is stated that the edifice consisted of six stories,
and that each side of it presented six lines of windows, containing
forty windows in each line, some idea of its magnitude may be con-
ceived.
Michael was already at the gates, and, on the approach of Sir
Matthew, rang the bell ; a ceremony necessary to obtain admittance
both for masters and labourers ; no means of entrance or exit being
ever left unsecured for a single instant.
The summons was answered by a lame boy, stationed within to
perform the office of porter. He bent low before the great man,
and low too before his jeering friend ; though the jocose visits of
the latter to the factory were dreaded as much as the lash itself.
Neither the one nor the other seemed to see him, but passed on.
Then followed poor little Michael, hating most cordially the bravery
of the attire, which made him expect to meet the ridicule, rather
than the sympathy, of his late companions.
On seeing a young stranger, the lame porter looked up ; but
from him, at least, Michael had nothing to fear ; for the boy's
languid eye surveyed his altered person, without the slightest sus-
picion of ever having seen it before. Sir Matthew, like most others
of his craft, was not in the habit of indulging his family by ex-
hibiting to them the secret arcana of that hideous mystery by which
the delicate forms of young children are made to mix and mingle
with the machinery, from whence flows the manufacturer's wealth.
This divine portion of the vast engine being considered, however, as
a very inferior, though necessary, part of it. But, although they
had never honoured the premises with a visit, it was, of course, well
known to all that Sir Matthew Dowling was the father of a numerous
progeny ; and Michael passed on amidst such blessings as human
nature, under such circumstances, was likely to bestow on one of
them.
The party entered the building, whence — as all know who have
done the like — every sight, every sound, every scent that kind
nature has fitted to the organs of her children, so as to render the
80 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
mere unfettered use of them a delight, are banished for ever and for
ever. The ceaseless whirring of a million hissing wheels, seizes
on the tortured ear ; and while threatening to destroy the delicate
sense, seems bent on proving first, with a sort of mocking mercy,
of how much suffering it can be the cause. The scents that reek
around, from oil, tainted water, and human filth, with that last
worst nausea, arising from the hot refuse of atmospheric air, left
by some hundred pairs of labouring lungs, render the act of breath-
ing a process of difficulty, disgust, and pain. All this is terrible.
But what the eye brings home to the heart of those, who look round
upon the horrid earthly hell, is enough to make it all forgotten; for
who can think of villanous smells, or heed the suffering of the ear-
racking sounds, while they look upon hundreds of helpless children,
divested of every trace of health, of joyousness, and even of youth !
Assuredly there is no exaggeration in this; for except only
in their diminutive size, these suffering infants have no trace
of it. Lean and distorted limbs — sallow and sunken cheeks-
dim hollow eyes, that speak unrest and most unnatural carefulness,
give to each tiny, trembling, unelastic form, a look of hideous pre-
mature old age.
But in the room they entered, the dirty, ragged, miserable crew,
were all in active performance of their various tasks ; the over-
lookers, strap in hand, on the alert ; the whirling spindles urging
the little slaves who waited on them, to movements as unceasing as
their own ; and the whole monstrous chamber, redolent of all the
various impurities that " by the perfection of our manufacturing
system," are converted into " gales of Araby" for the rich, after
passing in the shape of certain poison, through the lungs of the
poor. So Sir Matthew proudly looked about him, and approved ;
and though it was athwart that species of haughty frown, in which
such dignity as his is apt to clothe itself, Dr. Crockley failed not
to perceive, that his friend and patron was in good humour, and
likely to be pleased by any light and lively jestings in which he
might indulge. Perceiving, therefore, that little Michael passed on
with downcast eyes, unrecognised by any, he wrote upon a slip of
paper, for he knew his voice could not be heard " Make the boy
take that bare-legged scavenger wench round the neck, and give
her a kiss while she is next lying down, and let us see them sprawl-
ing together."
Sir Matthew read the scroll, and grinned applause.
The miserable creature to whom the facetious doctor pointed,
was a little girl about seven years old, whose office as " scavenger"
was to collect incessantly from the machinery and from the floor,
the flying fragments of cotton that might impede the work. In
the performance of this duty, the child was obliged, from time to
time, to stretch itself with sudden quickness on the ground, while
the hissing machinery passed over her ; and when this is skilfully
done, and the head, body, and outstretched limbs carefully glued
to the floor, the steady-moving, but threatening mass, may pass and
repass over the dizzy head and^ trembling body without touching it.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 81
But accidents frequently occur ; and many are the flaxen locks,
rudely torn from infant heads, in the process.
It was a sort of vague hope that something comical of this kind
might occur, which induced Dr. Crockley to propose this frolic to
his friend, and probably the same idea suggested itself to Sir Mat-
thew likewise.
" I say, Master Michael I" vociferated the knight in a scream,
which successfully struggled with the din, " show your old ac-
quaintance that pride has not got the upper hand of you in your
fine clothes. Take scavenger, No. 3, there, round the neck ; now
— now — now, as she lies sprawling, and let us see you give her a
hearty kiss."
The stern and steady machinery moved onward, passing over the
body of the little girl, who owed her safety to the miserable lean-
ness of her shrunken frame ; but Michael moved not.
" Are you deaf, you little vermin?" roared Sir Matthew. " Now
she's down again. — Do what I bid you, or by the living God you
shall smart for it !"
Still Michael did not stir, neither did he speak ; or if he did,
his young voice was wholly inaudible, and the anger of Sir Matthew
was demonstrated by a clenched fist and threatening brow. " Where
the devil is Parsons ?" he demanded in accents that poor Michael
both heard and understood. " Fine as he is, the strap will do him
good."
In saying this, the great man turned to reconnoitre the space he
had traversed, and by which his confidential servant must approach,
and found that he was already within a good yard of hira.
" That's good — I want you Parsons. Do you see this little rebel
here, that I have dressed and treated like one of my own children ?
What d'ye think of his refusing to kiss Miss No. 3, scavenger,
when I bid him?"
" The devil he does ?" said the manager grinning; " we must see
if we can't mend that. Mind your hits, Master Piecer, and salute
the young lady when the mules go back, like a gentleman."
Sir Matthew perceived that his favourite agent feared to enforce his
first brutal command, and was forced, therefore, to content himself
with seeing the oiled and grimy face of the filthy little girl in contact
with that of the now clean and delicate-looking Michael. But he
felt he had been foiled, and cast a glance upon his protege, which
seemed to promise that he would not forget it.
Having made known to the superintendent, that it was his plea-
sure to enter the room where the brother of Michael was at work,
Mr. Parsons led the way to the fifth floor of the building ; Sir
Matthew, however, ordering the door of each chamber, as he passed
up, to be opened for him, that he might look in upon his stifling
slaves, and satisfy himself that neither wheels nor sinews were
loitering in unthrifty repose.
The air that issued from each, was nauseous ; and on entering-
the room, at the farther end of which Edward Armstrong was em-
G
82 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
ployed, Dr. Crockley secretly resolved, that when making the final
arrangements for his promised appointment, it should be specified
that he should never enter the working portion of the establishment.
For though by no means a particularly scientific practitioner, the
little doctor knew quite enough of the business he followed, to be
aware that, in his own case at least, the air which filled it, could
not be breathed with impunity.)
" Now then, sir," said Sir Matthew, addressing himself to
Michael, while Parsons opened the door on the fifth floor, and an-
nounced that this was the room that contained Edward. " Now,
sir, walk on, and find your brother ; and, if your pride does not
stand in your way, let him be made to understand all the extraor-
dinary kindness I have shown you. Take care that you let him
and all his companions know that I have adopted you as one of my
own family ; and that henceforward, they will always see you
dressed as well as you are at present."
All that Michael clearly understood from this harangue was, that
he had permission to go forward and speak to his brother ; and
though not venturing quite to run, he moved onward at a pace that
speedily brought him within sight of Edward. The little fellow
who, despite his gay disguise, ^immediately recognised him, uttered
a cry of joy.
u Love conquered fear f
and dropping the reel he had just taken between his fingers, he
rushed from the place he occupied before the mules, and the next
moment was fondly clasped in his brother's arms.
Every labourer in the factory, within sight of the spot where this
meeting took place, forgot all standing orders in their astonishment,
and stood with gaping mouths and eyes fixed upon the astounding
spectacle. Sir Matthew, too, forgot for an instant, that every
movement made within that crowded chamber, not having for its
object the transmutation of human life into gold, was a positive loss
to him ; for the display of his extraordinary benevolence was, he
conceived, of high importance, and he looked round with great
contentment on the multitude of wondering faces which he saw
peering over the machinery in all directions, to gaze on the sight
he had prepared for them.
"This will be talked of, or the devil is in it," thought he. "I
should like to know who would dare to mention night work and
hard usage now. A capital scheme this, as ever was hit upon."
And from the gazers, he now turned his eyes upon the object that
fixed their attention, when, to his inconceivable astonishment and
rage, he perceived that the two boys, who still stood locked in each
other's arms, were both weeping bitterly."
" Not loud, but deep," were the curses that he breathed against
the unfortunate object of his affected bounty ; and faithfully did
he pledge a promise to his own heart, that he should pay for the
vexation he thus occasioned him. But for the present, he conde-
I
/rs'f awtf/Mteuy ^
4*t&
- ■
mr-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 83
scended to veil the feeling by a smile more bland than anyone ever
before witnessedfrom him within those walls ; and striding forwards to
the sobbing children, he laid a. hand on the shoulder of each, while he
said in a voice that seemed endowed by nature with an especial
power of competing with the thunder of a cotton-mill —
" Come, come, my dears ! I know you are crying for joy ; but
you must not go on so, or it will look as if little Michael was un-
grateful for all I have done for him ! Have you told your brother,
dear, how I ordered you to take some nice things home to your
mother ? That will make him look up, I'll answer for it ! There,
now I'll leave you here that you may tell all your friends that you
have been made a gentleman of, on account of your good behaviour,
and because you was faithful to your master. Let them have ten
minutes, Parsons, with the mules standing still, that they may all
hear the story."
Sir Matthew then turned about, and hastened out of the factory,
followed by Dr. Crockley ; and as they slowly rode homewards by
some round-about lanes that were shaded from the sun, they dis-
cussed high thoughts,
" Such as Lycurgus loved,
When he bade flog the little Spartans."
And ere they "eached the luxurious abode of the knight, had be-
tween them sketched such a scheme of political, moral, and reli-
gious defence for the factory system in all its branches, and in all
its bearings, that the doctor as he descended from his horse, snapped
his fingers triumphantly, exclaiming, " A fig for them all, Sir Mat-
thew ! If they mine, egad we'll countermine, and we start with a
pretty tolerable advantage. You are a man of science, Sir Mat-
thew Dowling ; and I need not tell you, that a powerful movement
once in action, is devilish hard to stop. The vis inertia will work
for us, my friend — not to mention that when the animals find out
their only alternative is labour or starvation — labour, such and
so much as you in your bounty will be pleased to bestow — they will
all grow as patient as so many sucking doves."
These words were spoken as they slowly mounted together the
steps of the stately portico ; Sir Matthew, as a reply, shook his
friend cordially by the hand, and leading the way to the cool and
lofty library, ordered iced water and claret, to wash away the effect
of their half-hour's visit to the factory
g 2
84 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER IX.
SOME PARTICULARS RESPECTING MISS BROTHERTON A DEMON-
STRATION OF NEIGHBOURLY FRIENDSHIP AND ANXIETY THE
WILFULNESS OF AN HEIRESS— A GLEAM OF LIGHT CAUGHT IN
THE DARKNESS.
The mansion of Miss Brotherton, at the distance of three miles
from the town of Ashleigh, though less splendid in external ap-
pearance than that of Sir Matthew Dowling, was quite as elabo-
rately elegant in its interior, and moreover, incomparably superior
to it in every point in which taste was concerned. To this superb
home we must now follow the young heiress, as circumstances will
hereafter frequently blend her name with that of Michael Arm-
strong.
The position of Mary Brotherton was a very singular one, and
in many respects far from being fortunate. At the age of twenty-
one years and eight months, she found herself, by the death of her
mother, in the uncontrolled possession of two hundred thousand
pounds. Her father, dead some six or seven years before, had been
a manufacturer of the old apprentice-system school, and his fortune
made long before the humane bill of Sir Robert Peel, the elder,
had, in some degree, weakened the chains which bound thousands
of friendless orphans to unmeasured and unmitigated drudgery.*
But of all these circumstances, his daughter was totally and al-
together ignorant.' Educated, from a very early age, at a fashionable
London boarding-school, she knew nothing concerning the neigh-
bourhood of her home, but that its hills and valleys were deformed by
tall chimneys and dirty smoke ; and that none of the young ladies
who paid her visits during the holidays, were at all like her school-
fellows in London.
Of course, the little lady soon learned to know that she was a
person of great consequence; and at the age of fourteen, had
most completely acquired all the airs and graces of a spoiled child.
But the death of her father was a great advantage to her ; as his
only child, and the only heir of his immense wealth, he rather wor- '
shipped than loved her, and the attentions he paid her, seemed
more like acts of homage than of affection. Had she not given
herself airs, he would have been miserable ; and had it been pos-
sible that any act of hers could bring upon her a reprimand, it
would have been something indicating her belief, that she was
formed of the same sort of materials as the wretches who toiled for
him.
Fortunately, however, she was fond of her mother, who, being
* It was not till after the first number of this work was printed, that the author
learnt that the name of Brotherton existed among the capitalists of Lancashire.
But when in that county, she heard it mentioned with great esteem.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 85
a great invalid, lived quietly in the midst of her splendour; and
the holidays of her daughter were thus passed quietly too, which
saved her from much early adulation. She had remained at school
till nearly eighteen ; and from that time, to the period of her mo-
ther's death, which happened about fifteen months before the open-
ing of this narrative, she had led a life of great retirement, dividing
her time between attendance in her sick mother's chamber, gallop-
ing about the country on horseback, and reading every book she
could get hold of, good, bad, and indifferent.
On first finding herself alone in her own great house, the poor
girl wept bitterly. Her mother's increasing sufferings had long
made her release from them an event to be ardently desired by the
only being who loved her ; but when at last it came, and she had
herself to think of, and nobody else, there was something almost
terrible in her utter loneliness. She was personally acquainted
with very few in the neighbourhood, and felt no affection for any
of them. Of relations, to the best of her knowledge and belief,
she possessed not one in the world ; and with all her advantages,
for she had many, being young, pretty, talented, and rich, she
would gladly have changed places during the first weeks of her
dismal mourning, with any girl of her own age who had father,
mother, brother, and sisters to love, and be loved by.
Mrs. Gabberly was the nearest neighbour she had on one side,
and Lady Clarissa Shrimpton on the other, and both these ladies
had occasionally been admitted to see her mother till within a few
days of her death. When, therefore, this dong-expected event
at length took place, they both thought themselves privileged to
assume the freedom of intimate friends, and penetrate to the lone
boudoir of the mournful heiress. Fortunate for her it was, that
they did so; for though neither of them possessed any single
quality of sufficient value to win and wear the esteem, or even the
liking, of an acute, clearsighted observer, such as the half-spoiled
heiress certainly was ; it was better to hear the sound of almost
any human voice uttering words of kindness, than to sit lonely and
apart, and hear none ; so that neither the twaddling larum of Mrs.
Gabberly, nor the absurd affectation of Lady Clarissa were without
their use.
It might, however, have been somewhat dangerous to the moral
development of the young lady's character, had she long continued
to find her only relief from sorrow and solitude in the society of
persons who could only amuse her by their absurdities. Almost
the first time she exerted herself for the purpose of pursuing some
of her ordinary occupations, she drew forth her drawing-box, and
produced a caricature of Lady Clarissa reciting verses from the
pen of Mr. Norval; and the first observations she committed to
paper, were the result of a tolerably accurate counting of the num-
ber of times Mrs. Gabberly had uttered " Well now!" during her
last visit.
At length, the first dismal fortnight being over, Miss Brotherton
appeared at church ; and then the whole neighbourhood rushed in
86 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
to express their sympathy, till her very soul sickened under the
cuckoo-note of sorrowless lamentation. Nevertheless, there was so
much of real sadness in the spectacle of a young girl thus left
utterly alone in the world, that despite the golden light her wealth
threw around her, many among her herd of visiters might have felt
more for her, perhaps, than she gave them credit for. But, unfor-
tunately such persons are not those who make their " griefs , and
clamour roar" most audibly, so she knew nothing about it, if it
were so, and thereby lost any advantage which her temper might
have gained from emotions that soothe and soften.
Instead of this, she had to undergo what she felt to be a very
severe persecution, from the prodigiously active interest which Mrs,
Gabberly took in her, and her concerns. As some of the singu-
larities of Miss Brotherton's character, will eventually produce
results of considerable importance to our hero, it may not be amiss
to recount the particulars of a scene which took place in her bou-
doir exactly three weeks after the death of her mother.
On the morning in question, Mrs. Gabberly had as usual made
her way unannounced to the young lady's presence, by dint of that
assumption of extreme intimacy in her manner of inquiring for her,
which in this case, as in a multitude of others, succeeded in putting
to the rout the protecting discretion of her servants.
" Well now, dear child!" she exclaimed on entering; "how
are you to-day? Upon my word, Mary, you are too pale. You know
my dear, the palor, as we call it, is not natural to your complexion,
and therefore the symptom must be attended to. Have you any
camphor in the house, dear ?"
" Thank you, Mrs. Gabberly ; but I want nothing of the kind."
" Well now ! then I must think of something else."
" Not for me, ma'am, I shall not take any medicine whatever."
" Dear child ! How very odd that does seem to me ! We people
of science, Mary, are so used to turn to it upon all occasions, that
it almost looks like losing one's wits altogether, to go on so, and
take nothing."
" People of no science, ma'am, do not require it."
" Well now ! so much the worse for them ; but that was not the
point I came to talk about. Do you know, my dear, I am perfectly
miserable in my mind about you. I can't sleep at nights for think-
ing about the impossibility of your living on, all by your own self,
in this great palace of a house."
Miss Brotherton turned away her head, and resting her elbow on
the mass of cushions that were piled beside her on the sofa, con-
cealed her eyes with her hand, while her neighbour proceeded to
discuss her condition.
" Did you ever hear of such a thing in your whole life, my dear?
No, never ! that's quite certain. It is quite out of the question,
and impossible ; and to speak out the whole truth at once, it is not
in any way decent."
Something a little approaching to a start, produced a slight
movement in Miss Brotherton. Mrs. Gabberly proceeded. t
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 87
" Well now, my dear ! I have been thinking that what you must
do, is to find out among your friends and acquaintance, some re-
spectable person in the situation of a gentlewoman to live with you.
Somebody already known in the neighbourhood, would be the most
desirable, because then you would not have the trouble of intro-
ducing her; for of course it will be in no wise proper for so young a
person as you are to visit about, even in the country, without a
proper chaperone."
Again the cushions were slightly moved, but this time it was not
a start, but a shudder which caused it.
" Well now, my dear Mary !" resumed the friendly Mrs. Gab-
berly ; " what do you think about it?"
" It requires longer time than I have yet had, before I can an-
swer your question, Mrs. Gabberly," replied the young lady.
" Well now ! that's very true, and very discreet, and sensible ;
and God forbid, my dear, that I should make you do any thing in
a hurry. Only you must not forget that every body will be on the
look out to observe what you do. Depend upon it, that they won't
wait to make their remarks — that's all."
The heiress retained her meditative position, but said nothing.
" Don't you think what I have said is true, my dear?"
Mary bowed her head, but without changing the position of the
hand which concealed her face.
" I wish she would look up at me," thought Mrs. Gabberly; " I
might guess then, perhaps, if there was any chance for me."
" It would be a comfort, as well as a protection, wouldn't it,
my dear, to have a kind, affectionate friend, always near you .!"
Mary bowed again.
" Well now ! I wish you would open your dear heart, and speak
out. Tell me, don't you feel very lonesome, when you sit down to
dinner ?"
" I have been long used to that, Mrs. Gabberly."
" Yes ; but then you had not got to think all the time, as I am
sure you must do now, that there was nobody near you ; that there
was nobody in the whole great house but your own self, besides the
servants ; that there was nobody to drink your health ; nobody to
say won't you take a little bit more, my dear ? Nobody to say isn't
this very nice ? Nobody to give you a nod and a smile when you
look up. Nobody to ask, ' Shall I peel an orange for you, my
dear ?' or, < Shall I mix your strawberries and cream, my love V
Now isn't this all dismal ?"
" Very dismal, ma'am !." replied the young lady in a voice
that showed plainly enough, that the picture was not an indifferent
one.
" Well now ! that's saying something ; and I can't help think-
ing, dear Mary ! I can't help saying, that it has come into my head,
that if—"
" Mrs. Gabberly!" cried Miss Brotherton, starting suddenly up.
" I must now beg you to leave me. You have described my situa-
tion so forcibly, that I feel more than ever the necessity of making
88 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
some arrangement that may better it. But I will not do this with-
out reflection. Leave me, now. I thank you for your kind con-
cern, and when next you call upon me, you shall find that what
you have said has not been disregarded."
" Well now, that's all right, and I'll go directly. Shall it be to-
morrow, dear, that I call again ?"
" No, ma'am, if you please, not till next Saturday."
"Saturday? Why, my dear, this is only Monday — it is a great
while for me to live in such suspense about you, dearest."
" No, ma'am, not very long. Saturday it must be if you
please ; and I shall be happy if you will stay and dine here on that
day."
" Thank you, my dear. I shall like that very, very much in-
deed. And then we can talk every thing over, my dear Mary.
God bless you, my love. Take care of yourself, dearest, till Satur-
day ; and just let me say one word in your ear at parting. Re-
member, that there is nobody in the whole wide world that loves
you as much as I do."
Miss Brotherton submitted herself passively to the embrace
■which followed ; and when the door closed after her affectionate
neighbour, she stood, as it seemed, patiently, while her sharp, short,
retreating footsteps were heard along the spacious corridor, and
•when they were heard no more she applied her hand to the bell.
But something made her pause ere she rang it, and stepping to a
window, that opened upon a balcony filled with skilfully-shaded
exotics, she peeped forth from among them, till the active-moving
little figure of Mrs. Gabberly trudging along the drive below,
became visible, and then the heiress turned again to the bell-rope,
and pulled it vigorously.
" Tell nurse Tremlett— tell Mrs. Tremlett to be so kind as to
come to me immediately," was the order given to the servant who
answered it.
After the interval of a few minutes, during which Miss Brother-
ton stood with her arm resting on the mantelpiece, with a counte-
nance and attitude of deep meditation, the door opened again, and
a pale, thin, little old woman entered, who, had not her wrinkles
and gray locks betrayed her, might have passed for five-and-twenty,
so active and nicely moulded was her little person. But despite
her still clear and bright black eye, her face showed that she could
not honestly count less than twice that sum of years.
" Come in, dear nurse !" said Miss Brotherton kindly, " come
in, and sit down by me."
The old woman obeyed this command without further ceremony ;
and, by her manner of doing it, showed plainly that it was not an
uncommon one.
" What have you been about, my child ?" said she, " you don't
look well."
" I dare say not," replied Mary abruptly, " I have been bored
and plagued, nurse Tremlett ; and now I am going to bore and
plague you, in order to comfort myself."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 89
For all answer, the chartered nurse put her arm round the young
lady's neck, and gave her a very loving kiss.
" Nay, it is very true, Mrs. Tremlett ; and no joke in it, I do
assure you. I am going to make a terrible change in your manner
of life, my dear old woman. I am going to make a state-prisoner
of you. "
" You may plague and puzzle your old nurse as much as you like,
my darling, so you will but smile and look a little less dismal than
you have done of late. And what is it you are 1 going to do to
me, Miss Mary ? I dare say it is nothing that I shall think very
hard."
" I don't know that, Mrs. Tremlett." replied Mrs. Brotherton
very gravely.
" Mrs. Tremlett, and Mrs. Tremlett," said the old woman, look-
ing earnestly at her, "what does that mean, Miss Mary ? — I don't
like it."
" I know you won't like it. But you must bear that, and a great
deal more, my dear old friend. You must make up your mind to
lead a new life altogether ; and I am very much afraid that you
will not like the change."
" Oh ! goodness, Miss Mary, what is it you mean ? You are not
going to send me away from you, are you ?"
" Is that the worst thing I could do to vex you ?" said the young
lady, very cordially returning the caress she had received; "you
need not be afraid of that, at any rate. The misfortune I threaten
is of quite a different kind."
" Well, then I shan't mind it ; let it be what it will. But I
don't think it is any thing very bad, my dear; for you look as if you
were ready to laugh, though you try to look grave, and talk of a
misfortune." •
"It will be no misfortune to me, I assure you, but quite the
contrary. I shall like it very much, and that is the reason you see
me ready to smile ; and if you will be a dear good woman, and make
no difficulties about it, all will go well. Mrs. Gabberly has been
here, nurse Tremlett ; and she tells me that I must immediately
take some elderly lady into the house, to sit with me and take care
of me; because, as she says, I am too young to live alone, and
that all the neighbourhood will be making remarks upon me."
" Well, my dear, and I dare say she says no more than the
truth. Your great fortune, and your prettiness, and all that, will
certainly bring many and many an eye upon you, my dear child;
and, of course, it won't do for you to go on without having some
steady lady of a companion like, to be living with you."
" But I hate all ladies that would come to live as a companion
like" replied the young lady. "What should I do with a 'Miss
Mogg, trotting about after me, to ask if I wanted my smelling-
bottle, or my pug-dog? And that is not the worst that could
happen to me either. As sure as you are there, nurse Tremlett,
Mrs. Gabberly has made up her mind to come and live here as my
companion herself!"
90 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" And you would not like that, by your manner, my dear ? I do
think she is rather too bustling and busy for you. You are such a
reader that you would not like any one that was over talkative
and fidgety about you. But don't fret yourself for that, dear ; you
must make some civil sort of excuse to Mrs. Gabberly. You are
clever enough to find one, I dare say."
" Yes, nurse Tremlett, I think I am — I have found one al-
ready."
" That's very right, Miss Mary; and what shall you say to her,
my dear ?"
" I shall tell her that you are going to live with me as my com-
panion."
" Nonsense, dear ! That is the joke, is it, that you were looking
so merry about ?"
" Mrs. Tremlett, I am not jesting in any way," replied Miss Bro-
therton, very gravely ; " and I entreat you to listen to my proposal
as seriously as I make it. I am friendless, very friendless, dear
nurse ; and trust me, with all my money, I am greatly to be pitied.
Why, in addition to the misfortune of not having a relation in the
world, should I be doomed to the misery of hiring a stranger to
pester me with her presence from morning to night? It is a pe-
nance that I cannot, and will not endure. Yet I know that all
people will say, that I ought not to sit up here alone to receive
company, and I do not wish to be spoken of as a person who either
knows not or values not propriety. But if you will do what I de-
sire, Mrs. Tremlett, you may save me from this, and from what I
perhaps should unhappily consider as a greater misfortune still,
namely, the being forced to pass my life with a person whose pre-
sence was a pain to me."
Tears flowed down the cheeks of the heiress as she spoke ; and
the devoted servant who sat beside her, though absolutely con-
founded by the strange proposal, could find no words to utter in
opposition to it.
" Dear nurse ! — you will not forsake me, then? "said Mary, smiling
through her tears. " There's a dear soul — you will let me have my
own way in everything — about your dress, you know, and all that?
It will be worth any thing in the world to see Mrs. Gabberly, when
she first beholds you sitting up in state in the drawing-room !"
From the moment the old woman had perceived that her beloved,
but wilful darling, was not only serious, but sorrowful, and that, too,
concerning no imaginary grief, but from the contemplation of the
truly melancholy isolation of her condition, all disposition to resist
her vanished ; and yet nurse Tremlett was perfectly capable of
perceiving all the inconveniences likely to arise on both sides from
so strange a scheme. But even while such thoughts silently took
possession of her, leaving perhaps some legible traces on her coun-
tenance, her young mistress looked so kindly and so coaxingly in
her face, as if at once reading and deprecating all she had to say,
that she felt nothing was left for her but obedience.
" Do what you will with me, my dear," said she, with a fond
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 91
smile and a shake of the head, that seemed to say, " I know you
must have your own way, Mary."
-And thus was conceived and established a mode of life for the
pretty heiress, which left her as completely uncontrolled as to all
she did, and all she said, as if nurse Tremlett still occupied her
quarters in what was once called the nursery, but had since become
the favoured nurse's sitting-room.
Mary's delight in dressing and drilling the old woman for her
new duties, was childish and excessive ; and most triumphant was
the satisfaction with which she perceived that rich black silks, and
delicate white crape, performed their office upon her nice little per-
son so effectually, as to give her quite as much the air of a gentle-
woman, as the majority of those who were likely to meet her.
So, on the following Saturday, Mrs. Gabberly found Miss Bro-
therton no longer the solitary occupant of her elegant boudoir, but
with a remarkably well-dressed elderly lady, seated in the most
luxurious of all the newly-invented chairs which decorated the
apartment, with a small work-table before her ; while on the foot-
stool at her feet, sat the heiress, looking a vast deal more happy
than she had ever before seen her.
The mystification did not last long. The eyes of Mrs. Gabberly
were of that happy fabric, which enables the owner to retain for
ever the memory of every face they have ever looked upon ; and it
was with heightened colour, and no very sweet expression of coun-
tenance, that she exclaimed, " Soh ! you have taken your old nurse,
Tremlett, to sit with you ?"
" My nurse no longer, but my most kind friend, Mrs. Gabberly,
who has affectionately consented to forsake many of her former
comforts, in order to be useful to me. You will perceive, ma'am,
that your advice has not been lost upon me."
" Well now ! that is a strange whim, Miss Brotherton. But of
course, you are not serious in trying to make me believe that it is
your intention to let nurse Tremlett assist you in receiving your
company. If it be so, I think it but fair to tell you at once, as my
experience is rather greater than yours, that not one single soul
among all our rich folks, will care to visit you at all. I don't wish
to affront you, nurse Tremlett ; but you won't contradict what I
say, I am quite sure of that."
Mrs. Tremlett showed herself an apt scholar, for she bowed her
head, went on with her knitting, and said nothing.
If she was silent, however, Miss Brotherton was not. " Listen
to me, ma'am, if you please, for a few minutes, while I explain to
you my ideas on the subject ; and having done so, I desire that it
may never be alluded to again. I am left, Mrs. Gabberly, as I
daresay you know — exceedingly well, in the possession of an ample
fortune, with unlimited power to spend it as I please. Now I do
not please to spend any part of it in putting myself under circum-
stances that I should feel annoying to me. For this reason I will
not hire a gentlewoman — in all human probability of much higher
birth than myself — to watch my caprices, and endure my whims.
92
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
If any one now in existence really loves me, it is Mrs. Tremlett ;
and I, too, most sincerely love her ; therefore I flatter myself, that
drawing tighter the tie that has long united us, will occasion pain to
neither. If the obscure tradition I have heard respecting my
grandfather be correct, he received much kindness when travelling
the country as an itinerant tinker from Mrs. Tremlett's father, then
a flourishing farmer in Yorkshire. So you perceive, Mrs. Gab-
berly, that I am really honoured by the association. But if any
one should fancy the contrary — if any one should feel that the
luxuries of my house and table — the only attractions I know of, by
which I may hope to draw my neighbours round me — if any should
feel that the value of these are lessened by the presence of Mrs.
Tremlett, they must give them up. For the price I shall put upon
my good dinners and fine balls, will be the most courteous and kind
politeness^ to that dear and valued friend. And now that we have
finally and for ever dismissed this subject, will you tell me if I
may hope for the pleasure of your company at dinner to-day, Mrs.
Gabberly?"
From this period, Mrs. Tremlett never quitted Mary Brotherton,
excepting when the heiress accommodated Lady Clarissa Shrimpton
by the use of her carriage, when they were both going to visit at
the same mansion ; an arrangement which had often taken place
during the late Mrs. Brotherton's lifetime, and which was of such
very obvious mutual convenience, that one was rarely invited with-
out the other.
Miss Brotherton by degrees recovered her natural high spirits, and
though she not unfrequently felt the weight of great loneliness, she
was rapidly learning to enjoy her independence. She read a great deal,
though nobody knew any thing about it. She dearly loved flowers,
and often assisted in their culture with her own hands, despite her
half-dozen gardeners. She laid out whole miles of gravel walks in
her own grounds with almost as much skill as went to form the
Cretan labyrinth, in order that she might walk, and walk, and walk,
without passing her own lodge-gates, and sol running the risk of
being called " imprudent" She still indulged herself, and with no
sparing licence, in caricaturing her neighbours ; and, if all the truth
must be told, derived no small portion of amusement from the va-
riety of modes she adopted to assure the almost innumerable pre-
tenders to her hand, that it was not in her power to reward their
valuable and flattering attachments.
Such was Mary Brotherton's condition when she complied with
Lady Clarissa Shrimpton's request, to drive over to Dowling Lodge
the day after they had dined there. Upon this occasion, as upon many
previous ones, the young lady, for lack of other amusement, occu-
pied herself in selecting subjects for her merry pencil. The best
excuse to be offered for her offences in this line is, that nobody but
Mrs. Tremlett ever saw her saucy productions ; so that assuredly they
gave pain to no one — and when the heart is empty, and the head
full, much allowance must be made for such freaks and fancies.
While laying up stores of sketches from Sir Matthew, Lady Cla-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 93
rissa, and the poet, her eye suddenly became fixed upon the beau-
tiful child who had been brought in for general examination. Like
most other ready limners of the human face, Miss Brotherton had
considerable skill in physiognomy, and ere she had long gazed on
the pretty, nicely-dressed, little boy, she felt persuaded that in spite
of his gay habit defete, the child was ill at ease, and under great
discomfort.
It is difficult for persons residing at a distance, and not " to the
manner born," to conceive the extraordinary degree of ignorance in
which the ladies of the great manufacturing families are brought up,
as to the real condition of the people employed in the concern from
whence their wealth is derived. ^
There is, however, a homely proverb that may help to explain
this : " You should never speak of a rope in the house of a man
that was hanged," and it is probably on the same principle, that no
one speaks of the factory in the house of the manufacturer. Be
this as it may, the fact is certain, and Mary Brotherton, like perhaps
a hundred other rich young ladies, of the same class, grew up in
total ignorance of the moans and the misery that lurked beneath
the unsightly edifices, which she just knew were called the factories,
but which were much too ugly in her picturesque eyes for her ever
to look at them, when she could help it.
Little did the kind-tempered, warm-hearted girl guess, that for
hours before she raised her healthy and elastic frame from the couch
where it had luxuriously reposed through the night, thousands of
sickly, suffering, children were torn from their straw pallets, to com-
mence a long unvaried day of painful toil, to fill the ever-craving
purses, of which her own was one. She knew that Sir Matthew Dow-
ling was considered as the richest man in the district — richer even
than her father had been, and this was all she knew about him, ex-
cept that her own sharp observation had enabled her to perceive
that he was ignorant, vulgar, and most ludicrously crammed with
pretensions of all sorts.
After having looked into the face of little Michael, till she was
perfectly convinced of his being exceedingly unhappy, she next di-
rected her attention to his benefactor, as she heard him clamorously
hailed on all sides ; and his countenance, though smiling, spoke a
language she liked not. It was evident to her that he was very
keenly watching the boy, and more than once she detected a look
from Sir Matthew, directed towards him, which was instantly fol-
lowed by an attempt on the child's part to look less miserable.
Then followed all the nonsense about Mr. Osmond Norval, and
his promised drama, which was to place upon the scene some prodi-
giously generous action of Sir Matthew Dowling's, towards this
little boy. Mary Brotherton did not believe a word of it, and sick
of the false and fulsome flattery that was bandied about between the
knight, the lady, and the poet, she made, as we have seen, a some-
what hasty retreat.
On her road home she was more than usually silent, being occu-
pied in a meditation on the features of Michael Armstrong. For
94 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
some time she suffered her ridiculous ladyship to run on in a violent
strain of panegyric upon Sir Matthew, his talents, and his gene-
rosity, without offering any interruption, but at length it struck her,
that fool as she was, Lady Clarissa might be able to tell her what
she wanted to know ; and therefore, after answering " Indeed !" to
some tirade about Sir Matthew's great qualities, Mary ventured to
come across the torrent of her ladyship's eloquence by saying,
" Pray, Lady Clarissa, who is that little boy?"
" Who, my dear ? Good gracious, what an odd question ! Is
it possible you do not know he is a poor little factory-boy, that Sir
Matthew has most benevolently taken out of that sad way of life,
because he behaved so remarkably well about that cow, you know,
my dear, last night V
" But why should you call it a sad way of life, Lady Clarissa ?
It is the way that all our poor people get their bread, you know."
" Yes, I suppose so. But yet, my dear, you cannot but allow
that it must be a very different way of life from what the little
children lead whose parents, from father to son, for a dozen 'gene-
rations, have worked on the mains of one family. There can't be
the same sort of family feeling and attachment, you know. How-
ever, I have not the least doubt in the world, that good Sir Matthew
does his very best to make them comfortable."
" Is this boy to live in Sir Matthew's family V
" I am not quite sure about that. I believe it depends in a great
degree upon the manner in which the little fellow behaves ; and so
it ought, you know, my dear Miss Brotherton. I rather think Mr.
Augustus was making himself too agreeable this morning for you
to hear much of the story. However, the exquisite muse of our
friend, Norval, will set the transaction before all the world in a pro-
per point of view ; and then you, like every body else, will be able
to form your own judgment respecting the conduct of Sir Mat-
thew."
Again, Mary sunk into a revery concerning the respective coun-
tenances of Sir Matthew and the little factory-boy ; but feeling quite
sure that she should obtain none of the information she was burn-
ing with impatience to acquire, from Lady Clarissa, the remaining
part of the drive was passed entirely in silence on her part, except-
ing that when Lady Clarissa askedher if she did not intend to take
a part in the theatrical performances about to be brought out at
Dowling Lodge, she replied, " No, certainly Lady Clarissa Shrimp-
ton, I do not."
/, ;>•///// '////,>'
&
,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 95
CHAPTER X.
MORE WILFULNESS ON THE PART OF THE HEIRESS PRIVATE THE-
ATRICALS FAILURE OF A YOUNG PERFORMER, AND ITS CON-
SEQUENCES PHILOSOPHICAL BREAKFAST-TABLE A MORNING 's
EXCURSION.
No sooner did Miss Brotherton enter the room where she had
left her old friend, who was still tranquilly enjoying the perfumed
air which visited her through the open window as she sat knitting
before it, than throwing her bonnet on one side, she began to
examine, and cross-examine her as follows :
" Pray, Mrs. Tremlett, do you know any thing about the factory
people that work in all these great ugly buildings round about Ash-
leigh ?"
Mrs. Tremlett looked up at her for a moment before she replied,
and then said, " I know very little about them, Miss Mary, — not
much more than you do, I believe."
" I have just been thinking, Mrs. Tremlett, how exceedingly
wrong it is that I should be so profoundly ignorant on the subject."
" Wrong? — I don't see any thing wrong, my dear, in your not
knowing what you was never told."
" I have been wrong in never wishing to be told; but, in truth,
I have never thought upon the subject, and I have been very wrong
in this. That silly body, Lady Clarissa, said a few words to-day,
which — quite unlike the usual effect of what she utters, made a
great impression upon me. Speaking of the children who work in
these factories, nurse Tremlett, she said theirs was a very different
way of life from that of the children whose parents, from father
to son, have worked for a dozen generations on the lands of the
same family. There could not be the same sort of family feeling
and attachment, she said. But why should there not, Mrs. Trem-
lett? These people work on, I dare say, from generation to gene-
ration, and yet, God help them, poor souls ! — from the hour of my
birth to the present day, I never heard any body talk of attachment
to them. Can you explain this difference to me ? I do not at all
understand it ; but lam quite certain it cannot be right. Why do
not we know something about our poor people, as the people with
landed estates do about theirs V
" Upon my word, my dear, you have asked me a question not
over and above easy to answer — that is to say, as to its being right.
But it is easy enough too, in another way, for I may say plain and
and straight, without any fear of blundering, that the thing is im-
possible."
" What thing is impossible, Mrs. Tremlett?"
" Why that the factory people should be noticed by the gentle*
folks, and treated in the same way as labourers that work the
land."
96 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
M You are too wise a woman, Mrs. Tremlett," replied Mary, " to
assert so positively, what you did not know to be true ; therefore I
will take it for granted, that it is impossible for people working in a
factory to be treated in the same way as people working on a farm.
And now, seeing, God help me ! that I am most frightfully ignorant,
I must beg you to tell me what it is that causes this extraordinary
dissimilarity between the different classes of the labouring poor V
" My dear child, it would hardly be decent to enter into all the
reasons. Country folks, that is the field-labourers I mean, are just
as likely to be good and virtuous, as their betters, and so they are
for every thing that I have ever seen to the contrary. But it is
altogether a different thing with the factory people. By what I can
hear, for of course I never went among them, they are about the
worst set of creatures that burden God's earth. The men are
vicious, and the women desolate, taking drams often, and often
when they ought to buy food ; and so horridly dirty and unthrifty
that it is a common saying, you may know a factory-girl as far as
you can see her. So I leave you to judge, Miss Mary, whether
such ladies as visit the cottages of the poor peasantry, could have
any thing to say to such as these."
Mary uttered no reply, but sat for many minutes with eyes stead-
fastly fixed upon the carpet. At length she raised them again to
the face of her companion, and said, "It is then among such people
as these, that children, almost babies — for such is the one I have
just seen — are often employed ?"
" Often, my dear ? They are always employed with them. And
there's no particular hardship in that you know, because these very
men and women are the parents of the children, and so they could
not be separated any how."
" What a dreadful class of human beings, then, must these fac-
tory people form ! Is it not considered as a great misfortune, Mrs.
Tremlett, to the whole country V
" Why as to that, my dear Miss Mary, there's many will tell you
that it is the finest thing in the world for the places where the great
factories are established, because they give employment to so many
thousands of men, women, and even the very smallest children that
can stand, almost. But you must not ask me, my dear, what I
think about that, for of course I am no fair judge at all. I, that
spent my childhood in playing among the hairbells, raking up little
cocks of hay for the hardest work I was put to, and going to
school to read, write, and sew, like the child of decent Christian
parents in a civilized country — I can hardly pass fair judgment on
goings on so very different. But I have heard, my dear, for I be-
lieve these things are talked of more in the servants' halls than
among the great manufacturers themselves, especially when the
ladies are by, — I have heard that a great many of the learned gen-
tlemen in parliament say, that the whole system is a blessing to the
country."
" Then your account of it must be a very false one, nurse Trem-
lett," said the young heiress severely.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 97
" I only speak after much that I have heard, and a little that I
have seen," replied the old woman meekly. " However, my -dear,
dear Miss Brotherton," she added, " if you will take an old ser-
vant's advice, who loves you very dearly, you will just make up
your mind, neither to talk, nor to think any more upon the subject.
I am quite sure that it will give you no pleasure, and it does not seem
possible to me that you should do any good ; for you know, my
dear, that you have nothing at all to do with any of the factories
now, any more than Lady Clarissa herself. Will you promise to
take my advice, my dear child, and think no more about it?"
" On the contrary, Mrs. Tremlett," replied the young lady ; " I
am perfectly determined that for some time to come I will think of
nothing else."
*****
Mary Brotherton kept her word. During the whole time that the
Dowling Lodge theatricals were in preparation, while every other
young heart in the neighbourhood, male or female, was eagerly anti-
cipating the fete, hers was fixed steadfast and immoveable upon the
mysterious subject that had seized upon it. That man was born to
labour, that he was condemned to live by the sweat of his brow, she
knew from high authority ; and though under the social compacts
which civilization has led to, some portion of every race have found the
means of performing the allotted task vicariously, she felt not called
upon to say that the arrangement was a bad one. It was by no means
difficult to conceive why it was so, nor why of necessity it ever must
be so. She felt, as all must do, who reflect on the subject, that if all
distinctions were by some accident suddenly removed, and the entire
organization of society to begin de novo, each man standing precisely
on the same level as his neighbour, the earth would not complete one
revolution round the sun, ere the equality would be violated.
" Strength will be lord of imbecility/'
And when nature made one man more active, more intelligent, or
more powerful of frame than another, she made the law in which ori-
ginated inequality of condition. That, as time rolled on, and mankind
became bound together nation by nation, substituting the conventional
distinctions of civilized society for those derived from individual
strength, — that when this happened, occasional anomalies should appear
in the arrangement, seemed inevitable, and of necessity to be endured.
That it was inevitable, she conceived to be pretty nearly proved by the
fact that no single authentic record makes mention of a nation in
which hereditary distinction of some kind or other did not exist. Nor
did it seem desirable that when the prowess, the wit, the wisdom, or
the toil of an individual had endowed him with wealth beyond his
fellows, he should be denied the dear privilege of endowing withal the
children he loved, instead of leaving it at his death to be struggled
for, and borne away by the most crafty or the most strong. AU this,
Mary Brotherton, in her little wisdom of twenty-two years and a half,
H
98 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
could without difficulty reason upon and understand. But that among
those whom fate or fortune had doomed to labour, some should be
cherished, valued, honoured by the masters who received and paid
their industry, while " other some" were doomed, under the same com-
pact of labour and payment, to the scorn, avoidance, and contempt of
the beings whose wealth and greatness proceeded from their toil, was
an enigma she could in no wise comprehend.
" There must be something wrong," argued the young girl, as day
by day she paced her gravel walks in solitary meditation ; " there must
be something deeply, radically wrong in a system that leads to such
results. I may perhaps be silly enough to look with something
approaching envy at the noble who traces his thirty descents un-
broken from the venerable ancestor, whose valour won in a hard-
fought field the distinction he still bears on his armorial coat, yet
when I look round upon what the industry of my father — the only one
of his race whose name I ever heard — when I contemplate what one
man's industry can bequeath to his child, I feel that there is no very
substantial cause for complaining of hereditary inferiority of condition.
Nay, were I one of the peasants of whom the Lady Clarissa and
nurse Tremlett speak, I can well enough believe that I might live and
die contented with a life of healthful and respected toil. But to exist
in the condition of these outcast labourers — to be thrust out, as it
were, beyond the pale that surrounds and protects society — to live
like the wretch, smitten by the witches' curse, ' a man forbid/ must
be hard to bear. Children, young creatures still wearing the stamp of
heaven fresh upon their brows, are, as it seems, amongst these
wretched ones. I will find out why this is so, or be worried to death
by Sir Matthew Dowling and his fellow great ones in the attempt."
Towards the end of the month which preceded the grand display
expected at Dowling Lodge, Mr. Osmond Norval requested permission
to submit his composition to Miss Brotherton's perusal ; a compliment
she graciously consented to receive, being desirous, before she witnessed
its performance, of learning all she could respecting Sir Matthew's rather
mysterious adoption of the factory-boy, and also of the poor child's
equally mysterious sufferings under the benevolent process that was
performing on him.
The little drama, therefore, which for obvious classical reasons the
poet denominated " A Masque," reached her hands enveloped in
delicately-scented paper. But all she learned thereby was, that Mr.
Norval had thought proper to entitle it, " Gratitude and Goodness,"
or, " The Romance of Dowling Lodge," and to prelude it by a sonnet
to be spoken by himself as prologue, in which a modest allusion was
made to Milton's composition of Comus for the use of the Bridge-
water family. She had, moreover, the gratification of discovering in
what order Sir Matthew, Lady Clarissa, the poet, the governess, most
of the young Dowlings, and little Michael himself were to appear
upon the scene, and then she returned the young gentleman's MS.
with a very honest assurance that she doubted not the composition
would most satisfactorily answer every purpose for which it was in-
tended.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 99
Absurd as the whole business appeared to her, she resolved to
be present at the representation ; and having perceived, in her study
of the exits and entrances, that no part was allotted to the homely
Martha, she determined to place herself near her during the per-
formance, in the hope of eliciting the information she was so anxious
to obtain.
On many occasions Miss Brotherton had remarked that this young
lady either kept herself, or was kept very much apart from the rest of the
family, which circumstance had been quite sufficient to propitiate her
kindness, for most cordially did Mary Brotherton dislike the whole Dow-
ling race. But so deep-seated was the feeling of poor Martha herself
that nobody did, or could wish, to converse with her, that the hand-
shakings and smiles of the heiress had never suggested to her the
idea that she might wish to be better acquainted. This shyness had
hitherto effectually kept them apart ; but no sooner did Mary per-
ceive that the neglected girl was the only one of the family, above the
age of a mere baby, to whom no part in Mr. Norval's drama was
allotted, than she resolved to profit by the circumstance, and, if pos-
sible, get from her such a commentary upon the piece, as might enable
her to comprehend its plot and underplot.
Accordingly, when the great night of representation arrived, Miss
Brotherton reached the Lodge somewhat before the hour named in the
invitation, and finding, as she expected, the room where the company
were to be received, unoccupied, she desired one of the liveried
attendants to send Miss Martha Dowling's maid to her. A female
servant soon appeared. " Are you Miss Martha's maid V 9 said the
young lady.
" Oh ! dear no, ma'am, I am Miss Dowling's and Miss Harriet's
maid. Miss Martha never wants a lady's maid at all ; but I can take
any message from you, ma'am, that you may please to send."
Miss Brotherton took one of her own cards, and wrote upon it
with a pencil — " Dear Miss Martha, if you are not going to act in
the play, will you have the kindness to come to me."
This note the soubrette, as in duty bound, first showed to her own
young ladies.
" Good gracious I How very odd ! What can Miss Brotherton
have to say to Martha? Martha ! of all people in the world. She is
not ill, Crompton, is she?" said Miss Arabella.
" Oh ! dear no, ma'am — at least she don't look so. She seemed in
a great hurry, however, for me to take the card."
''Well, take it then," cried Miss Harriet, impatiently, "and make
haste, or I shall never get my ringlets done : they take such a time.
Do give her the card, Arabella. What good is there in spelling it
over a dozen times ? I dare say she only wants to cross-question her
about Augustus, and what he's going to act. So take the card,
Crompton, and run with it to Martha as fast as you can."
Crompton and the card found Martha sitting still undressed in the
obscure little room allotted to her in the children's wing. She was
deep in the pages of a new romance, and being, if possible, more
h 2
100 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
certain than usual that her presence would not be wanted, had made
up her mind to enjoy herself till the time arrived for the com-
mencement of the play, when it was her purpose to join the large
party invited, in their progress from the drawing-room to the
theatre.
On receiving Miss Brotherton's card, however, she hastily resumed
the business of her toilet; for though the summons was as unintel-
ligible to her as to her sisters, she felt, at least, an equal desire that
it should be civilly complied with. It never took long to make poor
Martha as smart as she ever thought it necessary to be, and in a very
few minutes she joined Miss Brotherton in the drawing-room.
" This is very kind of you, Miss Martha. I hope I have not hurried
you?" said the heiress, taking her hand so kindly, that the shy girl
could not but feel encouraged to speak to her with rather more con-
fidence than usual.
" Why are you not going to take a part ?" was the next question.
"I take a part! Oh! Miss Brotherton what should I make of
acting?" said Martha, laughing and blushing, in reply.
" Nay I think you are very right, Martha. I assure you nothing
could have persuaded me to have made the attempt. But I thought
that if you did not play, you would perhaps have the kindness to
take charge of me, and let me sit by you ; for unless I have somebody
to tell me what it all means I shall be horribly puzzled."
" I will tell you every thing I can," replied Martha, good-
humouredly. " But I don't think I understand much about it
myself."
" What sort of a little boy is it that your papa has been so kind
to? Every body is talking about it, and Lady Clarissa says there is
something quite sublime in what he is going to do for him. But I
suppose Sir Matthew must have remarked some qualities particularly
amiable and good in the child, or he would not distinguish him so
remarkably from all others of the same class/'
" You have heard the story of his saving Lady Clarissa Shrimpton
from the cow that was going to toss her, have you not, Miss Bro-
therton V
" Yes, my dear, I heard all that, you know, the morning I was here ;
—though, by the by, you were not in the room, I remember. But there
must be something more in it than that. Do tell me all you know."
" Indeed I don't know any thing more," said Martha.
" What sort of a child is it?"
* i A very nice little fellow indeed, and I think if I had been papa I
should have done the same thing myself."
''Really! Then you do think this child is something out of the
common way, I suppose ? Pray tell me, dear Martha, will you, if you
hear much about the people that work in the factories ? and the chil-
dren in particular?"
" No, indeed, Miss Brotherton, I know nothing in the world about
them ; except that I sometimes hear papa say that they are all very idle
and ungrateful," replied Martha.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 101
" I have been told that they are a very wretched set of people.
But, perhaps, they cannot help it, Martha?" returned Mary.
" I do not know how that can be, Miss Brotherton ; every body can
help being idle, and everv body can help being ungrateful, I should
think."
" But it seems that they all live together, and make one another
worse ; and, in that case, the children are very much to be pitied ; for,
poor little things, they cannot help themselves. What makes you
think this little boy is a nice child ? Have you ever talked to him
much ?"
" Yes, a good deal ; but papa has been taking him about to a great
many houses ; and besides, he has been occupied very much in learn-
ing his part, for Duo, who was teaching him, said that he could hardly
read at all. So I have been trying to help him, and he is very quick.
But I like him, too, because he appears so fond of his mother and bro-
ther. He cares for nothing that can be given him, unless he can take
some of it to them."
" And does your papa let him do so ?"
u Oh ! yes, every day."
" That is very kind. Then I suppose the little fellow is superlatively
happy?"
** I don't know," replied Martha, with a slight shake of the head.
" It is very strange if he be not," observed Miss Brotherton. " If
he were kept from his mother I could easily understand that he might
be very miserable, notwithstanding the great good luck that has be-
fallen him ; but if he is permitted to see her constantly, I can't imagine
what he can want more."
" I don't know," again replied Martha.
The expected guests began now rapidly to assemble, and refresh-
ments were handed round previous to their being conducted to the room
prepared for the evening's amusement. " Don't forsake me, dear
Martha !" whispered Miss Brotherton, " I am not very intimate with
any of these ladies and gentlemen, and I shall not enjoy the evening's
amusement, unless I am seated next you."
Martha felt a good deal surprised at the compliment, but readily
agreed to the proposal ; and in a few minutes, Lady Dowling, who was
any thing rather than pleased by the whole affair, gave the assembled
party to understand that the time fixed for their entering the theatre
had arrived.
On tiptoe with curiosity, and eager beyond measure, to see what
Lady Clarissa Shrimpton, Mr. Osmond Norval, and " all the Dow-
lings " would look like on the stage, the numerous company almost
ran over one another in the vehement zeal with which they prepared to
obey her.
Of course no expense had been spared in fitting up the apartment
allotted to the purpose, in form and style as like as might be to a
theatre ; and, thanks to the taste and ingenuity of the little French
governess, the thing had been not only expensively, but well done.
The space railed in for the orchestra very conveniently divided the
102 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
company from the actors ; and, when the curtain drew up, the well-
lighted stage exhibited just such a carpeted, draperied, mirrored, and
flower-adorned arena, as well-dressed amateur ladies and gentlemen
delighted to appear in.
The very sight of the stage elicited a shout of applause ; and when
Mr. Osmond Norval, habited at all points according to the most
accredited draped portraits of Apollo, came forth from behind the sky-
blue silken hangings which formed the coulisses, all the ladies began
clapping till their little palms and fingers tingled with the unwonted
exercise.
The young poet certainly looked very handsome ; and not the less
so because he knew that besides Miss Brotherton's eyes, which he was
certain must be fixed upon him (though he could not distinguish her
in the obscure corner in which she had chosen to place herself beside
Martha), those of Miss Arabella and Miss Harriet Dowling (both
estimated at twenty thousand pounds), were fixed upon him too.
Not to mention the speaking orbs of Lady Clarissa Shrimpton, whose
nobility, he had little doubt, might be won to smile upon and endow
him with all the little earthly goods she had, could he make up his
mind to believe that he could do no better.
All this flattered, excited, and inspired him most becomingly ; and
as he stood with one silken leg slightly advanced, and so firmly planted
as to require only the toe of its fellow to support him from behind,
with a lyre suspended round his neck, and a wreath of bay -leaves
mixing with the dark curls upon his brow, at least two dozen young
ladies in the manufacturing interest declared to their secret souls that
they never could hope to see another like him.
Having first recited the pretty sonnet before mentioned, in which he
modestly hinted at more points of resemblance than one between him-
self and Milton, he suddenly changed his hand, and having, as he
expressed it to Lady Clarissa, " gleaned with the hand of a master,"
he spoke the following lines, which in the copies printed for private
circulation, were headed
" SHAKSPERIAN PROLOGUE.
" Open your ears ! For which of you will stop
The seat of hearing, when loud rumour speaks 1
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, will unfold
The act performed by virtuous Dowling here.
Oh ! for a muse of fire that should ascend
The brightest heaven of description !
Then should the noble Dowling, like himself
Assume the form of mercy ; and, at his heels,
Leashed in like hounds, should famine, pain, and labour,
Crouch, all subdued!" &c. &c.
The applause which followed this lasted so long, that the performers
began to fear there would not be time enough left for the piece. But
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 103
by degrees the tumult subsided, Apollo was permitted to retire, and
the business of the scene began.
There was something more nearly approaching a balance of power
at Dowling Lodge than is often to be found in the domestic arrange-
ments of gentlemen and their wives — for, though it may be a very
doubtful point, whether man or wife most frequently get the mastery,
it but rarely happens that the matter long remains unsettled. At
Dowling Lodge, however, there was a beautiful alternation of power,
which the measured movement of the engine in their factories, first send-
ing up one side, and then the other, might, perhaps, have suggested.
If matters came to a downright quarrel, however, Sir Matthew was
sure to be the conqueror ; for her ladyship got frightened, and gave
in ; but when any differences of opinion arose on points of no great
importance, the lady's murmurings and mutterings were equally sure
to be victorious, and Sir Matthew let her have her way, merely because,
like the organ-grinder, " he knew the wally of peace and quiet."
On the subject of the private theatricals, there was, most decidedly,
a difference of opinion between the heads of the Dowling family, and
some rough skirmishing might have ensued, had not Mademoiselle
Beaujoie hinted to her good friend, Sir Matthew, that if they could
introduce a scene or two, where all the dear little children could be
shown off, Lady Dowling's objections would probably give way. The
experiment was made, and answered completely; on condition, that
" Gratitude and Goodness " should open and close with scenes in
which the whole family should appear in fancy dresses, and be grouped
by the dancing-master in the most graceful attitudes he could invent,
Lady Dowling withdrew her opposition. As soon, therefore, as
Apollo had retired from the front of the stage, no less than sixteen
male and female Dowlings rushed forth from the silken hangings, and
formed themselves, after some little confusion, into a tableau,
declared, on all sides, to be of unrivalled beauty. Again bravoes and
clapping of hands announced the delight of the spectators ; and, when
this was calmed, some very pompous verses gave notice that this dis-
play of youthful grace and beauty, was on occasion of a rustic fete, in
which the dramatis personce were to amuse themselves al fresco.
Then entered the Lady Clarissa ; but, for some good reason or other,
it had been decided, between the knight and herself, that she should
enter alone : and from a most poetical scream of terror, soon uttered
by her ladyship, it became evident that a dragon, or a cow, or some
other dreadful animal had been pursuing her. Again and again, with
most picturesque effect, she looked behind her towards the blue
silk coulisses, from whence she had issued, till, at length, the feel-
ings of the audience were worked up to a wonderful pitch, by her
ejaculating —
" It comes ! It comes !"
This was little Michael's cue ; and, as soon as the words were
spoken, h e entered from the opposite side, holding a ragged cap on
104 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
high, and dressed, in all respects, precisely as he had been on the
memorable night of Lady Clarissa's vaccine adventure.
In dumb show the lady indicated the direction from whence the
dreaded monster would approach ; and the most energetic and un-
sparing action of the limbs and person secured the audience, as well as
her deliverer, from any possible mistake on the subject. Michael, too,
performed his part with great spirit, exaggerating, as he had been
commanded, by every possible means, the manoeuvres necessary for
turning the front of a cow.
To this scene, too, the audience gave loud applause, and in the
midst of it entered Sir Matthew, who was, of course, greeted by bravoes,
" long drawn out," till the ladies and gentlemen having nearly
deafened one another, ceased at last, and listened to the beautiful
explanation which followed.
First the company were made to comprehend that the danger was
over, for the well-taught Michael turned about, and manfully facing
the audience, pronounced distinctly
" The beast is gone I"
Then Sir Matthew, after bowing respectfully to the lady, said,
"Permit me, madam, to express my joy,
That you've been saved by this good little boy."
It was, however, uttered in an accent of such temperate and measured
feeling, that not even Lady Dowling saw anything very particular in
it. A precaution by the way, which had been suggested by the gen-
tlemen during the frequent rehearsals.
Lady Clarissa's acting then became animated indeed; for the poet,
following her instructions, had composed for her in smooth, yet
startling rhymes, about thirty lines of the most fervent thanksgiving,
in which, now laying one hand on the head of the ragged child, now
clasping both together in the eagerness of her address to Sir Matthew,
and now gracefully extending both arms towards the audience, as if
to make them sharers in her generous emotions, she produced an effect
more easily imagined than described.
The speech which followed from Sir Matthew was very noble, and
at once let the audience into all the secret purposes of his benevolent
heart. The by-play of Michael during this scene had been prepared
for by his benefactor with particular care, but somehow or other the
boy was not apt in catching the knight's idea ; for instead of the ten-
der but joyous smile with which he had been instructed to look up
into the face of his munificent patron, his countenance expressed
nothing but terror.
"That little fellow does not look happy, Martha," whispered Miss
Brotherton.
" Oh no ! he looks very frightened," replied Martha, " but that is
very natural, is it not, considering the novelty of his situation V
" I don't know," said the heiress.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG.
105
The piece went on to exhibit the beautiful manner in which this
adoption of a ragged factory-boy into the bosom of the Dowling family
had been hailed by all of them as an especial grace from heaven, on
account of the opportunity it afforded for relieving the overflowing
generosity of their hearts. Sir Matthew, while looking round upon
his sixteen full-dressed offspring, who were now again skilfully
grouped upon the stage, was made to exclaim with clasped hands,
and an almost sobbing excess of emotion,
" The widow and the orphan are more dear,
To their young hearts, than million pounds a year !"
Every body was touched, and again the applause was deafening.
Then came a very striking scene indeed. Michael appeared
superbly dressed, and on each side of him was a middling-sized Miss
Dowling, holding lightly and gracefully each a little basket, from
under the covers of which peeped out grapes and peaches on the one
side, and something that had the semblance of a flask of wine on the
other.
Then spoke the fair-haired Louisa.
" Dear little boy, this basket's all your own,
'Tis to reward the courage you have shown."
And then Miss Charlotte.
" So is this too, my pretty little boy,
We hope 'twill give your poor old mother joy."
And when Michael, having received a basket in each hand, appeared
preparing to depart, the two young ladies exclaimed together,
" 'Tis papa sends it, who's so very kind,
How to do good, is all he seeks to find !"
Upon this, Michael turned round again towards the audience, and
stood stock still. It was quite evident that he had some speech to
make which he had apparently forgotten, for it was impossible for any
child to look more completely distressed and at a loss.
At length it became pretty evident that, in lieu of all other per-
formance, the poor boy was going to cry ; and some ingenious per-
sons doubted whether it might not be in his part to do so ; but this
idea was speedily removed by the very matter-of-fact pokes and
nudges which the two young ladies bestowed upon him. In addition
to this it seemed as if the little fellow caught some stimulating sounds
from the coulisses, for he cast more than one furtive glance in that
direction, and at length, with what was evidently a great effort, he
stammered out,
"My mother's dear, and so's my brother too,
But dearer still are your papa and you.
His charity's so great, his heart so good,
He gives the naked clothes ; the hungry food ;
And I for — one — will, — day — and night — in prayer,
Ask blessings — for — him—- and — his— worth declare."
106 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
The two last lines were so completely choked by the tears, which
all his efforts could not suffice to restrain, that they were perfectly
unintelligible to the audience.
" Is all that vehemence of weeping a part of Mr. Norvars com-
position V inquired Miss Brotherton in a whisper to Martha.
" Upon my word I don't know : but I should think not," was the
reply.
" Martha!" said the heiress, very earnestly, " that child is suffering
from an agony of terror."
" I should hope not," said Martha, in a voice that somewhat
faltered.
"Do you know any thing about this boy?'* pursued Miss Bro-
therton, continuing her whispering. " Do you know any thing about
the mother he talks of V
" Nothing whatever, Miss Brotherton."
" Do you feel quite satisfied, my dear, that this romantic adventure
has been, or will be, advantageous to him ?"
"I think," replied Martha, "that one can hardly doubt his being
better off here than in the poverty of his mother's dwelling. You saw,
Miss Brotherton, what a ragged condition the clothes were in which
he had worn before."
" Decent clothes are a comfort, my dear Martha, there can be no
doubt of it ; but compared with the other circumstances which in-
fluence the happiness of life, they are of no great importance. Of
course I suppose that your father means to educate him. Do you
know whether he can read his bible yet ?"
" I know that he could not," replied Martha, " when he came
here."
" Poor little wretch ! That is very terrible neglect somewhere.
What sort of person is the mother?"
" By Michael's account," replied Martha, smiling, "she is a very
estimable person indeed ; but it certainly seems that she has not taken
much pains with his education, poor little fellow !"
" What a sad thing it is," continued Miss Brotherton, " that we all
of us know so little of the poor people employed in the factories ! I
believe they are said to be exceedingly well paid, but still I don't
think it is quite right for the rich people in a neighbourhood to take
no notice whatever of the poor. I know it is not so in other places ;
for I have heard my schoolfellows continually talk of their fathers'
tenants and work-people, and of their schools, and their clothing
societies, and all sorts of things, and I have been trying to do a little
good just at home with the families of some of the work-people about
the place. But I have just now'got my head strangely full of these
factory folks. I wish you could give me some information about
them, Martha."
" Indeed, my dear Miss Brotherton, I know as little as you do. I am
told that they are very good-for-nothing, that they receive enormous
sums annually in wages, and yet that they are never contented, but
for ever complaining, just because they have work to do for what they
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 107
get, and yet papa says that it is the very prettiest lightest work in the
world. And indeed I am afraid it is but too true, for this little fellow,
though he is so interesting and intelligent that it is impossible to help
liking him, always speaks of the factory as if he hated it."
" And if he does hate it, Martha, why, if you question him should
he conceal it?"
" But I never have questioned him about that ; I should not think
it right to do so. Only I remember his making me laugh, just after
he came here, by saying something exceedingly naive about their all
liking wages but not work. Now, though I am not very deep in poli-
tical economy, it is impossible not to see that poor people must work
for what they get — don't you think so V
" Assuredly, and rich people too. I have no doubt that both your
father and my father had to work very hard for the fortunes which have
rewarded their industry. In our class of life this is necessary. But
that does not settle the question that is working in my head at pre-
sent, and which, to tell you the truth, will not let me sleep by night
nor amuse myself by day. How comes it that all the people — the
only phrases I have heard upon the subject were very comprehensive —
how comes it, Martha Dowling, that all the people, young and old,
who work in the factories are classed as ignorant and depraved V
11 My dear Miss Brotherton, how is it possible that I should be able
to answer you V
" Have you not heard the same statement, Martha V
" Oh, yes ! very often, I know mamma says that nothing in the
world should induce her to take a girl who had worked in the fac-
tories into the house, even in the very lowest situation. Oh! I
believe they are very bad I"
" Very bad ? But, good gracious ! why are they very bad ? What is
the cause of this strange degradation of one peculiar class of human
beings ? It surely cannot arise from the nature of their employment ;
for if it did, of course the clergy of the neighbourhood would interfere
to stop it. It is quite out of the question to suppose that in a
Christian country many hundreds — nay thousands — Mrs. Tremlett
tells me there are many thousands employed in the factories — it is
impossible to suppose, is it not, that any labour or occupation could
be permitted, which by its nature, and of necessity, tended to corrupt
the morals of those employed in it ? There must be some other cause
for their wickedness, if wicked they are."
" Oh! they are very wicked, I am quite sure of that; for I have
heard it again and again ever since I was born, and you know I have
not been away like you, Miss Brotherton, always in London. I have
never lived any where but here, and* I never remember the time when
I did not hear that the factory people were the very wickedest set of
wretches in the world."
For a few minutes Miss Brotherton was silent, and even seemed to
have restored her attention to the silly business of the gaudy stage, for
her eyes were fixed in that direction ; but she presently gave evidence
that wherever her eyes had been, her thoughts had not wandered
108 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
from the subject to which she appeared so earnestly to have devoted
them. For she said in the low, slow, even tone, which denotes con-
centrated feeling —
" If this be so, Miss Martha Dowling, if thousands of human beings
in a Christian country are stigmatized as wicked, because their destiny
has placed them in a peculiar employment, that employment ought to
be swept for ever and for ever from the land, though the wealth that
flowed from it outweighed the treasures of Mexico."
Martha Dowling started, but said not a word in reply ; there was
something in the manner of her neighbour which awed her. True,
genuine, deep feeling, is always sublime, be it manifested by such a
young girl as Mary Brotherton, or such an old king as Lear. But,
though Martha was silent, her companion suffered not the conversation
to drop; and presently resumed in a tone of less exaltation, — " Do
you think, my dear, that I could get hold of your little Michael some
day, so that I might have a little conversation with him ?"
" Yes, certainly, Miss Brotherton," replied Martha, u I think papa
would be quite pleased, for he seems to like nothing better than seeing
every body take notice of him."
" Do you think your father loves the little boy, Martha?"
" I am sure he is very kind to him," replied the conscious daughter a
little piqued. " For it can be nothing but kindness that makes him
take the child into the house, and feed him and clothe him for nothing."
" And, of course, Martha, he will get some instruction here?"
'* Oh ! he has begun to read the bible already," replied the kind-
hearted girl, eagerly. " I have undertaken that business myself. The
poor little fellow seemed to suffer so, when he was learning his part/
I never saw a child appear so heartily ashamed of any thing."
" One almost wonders at that too ; brought up, as he must have
been, in the very lap of ignorance. I should have thought, after all I
have heard, that he would have been ashamed of nothing. However,
I should like to talk to him. At what hour do you give him his reading
lesson, Martha?"
" When I can catch him," replied the young lady, laughing. You
have no idea, Miss Brotherton, how much the little gentleman is en-
gaged. Papa has taken him about with him in the carriage, almost
every where, and such quantities of people have been to see him !"
" And does he seem greatly delighted with it all ?"
" No, I don't think he does. He seems to me to care for nothing
in the world but his mother, and a little crippled brother that he
talks of."
" That does not look as if he were thoroughly confirmed in wicked-
ness as yet," observed the heiress.
" No, indeed ! It is his affectionate temper that has made me take
to him ; for I do believe he is very idle, and hates his work, just as
papa says they all do," answered Martha.
" Does he visit his mother every day ?"
" He either goes or sends to her, I believe. Papa makes a great
point of something very nice being taken down to Ashleigh every day
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 109
for Michael's sick mother to eat ; and the child always carries it him-
self, when papa does not send him elsewhere. "
" And at what hour does he generally go V
" Always after luncheon."
" Don't you think the play must be almost come to an end, Martha?"
said Miss Brotherton, after looking again on the stage for a few mi-
nutes, and yawning rather more conspicuously than politeness could
warrant.
" I should think it must," replied Martha, catching, and returning
the yawn.
There was, however, a good deal to be done. There was a figure
dance to be performed, and a trio to be played on the pianoforte, harp,
and violoncello, by the two eldest Miss Dowlings, and their music-
master.
This last was a very long business : and the heiress, who, instead of
having been instructed to endure annoyances patiently, had been
rather taught never to endure them at all, got up iti the middle of it,
and telling Martha that her head ached too much to permit her re-
maining any longer, made her way out of the room, which she effected
the more easily from having taken her station near a side door, which
led from the theatre (in ordinary phrase, the school-room) into the
private apartments of Mademoiselle Beaujoie.
Martha Dowling, of course, followed her, and expressed much con-
cern for her malady, offering all the specifics usually suggested by
one lady to another, under such circumstances. " No, thank you,"
was the reply she received to all, " I only want to get away."
" But it will not be very easy to do so, this way," replied Martha,
" unless you will condescend to go through the passage that leads from
the offices."
" Never fear, dear Martha," returned the self-willed young lady, "I
will condescend to go through any passage that will lead to fresh air,
for indeed that place was too hot 1"
The room they first entered on passing through the door, was one
dedicated to the reception of globes, slates, guitars, dumb bells, dic-
tionaries, embroidering-frames, and sundry other miscellanies con-
nected with an enlarged system of education. Beyond this was the
bedchamber of Mademoiselle, which again led to an apartment
opening upon that part of the school-room now occupied as the stage.
This room, which was denominated Mademoiselle Beaujoie's parlour,
was now converted into a general green-room and dressing-room, for
into this, all exits from the stage were made.
While still in the bedroom, Miss Brotherton, and her more than
half-frightened companion, heard voices speaking in no very pleasant
accents from this theatrical retreat, and the angry tones of Sir Matthew
Dowling himself were soon unmistakably audible.
" Let us go back, pray let us go back !" said the greatly distressed
Martha, in a whisper.
" I am too ill, my dear, to bear that room again," rewhispered Miss
Brotherton. " Let me sit down here for a few minutes, and I shall
110 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
recover myself; and then we can return, and go out the other way
with the rest of the company."
It was impossible to argue the point ; so poor Martha submitted,
though cruelly distressed at the idea of her father's private violence of
temper being listened to by one of those who had never seen Dowling
Lodge, or its inhabitants, excepting in full dress. This distress was by
no means lessened when some very audible words made it evident that
Michael Armstrong was the object of the angry feelings to which he
was now giving vent. As the best thing' to be done under the cir-
cumstances ; she pointed to a sofa at the greatest distance from the
imperfectly-closed door from whence the sounds issued ; but Miss
Brotherton had already dropped into a chair so near this door of com-
munication that she not only heard, but saw all that was passing in
that part of the green-room which Sir Matthew Dowling occupied.
That this was the last place in which a gentlewoman would have been
likely to place herself at such a moment, is most certain ; but the ca-
pricious heiress was wont to exclaim on many occasions, when ob-
servance and restraint were irksome to her, " I am not a gentlewoman
— and why should I torment myself by affecting to be one."
It was probably by some such reasoning that she now justified to
herself the strong measure she was adopting ; in order to become ac-
quainted with what was passing behind the scenes respecting Michael
Armstrong.
Circumstances were favourable to the object ; for Sir Matthew was
in one of those towering fits of passion, to which his family and de-
pendants knew him to be subject, though the majority of the world
declared him to be an extremely good-natured man.
" Blackguard ! — Vermin ! — Devil's imp !" — were among the first
intelligible words which reached the heiress, after she had seated her-
self; and these were accompanied by cuffs so heavy on the head and
shoulders of Michael, that it required a very powerful effort over her-
self to prevent her darting forward to seize the arm that gave them.
But this prudent effort was dictated and sustained by a stronger feel-
ing than curiosity ; and she remained perfectly still to await what
should follow.
Dr. Crockley, who, though not among the corps of performers, had
been permitted to be useful behind the scenes in a variety of ways, and
among the rest had acted as prompter, stood beside the trembling
child, and it was to his friendly ear that the irritated Sir Matthew ad-
dressed himself.
" Will you believe he did not do it on purpose ? Will you believe
Crockley, that there was any thing to make him cry then I Had we
not borne with all his beastly stupidity, expressly for the purpose of
keeping the little ungrateful monster in good humour ? Hadn't I fed
him, and crammed him, as you bid me, with what was too good for
him ever to have reached the smell of? Didn't I cosset his lazy
beast of a mother with such niceties as the dirty beggar never heard of
before ? And his crook-shanked rat of a brother, too, haven't they been
all fed at my cost for more than a month past ? And then to see this
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. Ill
black-hearted traitor come upon the stage, and cry before all the
company as if his heart was breaking ?"
" It's too bad to bear," replied Dr. Crockley, " and if he was to be
flayed alive and salted, it would not be half what he deserved."
" Wouldn't the best thing I could do be to send him back into the
factory to-morrow morning, Doctor?" demanded Sir Matthew, sud-
denly quitting his hold of the child, and setting his square arms
akimbo. " By the living God ! I am sick of the job."
" I will be very good, sir, if you will," said the boy, " and I won't
go to sleep at the work at all, and no more won't Edward neither, if
you will but please to let me go back again."
" You see how much he dreads the factory," said Sir Matthew, with
a grim smile. "But," nodding his head, and winking his eye
familiarly to the child, " we shall see, my pretty dear, if Mr. Parsons
can't contrive to do something more than just keep you awake. He
shall go back, Crockley, upon my soul he shall. It is the only way
to prevent his driving me mad. I loathe the very sight of him."
" You must do as you like, Sir Matthew," replied his confidential
friend, "but it will be the most d — d foolish thing you ever contrived
in your life, if you do. I tell you the story is doing wonders every
where ; and now, because a stupid brat can't say his lesson perfect,
you are just going to spoil it all."
" His lesson perfect ! Confound the sly vagabond, that was not the
point, Crockley. It was not the lesson that choked him. How much
will you bet me that if I get fifty lines written down abusing me and
nothing else in 'em, he won't learn them off as glib and perfect as any
actor on the stage ? I know his black heart, and he shall find out
that mine is not made of pap before I have done with him."
" That's all right and fair enough, and I have nothing to say against
it," replied the friendly physician, ** and let us talk it all over quietly to-
gether to-morrow morning ; but for to-night — " And here Dr. Crockley
taking his friend by the arm led him to the door which opened upon
the stage, .from whence issued a tintamarre of instruments sufficient to
cover whatever he might wish to say, not only from the ear of little
Michael, but from all others. The moment selected by the angry
knight for relieving himself of the wrath which burned within him
would have been a most favourable one, but for the accidental vicinity
of Miss Brotherton. While the whole corps of performers, excepting
the manufacturer and the factory-boy, were grouped upon the stage,
in a style the most favourable for the display of their persons and
dresses, the trio above mentioned augmented, by way of finale, by
tambourines and triangles, went steadily on in a crescendo movement
that ended in a clamour rendered perfect by the last peal of applause
from the wellnigh worn-out audience, so that their secret conference
was not otherwise likely to be overheard.
At the moment after Sir Matthew had declared his intention of
teaching Michael to know what his heart was made of, and just as he
was himself led off by his friend Crockley, Miss Brotherton, pressing
her two hands strongly upon her breast, involuntarily pronounced the
112 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
word " Monster !" and then placing her hands before her eyes re-
mained lost in no very pleasing revery. But hardly had her medi-
tations lasted a moment, ere they were chased by hearing the sound
of some one falling near her, and looking round, she perceived poor
Martha stretched insensible upon the floor.
Inexpressibly shocked at remembering, which she did by no slow
action of the mind, the suffering to which her own unscrupulous curi-
osity had exposed the unfortunate girl, she ran to her with eager haste,
and with much repentant tenderness raised her head and did all her
small experience suggested towards restoring her. The comfortable
insensibility did not last long ; and Martha, who with restored ani-
mation immediately recovered her recollection, and in whose com-
position no affectation of any kind had part, raised herself without
assistance from the ground, and silently placed herself upon a sofa.
" Dear excellent Martha V exclaimed Miss Brotherton, with much
true feeling, " fear not that I should ever repeat what I have so acci-
dentally heard ; and let not your good and dutiful nature suffer thus,
because I have heard it. We have all our faults, Martha, and it is
the duty of each to pray for the conversion of their own hearts first,
and then for the repentance of others. And what prayers, dear girl,
so likely to be heard, as those of a good and dutiful child? Let us
slip back to our places, Martha. This clapping of hands announces,
as I take it, the conclusion of the piece."
Martha, though wounded to the very soul, uttered no word of de-
precation or complaint ; but there was an unsophisticated simplicity of
character about her which made her decline, by a courtesy that had a
little of the stiffness of ceremony in it, the offered arm of Mary,
and stepping forward she opened the door by which they had left the
theatre, till the heiress had passed through it, and resumed her
place.
CHAPTER XI.
MISS BROTHERTON PUSHES fllER INQUIRIES FURTHER A WELL-
ARRANGED SCHEME DISAGREEABLY DEFEATED A VISIT, AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES.
Mary Brotherton certainly did not return home that night with
any doubts on her mind respecting the nature of Sir Matthew Dow-
ling's benevolence ; but the fever of spirits which had seized her was
greatly increased by the information she had gained.
There was a vast deal of energy and strength of purpose in the
mind of Mary Brotherton, but hitherto all this had lain latent and
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 113
inert. The sentiment which in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred is
the first to awaken the female heart to strong emotion seemed to be
totally powerless to her. She had never yet felt the slightest approach
to the passion of love; nor was it very likely she should, for one
among her many peculiarities of character was the persuasion that
every man who paid her attention was in pursuit of her fortune, an
idea, which to such a temper as hers was calculated to act as a.
sevenfold shield against all amatory attacks upon her heart.
Most truly therefore, up to this time, had she continued
" In maiden meditation, fancy free."
But this could be said no longer ; neither fancy nor any other faculty
could be termed free in one whose thoughts fixed themselves by night
and day upon one single subject, while feeling that to it she was ready
to sacrifice every thing else in life.
On re-entering her house on the memorable night of the Dowling
Lodge theatricals, Miss Brotherton retired to her apartment without
even the intention of sleeping. She laid, her head upon her pillow
deliberately determined not to close her eyes in sleep till she had
made up her mind as to the best way of rescuing the pale trembling
child, whose voice and form haunted her, from the horrible bondage
of Sir Matthew Dowling's charity.
The question was not altogether an easy one. She could hardly
doubt that very strong indignation would follow any open effort on
her part to interfere with a child publicly held up as the favoured
object of Sir Matthew's loudly-vaunted benevolence, and moreover,
privately marked out by his vindictive nature as a victim to his
hatred.
Whether as a rival in his munificence, or a champion against his
hate, it was pretty certain that her interference would render her
obnoxious to her pompous neighbour's displeasure, and this she had
no inclination to encounter if she could help it. For though at this
moment she felt within her a strength and firmness of purpose not
easily shaken, the poor girl knew that she stood alone in the world,
with no friend to support her more powerful than nurse Tremlett, and
nothing but her two hundred thousand pounds' worth of this world's
trumpery to enable her to have her way, and her will, in many matters
that she feared might turn out rather difficult to manage.
So she determined to avoid quarrelling with Sir Matthew Dowlin<£
as long as she could, and though the image of Michael struggling with
his tears, and the plaintive sound of his voice as he pleaded for leave
to labour again, absolutely haunted her memory, she determined upon
being cautious, wise, and very deliberative in any measures she might
eventually take to ensure his release.
Under the influence of these prudential resolutions, Miss Bro-
therton tor the present abandoned her purpose of seeking a conver-
sation with the child himself, and determined to find her way to the
cottage of his mother instead. Yet even this she felt must be done
with caution. Her carriage and her liveries were about as splendid
i
114 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
and conspicuous as carriage and liveries could be, and though she
knew not precisely in what direction the widow Armstrong might be
found, it was easy enough to guess that did she make use of her
ordinary mode of conveyance in reaching her abode, let it be where it
might, she would attract more attention than she desired.
It was to Mrs. Tremlett that she determined to apply in this di-
lemma, and at their tete-a-tete breakfast on the following morning,
she once more led the conversation to the factories.
" You must not scold me, dear friend," said she, " if you find that
I have, as I told you I would, disobeyed your advice altogether, about
thinking no more of the factory people, for I cannot get them out of
my head, nurse Tremlett."
" I am sorry for it, my dear," replied the good woman, gravely ;
" because I am quite sure that you will only vex yourself, and do no
good."
" You ought to know me better by this time, Mrs. Tremlett, than to
fancy that your manner of speaking on this dark subject is the way to
check my curiosity. It was pretty effectually awakened perhaps
before ; but had it been otherwise, what you say would be quite enough
to set me upon inquiring into it. Nurse Tremlett, I will know every-
thing that the most persevering inquiry can teach me respecting the
people to whose labours all the rich people in this neighbourhood owe
their wealth, and myself among the rest. And when I tell you that
at the present moment this is the only subject upon which I feel any
real interest, I think you are too wise to attempt turning me from it, by-
saying, < My dear you will only vex yourself.' "
" I do indeed, my child, know you too well to fancy that if you
have set your mind upon it, you will give it up ; so I have nothing
more to say, Miss Mary."
*' Well then, my dear woman," replied Mary, taking her hand, " if,
through all the years we have passed together, I have shown such a
determined spirit for no reason in the world but only to get my own
wanton silly will, do me the justice to anticipate that I shall not be
less obstinate in this one thing, that I believe to be right, than in all
the many wherein it was most likely I suspected myself to be wrong.
I do believe, nurse Tremlett, that it is my duty to understand this mat-
ter better than I do ; and if this be so, I will trust to God to make up
to me for all the vexation your prophecy threatens it will bring."
" If that is the way you think of it, my dear child, Heaven forbid that
I should seek to hinder you. But rich as you are, dear Mary, if you
was to give it all, and ten thousand times as much besides, what good
could it do? The mills would go on just the same you know."
" I don't want to stop the mills, nurse Tremlett. Why should I?
Industry, ingenuity, science, enterprise, must of course be all brought
into action by this flourishing cotton-trade, and, beyond all doubt,
it would be equally wicked and wild to wish its destruction. That is
not the notion I have got hold of, good nurse, very, very far from it, I
assure you. What I want to find out is whether, by the nature of
things, it is impossible to manufacture worsted and cotton wool into
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 115
articles useful to man, without rendering those employed upon it unfit
to associate with the rest of their fellow-creatures ? This seems to
me so gross an absurdity that I cannot give faith to it, and therefore
I suspect that the depravity and wickedness you and Miss Martha
Dowling talk about, must arise from these people having too much
money at their command. This, perhaps, may lead to intemperance
and extravagance. Don't vou think this may be the case, Mrs.
Tremlett V
" Good gracious, no, Miss Mary ! Why they are all the very
poorest starving wretches upon earth."
" But they may be poor because they are extravagant, nurse. They
must get a most monstrous quantity of money, for though none of the
gentlemen ever talk much of their factories, I have repeatedly heard
allusion made to the enormous sums paid every week to the work-
people. And it is quite clear that all the families must get a great
deal, because all the little children work, which can hardly be the case
elsewhere. Now, I cannot help thinking, nurse, that a great deal of
good might be done by teaching them a little economy, and inducing
them to lay by their superfluous money in a savings-bank. That is one
great reason why I want to get acquainted with the people themselves.
Now, for instance, that poor sick widow Armstrong — the mother of
the little boy that Sir Matthew Dowling has taken ; I am quite sure
that she can have no wickedness to hurt me — and I am determined,
nurse, to go and call upon her."
" Well, my dear, that can't do no great harm, certainly; and, if
you like it, I can go in the carriage with you."
" Most certainly I should like you to go with me, but not in the
carriage, Mrs. Tremlett. I don't want to have all the people in her
neighbourhood staring at me, or at her either ; and that they would be
sure to do if we went in the carriage. I mean to walk, nurse."
** Do you know where the woman lives, my dear?"
" No ; I must leave you to find that out."
" What is her name, Miss Mary ?"
"Armstrong. She is a widow, and lives somewhere in Ashleigh.
Let us walk into the garden, and while I am looking after my seed-
lings, you can inquire of one of the under-gardeners, or the boy.
And if you manage the matter well, the next prime blossom that I get
from my experiment-bed, shall be called the Tremlett geranium."
While this conversation was going on at Millford Park, the residence
of Miss Brotherton, Dr. Crockley arrived to enjoy a tete-a-tete break-
fast with Sir Matthew in ; ' the study " at Dowling Lodge. This room,
though not so splendid as some of its neighbours under the same roof,
could, nevertheless, be made very snug and comfortable upon occa-
sion, and an excellent breakfast was spread before them ; while the
two gentlemen sat in judgment upon little Michael's contumacy, and
consulted on the best method of bringing him into better order.
" Confound the imp !" exclaimed Sir Matthew, as he selected his
i2
116 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
favourite dainties, " is it not provoking, Crockley, that I should have
taken such an aversion to him ? Upon my soul, I never hated any
thing- so much in my life. In the first place it is disgusting to see
him dressed up, walking about the house like a tame monkey, when I
know that his long fingers might be piercing thousands of threads for
two shillings a week ; and it is neither more nor less than loathsome
to see him eat, at luncheon, sometimes when we have had him in be-
fore company, exactly the very same things that my children eat
themselves ; and then upon the back of it all, to know that the un-
grateful little viper hates the very sight of me. I don't believe,
Crockley, that any good can come of all this, equal to what it makes
me suffer in the doing. It is perfectly unnatural to see him close
within an inch of my own legs. I'd rather have a tame toad crawling
about by half. I must give it up, Crockley — I must, upon my soul."
" You are the master, Sir Matthew. I can't stop you, if do it you
will; but I can tell you this, I have been calling at fifty different
houses, at the very least/ sincethis job began, and I pledge you my sacred
honour that in every one of them the only thing talked of was your
benevolence and generosity. * Such an example !' cried one ; ' So
heavenly-minded !' said another ; ' It is enough to bring a blessing-
upon the whole country,' whined a third ; and, ' It is to be hoped that
such goodness will be rewarded in this world and the next,' observed
a fourth. Think, Sir Matthew, how all this will tell against the
grumblings about Miss Nance Stephens and her sudden demise/'
" That's true — devilish true, Crockley — and yet it's no cure for my
being sick at the stomach every time I see him."
" I don't know about that ; I should think it was, or, at any rate,
if you'll only bear it a little longer I should not be at all surprised if
you were to be relieved by some other great capitalist setting up in the
same way, and as your name has been sung out, that would do just
as well. Upon my soul, I'm in earnest; I should not the least
wonder if, before the end of three months, every one of your first-rates
were to have a tame factory-child in their houses, to act like the
hedgehogs we get to eat black-beetles for us. And they'd do their
work well too, Sir Matthew: all the nasty, creeping, multiplying
plagues, in the shape of evil tales against the factory system, would
be swallowed up by the clearing-off effects of these nice little hedge-
hog gentry."
" You are as keen as your own lancet, Crockley ; and I never turn
a deaf ear to any thing you say. But it's monstrous hard though, that
I can't walk about my own house without running the risk of seeing
this odious little grub. By the way, Crockley, why could not my lady
take a factory-girl in by way of charity? Some of the little wenches
are sightly enough before they have worked-down their flesh too far;
and, though I can't say I am" particularly tender over the lanky idiot
looking slatterns that we mostly get at the mill, I'll bet what you please
that I should never hate the sight of a girl, as I do the sight of this
boy."
" Very likely not, Sir Matthew," replied the doctor, laughing im-
MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 117
moderately. " But what would my lady say ? And what would all
the other ladies say ? No, no, leave that alone, and make up your
mind to let the boy have the run of the house for a month or two ;
after which you may send him to the devil if you will ; for the good
will be done, and the boy himself forgotten."
"That's all vastly easy for you to lay down, chapter and verse,
wise man that you are," replied the knight. " But if I tell all, I can
let you into a secret, Crockley, that would make you change your
mind, perhaps. The long and the short of it is, that I can't keep my
hands off him, and if the young black-hearted scamp — I know he is
black-hearted, I'm quite sure of it on account of a look he has got
with his eyes, that makes one always feel so uncomfortable — if he
were to take it into his vile ungrateful head to go about the country
teliing every thing that I may have happened to say and do to him,
when his nasty ways have pushed me further than I could bear, I don't
think the history of the charity job would do much good, doctor."
Doctor Crockley gave a long low whistle ; and then, after a
minute's meditation, said, " That's a bore."
" I know it is," sharply responded his patron, " a devilish bore.
But you don't suppose that I am to stand bursting with rage, and not
take the liberty of speaking my mind to a factory grub, do you?"
f* Heaven forbid ! A whole factory full of wenches may all drop down
dead, I hope, before it comes to that," replied his friend. " But
what you have stated is worth attention, Sir Matthew. I don't like
the notion of that child's having tales to tell. It spoils all."
* I know it," returned the vexed knight. " Martha told me just
now, not ten minutes before you came, that Miss Brotherton said she
should like very much to talk to the boy : she is as sharp as a needle,
you know, and I'll answer for it would find out all he has got to tell,
and a devilish deal more, perhaps, in no time. Pretty work that
would make ! would it not ? Augustus is sure of her, he tells me ; and
just fancy such a match as that spoiled by the forked tongue of this
little viper ! The very notion makes one mad."
" A cure must be found for that mischief, let it cost what it may,"
replied Crockley ; " and for the future it might be better, perhaps, for
your charity, Sir Matthew, to show itself some other way. You are
too honest-hearted, that's the fact. A fine bold intellect, like yours,
can't descend to the paltry patience belonging to inferior minds. Is
there no getting rid of the boy ? No possibility of sending him 'pren-
tice some where or other?"
"'Prentice?" said Sir Matthew, looking with a very singular ex-
pression into the face of his friend. " Prentice ?" he repeated,
and stretching out his hand, he seized upon that of Doctor
Crockley, which he shook with extraordinary ardour. " Send him
as a 'prentice ! Upon my soul, Crockley, if you had laid down
five hundred pounds upon the table, I should not have considered
it as of one half as much worth as that one word 'prentice. Yes,
by Jove ! he shall be a 'prentice. Oaf that I was for not thinking
of it before ! You don't know half the good you have done me by
118 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
that word. "lis but lately, my dear fellow, that you and I have
come to understand one another thoroughly ; and I have never yet
talked to you about one or two points particularly interesting to all
our capitalists. I never mentioned to you, did I, the Deep Valley
Mills, not far from Appledown Cross, in Derbyshire V
" Never, Sir Matthew, as far as I can recollect," was the reply.
" Well, then, I will tell you something about them now, that will
make you perceive plainly enough what a capital good hit you have
made in talking of apprenticeship for my young darling. Deep Valley
Mill, Crockley, is the property of my excellent friend Elgood Sharpton.
He is one of the men born to be the making of this country. A fine,
manly, dauntless character, who would scorn to give up his notions
before any act of parliament that ever was made. His idea is,
Crockley, — and I should like to see the man who would venture to
tell me that it was not a glorious one, — his idea is, that if we could get
rid of our cursed Corn-laws, the whole of the British dominions would
soon be turned into one noble collection of workshops. I wish you
could hear him talk ; upon my soul, it's the finest thing I know. He
says that if his system is carried out into full action, as I trust
it will be one of these days, all the grass left in England will be the
parks and paddocks of the capitalists. Sharpton will prove to you as
clearly as that two and two make four, that the best thing for the
country would be to scour it from end to end of those confounded
idle drones, the landed gentry. They must go sooner or later, he says,
if the corn-laws are done away with. Then down goes the price of
bread, and down goes the operative's wages ; and what will stop us
then, doctor ? Don't you see ? Isn't it plain as the nose on your face
that when the agricultural interest is fairly drummed out of the field,
the day's our own ? Who shall we have then spying after us to find
Out how many hours a day we choose to make our hands work ? D'ye
see, Crockley ? If we choose to work the vitals out of them, who shall
say we shan't?"
" I never heard a finer, clearer line of argument, in my life, Sir
Matthew," replied the attentive listener. '« That man, that Elgood
Sharpton, seems born for a legislator. But I question not that when
you two get together you act like flint and steel upon one another. Is
not that the case V
" Pretty much I believe," replied Sir Matthew ; " and I promise
you, Crockley, I give no bad proof of my confidence in your honour
and friendship, by letting you into a few of our notions, for matters
are by no means quite ripe for us to speak out, as yet. Our policy is,
you must know, to give out that it is the operatives who are clamour-
ing for the repeal of the corn-laws, whereas many among them, saucy
rogues, are as deep as their betters, and know perfectly well, and be
hanged to 'em, that our only reason for trying to make * down with
the corn-laws, 7 the popular cry is, that we may whisper in their ears,
' down with the wages ' afterwards. Ay, doctor, if we can but manage
this England will become the paradise of manufacturers ! — the great
workshop of the world ! When strangers climb our chalk cliffs to get
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 119
a peep at us, they shall see, land at what point they will, the glowing
fires that keep our engines going, illuminating the land from one extre-
mity of the island to the other ! Then think how we shall suck in —
that is we the capitalists, my man — think how we shall suck in gold,
gold, gold, from all sides. The idea is perfectly magnificent ! The
fat Flemings must give up all hopes of ever getting their finical flax
to vie with our cotton again ! — Crockley," but here Sir Matthew paused
for a moment, as if half doubtful whether he should go on. The
confidential impulse within him, however, worked so strongly in favour
of the friendly smiling physician, that all reserve gave way, and winking
his eye at him with a truly comic expression, he proceeded — " Crock-
ley, they don't understand spinning in Flanders : they don't know yet
how many baby sinews must be dragged, and drawn out to mix as it
were with the thread, before the work can be made to answer. No,
no, we have fairly given Master Fleming the go by in his own trade, so
for the future he must just be pleased to go on hand-digging, and
sewing every inch of his dung-muxen, till it teems with corn for export-
ation. That's what he's fit for; whereas science has put us rather in
advance of all that, my good doctor. Our friends in Poland, too,
shall plough away to the same tune, and Russia, from end to end, will
become one huge granary at our service. Where will your aristocratic
landholders be then, Crockley? Perhaps you can't tell? but I suspect
lean. They'll just be in the factories, sir. Your manors and your
preserves (we can get game enough from abroad), your manors and
your preserves will be covered with factories, except just here and
there, you know, where we capitalists may have taken a fancy to my
Lord This-thing's grounds, or the Duke of T'other-thing's mansion, for
our own residences. And this I maintain is just as it should be ; and
the reason why, is plain. We have got before all the world in ma-
chinery, and so all the world must be content to walk behind us. By
Jove, if I had my way, Crockley, I'd turn France and the Rhine
into a wine-cellar, Russia into a corn-bin, and America, glorious
America, north, south, east, and west, into a cotton plantation. Then
should we not flourish ? Then should we not bring down the rascals
to work at our own prices, and be thankful too ? What's to stop us ?
Trust me there is not a finer humbug going, than just making the
country believe that the operatives are rampant for the repeal of the
corn-laws."
" It is a treat to hear you, Sir Matthew. I should be at a loss to
name any man that I thought your equal in the gift of eloquence. But,
nevertheless, we must not forget business. We must not forget
Master Michael Armstrong, Sir Matthew.
" No, no, my good friend, we will not forget him. Be patient for a
moment, and I will make you understand how my friend Elgood
Sharpton, and my darling protege have been mixed up in my mind
together. Sharpton's factory at Deep Valley is one of the most
perfect institutions, I take it, that the ingenuity of man ever produced.
It is perfect, sir, — just perfect. In the first place it is built in a wild
desolate spot, where the chances are about ten thousand to one against
120 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
any of the travelling torments who take upon themselves to meddle
and make about what does not concern them — it is a hundred thou-
sand to one against their ever catching sight of it. You never saw
such a place in your life, Crockley. Tis such a hole that I don't
"believe the sunshine was ever known to get to the bottom of it. It
was made on purpose, you may depend upon it. Well, sir, Sharpton,
who whatever he undertakes is sure to get over the ground faster than
any other man, for he never lets any thing stop him, Sharpton felt
quite convinced, you see, that the only way to carry on the work to
any good purpose was to undersell. And how was this to be done
without loss instead of gain ? That's a question I promise you that
has puzzled many a man that was no fool — but, egad, it did not
puzzle him. He knew well enough that it was not the material — that
came cheap enough — nor yet the machinery, though Heaven knows that's
dear enough ; but 'tis the labour, sir, the damnation wages going on,
on, on, for evermore that drains the money away. And what then
does he do, but hit at once upon the very perfectest scheme that ever
entered a man's head to lessen that ruinous burden. He knew well
enough, for he has a most unaccountable deal of general information,
that there were lots of parishes in England that didn't know what on
earth to do with their pauper brats. There's many, you know, that
say this one thing, this nasty filthy excess of pauper population is the
very mischief that is eating up the country, and destroying our pro-
sperity. But who's the greatest political economist, Crockley, the
man who talks of the evil, or he who sets about finding a remedy ?
The political economists of the nineteenth century ought to erect a
statue to Elgood Sharpton ; and so they will, I have no doubt, when
the subject comes to be more perfectly understood. For just mark
what he has done. First he finds out this capital spot for the job, and
builds a factory there ; next he either goes himself, or sends agents,
good, capable, understanding men, to all the parishes that he finds are
overburdened with poor. Then, sir, he enters philosophically into the
subject with the parish authorities, but of course with proper dis-
cretion, and proves to them that in no way could they do their duty
by the parish children, particularly the orphans, or those whose
parents don't trouble them, so well as by apprenticing them to a
good trade/'
Here Sir Matthew paused, and a merry glance was exchanged
between him and his companion.
" Well, Crockley, it is a good trade, you know, a devilish good
trade, isn't it ? At any rate I promise you that so many parishes felt
convinced of it, that Elgood Sharpton had soon got Deep Valley
factory as full of young hands as it could cram. Now it is since that,
you must know, that old Sir Robert took it into his head that little
children must not be overworked. He it was, I believe, that first set
up that nonsensical cry to any purpose ; and to be sure, nothing ever
was so absurd in a country where every body knows that if the young
pauper spawn could but be made to die off, every thing would go on
well. Is it not strange now, that old Peel could not be contented to
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 121
grow rich, and hold his tongue ? But no, he got bit by some poisonous
humanity notion or other, and a devilish shake he gave to the system
just at first, by his absurd bill for the protection of infant paupers ; but
such men as Sharpton are not to be knocked down like ninepins,
either by law-makers, or law; and to say the truth, old Sir Robert
Peel's bill was to all intents and purposes a dead letter within
two years after it was passed. Bless your soul, it was the easiest
thing in the world to keep the creatures so ignorant about the bill,
after the first talk was over, that they might have been made to believe
any thing and to submit to any thing. In fact the question for them
always lies in an egg-shell. They must either do what the masters
would have them, or starve. That fact is worth all the bills that
ever were passed : and another thing is, that as long as there's
nothing to prevent our own friends and relations from being among
the magistrates, even if complaints are made, we can manage them."
" How true it is, Sir Matthew, that there is no inequality of acci-
dental condition than can equal the inequality produced by a decided
superiority in the intellectual powers," said Dr. Crockley. " At this
moment I give you my sacred honour that I look upon you, and your
friend Mr. Elgood Sharpton also, as standing in a much more com-
manding position than any duke in the country. What's a long
descent compared to a longhead, Sir Matthew? I'll tell you what
the difference is. A long descent pretty generally helps a man to
empty his purse, whereas a long head will never fail to help him fill
it. It is as clear to me, as that the sun's in heaven, Sir Matthew,
that the game is in your own hands. I know — for I have made some
curious experiments that way — I know what a dog may be taught to
do by hunger, and you may rely upon it that it is just as powerful in
a man. Egad, Sir Matthew, it is a very fine subject for scientific
experiments. It is difficult to say how far it might go. If a dog, for
example, may be taught tricks by hunger, that approach in ingenuity
to the powers of man, why may not man, skilfully acted upon by the
same principle, be brought to rival the docility of a dog V
" I see nothing in nature to stop it, doctor," replied Sir Matthew,
with an air of great animation. " But remember, my dear Crockley,
this is not a point to be touched upon in the book we were talking of.
The public, you know, can have nothing on earth to do with the
private regulation of our affairs. People have just as much right to
inquire at what o'clock my lord duke expects his valet to get up, and
moreover what the valet eats for breakfast when he is up, as they have
to know what hours our hired labourers keep, and what they feed
upon. It is a gross inquisitorial interference, Crockley, and ought
not to be thought of in a free country."
* That's a first-rate idea though, Sir Matthew," said the doctor,
taking out his pocket-book and pencil. " I must book that. It is
turning the parliament into an office of the inquisition. The canters
may call it a holy office, if they will, but the British people will never
bear the notion of an inquisition. That's a capital idea, I promise
122 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
you. As to my parallel, you know, between a dog and a man, it is
merely between ourselves, or such an out-and-out-friend as Mr.
Sharpton, and it may be worth thinking about, perhaps, practically
and scientifically, I mean ; but certainly I should never dream of
printing it. A hundred years hence human intelligence may have
reached such a point of improvement that the plain good sense and
practical utility of the idea may make it properly appreciated. But as
yet we are not sufficiently advanced in the science emphatically deno-
minated " the positive" in contradistinction to " the ideal." It will
come though, if we do but go on in the path we are in. But we are
generalizing too much, Sir Matthew ; nevertheless I suspect I have
caught your idea. You have thoughts of sending your young
favourite to Deep Valley mill, by way of putting the finishing stroke to
your benevolent projects in his favour?"
" Exactly so, my dear friend. But we must have indentures,
observe ; and there is some little difficulty in that."
" I suppose you know best, Sir Matthew ; else I should say that
indentures cannot be necessary. From your description, the locality
of this factory, with its romantic name, must be like the valley of
Rasselas, at least in one particular — namely, that without wings the
happy dwellers there would find it impossible to escape," replied the
doctor.
" Difficult, exceedingly difficult, certainly; but not quite impos-
sible ; for without indentures a runaway could not be legally pursued.
And to tell you the truth, friend Crockley, I should not much approve
giving a subject for a second part of Mr. Osmond Norval's drama, in
which the hero should appear upon the scene after a few months' resi-
dence in Deep Valley mills."
1 'That's true. But I don't see under what pretence you are to
get the brat apprenticed to your friend Sharpton," remarked the
cautious counsellor.
" If he is apprenticed to me, it will do just as well," replied the
knight, " for I could make over the indentures to Sharpton easy
enough, but it strikes me I might have some difficulty in making the
mother consent to it."
" Not if you will be upon your P's and Q's, Sir knight," said his
friend : " you have nothing to do but go on sending tit-bits to the sick
woman, and the rickety boy that you mentioned, and when they
have got a little used to it she'll not choose to affront her generous
benefactor. Remember the dog theory, Sir Matthew, thev are all
alike."
" I dare say you are right. But at any rate I had better keep out
of that hateful brat's way, or rather take care that he keeps out of
mine. But I shall bear the sight of him better if I make up my mind
to send him to Deep Valley. That will wipe out old scores between
us."
Having said this, Sir Matthew rose from the breakfast-table, seem-
ing thereby to indicate that the consultation was at an end. Dr.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 123
Crockley rose too ; but, though he took up his hat and his riding-
whip from the chair on which he had placed them, he lingered as if
he had still something to say before he took his leave.
Sir Matthew, however, seemed to take no notice of the hint, but
stretching out his hand said decisively, " Good morning, doctor, good
morning. Let us see you again soon."
Dr. Crockley upon this stretched out his hand too, but instead of
clutching that of the knight, he seized upon his button. " One word,
Sir Matthew, one word. You are too much of a man of business to
think me troublesome. Respecting that little appointment that you
were talking about the other day ; I should like to have it settled.
Because, to say the truth, I shall consider myself as wearing your
livery ; or, to speak more fitly, to be fighting positively under your
colours, when this is done ; and of course you know we ought to
understand one another completely."
" No doubt of it, Crockley. I said nothing that I do not mean to
stand to. You shall have two hundred a year, paid quarterly, for
attending to the health and wellbeing, and all that, you know, of the
factory children. But as I don't want you to give them two hundred
pounds' worth of physic, remember I shall expect that you will make
up the deficiency in — in just saying round about the neighbourhood
how remarkably well every thing goes on at Brookford Factory. I'll
pledge you my word that every thing does go on capitally well there,
Crockley, so you will have nothing on your conscience on that
score."
" I am not afraid of that, Sir Matthew; I know I may trust you.
But I should like a bit of a memorandum about my own business, if
you please."
" Quite right, quite right, sir. I am too much a man of business
to object to that. Draw up the engagement, such as you wish it to
be, and I dare say I shall make no objection to signing it."
After this a cordial hand-shaking was exchanged and the friends
parted.
CHAPTER XII.
AN UNFORTUNATE RENCONTRE AN ADVENTURE MISS BROTHERTON
GROWS WISER EVERY DAY.
Mrs. Tremlett's inquiries proved successful. Jim Sykes, the
weeding-boy, knew perfectly well where widow Armstrong lived ; and
after he had repeated his instructions three times, Mary Brotherton
and her unresisting chaperon set off on their expedition. On one
124 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
point only did the self-willed heiress yield to the judgment of her com-
panion. Mary, who knew, that though she seldom went beyond the
shelter of her own park-paling, she often walked without fatigue
■within it for two or three hours together, wished to set off for Hoxley-
lane on foot ; but Mrs. Tremlett talked so much of the fatigue, that
the good-natured girl consented to let the carriage convey them to the
point at which the lane diverged from the high-road. This yielding,
however, was wholly from consideration for her companion. For
herself she believed the precaution quite needless ; and she was right.
However much her temper might have been endangered by the series
of spoiling processes she had undergone, her health had been taken
good care of, and few girls of her age in any rank, had greater power
and will for exertion than herself.
- Nevertheless, before she had driven half a mile, she heartily rejoiced
at having sacrificed her own inclination to that of her good nurse; for
the road to Ashleigh was the favourite ride of the officers quartered in
the neighbourhood, and had she been seen on foot, it is probable
that before reaching Hoxley-lane she would have been surrounded by
a body-guard of military. So greatly did this danger appal her
spirits, that the first moment she found herself free from a white-
gloved hand either at one window or the other, she stopped the car-
riage, and ordered the coachman to go far enough down the lane
to permit her to get out unobserved by any persons passing by the
road.
But poor Mary was this day doomed to disappointment ; and the
indignant, and almost passionate beating of her heart under it, made
her more conscious, perhaps, than she had ever been before, how deeply
the business upon which she was engaged had entered into her soul.
Soon after Sir Matthew Dowling had dismissed his breakfast com-
panion, he strolled out towards his splendid stables, and perceiving
his son loitering among the grooms, and himself equipped for the
saddle, he inquired whither he was going to ride. " Only to Ashleigh,
governor," was the reply. " Then wait five minutes, Augustus, and
I will ride with you."
Whether the youth approved the proposal or not, he was fain to
submit to it, and the evil star of Mary Brotherton contrived to bring
them to the top of Hoxley-lane at the moment her carriage was about
to turn into it.
" Stop!" cried the young lady, accompanying the word with a very
energetic pull at the check-string. " Go on to Ashleigh," was the
order that followed.
" Was ever any thing so provoking, nurse? Do you see who those
hateful men are V
" Why 'tis Sir Matthew, my dear," replied the gentle old woman.
"The wretch!" muttered Mary between her teeth at the very
moment that Sir Matthew on one side, and his languishing son on the
other, besieged her carriage.
" Not for my right hand would I have him guess where I am going,"
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 125
thought she, as with a face suffused with the deepest carmine that
agitation could produce, she forced her lips into an unmeaning smile
in return to their salutation.
The father and son came to exactly the same conclusion, and at the
same moment. There was but one cause that it was possible to assign
for her evident emotion. She was deeply in love with Augustus, — more
deeply than even the young man himself had imagined. The thing
was plain, no doubt remained, no not a shadow of it on the mind of
either father or son, but it was the elder gentleman only who at once
determined to push so fine a game to its close, with as little delay as
possible.
Feeling quite sure that there was no liberty he could take at this
moment which would not be welcome, he made a sign to the coach-
man to stop, and deliberately dismounting he threw his reins to his
groom, told Miss Brotherton's footman to open the carriage-door, and
stepped in with the assumed air of a partially loved friend, who knows
that no leave need be asked.
Mary shrunk back into her corner with considerably more disgust
than if a reptile had possessed itself of the seat opposite.
"This is not quite as it should be, is it?" said Sir Matthew, with
a leer. " Perhaps some other may have a better right here than I V 1
And a very expressive smile accompanied the words.
" Sir ?" said Miss Brotherton.
" Come, come, my dear child, you must not look vexed at any of
my little jokes. You know how we all dote upon you ! Dear creature !
How beautiful that sweet blush makes you look ! He, he ! there goes
poor Augustus looking very much as if he could wring his papa's neck
off. But his turn, we will hope, may come by and by. And now,
my dear, I'll tell you what I am come here for. We all want you,
and your good Mrs. Tremlett too, if she likes it, to come over to us
quite enfamille to-morrow. I don't know what love-powder you have
been scattering amongst us, but there is not a single individual of the
family who does not positively dote upon you. Tell me, my pretty
Mary, do you feel a little kindness for some of us in return ?"
An attempt to take her hand accompanied this speech ; and Mrs.
Tremlett, who estimated pretty nearly her young lady's affection for
Sir Matthew and his race, actually trembled for the consequences.
But, to her great surprise, Mary answered, after the pause of a mi-
nute, " Oh, dear Sir Matthew! you are only laughing at me!" in a
voice so exceedingly childish and silly, that it might, under similar
circumstances, have made the fortune of a comic actress ; and though
she did not permit him to touch the hand he attempted to take, she
placed it, together with its fellow, so playfully behind her, that Sir
Matthew could only laugh and call her, " dear pretty creature!"
Meanwhile the carriage proceeded to penetrate through the ^dirty
dismal streets, which, in that direction, formed the suburb of Ash-
leigh.
" I must get out here," said Miss Brotherton, suddenly pulling the
check-string.
126 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
"Here? Impossible, my dear child !"
" Nothing is impossible to me, that I choose to do, sir,' 1 said the
young lady, springing to the ground the moment the door was opened.
The knight was fain to follow, the animated Augustus threw himself
from his horse at the same instant, and Mrs. Tremlettheld herself sus-
pended on the step of the carriage to learn what she was required to do.
" I wish to know what is the matter with these miserable-looking
children," said Mary, approaching a half-open door, at each side of
which, crouching on the stone step, sat a pale and squalid-looking
girl. The eldest might be ten years old, the youngest was certainly
not more than six.
" Gracious Heaven ! you are not going to speak to those creatures,
Miss Brotherton V* exclaimed Sir Matthew, while his son instinctively
backed his horse into the middle of the street.
" And why not, Sir Matthew?" said Mary.
" You are not aware of what you are doing; I give you my honour
you are not. You have no conception what these sort of creatures
are. My dear, dear Miss Brotherton, get into your carriage — get
into your carriage, I conjure you !
Mary looked at him, but said not a word in reply.
" What ails you, my little girl ?" said she, putting her hand upon
the shoulder of the youngest child.
" Billy-roller," answered the little creature.
" The billy-roller smashed her," said the eldest girl, «' but 'twas
falling asleep against the machinery as lamed me."
" Are you mad, Miss Brotherton !" exclaimed Sir Matthew.
" Surely, Mrs. Tremlett, you ought to prevent your young lady from
exposing herself to such scenes as these."
" Good morning, Sir Matthew, do not let me detain you," said the
heiress, suddenly assuming the tone and style of a woman of fashion
who chose to have her own way. " These sick little creatures quite
interest me. Besides, I must positively find out who Billy Roller is."
" It is an instrument used in the works, Miss Brotherton. You
know not to what you are exposing yourself — fraud, filth, infection,
drunkenness ! I give you my sacred honour that I think you are very
likely to be robbed and murdered if you approach the thresholds of
such dwellings as these."
" I beg your pardon, Sir Matthew," replied the heiress, " but you
must excuse me if I obstinately persevere in judging for myself; I
know I am a spoiled child, neither more nor less ; and as such you
must either give me up or bear with me. Permit me to wish you
good morning ; I shall do more than approach the threshold of this
dwelling — I shall enter it."
Having said this, she waited no further parley, but taking a ragged
child in each hand set her little foot against the door which already
stood ajar, pushed it open, and walked in.
Her first idea on looking round her was that perhaps Sir Matthew
was in the right. Filth she saw; infection might lurk under it ; and
sj^QruH^^
yj£ ■._//;},>//■,
I
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 127
who could tell if fraud and drunkenness might not enter the moment
after, to complete the group ?
But there was little of selfishness and much of courage in the heart
of Mary Brotherton, so she presently forgot every notion of personal
danger, and was thus enabled to see things as they really were.
On one side of the small bare chamber, and in some degree shel-
tered by the door which opened against it, stood a rickety machine
once intended for a bedstead. Two of the legs had given place, to
brickbats, and instead of a bed the unsteady frame now supported
only a thin layer of very dirty straw, with the body of a dying female
stretched upon it. The only other article of furniture in the room was
an old deal box without a cover, but having a couple of planks, each
about three feet long, laid across it ; serving either for table or chairs
as occasion might require. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the
remnant of a window, were all alike begrimed with smoke and
dirt.
It took not long to make this inventory, and having completed it,
the young lady, still holding in each hand a staring child, turned
towards the inhabitant of this miserable den, and said,
" Are you ill, my good woman V
The being she addressed raised her heavy eyes, and in a voice so
low as to be scarcely intelligible, answered " Yes."
" Have you no assistance, nobody to nurse you V*
" Nobody but these," pointing to the children.
" Has any doctor seen her ?" demanded Mary of the eldest child.
" No ma'am," replied the little girl.
" And how long has she been ill V
" Ever since she com'd from the mill."
" And how long is that?"
" A twelvemonth," said the little one.
" I don't know," said the elder.
" But, my poor children, you are not the only people that live with
her, I suppose? Have you got any father?"
" Yes."
"Where is he?"
" At the mill."
" Have you got any body else belonging to you ?" said Miss Bro-
therton, shuddering.
'• There's Sophy, and Dick, and Grace," replied the eldest child.
" Where are they all ?" again inquired Miss Brotherton.
" At the mill," was again the answer.
" Are Sophy and Grace grown up ?"
" Sophy is," answered the child, " and Grace, almost."
" Then why do they not stay at home, one of them at least, to take
care of this poor woman ?"
" 'Cause they mustn't. I 'tends mother."
" You are not big enough to take care of her, my poor child. Why
don't you go to the factory, and let one of the bigger ones stay at
home ?"
128 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" They won't have me now, 'cause of this."— And as she spake, the
child held up a little shrivelled right-hand, three ringers of which
had a joint deficient. " I can't piece now, and so they won't let me
come."
" And Sophy won't let me go, 'cause of this," said the little one,
slipping her arm out of a bedgown (which was the only garment she
had), and displaying the limb swollen and discoloured, from some
violent contusion.
" My poor little creature ! how did you do this ?" said Mary,
tenderly, taking the little hand in hers, and examining the frightful
bruise.
" 'Twas the billy-roller," said the little 'girl, in an accent that
seemed to insinuate that the young lady was more than commonly dull
of apprehension.
" But how did it happen, my child ? Did some part of the ma-
chinery go over you ?"
" No ! — That was me," cried the elder, with a loud voice, and
again holding up her demolished fingers. " 'Twas the stretcher's
billy-roller as smashed Becky."
" 'Twas, cause I was sleepy," said the little one, beginning to cry,
for she construed Mary's puzzled look into an expression of dis-
pleasure.
" They beats 'em dreadful ma'am," said the sick woman, evidently
exerting herself beyond her strength. " She's a good little girl for
work ; but they will fall asleep, all of 'em at times, when they be
kept so dreadful long."
"But these bruises could not be the effect of beating," said Mary,
again examining the arm, " it is quite impossible."
€t Why, ma'am, the billy-roller as they beats 'em with, is a stick big
enough to kill with ; and many and many is the baby that has been
crippled by it."
There was something so hollow, so sunken in the woman's voice,
that Miss Brotherton felt terrified. The fact that a child of the size
of the baby before her should have been beaten with such a weapon,
and with such violence, seemed wholly incredible. Again she thought
of Sir Matthew Dowlin^'s warning:, and wished that she were not
alone.
" I am afraid that you are very ill," said she, " and I know not how
I can help you. Money I can give, but there is nobody here to make
use of it for you."
" Money !" murmured the sinking woman from her layer of straw.
" Money, you can give money ? Oh ! give it, give it. Give it to her —
give it to the child ; she knows what it is, she knows I am dying for the
want of it. It is too late for me, but give it, give it, and may God — "
Here the miserable creature's strength wholly failed ; her eyes
closed, and to all appearance, she was already a corpse.
" Oh ! this is very dreadful !" cried poor Mary, wringing her hands,
"nurse will know better than me," and so saying, she turned eagerly
towards the door.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 129
" She be gone, mother, and haven't gived nothing," said the eldest
girl, in a voice so mournfully expressive of disappointment, that, spite
of her alarm, Mary stopped to take half-a-crown from her purse, which
she put into the child's hand.
She looked at the coin, and in a half- whisper ejaculated, " Oh !"
Then creeping to the bed, she put it into the palm of her mother's
hand, pressing the fingers down upon it, and in an accent of inter-
rogation uttered the word " Bread V
This Mary heard, but not the answer to it, for she had quitted the
scene before it was uttered. On opening the door of the house, she
started at seeing Sir Matthew Dowling still within a dozen yards of it ;
he was standing beside the carriage, with one arm extended to keep
the door of it open, and the other resting against the vehicle on the
opposite side of the opening, while his head thrust forward within an
inch of good Mrs. Tremlett's nose effectually prevented ber following
her young lady, however much she might have wished to do so. He
had, indeed, upon Miss Brotherton's disappearance reseated the good
woman almost by force, and then addressed her in such a strain as
was '^rapidly working her up to make an attempt to escape from the
other side of the carriage, when the reappearance of the young lady-
released her from her thraldom.
" Mrs. Tremlett I" he said, (( are you aware of the awful respon-
sibility which will rest upon you if any thing unfortunate happens to
your amiable, but most headstrong young lady ? All the neigh-
bourhood know, Mrs. Tremlett, that she has, as it were, placed herself
for protection in your hands, refusing all other counsel, and shutting
her ears to all other advice, and it is thus that you perform your
duty!"
" Good God, sir! what do you mean?" said the good woman, in
great agitation. " Let me out if you please, sir. If my young lady is
in any danger, it is wicked to keep me sitting here. Let me out,
sir !"
" I will let you out, Mrs. Tremlett," replied the knight, still firmly
retaining the position which so effectually kept her in, " I will let you
out; but first, for her sake and your own, it is my duty to tell you in a
few words the sort of place she has now thought proper to enter.
Don't struggle, Mrs. Tremlett, but hear me. It is not possible they
can do her any personal injury as long as I am so near the door of the
house as at present. Be very sure that from some hole or corner of
the filthy premises, some spying eyes are at this moment watching us.
There is no danger of her being murdered now, but as sure as you sit
there, Mrs. Tremlett, murdered she will be, if she goes without the
protection of a powerful arm within such dens of sin and iniquity as
she has entered now. One short moment more, Mrs. Tremlett — one
short moment, while I tell what the creatures are among whom she has
thrown herself. The house is notorious as one of the very worst in
Ashleigh. The man is an habitual drunkard, whom I, and my ex-
cellent servant Parsons, have endeavoured in every possible way to
reform — but in vain. The moment he has got his wages, he goes to
K
130 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
the gin-shop, and often and often he won't work at all, which of
course prevents his family from being in the comfortable easy cir-
cumstances which they ought to be. If he happens to be in the
house now, I dare say there is no species of indecent language to
which your young lady will not be obliged to listen. As to the
mother of the family, I believe she is dying in consequence of a life
passed in all sorts of the most abominable wickedness. Indeed I
believe she is now half mad, for I have been told by some of my
people whom I have sent upon charitable visits of inquiry to her,
that she lies in her bed inventing the strangest lies imaginable.
Indeed some think that notwithstanding she is so near death she still
drinks, and that it is nothing but drunken lies that she makes people
listen to."
" Pray, pray let me get out, Sir Matthew ! Being murdered, sir,
is not the only thing from which I should wish to save Miss Bro-
therton."
" One word more, Mrs. Tremlett, and I have done. The eldest girl
is a notorious prostitute. Another, a year or two younger is going the
same way. The boy is suspected of being an extremely skilful thief,
and the two younger girls, for they all work at my factory, Mrs.
Tremlett, and I know them well, the two younger ones are such de-
praved little wretches, that for the sake of example we have been
obliged to turn them out of the mill, though we are in great want
of young hands to do the work. Now, madam, I have done, and I
leave it with you to judge how far it will be right and proper for Miss
Brotherton to continue such frolics as these."
Sir Matthew was in the act of pronouncing the last words of this
speech as Miss Brotherton opened the door of the house, and stepped
out into the street.
On first perceiving her, the knight appeared about to take her
hand, for the purpose of replacing her in the carriage ; but his attention
was called to the sound of many feet suddenly turning the corner
of a street which led from a neighbouring factory. It proceeded
from the workpeople, who were rushing home in scrambling haste
to snatch their miserable dinners.
Gentlemen in Sir Matthew Dowling's situation, and enjoying the
species of influence which belongs to it, take little or no pains to
avoid meeting the people they themselves employ. They look not
in the young eyes to read what sort of blessing cowers there, nor
heed the crippled gait, or pallid visage of those who exist but by the
poisonous employment which he gives them. But such gentlemen
seldom, if they can avoid it, expose themselves to the remarks of
any gangs belonging to their neighbours, and no sooner did Sir
Matthew become aware that the mill in the next street was pouring
forth its fifteen hundred hands, than he turned from the young lady
who had passed by without appearing to see him, and taking his
horse from the hand of the groom who held it, sprung with great ac-
tivity into the saddle, and galloped off the way his indignant son
had galloped before him.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 131
Mary Brotherton meanwhile was utterly unconscious of the ap-
proaching throng ; and intent only upon getting Mrs. Tremlett out
of the carriage, turned her eyes neither to the right nor the left, but
seizing her by the arm, exclaimed, " Come to me nurse, come to
me!"
The good woman who was quite as desirous as herself of the re-
union, required no second summons, but more quickly than it can
be told, was first by the side of her young mistress in the street, and
then entering w T ith her the low door of the dwelling so fearfully de-
scribed by Sir Matthew.
Had Mrs. Tremlett possessed the power, most assuredly she would
have turned the steps of her charge the other way, and forever have
prevented her from exposing herself to the contemplation of such
depravity as she had heard described ; but knowing perfectly well
that no such power was vested in her, the next wish she conceived,
was to give all the assistance and support she could to the dear
wilful girl to whom she had devoted herself.
Aware, as she entered the door, that many eyes followed them,
nay, that many steps were stayed, apparently, to watch the spectacle
so rare in Ashleigh of well-dressed ladies entering the sordid dwelling
of operatives, Mrs. Tremlett herself closed the door as soon as they
had both passed through it, and looking round upon the desolation of
the chamber, trembled with an emotion made up of terror and compas-
sion, at perceiving to what a scene the delicately-nurtured Mary Bro-
therton had introduced herself.
" This woman is very ill, nurse Tremlett," said the young lady,
drawing her close to the bed. " For God's sake tell me what we had
better do for her V*
" My dear, dear, Miss Mary come away, and send the doctor to
her!" answered Mrs. Tremlett; positively shaking from head to foot,
as she contemplated the ghastly countenance of the woman, the filthy
rag that imperfectly covered her, and the scanty straw upon which
her stiffening limbs were stretched. " This is no place for you, Miss
Brotherton ! come with me I say this moment, and we will send the
doctor, and money, and clothes too, if you like it."
" If I like it ! — Do you think I am amusing myself, Mrs. Tremlett ?
—-Feel her hand — feel her pulse ! I believe she is dying."
These words though spoken very quietly and deliberately, were ut-
tered in a voice so unlike what she had ever heard from the young
lady before, that the old woman became dreadfully alarmed.
" Oh,*good God ! she is losing her senses !" were the words she
uttered as she threw her arms round the person of Miss Brotherton,
and vainly attempted to remove her from the spot on which she stood.
" Fie upon you, Mrs. Tremlett !" said Mary, sternly, " do you fancy
that you are doing me any good ? Be satisfied that I am not losing
my senses, and let me request that you will make an effort to recover
yours. This woman's head is too low. My dear mother asked for
pillows." Here the steady voice faltered, but it was now only for a
k 2
132 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
moment. " I want the cushions from the carriage nurse Tremlett, will
you get them, or shall I V
Without answering a word the terrified old woman hastened to obey
her, and did so in the best manner ; for calling to the tall footman,
who continued to stand beside the open door of the carriage, he
obeyed the summons, which he supposed to be preparatory to his*
young mistress making her exit, by very unceremoniously thrusting
right and left the curious group that still lingered on the threshold.
" Give me the cushions from the carriage, Jones," she said, " make
haste, for God's sake !"
The man stared at her for an instant in utter astonishment, and
then did as he was ordered.
" Now get upon the box and bid the coachman drive as fast as he
can go, to the nearest doctor's — that's Mr. Thomas, I think, in Cannon-
street. — Tell him Miss Brotherton has sent for him, and desire him to
get into the carriage directly."
Having uttered these commands as rapidly as she could speak, Mrs.
Tremlett carried a couple of the carriage cushions to the bed, and with
the assistance of Mary and the elder child, managed to raise the
woman into a position apparently less distorted and painful than
before.
" Have you any thing to give her?" said Mrs. Tremlett, addressing
the child.
The little girl without answering, stepped to a sort of cupboard in
the wall, and taking thence a pitcher without a spout, and a mug
without a handle, contrived to tilt up the former so as to make it dis-
charge a portion of its contents into the latter.
" It is water," said Mary, watching the operation. " It will not
hurt her, will it ?"
" Nothing can hurt her, my dear love !" replied Mrs. Tremlett,
her eyes filling with tears as she listened to the altered voice of her
gay-hearted girl, whose smiles and frolics she had watched, and
indulged, for so many years ; but of whose deep feeling she had
never conceived any idea till now. " I don't think any thing can
hurt her now, Mary. Her pulse flutters, and her forehead is quite
damp. I have sent for Mr. Thomas, and he will probably be here
immediately."
Mary's only answer was silently pressing the hand of her old friend
as she took from it the broken mug of water, and then, kneeling on
the sordid floor, she applied it to the pale dry lips of the sufferer.
The poor woman made an effort to meet it, and swallowed a mouth-
ful eagerly ; and then, relieved probably by the change of posture,
and refreshed by the cool liquid, she stretched out the hand in which
she still held Mary's half-crown, and said, " Go Betsy, buy ".
The child she addressed, eagerly seized the money in the hand
that had fingers to close upon it, and flitted through the door in an
instant.
The poor woman had again closed her eyes ; but her breathing was
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 133
more tranquil, and Mary hoped she had fallen asleep. With this
persuasion she stood perfectly still and silent beside her, her own hand
locked, though she was not conscious of it, in the grasp of her deeply
affected nurse, while her whole soul seemed settled in her eyes as she
fixed them immovably upon what she felt to be the most awful spec-
tacle that a mortal can gaze upon, namely, the passing of a human
* spirit from life to death.
The little girl whose swollen and discoloured arm still remained un-
covered, probably because she feared the pain likely to attend the
replacing it in the sleeve, stood close beside her mother's head, child-
ishly contemplating the cushions which supported it, and apparently
as unconscious as they were, of the heavy loss that threatened her.
But this stillness did not long remain uninterrupted. All the
members of the family, who had been named as belonging to the fac-
tory, except the father, returned for the purpose of taking such rest
and refreshment as one hour (nearly half of which was consumed by
the walk to and from the mill) could permit. The latch was lifted by
the eldest girl, a delicate featured, but dreadfully dirty creature of
about seventeen, with a sort of sharp eagerness, denoting the curiosity
excited by the sight of the carriage stationed before their dwelling.
On perceiving the deathlike countenance of her mother, made dis-
tinctly visible by the noonday light, that streamed through the open
door, she suddenly stopped, clasping her hands together, and uttering
in tones that sounded like a shriek — " Oh ! God, she is dead !"
"No! not dead !" said Mary solemnly, and without turningher
eyes from the object on which they were rivetted. " Not dea d! — she
is sleeping — Hush ! — Do not disturb her !"
Close following on the heels of the first, came a second girl, about
a year her junior, but with a countenance much less prepossessing.
Dirty she was too, if possible more so than the others, and there was
a look of stolid stupidity about her that, but for the sort of reckless au-
dacity which lurked in her eye, might have given the idea of an almost
brutal want of animation. A thin consumptive-looking lad of about
fourteen, followed after her, and closed the door behind him as he
entered.
" Oh ! mother !" he exclaimed as her sunken face caught his eye,
" I wish I was alongside of ye, and then we'd be buried together I"
And without pppearing conscious of the presence of the strangers, he
suddenly threw himself upon the tottering bedstead, and nestling his
face close to that of the dying woman, kissed her passionately again
and again.
" My boy, you may hasten her going by that," said Mrs. Tremlett,
gently. " Be still, be still all of ye !" But as she spoke, she, and
Mary too, whose hand she continued to hold, made way for the eldest
girl, who now eagerly, but silently pressing forward, dropped on her
knees beside the bed, and throwing her two arms over the emaciated
body, remained with streaming eyes that rested piteously on the face of
her mother. The second girl looked on, till by degrees her heavy
countenance appeared to stiffen into horror, and she too drew near,
134 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
but with distended and tearless eyes, that seemed to speak more of
fear than love.
Mrs. Tremlett looked anxiously into the face of her charge. It was
deadly pale, and wore an expression of solemnity so new and strange,
that the good woman threw her arms around her in an agony of fond
anxiety, exclaiming, " My Mary, my dear, dear child ! come away !
Mary, Mary, come away ! you can do no good. This scene is not a
fit one for you to witness."
" You mistake, nurse. It is fit for me. It is necessary for me. Do
not disturb me, nurse Tremlett ! do not !" Then after a short pause,
during which her eyes were closed, and her hands crossed upon her
breast, she again whispered, " Could she not pray with me ? Shall I
not ask her to pray with me V
" My sweet girl, she will not hear you, I think," said the old woman,
while the tears streamed down her cheeks. " But you shall be satis-
fied my darling," and approaching the bed, and leaning over the girl
who knelt beside it, Mrs. Tremlett in a low but distinct voice pro-
nounced the words, " Shall we pray with you?"
She was evidently heard and understood, for the hands that for some
minutes had lain motionless, were with an effort brought together, and
clasped in the attitude of prayer. Mary who was eagerly watching
her every movement, suddenly stepped forward, and gliding in between
the eldest and the youngest girl, dropped on her knees beside them.
Mrs. Tremlett following close behind her, knelt also, and then with
trembling lips, and faltering voice, but slowly, distinctly, and most
reverentially, Mary Brotherton uttered the last and most impressive of
those sentences in our litany which is followed by the solemn petition
for deliverance. It was with a throb of pleasure at her heart, and an
exclamation of thanksgiving from her tongue, that she heard the dying
woman answer " Amen !"
Almost at the very instant she did so, the latch was again lifted,
and Mr. Thomas, one of the three medical practitioners of Ashleigh,
entered. Miss Brotherton was not conscious of ever having seen him
before ; but he, like every one else in the neighbourhood, perfectly well
knew the heiress by sight ; and now, even now, in the awful chamber
of death, bowed low before her.
It would not be easy to describe the feeling with which she turned
away from this ill-timed demonstration of respect. Yet it was with
no harshness ; for the struggle so often going on within us between
our better and our worser natures, was at this moment so decidedly in
favour of all that was good in her young heart, that there was hardly
place for any severer feeling than pity within it.
She had risen from her knees as he made his bow, and turning
gravely towards him, said, " If any thing can be done sir, for this poor
woman, let it not be delayed. I fear she is very ill."
" Certainly, ma'am — certainly, Miss Brotherton, my best attention
may be depended on. But will you first, my dear young lady, give
me leave to observe that I would much rather see you in your carriage
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 135
than here. I really cannot answer for it. It is in point of fact im-
possible to say whether there may not be something deleterious, some-
thing noxious, in short, to your very precious health in the atmosphere
of this room."
" I thank you, sir. Be sure I will take quite sufficient care of myself;
but it is not for me that your services are wanted — it is here!"
Sophy, the eldest girl seemed unconscious of what was going on,
for she remained perfectly motionless on the spot where she had first
knelt down ; while the third sister, who had been sent on the poor
mother's last errand for bread, and who had crept back unobserved into
the room during the foregoing scene, occupied the space on her right
hand, Mary Brotherton having knelt on her left, so that there was
scarcely space for the approach of the smart apothecary.
" Move, my dear girls !" said Mary, gently laying a hand on the
shoulder of each.
They both rose ; while Mr. Thomas, carefully storing the anecdote
in aid of the gossiping part of his practice, looked and listened with
astonishment to what seemed to him the very unnatural conduct of the
rich young lady, and internally exclaimed, " A clear case of religious
mania this, as I ever saw ! She won't live long, probably. What a
match!"
It required no very long examination of the poor patient, to discover
that her last moment was rapidly approaching.
" Upon my word, Miss Brotherton, I really wish I could persuade
you to come away," persisted the medical gentleman as he once more
turned towards her. The air is becoming more mephitic every instant.
" This woman is at the last extremity."
" Nothing, then, can be done for her?" said Mary.
" No, ma'am — nothing in the world. Not the whole college, if they
were present, could keep soul and body together for another hour, I
would venture to say."
• On this Miss Brotherton put a fee into his hand, and bent her head
in token that his business there was ended, and that he might depart.
But he did not immediately obey the hint, for pocketing the unwonted
golden prize, he seemed anxious to remain a little longer where such
blessings abounded, and returning to the bed, again took hold of the
poor woman's hand, and then said in a voice of authority — " Let me
have some water."
It was Mary only who seemed to understand his words, and she
immediately obeyed them, placing in his hand the broken mug which
she had set aside upon the floor. The apothecary put the water to the
lips of the poor woman, and she again swallowed a little of it, after
which they saw her lips move as if she was making an effort to speak
to them.
Mrs. Tremlett lent over her, and then, with a stronger effort she
articulated — « Let me see William !"
" Who is William?" said Mrs. Tremlett raising herself, " Is it one
of the children ?"
" It be father," said Betsy.
136 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Where is he to be found ?" cried Miss Brotherton, eagerly. "Let
him be sought for instantly — where is he likely to be?"
?' At the gin-shop," replied the ungracious Grace.
" If you know where he is, go for him," said Mary, impressively,
" and for God's sake let him not delay !"
The girl she addressed stared at her as upon something utterly in-
comprehensible : but she obeyed, and, in so short a time as to show
that the gin-shop was at no great distance, returned with a man of an
exterior as filthy as the rest of his race, wretchedly crippled in the
legs, and a complexion that spoke both of ill health, and intemperance.
" What ! — It is come to that, is it, already?" said the man looking
wistfully at her from the bottom of the bed, but with a countenance
whose lines seemed too fixed in the expression of hard indifference, to
permit its exhibiting much feeling.
" She asked for you, father," said Sophy gently, then taking one of
her mother's hands in hers she murmured, " Mother! — Dear mother I
— open your eyes upon us, father is here, and all of us," while large
tear-drops fell upon the livid face as she hung over it.
The dying eyes were once more opened, and consciousness, and
recognition of them all, were visible as she suffered them to rest first -
on one, and then on another. The boy only, from his position, she
could not see ; but even then, there seemed intelligence between them,
and she certainly knew he was lying beside her, for her head rested
against his, and she raised her left hand till her fingers touched his
cheek. The youngest child also when the mother's eyes opened, was
too much behind her, but she seemed aware of her vicinity, and pro-
nounced the words " Little one !" probably her usual appellation, so
distinctly as to make the child start, and instantly climb upon the bed
to kiss her. The last movement was an effort to return this kiss ; and
the next moment Mrs. Tremlett removed the child's clinging lips from
a corse.
A very awful interval of perfect stillness followed. " Can I be of
any further service to you, Miss Brotherton ?" from the lips of Mr.
Thomas, were the first words that broke it.
Poor Mary only shook her head, but Mrs. Tremlett replied, " No,
thank you sir, nothing more ;" and with repeated bows, and rather a re-
luctant step, he departed ; turning, however, to give another glance at
the heiress, as he passed out, for he was not without hopes that she
might fall down in a fainting-fit. Nothing, however, of the kind hap-
pened, and he disappeared.
" You will go now, Mary dear ?" whispered Mrs. Tremlett, " and I
will come here to-morrow to inquire about them for you."
" Yes, I will go now," replied the young lady, " I cannot comfort
them." Then looking round upon the steadfast group, as if to dis-
cover which of them appeared in the fittest state to be spoken to, she
fixed upon the little Betsy, and placing a couple of sovereigns in her
hand, told her to take care of them, and give them to her father
presently, adding, " tell your sister Sophy to come up to my house.
This," giving a card, " is the place where I live."
-'/^v/ . ' ^/fV7/ ■^Wr/y/^'/ . /'//>/ ,y'/>
/■///:/ //ossible, to avoid having the trouble
of sending him to his destination myself. Now it unfortunately hap-
pened, that my man, Parsons, obeyed this order much more literally
than I intended ; for meeting in Ashleigh the persons I had named to
him the very next day, he immediately mentioned the circumstance to
them, and finding that they had a comfortable van, and every thin°-
convenient with them, the whole business was arranged and done
before I returned from a visit I had been making at Netherby. This
was certainly being more prompt than was necessary, but it would
have mattered little, comparatively speaking, had he not been such a
goose as to let the van drive off, without even asking to which of the
manufactories of the establishment it was going. Yet, although this
is vexing, my dear Miss Brotherton, I should think it could not be
very important. I have told Parsons to write about it immediately,
190 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
and he shall wait upon you with the information you wish for, as soon
as he receives it.
" Will you, my fair friend, join us in a little pionic party, projected
by our young people for Thursday next, ' under the green-wood tree
in Blackberry wood V Lady Clarissa is, of course, to be one of our
society, and she will communicate all particulars respecting place
and time.
" Ever, my dear Miss Brotherton,
" Very faithfully yours,
" Matthew Dowling."
Having read this letter to the end, she turned the sheet, and began
a re perusal of it, without uttering a word, and when she had again
reached its conclusion, she put it into the hands of Mrs. Tremlett, still
without speaking a word. Before, however, that excellent, but not
rapid lady, had got half through it, poor Mary's agitation broke
forth—
" What do you think of it, nurse ? for Heaven's sake, give me your
opinion without delay ! I am quite sure, that the poor creatures in
Hoxley-lane, whom I have beguiled with my presumptious promises,
will pine themselves to death with this uncertainty. Tremlett! for
mercy's sake finish reading it, and tell me what I can do more !"
It might not have been very easy for any one to have satisfactorily
answered this inquiry ; but the good Mrs. Tremlett was altogether
incapable of forming any opinion worth hearing on the subject, for in
truth she neither shared, nor fully comprehended the vague fears, that
were tormenting her young mistress.
Having, however, at length, despite of Mary's interruptions, con-
trived to reach the end of the epistle, her first words were —
" Don't, my darling Miss Mary ! — Let me beg of you to refuse at
once. There is nothing in the whole world so dangerous and cold-
catching, as these foolish parties on the damp grass. And besides, the
evenings are drav/ing in now, and I'm sure" —
f Oh ! Nurse Tremlett ! Nurse Tremlett !" interrupted Mary, more
angry with her than she had ever been in her whole life before, " How
can you be so cruel as to trifle thus? Why won't you try to think a
little for me about this strange mysterious business, and give me your
opinion ?"
" Lord bless you, Miss Mary, if you were to kill me, I could no
more help thinking of you first than I could fly," replied Mrs.
Tremlett. " And, indeed, my dear, I don't see what you should put
yourself into such a fuss for. What can you think is going to happen
to the little boy ? You'll just spoil that poor sickly body, my dear
child, if you encourage her in having such tantrums, because her boy
set out upon his journey a day, may be, earlier than she expected."
" Then you really and truly do not believe it possible, nurse, that
Sir Matthew Dowling should have smuggled the boy away, without
intending to let us know where he has sent him?" said Miss Bro-
therton.
" Good gracious, no, Miss Mary," replied her friend.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 191
For a moment, this opinion brought some consolation with it, simply
from the decision with which it was uttered ; but the next, all her
anxiety returned again, for though she felt that there was, perhaps,
something improbable and exaggerated in the idea of the child's being
kidnapped in the face of day, and as it were before a hundred wit-
nesses, there was at least no delusion as to his unhappy mother's state
of mind respecting him, nor in the fact of her having in some sort
pledged her own word, that the poor woman and her lame boy should
receive tidings of him.
A little further conversation with Mrs. Tremlett, convinced her that
her opinion on the subject could be of no great value, inasmuch as it
was founded solely on the notion, that " it was not likely, Sir Matthew
Dowling should want to hide away the little boy."
" No!" thought Mary. " Nor was it likely he should have acted,
looked, and spoken as I saw him do, when his poor girl lost her senses
from agony at my having witnessed it. If I misdoubt him unjustly,
I will be careful that it shall not injure him. I will await his own
time for information. If it comes, no one will be the worse for the
impatience with which I shall have waited for it. But, if it comes not,
I can be doing no wrong by taking every means of seeking it."
In conformity with this resolution, Miss Brotherton not only waited
with tolerable external composure herself, but continued in a great
degree to tranquillize the spirits of the widow Armstrong, likewise ;
and during a whole week, Sir Matthew Dowling was permitted to
remain unmolested. Miss Brotherton, indeed, did not meet him
under the greenwood-tree, pleading an indisposition, which was not
quite imaginary, as her excuse, but she troubled him with no more
questions.
On the day fixed for this at fresco meeting of nearly the whole
neighbourhood, Edward Armstrong was appointed to pay his first visit
to Millford Park. During her almost daily visits to his mother, she
had remarked that, though he uttered not a word in contradiction of
the reasonings, by which she sought to show the improbability that
any mischief could have befallen Michael, his speaking features ex-
pressed no confidence in them, and wishing upon this day of general
riding and driving, to remain within her own gates, she determined to
take the opportunity of conversing with him alone.
She was by herself in her pretty boudoir when he arrived, and per-
ceiving that his pale face was flushed by heat and exercise, she made
him sit down on the sofa, beside her.
There was something singularly sad in the utter indifference with
which his young eye wandered over all the striking and unwonted ob-
jects that surrounded him. When bad to sit beside the young lady on
her silken couch, he obeyed without seeming at all conscious that the
rest he needed was now afforded in more dainty style than usual, and
all the intelligence of his soul seemed settled in his eyes as he looked
into the face of Miss Brotherton, and faintly murmured —
" Is there any news of him ? "
" No, Edward, there is not," replied Mary, firmly ; " but surely,
192 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
my dear boy, this delay cannot justify the look of misery it produces
on your countenance. Tell me, Edward, what is it that you fear for
Michael !"
" I do not know myself," replied the boy. " And yet I think it
over in my head day and night only to find out what is the very worst
possible they can do to him."
" But is that wise, Edward, or is it right, think you, while your poor
mother has only you left to comfort her, that you should only strive to
fill your own head and hers with the very worst thoughts your fancy can
conjure up V*
" I do not fill mother's head with them,' , replied Edward. " I have
never told her one single word of all my dismal thoughts."
" Then you are a good boy, and 1 love you for it. But what are
your dismal thoughts, Edward? You may tell them to me."
The boy hesitated for a moment, and then said— " I think Sir
Matthew Dowling is a wicked, cruel man ; and I think that he would be
more likely to be wicked and cruel to Michael than good to him."
" What is it has made you think Sir Matthew cruel and wicked, Ed-
ward ?" demanded Miss Brotherton.
" Because he is hard and unjust to those who labour for him — and
because I have seen him laugh and make sport of the tears of little
children."
There was something in the accents of the boy that startled Mary. —
She felt inclined to exclaim — u How much more older art thou than
thy looks !" so thrilling was the tone, and so profound the feeling with
which he spoke.
" Yet still," she replied, " it is difficult to see that he could gain any
advantage by ill-using Michael in any way bad enough to make you
look so miserable, Edward."
" If he keeps him from me is not that enough V said the pale boy,
looking reproachfully at her.
" But, Edward, you knew that he was going to leave you ; and your
mother, at least, consented to it."
" Yes, she did consent to it. Poor, dear mother ! She did consent
to it. But had 1 been true, as I ought to have been, she never
would," said Edward, clasping his hands and closing his eyes with a
look of intense suffering.
" Explain yourself, my dear boy," said Mary, kindly. " In what
have you been otherwise than true V
" We agreed together — poor Michael and me agreed together, never
to let mother know how bad we were served at the mill — and, above
all, we agreed that she should never know how miserable Michael was
at the great house, 'cause we was sure she'd have him away, and so
lose the bit of comfortable food she has been having. But it was
wrong and wicked to deceive her. We should have told her all, and
then Michael would have never gone !"
" You acted for the best, my dear boy, and must not reproach your-
self," replied Mary ; " and so far am I from thinking it wrong to keep
her mind easy in her present state of health, that I strongly advise her
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 193
being still comforted as much as possible by our manner of talking to
her. Fear not, Edward, that I shall neglect the safety of Michael,
because you will not hear me talk of his being in any danger. I will
not rest till I know what has become of him."
Mary said this in a tone that left no doubt of her sincerity ; and it
was then for the first time that Edward seemed to remember her great-
ness. He stood up before her with a look of tender reverence inexpres-
sibly touching, and said solemnly — " Then God will bless you for it !"
u And he will bless you, my dear child !" replied Mary, with tears
starting to her eyes. ** He will bless and comfort you for all your
duty and affection. Keep up your spirits, Edward, and, above all
things, never be idle. It is for your mother's sake as well as your own
that I am so anxious you should learn to read and write, dear Edward
— and by degrees we shall get you on to ciphering, and who knows
but we may make a clerk or accountant of you, and so enable you to
get money, even if your health is not very good."
The boy smiled languidly as he replied, " I should like it very much,
if I was to live long enough."
" You will get stout and well, Edward," said Mary, cheerfully,
" now that you have no hard work to do. And you shall come up to
the same school that all my boys and girls go to here — and when
school is over, you must come every day to my kitchen with a little
basket for your mother. You understand, Edward ? And once every
week you must come up into this room to me with your books, that I
may see your writing and hear you read a little."
A gleam of hope and joy kindled in the boy's beautiful eyes as he
listened to her, and a bright blush mantled his pale cheeks ; but it was
like the flitting sunshine of April chased by a heavy cloud almost be-
fore its warmth could be felt or its beauty seen. u Oh ! if Michael
could but hear that !" he exclaimed, while tears, for the first since the
conversation began, burst from his eyes. " That was what poor Mi-
chael always wanted. If I could but learn, and so get my bread with-
out mill-slavery, Mike always said he would not mind working himself,
'cause he was so strong. But now that very thing is come ; and he,
maybe, wijl never know it !"
Heavy and fast the drops fell from beneath the hand which he had
raised to conceal his face, till Mary, as she watched him, wept for
company. This, however, was not the way to help him, and conquer-
ing a weakness so every way unwise, she spoke to him with affectionate
but steady firmness of the exertion it was his duty to make at a time
when his mother had none but him to comfort her. She had touched
the right string — the little fellow's nerves seemed braced, and every
faculty awakened by the words she uttered ; and if he took back to
his mother no tidings of poor Michael, he brought to her support a
young spirit strong in endurance, and an intellect that, for the first
time, had whispered to its owner hopes, promises, and aspirations,
which seemed to make the life he had often loathed a new-found trea-
sure to him. Mary saw not all that passed in the young mind she had
rescued from the listless languor of despair, yet she perceived enough
194 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
to satisfy her that she had done him good, and that, however vain her
hopes of benefiting the miserable Drakes might be, there could be no
doubt that, in this case at least, her efforts would net prove wholly
abortive.
It is wonderful what an energy and renewed impetus this conviction
gave to her spirits ! No mildew can blast more surely, or bring a more
lamentable feeling of withering over the heart, than that caused by the
cold and false philosophy which would check every effort to do good,
lest, v by possibility, success might not attend it.
The remainder of this day was by no means spent unhappily by the
warm-hearted little heiress. The schoolmistress was made to expect
Edward on the morrow — and the cook was made to expect Edward
on the morrow. One Mercury was despatched to the town for
a choice collection of slates, copies, spelling-books, and the like,
and another to Mary's tailor in ordinary, with instructions to call on
the widow Armstrong, and take measure of her son. All this business,
and a good deal more tending the same way, having been satisfactorily
got through in the course of the day that kept all the Ashleigh world
safely entangled in the thickets of Blackberry wood, Mary Brotherton
lay down to rest, and slept exceedingly well, though not urged thereto
by having shared in their pleasant fatigues.
She rose, the next morning with a sort of pleasant consciousness of
increasing power to walk alone in this busy world, and gaily announced
at breakfast to Mrs. Tremlett her purpose of immediately making a
visit of speculation to Mrs. Gabberly, in order to ascertain if any gos-
sip was yet afloat respecting the disappearance of Sir Matthew Dow-
ling's far-famed protege. The distance from Miss Brotherton's man-
sion to Mrs. Gabberly's cottage was not great, and the heiress traversed
it without having any fear of officers before her eyes, or any other pro-
tection than her parasol.
She was, of course, received with expressions of unmitigated asto-
nishment at her absence from the gala of the preceding day.
" What on earth, my dear child, could have kept you away V said
the animated lady.
" Perhaps I was afraid of taking cold, Mrs, Gabberly. Mrs. Trem-
lett took care I should remember how short the days are growing."
" Mrs. Tremlett ! — Nonsense ! — Well now, I can tell you thatyou just
lost the most delightful day that any body ever had. Such a dinner ! —
Game of all kinds — almost all in savoury jelly too ! Think of that !
So wholesome, you know, with the spice ; and eating it in the open
air, and all. Depend upon it, my dear Miss Brotherton, that if you
suffer yourself to be boxed up by that ignorant old woman, you will
very soon lose your health altogether. And do you know I can't help
thinking that you do look rather feverish to-day — your eyes have that
sort of brightness. I wish to goodness you would let me feel your
pulse."
" Nothing will do my pulse so much good, my dear Mrs. Gabberly,
as your telling me all the news you heard yesterday," said the young
lady, good-humouredly shaking the hand that was extended to ascer-
tain her state of health.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 195
///
/
iiiir i in-/' — — ■ ■»***■
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 203
sufferings endured, under the factory system, to be presented to the
public, it would be thrown aside by some, as greatly too tedious for
examination, and by others as a statement too atrocious to merit be-
lief. Yet, England must listen to it, and that soon, or she may mourn
her negligence when it is too late to repair it. That marvellous ma-
chinery of which we make our boast, Miss Brotherton, is not more per-
fect in its power of drawing out the delicately attenuated thread which
it is our glory to produce, then the system for reducing the human
labour necessary for its production to the lowest possible price is, for
degrading the moral nature of the helpless slaves engaged in it."
" That the system has such a tendency I cannot doubt, after the re-
peated assurances which have reached me, that so it is," replied Mary.
" Nevertheless, I am still unable to comprehend why it should be so."
" You have only to take advantage of your residence near Ashleigh,
Miss Brotherton, the dense population of which subsists almost wholly
by factory labour, in order to understand, but too well, why this ter-
rible result is inevitable. You are as yet too young a lady for me to
expect that you should have very deeply studied the nature of the
human mind, or made yourself fully aware how greatly the habits and
character of all human beings depend upon education, and the circum-
stances in which they are placed. Nevertheless, if you turn your at-
tention to the subject, you will not, young as you are, be long inca-
pable of detecting the dangers which beset the hearts and souls of
those whose unhappy destiny have made them factory labourers. The
dark little circle in which they move from birth to death, from father
to son, from mother to daughter, is so uniform, that almost any ave-
rage individual case may fairly serve as a specimen of the whole class.
Boys and girls, with few exceptions, labour indiscriminately altogether
in the factories. While still almost children, they form connexions,
and are married. Having worked in the mills, probably from five
years old to the hour of their unweighed and thoughtless union, the
boy assumes the duties of a husband with little more knowledge of
moral or religious responsibility than the brute animal that labours
with a thousand times less degradation in the fields ; while the childish
wife comes to her important task ignorant of every earthly usefulness,
save what belongs to the mechanical drudgery in which throughout the
whole of her short, sad life, she has been made to follow the uniform
and ceaseless movements of machinery. She cannot sew, she cannot
cook, she cannot iron, she cannot wash. Hermindisyet more untaught
and undisciplined than her hands. She is conscious of no responsibility,
she knows no law by which to steer her actions, or regulate her spirit,
and becomes a mother as she became a wife, without one single
thought of duty mixing itself with her increasing cares. By degrees,
both the husband and the wife find employment in the factory less
certain. It is for children, children, children, that the unwearied engine
calls, and keenly does the hungry father, and the mother too, watch the
growth of the little creatures to whom they have given birth, till the-
slight limbs have firmness enough to stand, and the delicate joints are
sufficiently under the command of the frightened will to tie threads
204 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
together under the potent inspiration of the overlooker's strap. Then
comes a state of deeper degradation still. The father is idle, for often
he can get no woik, and it is to the labour of his little ones that he
looks for bread. Nature recoils from the spectacle of their unnatural
o'erlaboured aspect as they return from their thirteen, fourteen, fif-
teen, hours of toil. He has not nerve to look upon it, and creeps to
the gin-shops till they are hid in bed. The mother sees it all, and
sternly screws her courage to the task of lifting their bruised and
weary limbs upon their bed of straw, putting into their mouths the food
she has prepared, their weary eyes being already closed in sleep, and
preparing herself to wake before the sun on the morrow, that with un-
relenting hand she may drag them from their unfinished slumber, and
drive them forth again to get her food. This is no varnished tale, Miss
Brotherton, but the bare, naked, hideous truth. And can you wonder
that beings thus reared and ripened should form a degraded class 1
Can you wonder that all others should turn from them, as from a race
with whom they have nothing in common ? If some sad accident,
preceding birth, disturbs the beautiful process by which nature prepares
the noble being she has made to be lord of all, and an abortive crea-
ture comes to life, curtailed of all its fair proportions, botH of mind
and body, all within reach of the hapless prodigy shudder as they
mourn, and the best and wisest among them pray to God that its span
of life be short. But believe me when I tell you, Miss Brotherton,
that the effect which the factories of this district is producing upon
above two hundred thousand of its population, is beyond all calcula-
tion more deplorable, and many a child is born amongst them whose
destiny, if fairly weighed against that of such a one as I have described,
would appear incomparably more terrible."
'* Can such things be, and the rulers of the land sit idly by to wit-
ness it?" cried Mary shuddering.
" It seems as if the rulers of the land knew little, and cared less
about it," replied Mr. Bell. "The profoundly ignorant opinion that
there is some connexion between our national prosperity, and the
enormous fortunes amassed by some score of North-country manufac-
turers has, I believe, produced much of the lamentable non-interfer-
ence of which the disinterested few complain, who are near enough
to look upon the frightful game. Some individual voices have been
most gloriously raised on this tremendous theme, and if they will
be steadfast and enduring, they must and will prevail — for human na-
ture, with all its vices, is not framed to look coldly on such horrors,
and permit them. But the remedial process is so slow — it is so diffi-
cult to arouse the attention, and awaken the feelings of busy men con-
cerning things at a distance, whose connexion with all that they deem
important they are too ignorant of, or too preoccupied to trace, that the
keenest observers, and those who would the most deeply deprecate any
remedy but a legal one, begin to fear that mercy will be clamoured for
with very dangerous rudeness, before the parliament of England shall
have roused up its wisdom to the task of affording it.
" And in what way, Mr. Bell, is it wished, or hoped, that the legis-
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 206
lature should step forward to cure this dreadful evil ? Is it proposed
to abolish the use of machinery T
Mr. Bell smiled, and shook his head.
" You perhaps think," said he, " that there is a great disproportion
between my strong sense of the vice and suffering produced by the
factory system, and the measure for its mitigation to which I now limit
almost my wishes. But it would be vain to look back to the time when
steam engines were not, and there would indeed be little wisdom in
addressing our lamentations to their introduction. It is not the acqui-
sition of any natural power, principle, or faculty, that we should de-
plore; all such, on the contrary, should be hailed as part and parcel
of our magnificent birthright, and each new use we learn to make of
the still much-unknown creation around us, ought to be welcomed with
a shout of praise, as a fresh fulfilment of the supreme command
' replenish the earth and subdue it/ It is not from increased, or in-
creasing science that we have any thing to dread, it is only from a
fearfully culpable neglect of the moral power that should rule and re-
gulate its uses, that it can be other than one of God's best gifts."
H But how," demanded Mary, " how, if machinery continues to be
used, can any Act of Parliament prevent the necessity of employing
children to wait upon its operations, instead of requiring the strength
of men, as heretofore, to perform what the steam-engine does in their
place ?"
" No Act of Parliament can be conceived capable of inducing a
manufacturer to employ the weaker, and at the same time the more
costly agent, in preference to a more powerful and cheaper one," re-
plied Mr. Bell. li No reasonable man would ask this, no rea-
sonable man would desire it, and assuredly no reasonable man
would attempt to enforce such an absurdity by law. No, Miss Bro-
therton, this mighty power, as surely given for our use as is the
innocent air that fans the woodbine yonder, has at length, after
some few thousand years of careless overlooking on our part, been
revealed to us. But let us not fly in the face of benignant nature,
and say like Caliban,
" You taught me language ; and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse."
" If used aright the recannot be a doubt that this magnificent power
might, in all its agencies, be made the friend of man. It requires no
great stretch of ingenuity to conceive that it might be rendered at once
a source of still increasing wealth to the capitalist, and of lightened
labour to the not-impoverished operative. But that, as things are at
present, this great discovery, and all the admirable ingenuity with
which it is applied, acts as a ban instead of a blessing, upon some
hundred thousands of miserable victims is most true, while all the benefit
that can be shown as a balance to this horror, is the bloated wealth of
a small knot of master- manufacturers. But so monstrous is this evil,
that its very atrocity inspires hope, from the improbability that when
once beyond all reach of contradiction its existence shall be known
by all men, it should be permitted to continue."
206 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Then why is it not known V 9 demanded Mary, her colour height-
ened as she remembered her own entire ignorance upon the subject
a few short weeks before, " surely it is the duty of all lookers-on to
proclaim it to the whole world."
" Alas ! Miss Brotherton ! It is more easy to raise a voice, than to
command attention to it. Loud and long must be the cry that shall
awaken the indifferent, and rouse the indolent to action. But this
loud, long cry, will be uttered, and by the blessing of God it will be
listened to at last."
" But tell me Mr. Bell," resumed his deeply interested auditor,
"what is this moderate enactment in mitigation of these wretched
people's sufferings, which you say would content you V
" All that we ask for," replied Mr. Bell, " all that the poor crea-
tures ask for themselves, is that by Act of Parliament it should be
rendered illegal for men women and children to be kept to the weary-
ing unhealthy labour of the mills for more than ten hours out of
every day, leaving their daily wages at the same rate as now."
" And would that suffice," demanded Miss Brotherton with astonish-
ment, " to effectually relieve the horrors you have been describing to
me?"
" Miss Brotherton it would," replied the clergyman. e< I would
be loath to weary you with details," he continued, " but a few items
may suffice to make you see how enormous are the benefits which
would follow such an enactment. At present, if a large demand for
manufactured goods arises, instead of being, as it ought, a blessing to
the industrious hands that must supply it, it comes upon them as a
fearful burden, threatening to crush the very springs of life in the
little creatures that are chiefly to sustain it, while the golden harvest
that it brings is not for them, but for their masters. For the miserable
meed of an extra penny, or sometimes three- halfpence a day, the
young slaves (who, observe, have no power of choice, for if they, or
their parents for them, refuse, they are instantly turned off to literal
starvation — no parish assistance being allowed to those who resist the
regulations of the manufacturers), for this wretched equivalent for
health and joy, are compelled, whenever our boasted trade flows
briskly, to stand to their work for just as many hours as the application
of the overlooker's strap, or billy-roller, can keep them on their legs.
Innumerable instances are on record of children falling from excess of
weariness on the machinery, and being called to life by its lacerating
their flesh. It continually happens that young creatures under fifteen
years of age, are kept from their beds all night. Fifteen, sixteen,
seventeen, hours of labour out of the twenty-four, are cases which
recur continually, and I need not say with what effect upon these vic-
tims of ferocious avarice. Now not only would all this be mended, the
positive bodily torture spared, and as far as is consistent with constant
in-door occupation, the health of the labourers preserved, were it made
unlawful to keep them at positive labour for more than ten hours of every
day ; not only would all this follow from the enactment, but innu-
merable other advantages, some of them more important still, would,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG, 207
beyond all question, be its consequence. In the first place, were there
no power of executing great and sudden orders by irregular exactions
of labour, the recurrence of those fearful intervals when the starving
operatives are thrown out of employ by the accidents which cause a
deficiency in the demand, would not happen — for in that case the
capitalists would find themselves obliged to be beforehand with the de-
mand, even though some portion of their enormous wealth should for
a time lie idle. From this would also follow the necessity of often
employing adult hands, where now the cheaper labour of children, forced
from their very vitals through the day and night, may be had for the sin of
demanding it. Then would the unnatural spectacle of a stalwart
father idly waiting to snatch the wages from the little feverish hand of his
o'er-laboured child be seen no more. Then would there be strength
and spirits left in the young to profit by the Sunday-schools now so
often ostentatiously opened in vain, because the only way in which a little
piecer can keep holiday is by lying throughout the day stretched upon
his straw in heavy sleep. Then too, the demoralizing process by which
the heart of a mother is rendered hard as the nether mill-stone, by the
necessity of goading her infants to their frightful toil, would cease.
Boys and girls would no longer have to return to their homes at
midnight — there would be time and inclination then, for those com-
fortable operations of the needle and the shears, which
' Make old clothes look amaist as weel as new.'
Then would not the disheartened ministers of God's church strive in
vain to make the reckless, joyless, worthless race listen to his words of
faith and hope. Then, Miss, Brotherton, they would arise from that
state of outcast degradation which has caused your friends to tell you
that it would be ' unsafe, improper, and altogether wrong/ for you,
and such as you, to make personal acquaintance with them."
" And do you really think all this mighty, this glorious good,
would follow from an enactment so moderate, so reasonable, so every
way unobjectionable ?"
" I have not the slightest shadow of a doubt, Miss Brotherton, that
such good would follow it, and more, much more, than I have named
— more than any one could believe or comprehend, who has not, like
myself, been watching for years the misery, the vice, the degradation,
which have resulted from the want of it."
" Then why, Mr. Bell, have not such representations been made to
the legislature as must ensure its immediate adoption?"
The good clergyman shook his head. l( It is a most natural, question,
my dear young friend — allow me so to call you. All are my friends who
feel upon this subject as you appear to do. It is a most natural and a most
obvious question. Yet would my reply be any thing rather than easy of
comprehension were I to attempt to answer it directly. I sincerely hope
I shall converse with you again on this subject. Documents are not want-
ing, my dear Miss Brotherton, to prove that all, or nearly all, that pri-
vate individuals can do, in the way of petition and remonstrance, has
been already tried ; nor are we yet without hope that good may come
of it. But it must be long, and perhaps the longer the better, ere
208 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
your young head and innocent heart, can conceive our diffi-
culties. You would hardly believe the ingenious devices to which
frightened avarice can have recourse in order to retard, mutilate,
and render abortive a measure having for its object a reduction
of profits, with no equivalent save the beholding smiles instead
of tears, and hearing the sounds of song and laughter instead
of groans !"
" But while you are still waiting and hoping for this aid from our
lawgivers," said Mary, " is there nothing that can be done in the in-
terval to help all this misery, Mr. Bell V y
" Nothing effectual, my dear young lady," he replied mournfully.
" I may, with no] dishonest boasting say, that my life is spent in
doing all I can to save these unhappy people from utter degradation
and despair. But the oppression under which they groan is too over-
whelming to be removed, or even lightened, by any agency less power-
ful than that of the law. Nothing, in fact, can so clearly show the
powerful oppression of the system as the total inefficiency of individual
benevolence to heal the misery of those who suffer under it. Its power
is stupendous, awful, terrible ! Nature herself, elsewhere so omnipo-
tent, here feels the strength of unchecked human wickedness, and
seems to bend before it. For most certain is it, that in less than half
a century, during which the present factory system has been in opera-
tion, the lineaments of the race involved in it are changed and deterio-
rated. The manufacturing population are of lesser and of weaker growth
than their agricultural countrymen. The development of the intellectual
faculties is obviously becoming weaker, and many whom we have every
reason to believe understand the physiology of man as thoroughly as
science can teach it to them, do not scruple to assert, that if the pre-
sent system continues, the race of English factory operatives will
dwindle and sink in the strongly-graduated scale of human beings, to
something lower than the Esquimaux."
" Gracious Heaven !" cried Mary, clasping her hands with an
emotion that almost amounted to agony, " and all these, horrors are
perpetrated for the sake of making rich, needlessly, uselessly rich, a
few obscure manufacturing families like my own ! This is very dread-
ful sir/' she continued, while tears burst from her eyes. " I have
gained knowledge but not peace by my visit, and I must leave you
with the sad conviction that the hope I had nourished of making my
fortune useful to the suffering creatures among whom I live, is vain
and idle."
Mr. Bell listened to this melancholy assertion, and sighed because
he could not contradict it. " Yes ;" said he, at length, " it is even so ;
and if any proof were wanted of the depth and hopelessness of the
wretchedness which the present system produces, it might be found in
the fact, that despite the inclination I feel both for your sake, and that
of the poor operatives, to encourage your generous benevolence, I can-
not in conscience tell you that it is in your power effectually to assist
them. That you may save your own excellent heart from the palsy of
hopeless and helpless pity, by the indulgence of your benevolence in
individual cases of distress, I need not point out to you ; but that any
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 209
of the ordinary modes of being useful on a larger scale, such as
organising schools, founding benefit societies, or the like, could be of
any use to beings so crushed, so toil-worn, and so degraded, it would
be idle to hope."
Miss Brotherton now rose to depart — but as she extended her hand,
and began to utter her farewell, it occurred to her that it was possible
her new friend might, by conjecture at least throw some light upon the
destination of little Michael, and avoiding as much as possible the
making any direct charge against her rich neighbour, she briefly nar-
rated the facts of Michael's adoption, dismissal, and unknown desti-
nation, with little commentary on either, but concluded by saying,
" The mother of the child is in great anxiety about him, and though
I cannot conceive it possible any harm can have befallen the boy, I am
in some sort a fellow-sufferer with her in the anxiety which this
mystery occasions, from having almost pledged myself to learn the
place of his destination. Can you, dear sir, suggest to me any means
by which this information can be obtained V
" Some part of this history has reached us already/' replied Mr.
Bell, " It has been somewhat industriously bruited through the neigh-
bourhood, that Sir Matthew Dowling, notoriously one of the most
tyrannical millocrats in the whole district, has been moved to kindness
in behalf of some poor widow's son, and taken him to be reared and
educated with his own children — I trust I am excusable, knowing what
I know, for misdoubting the disinterested benevolence of any act of
Sir Matthew Dowling's. Nevertheless it is certainly not easy to per-
ceive why, after having so ostentatiously distinguished the boy, he should
kidnap him, as it were, from his own house, in order to get rid of him.
If, instead of being the object of especial favour, the little fellow had
fallen under the rich knight's displeasure, Miss Brotherton, I should
think it by no means improbable that he might have consigned him as
an apprentice to some establishment, too notorious for its severity to
make it desirable that his selection of it should be made known. But
of this there seems neither proof nor likelihood."
Miss Brotherton turned pale as she listened to this suggestion.
" Nay, but there is both truth and likelihood in such a suspicion," she
exclaimed with considerable emotion, and after a moment's considera-
tion, added, " I know no reason why I should conceal the cause I have
for saying so — if you know not all, how can you give me counsel ?"
Hurriedly, and as briefly as possible, Miss Brotherton then recounted
the scene she had witnessed in the green-room of the Dowling-
lodge theatricals, but there was an unconscious and involuntary fer-
vour in her manner of narrating it, which rendered it impossible to listen
with indifference, or not to feel at the recital some portion of the in-
dignation she had felt when it occurred.
" It must be looked to, Miss Brotherton," replied her warm-hearted
new acquaintance. " The boy must be traced, tracked, found, and
rescued. I think there are few of these wretched prison-houses of
whose existence I am ignorant, and it is probable 1 may be able to
help you in this. Should I obtain any hint likely to be useful in the
p
210 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
search, I will call upon you, if you will give me leave, to communi-
cate it."
Most earnestly and truly did the heiress assure him that it was im-
possible she could receive a visit more calculated to give her pleasure,
adding that whether the hint were obtained or not, she trusted the ac-
quaintance she had so unceremoniously began, would not drop here
and that by returning her visit, he would prove to her that he was not
displeased by it.
It rarely happens between right-hearted people who meet for the
first time, if one of the parties conceives a liking for the other, that it
fails to prove mutual ; and it was with a cordial sincerity, as genuine
as her own, that Mr. Bell expressed his hope that their acquaintance
would ripen into friendship.
Too intently occupied by all that had passed, to remember her own
arrangements, Mary forgot that her carriage was not at the door, and
while these parting words were exchanged, walked forth, expecting to
find it. It was Mrs. Tremlett who first recollected that the coachman
had been ordered to put up his horses at the nearest inn, but this was not
till they had traversed the little garden, and were already in the lane ;
for though the good nurse had been little more than personnage muet
during the foregoing scene, she had taken a deep interest in it, and it
was much with the air of one awaking from a dream, that she said,
" My dear Miss Mary ! you have forgot that the carriage is sent
away."
" Indeed have I !" said Mary, laughing, " and no wonder. But
there stands our faithful William, he will tell us in what direction we
may find it."
" Will you not return, Miss Brotherton, while it is made ready?"
said the clergyman.
" Not if you will walk on with us, dear sir. The evening is delight-
ful, but already quite far enough advanced to make it prudent not to
lose any time." And having given orders that the carriage was to
follow, they strolled on towards the turnpike.
" There," said Mr. Bell, pointing to the towering chimneys of a large
factory at some distance, " there, Miss Brotherton, is an establishment
where, though carding and spinning go on within the walls, and some
hundreds of children and young girls are employed in attending the ma-
chinery that performs the process, the voice of misery is never heard,
for there the love of gold is chained and held captive by religion and
humanity."
" Thank God I" exclaimed Mary, as she looked at the sinless
monster to which he pointed. " It is not of necessity then, that this
dangerous trade is fatal to all employed in it."
" Certainly not. Were but its labours restricted both for young
and old, to ten hours a day, there is no reason on earth why it should
not be carried on with comfort and advantage to every individual con-
cerned in it, and with credit, honour, and prosperity to the country.
But you can hardly guess what up-hill work it is, when one good man
has got to stand alone, and breast the competition of a whole host of
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 211
bad ones in his commercial enterprises. The high-minded owners of
yonder factory are losing thousands every year by their efforts to purify
this traffic of its enormities — and some thousand small still voices call
down blessings on them for it. But while it costs them ten shillings
to produce what their neighbours can bring into the market for nine,
they will only be pointed at as pitiably unwise in their generation by all
the great family of Mammon which surrounds them. Few, alas ! will
think of following the example ! All they can do therefore is in fact
but to carry on a system of private charity on an enormous scale — but
till they are supported by law, even their vast efforts, and most noble
sacrifices can do nothing towards the general redemption of our poor
northern people from the state of slavery into which they have fallen.
And yet I do believe, Miss Brotherton," he continued, after a pause,
" I do most truly believe that these greedy tyrants would fail more
rarely than now they do in their efforts to realize enormous wealth, if
the system were to undergo exactly the change we ask for. The plan
of under-selling may indeed in some few instances enable a very lucky
man to run up a blood-stained fortune ; and blood-stained it must be,
for whenever this method of commanding a sale is pursued, and ruin
does not ensue, it is demonstrable that the bones and marrow of chil-
dren, working unlimited hours, must have been the main agent in the
operation. But it is quite certain that the underselling system must
upon the long run be ruinous. If all the losses upon our production
were fairly set against all the gains from the immoderate working of
young hands, the slavery scheme would appear as little profitable as
holy. But here is your carriage, my dear young lady ! God bless you !
and may we live to rejoice together over an effectual legislative remedy
for the evils we have passed this our first interview in deploring !"
So saying, he extended his hand to assist her into the carriage which
had already drawn up beside them — but Miss Brotherton stepped aside
while he performed this office to her friend, and then laying her hand
on his arm, drew him back a step or too to the spot from whence the
factory chimneys he had pointed out to her were visible.
(i Tell me, before we part," she said, *' the names of those to whom
that building belongs?"
" Wood and Walker," replied the clergyman.
" Thank you !" she replied ; "I shall never hear those names with-
out breathing a blessing on them !"
Friendly farewells were once more exchanged, and the meditative
heiress was driven back to Millford-park in silence so profound, that
her old friend believed her to be asleep, and carefully abstained from
any jnovement that might awaken her. But Mary Brotherton was not
asleep.
p 2
212 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER XX.
TRADE IN A FLOURISHING STATE THE BENEFITS CONFERRED
THEREBY TO THOSE EMPLOYED IN IT THE NATURAL LOGIC OF
RELIGION — ITS FALLIBILITY WHEN PUT TO THE TEST.
The moment at which Michael Armstrong entered the cotton mill
at Deep Valley, was a critical one. The summer had been more than
commonly sultry, and a large order had kept all hands very sharply at
work. Even at dead of night the machinery was never stopped, and
when one set of fainting children were dragged from the mules another
set were dragged from the reeking beds they were about to occupy, in
order to take their places. The ventilation throughout the whole fabric
was exceedingly imperfect; the heat, particularly in the rooms im-
mediately beneath the roof, frightfully intense ; cleanliness as to the
beds, the floors, and the walls, utterly neglected ; and even the persons
of the children permitted to be filthy to excess, from having no soap
allowed to assist their ablutions — though from the greasy nature of their
employment it was peculiarly (required, while the coarse meal oc-
casionally given out to supply its place was invariably swallowed, being
far too precious in the eyes of the hungry children to be applied to the
purpose for which it was designed. In addition to all this, the food was
miserably scanty, and of a nature so totally unfit to sustain the strength
of growing children thus severely worked, that within a fortnight after
Michael's arrival, an epidemic fever of a very alarming description be-
gan to shew itself. But it had made considerable progress, before the
presence of this new horror was revealed to him.
Notwithstanding all the hardships of Brookford factory, no infec-
tious disease had ever appeared there, which it is possible might have
been owing to the fact that the majority of the labourers in it lived at a
considerable distance, thus insuring to them a walk morning and night,
through the fresh air. This, though it added to their daily fatigue,
probably lessened the danger of it, while the wretched hovels to which
they returned for their short night's rest, miserable shelters as they
were, reeked not with the congregated effluvia of fifty uncleansed
sleepers in one chamber ! Michael, therefore, had never before wit-
nessed the hideous approach of contagion. The general appearance
too of the Deep Valley troop was so far from healthy, that the sickly
aspect of those first seized upon was less remarkable than it would
have been elsewhere. Thus another week wore away, during which,
though several of those who had been working when it began were
withdrawn, and known to be in the sick-ward ere it closed, the fact
that an infectious fever was among them had not yet got wing.
" Poor dear Betsy Price !*' whispered Fanny Fletcher to her friend
Michael, as they sat side by side at their miserable dinner one day.
" I heard missis tell master that she was dead. But I am trying to be
glad for it Michael."
" Glad, Fanny?" replied the boy, "you told me once that you
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 213
liked her more than any other girl in the mill, and now you are glad
she is dead !"
" I am not so glad as I think I ought to be," returned Fanny
gently. " She will not be hungry in Heaven, Michael, nor will she
work till she is ready to fall : and surely God will give us green fields
and sweet fresh air in Heaven, and there must be flowers, Michael.
Oh ! I am quite sure of that, and Betsy Price will have it all ! Ought
I not to be very, very, glad V*
Michael looked in her sweet, innocent face, as she said this, and
tears filled his eyes.
" And if you die, Fanny, must I be glad too ?"
" If you thought about Heaven as I do, and if you loved me very
much indeed," replied the little girl, " I can't tell how you could help
being glad."
" But I do love you very much indeed," said Michael, almost choked
by his efforts not to cry, " and I do think of Heaven, too, Fanny, but
I could'nt be glad if you was to die !"
" Not when you hear that, Michael !" said Fanny, starting up as the
lash of the governor's whip resounded through the room as a signal
that their numbered moments of rest were over. " I suppose then I
love you better than you love me, for I could not help being glad if I
knew that you would never hear nor feel that lash again !"
When they met again at supper, Michael, though still unsuspicious
of the cause, missed three more children from their places. He fan-
cied, too, that there was something new and strange in the aspect of
their hard-featured female tyrant ; she was paler than usual, scolded
not at all, and when she spoke to her husband, it was in a voice that
hardly exceeded a whisper. Yet, notwithstanding this, some young
ears again caught words that told of death. Yet still the mill worked
on, and nothing seemed to mark that any calamity more than usual
had got among them.
By degrees, however, the growing pestilence burst forth, as it were,
before the eyes of the terrified children, and they knew that the grave
yawned before them all. Then it was that the ghastly countenances of
each doomed victim struck dismay into the hearts of their companions
even before they were permitted to leave their labour, and sink down
to the rest that should be disturbed no more. But still the mill went
on, for Mr. Elgood Sharpton had just received a glorious order from
Russia, and it would have been perfect madness, as this gentlemen was
heard to remark to his eldest son, if a death or two among the appren-
tice children was to check the mill at such a time as that.
So the mill went on, and death went on too. But as it is considered
by all parties concerned to be extremely important that the cry of
epidemic contagion should not be raised in the neighbourhood of a
factory under these circumstances, it was deemed best by Mr. Elgood
Sharpton, and his confidential managers, not to call in medical assist-
ance.
" For first and foremost, Poulet," said the experienced proprietor to
the governor of the apprentice house, " first and foremost, it is of
214 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
no manner of use. I never knew any proper, regular contagious fever
in my life, that could be stopped short by a doctor. You must take
care of yourself and your wife, of course, and I will see that you have a
hamper of good old port sent in, and mind that you both of you take
two glasses a day each, Poulet — one before you go into the rooms in
the morning, and the other, after you have seen them all down for the
night, and we must order in a cask of vinegar to sprinkle the cham-
bers. Trust me that this will do more good than all the doctors that
ever were hatched. Besides the vinegar cask will never sing out you
know, Poulet, and the doctor might."
To this reasoning, and to these arrangements, no objection whatever
was made by the governor of the apprentice-house. Of athletic frame,
and iron nerves, he grinned defiance at any danger that threatened his
own person, rightly enough thinking, perhaps, that any disease to
which his water-porridge-fed troop appeared peculiarly liable, would
be little likely to attack himself.
It was, however, not the least part of his wisdom upon this occa-
sion, that he systematically paid as little attention to what was going
on round him as possible. Had he made it a habit to look into the
haggard faces of the drooping children, as one after another they
pined, languished, and sunk, first into the horrible abyss of wretched-
ness called the sick-ward, and then into the grave, it is possible that he
too might in some degree have been shaken. As it was, however, he
went on so cleverly supplying the missing hands by recommending to
the manager that one healthy child should do the work of two, and so
cleverly, also, getting all that died by day buried by night, without
making, as he said, any fuss or fidget about it whatever, that Mr. El-
good Sharpton felt him to be eminently deserving of an especial re-
ward, and when fifteen children had been noiselessly buried, in Tugs-
well churchyard, he presented him with a Bank of England note for
ten pounds, as a testimony of his esteem and gratitude for his very
exemplary and praiseworthy behaviour. It fared not quite so well,
however, with his wife. Whether it were that the poco-curante system
was less within reach of her position than of his ; or that her frame
was less stoutly proof against the malaria with which she was sur-
rounded, a visible change came over her about three weeks after this
visitation had been first felt at the Deep Valley mills. Strong in con-
stitution, and athletic in form, it seemed, however, no easy matter for
disease itself to conquer her. The large dark eye grew dim, and sunk
back behind her high cheek-bones by degrees. Her coarse firm-set
features appeared to relax, and her active limbs to languish, for two
whole days before she yielded herself to the invincible power that had
seized upon her.
It happened during this interval that Fanny Fletcher and Michael,
in their eagerness to communicate to each other their observations on
the rapidly-increasing sickness of their fellow-labourers, hung back
together, as the frightened train swept on before the lifted lash of the
governor, and permitted nearly all their companions to reach the mill
ere they had left the supper-room. They were perhaps themselves un-
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OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 215
conscious how much they were emboldened to this hardy defiance of
a standing law by the unwonted stillness of tongue, and tameness of
aspect observable in Mrs. Poulet. But if they fancied they were to
escape entirely they were mistaken, for whilst the little girl was telling
Michael that they ought always, at work, or not at work, to be think-
ing of God, who was perhaps thinking of them, and meaning to take
them both up together to his own happy Heaven, just as she had laid
her hand on his to enforce her words, and looking wistfully in his face
pronounced aloud, " Do Michael, do I" the sick dragon stepped back
on hearing them, from the passage that led into the kitchen, and turn-
ing her ghastly face full upon them, exclaimed, while her languid fist
strove in vain to clench and raise itself, as in days of yore, to threaten
castigation.
" Do ! you devil's imps ! I'll do ye ! Off to your mules or by — J*
But ere she could finish the sentence, her fever-laden sinews relaxed,
and seizing upon the long table for support she sank almost insensible
upon a bench.
Greatly terrified, both Michael and Fanny screamed together,
but they screamed in vain. There was no longer any one within
hearing save in the closely packed chamber above, where more than
twenty sick children lay two and two together, in their miserable beds,
but totally without nurses or attendants of any kind, so that their loud
cries, though heard by many brought assistance from none.
" Oh ! Michael! Michael! she'll die too !" said Fanny shuddering.
" I would make her live longer if I could. She is not fit to die. Go
to the pump, Michael, and fetch water ! Go, go, dear boy. We must
not leave her this way !"
The little girl endeavoured to raise the woman's head, which had
sunk upon the table, but the effort was beyond her strength, and feel-
ing after a moment's reflection that the best manner of assisting her,
would be to call others, she cried, " No, no ! don't go Michael !
Don't go for the water. It is no use my trying to hold her up, and be-
sides we don't know if it is good for her or not. Oh dear! how
dreadful bad she looks. Let us run away to the mill, Michael, and
tell the master."
The seizure of Mrs. Poulet, unlike every other, became, within an hour,
from the time it was known, the theme of every tongue throughout the
whole establishment. Had it been Mr. Elgood Sharpton himself it could
not well have occasioned a greater sensation. The effect this produced
throughout the sickly troop might have served as a proof of the wisdom
of a government when it conceals the mischief it has brought upon an
empire, from those who are likely to discuss it. The total silence which till
now had been preserved among the managers and overlookers respect-
ing the contagious nature of the malady which had got among the
children, the absence of all medical attendance, and of all precau-
tionary or medical measures in any way calculated to excite attention,
had hitherto very successfully prevented rumour from doing her usual
work on such occasions ; and it is probable that this partial ignorance
of their own danger considerably lessened its consequences ; for it was
216 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
only one or two such thougthful, meditative little things, as Fanny
Fletcher, who had began to remember having heard of infectious
fevers, and to think that maybe it was something of that sort that had
made Nos. 9, 16, 18, 19. &c, &c, stay away so long, and that too,
when the mill was so very busy.
But when it became generally known that the awful strength of Mrs.
Poulet was laid low, and when the words, " the fever have cautched
her V had once been pronounced aloud, the palpable image of the pale
tyrant seemed to stand frowning in the midst of them, substituting his
grisley hour-glass and scythe for the fist, and the frown he had con-
quered.
The scene which followed this was very frightful. — Those upon whom
infection had seized, sunk from their work at once, despite the goading
thong which had hitherto kept them from dropping— as the spur and
the lash sustain the failing post-horse. While those who were yet un-
touched looked in each other's faces as if to watch who next should
fail. When the children from all the different floors of the fabric met
together at their midday meal, the first thought of each seemed to be
the finding out who was missing since last they assembled, and the
shudder that followed the perceiving another and another, and another
gone, ran along the shortening lines with an agony which grew more and
more intense as their numbers lessened.
When things had reached this state, Mr. Elgood Sharpton agreed
with Mr. Poulet that it might perhaps be as well to let an apothecary
from Tugswell visit the factory, to which reluctant decision two reasons
strongly contributed. The first was, that though with his usual fore-
thought he had divided his nocturnal buryings between the churchyards
of Tugswell and Meddington, the clergymen of both had declared that
their frequency rendered it necessary that some inquiry should be made
into the cause of so great a mortality — and the second was that the
fact of the mistress of the apprentice house, being herself at the point
of death from the same malady, must infallibly prove to the medical
visitant that it was no treatment peculiar to the children which had oc-
casioned it, but that it had come beyond all possibility of contradiction
by the visitation of God.
Nevertheless the medical gentleman ventured to declare that nothing
would be so likely to stop the contagion as nourishing food ; upon
which the terrified manufacturer astonished all the butchers within his
reach, by commanding a large supply of beef and mutton " good
enough to make wholesome soup" and before another ghastly week had
passed away, the wisdom of this prescription became so evident that
when settling accounts together at the end of it, Mr. Poulet hinted to
his employer that he did not feel quite sure whether upon the whole a
little better living for the apprentices might not pay.
For all answer Mr. Elgood Sharpton put his finger to the sum total
for provisions during the last week, and then turning back a page or
two of the huge volume, did the same by the sum total of a former
week.
*" True, sir, true enough," said Mr. Poulet, " but howsomever it
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 217
can't be denied, that if we go on this fashion we shall have no hands
left to work with. — and there would be but small profit in that sir."
'•* My dear Poulet, you do not study the population returns as at-
tentively as I do," replied his enlightened master. " Just at this
moment it may be very right to cram them for several reasons — the
best being, observe, that by so doing we stop more mouths than their
own. But as to going on in the same style of expense when this fit of
dying and gossiping is over, it is quite out of the question, and I do
beg that you will never mention the subject to me again. You can
know little my good Poulet of the rate at which pauper children are
multiplied, if you think it necessary to preserve them at this ruinous
rate of expence. If there were all of them to die off before the end of
the month, I would undertake to* have their place supplied before the
end of the next. You may take my word for it that no man ever suc-
ceeded in business who did not know how to make out an accurate
balance between profit and loss. I know to a fraction what each of
these 'prentice brats are worth, Poulet, and I can tell you that such
weekly bills as these would speedily turn the tables against us."
'* In that case, sir, there is surely no more to be said," replied
Poulet ; and then changing the subject, he added, " In course, sir.
you won't object to my missis being buried by day, instead of by night ?
Besides respect to her, sir, I think it would be quite as well, shewing
all the country, you see, as how flesh is but grass for the high, as for
the low, and making it manifest to all the country that it can't be no
want of good nursing and comfort as causes the deaths at our mill."
" Quite right, quite right, Poulet," replied the rapid-minded Mr.
Sharpton, promptly ; " I should not object even to stopping the mills
for a couple of hours or so, and making all the hands follow as
mourners, if you thought it would answer."
" Why, as to that, sir," said the faithful servant, " I would not un-
dertake to say that we should be able to get up much of a procession
if we turned out the whole lot to choose from. They couldn't stand I
should think, sir, without the mules to hold by, for so long together.
They totter frightful, I can tell you, when they starts first to move to
and fro, from factory to 'prentice-house, and back again, and I don't
think there would be either credit or profit in making a show of them."
" Well, well ! do as you will, Poulet. I dont care a brass farthing
whether they walk or stand ; and I can't say when I built this factory,
it was with any view to make a show, as you call it, of the young
ladies and gentlemen to be employed in it."
With a light laugh which challenged an answering laugh from
the governor, widower as he was, Mr. Elgood Sharpton rose to depart.
Poulet attended him to the outer gate, and held his stirrup while he
mounted, reiterating his promises to do the best he could, and only
stipulating for plenty of vinegar, and leave to use soap till the cold
weather came in.
Meanwhile, though a less proportion died of those who were seized
with the malady, than before the improvement in the diet was intro-
duced, the plague was as yet very far from being stayed. No day
218 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
passed without many fresh victims sinking under its influence, and it
was no uncommon thing to see two or three wheelbarrows at a time,
towards the evening [of every day, conveying children from the fac-
tory to the apprentice-house who had fallen while following the ma-
chinery.
For a whole week after the death of Mrs. Poulet, Michael and his
friend Fanny, both continued as it seemed, unscathed, and many were
the grave discussions between them, as to whether they ought to be
sorry or glad that they were so — Fanny very steadily adhering to her
first opinion, that if they had a great deal of love for each other, they
would not let themselves be sorry, if one saw the other go away, and
Michael as steadily persisting that right or wrong he must be so very
sorry if Fanny went, as not to care at all how soon he followed after.
The disinterested reasonings of the little girl were soon put to the
proof. Michael looked so very ill one morning at breakfast, that even
the iron-hearted Poulet told him he had best mount to the sick ward
before it was needful to carry him ; but Michael looked at poor Fanny,
and saw such an expression of terror and misery in her countenance,
that he could not help thinking she would change her mind about being
glad, if he did not go into work along with her. So he told the gover-
nor that he wasn't bad at all, and had rather work than not; an
assurance, which it could not, under any circumstances, be Mr.
Poulet's duty to combat ; and accordingly Michael got to his place in
the mill, and spoke cheeringly to Fanny as he went along. But be-
fore the hour of dinner he was on the floor, and when the overlooker
called to a stretcher to have him wheelbarrowed back to the 'Prentice-
house, Fanny Fletcher thought that she certainly did not love poor
Michael Armstrong so much as she fancied she did, for that if the
choice had been given her, she would a great deal rather have been
taken ill herself. And spite of a strap that she saw coining towards
her, and flourishing ready for duty in the air, she helped to drag the
unresisting body of her poor companion from before the mules, and
thoughtless and reckless of the consequences, sat down and held his
head on her knee, till he was raised in the arms of the stretcher and
carried off. It was then, and not till then, that her tears began to
flow, and they flowed so fast, that she could no longer see the up-
lifted strap, nor was it till the blow had descended sharply on her arm
that she was sufficiently mistress of her thoughts to remember, that
there was at any rate a hope that it might be her turn next, and with
this to comfort her, she yielded meekly to the arm that pushed her to
her usual place, and resumed her occupation with more stedfast
courage, than at that moment any other hope could have given her.
But even this sad hope proved vain. Fanny Fletcher still conti-
nued one of the very few upon whom the contagion had no effect. For
the first day or two after the removal of her friend, her mind was
almost wholly occupied by the expectation of feeling the same symp-
toms that she had witnessed in him ; and when these came not, her
thoughts reverted to the possibility of his recovering and coming again
to work near her.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG, 219
It was an established custom among those who alone could give infor-
mation on the subject, never to permit any questionings concerning the
sick, or if they were boldly hazarded, to give no other reply than a re-
buke. So that day after day, and week after week elapsed, without her
being at all able to guess, whether Michael were dead or alive. By de-
grees, however, all hope of seeing him return, faded from her mind, and
then, poor little girl, she found out that people can't always wish
truly and really for what they know to be best either for themselves or
others. And day by day, though still the fever touched her not, she
grew more pale, more thin, more melancholy. Now and then, indeed,
it still occurred to her as possible that Michael might reappear again, as
many had done after many days of sickness ; but, alas ! none had ever
staid away so long as he had done ! She had questioned many who
had been ill concerning him, but none seemed to know or care any
thing about tl^ose who had shared the sick chamber with them ; till at
length, a boy to whom she had often addressed these questions, be-
cause she happened to know that he had been taken to the sick ward
on the same day as Michael, replied as if 'by a sudden effort of recol-
lection,
" Oh ! that chap ? Him what was one of the last as come ? Ay, ay, I
mind all about him. He was dead and buried before he had been
down three days."
Fanny Fletcher asked no more questions, nor had she any longer-
hope of following where so many of her happier companions were gone.
The fever was pronounced to be over, the Factory and Apprentice-
house were whitewashed, and a number of new inmates arrived. All
things in short at the Deep- Valley Mills appeared to be going on as
prosperously as usual ; a statement which could be hardly impeached
by the fact that one little girl there was growing paler and more sha-
dow-like every day.
CHAPTER XXI.
MISS BROTHERTON EXERTS HER ELOQUENCE, AND NURSE TREMLETT IS
BROUGHT TO REASON THEREBY THE HEIRESS HARDENS HER
HEART, AND SPEAKS HARSH TRUTHS TO MARTHA DOWLING, BUT
ALL IN VAIN SHE CONCEIVES A PROJECT, AND SETS ABOUT PUTTING
IT IN EXECUTION WITH GREAT SPIRIT.
" Well, my dear Mary, I" said Mrs. Tremlett, on sitting down
tete-d-tete with Miss Brotherton, after their return from Fairly,
** don't you think that you will come at last to confess that I was right
when I told you that you had better let things alone, and not attempt
to make any fuss or stir about these factory goings on ?"
Mary looked sick at heart, and only shook her head in reply.
" Why, what have you gained, my dear child, by all your labour and
220 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
pains to get information, as you call it? You are looking as white as
a sheet — your eyes are sunk in your head — when I look at you, instead
of the smiles you used to give me, I get nothing but sighs, and all for
what '{ Can you in honesty and truth say that you have gained any
thing worth knowing by following your own opinion instead of mine ?
"What good in the world can you do, dear, by listening to all the
shocking stories that clergyman there told you ? I dare say he is a very
good man, and he looks like it, but upon my word I think he is doing
nothing but just wasting his time, as well as yourself; for though I sat
and said nothing, as of course it was my place to do, I listened to
every word, and it is just because I believe every word was true, that
common sense makes me see there's no good to talk about it. In-
deed, and indeed, my darling, I would not make free to talk to you in
this way, which looks for all the world as if I was taking advantage of
your goodness to me, if I did not see that you was going the way to
torment yourself for everlasting, without doing one bit of good to any
one. For how, my dear, can you, or that good clergyman either, hope
to put down all the wicked doings he told.about ? And to be sure he
said as much himself — didn't he Miss Mary ? Then do make up your
mind to be quiet and happy, and let things that you can't mend, alone.
Put as many children to school as you like, my dear, and you may
give them a pretty neat uniform, you know, and that will be a pleasure
for you to think about, and to look at ; but for pity's sake my dear,
dear, child ! give up at once, and for ever, this bothering yourself for
everlasting about the factories, which you can no more stop, Mary,
than you can stop the sun from rising in the morning, and setting at
night."
Here the good woman ceased, and looked with some anxiety in the
thoughtful eyes of her young mistress. She felt that she did not un-
derstand their expression, and no wonder, for Mary Brotherton her-
self sat silently doubting how she should answer her. A languid
feeling, proceeding partly from fatigue and indisposition, and partly
from the discouraging conviction that she had no very satisfactory ar-
guments by which to rebut her old friend's charge of useless devotion
to a hopless cause, made her for some minutes unwilling to speak at
all. Then came a somewhat peevish wish to interdict for ever the
discussion of the subject between them ; but as she raised her eyes to
utter it, she encountered a look of such humble love, deprecating her
displeasure, yet fondly clinging to the freedom which risked the incur-
ing it, that her purpose suddenly changed, and instead of the chilling
command she was meditating, she threw her arms round the old
woman's neck, exclaiming,
" Oh ! my dear nurse ! How much, how very much you must love
me ! since care for my already too-much-cared-for peace and quiet,
can harden such a heart as yours towards all the sufferings we have
this day heard recounted !"
"Thank God ! you are not angry," cried the affectionate old woman
kissing her, and then arranging the neglected ringlets of her pretty
charge, and looking cheerily in her face, she said, " Now then, Mary,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 221
I won't teaze you any more about it. You are so sweet and so gentle
to me, that I am quite sure you will not long think my heart is hard ;
and then by degrees you will find out that I am right ; and then all
will go well again, and 1 shall see my dear girl look like herself once
more."
" Nurse Tremlett! the time is already come when the impossibility of
my efforts being of any avail to stem the torrent with which avarice and
cruelty are overwhelming the land, is made evident to me. So much,
dear nurse, I concede to you, and therefore on that point we will argue
no more. But, my dear old woman, have patience with me if I tell
you that there are some points on which my reading may have given
me, young as I am, as much, or even more information than your ex-
perience has given you. You have heard of the . slave trade, nurse
Tremlett — you have heard more than one excellent charity sermon
preached in aid of the funds that were to assist in freeing these poor
helpless black people from the tyranny of their masters, and I suppose
you know that it is now unlawful to buy and sell these poor creatures.
And how do you think this happy change in their favour has been
brought about ?"
" By the king and the parliament, Miss Mary, making that most
good and righteous law," replied nurse Tremlett.
" And how were they persuaded to make that law, think you?" de-
manded Mary.
" I can't tell how that was brought about, my dear. I suppose it
was because they saw that it was right and fit."
'*. It was brought about, nurse Tremlett, by the voices of the people
of England, which were for years raised quietly, and with no breach of
law or order, but with patient and unshrinking perseverance against this
great sin, till the lengthened cry could be no longer resisted, and the
law they perseverinlgy asked for, was granted to them. Do you think,
nurse Tremlett, that if during these years of orderly, but steady re-
monstrance, every Englishman and woman had acted upon the prin-
ciple you recommend, and had turned their thoughts and their
conversation from the subject of negro slavery, because each one
knew that he or she individually possessed no power to stop it. Do
you think that if such had been the system acted upon, England would
now have to boast of having abolished this most wicked traffic ?"
" Perhaps not, my dear. I think I understand you now," replied
the honest-hearted old woman, eagerly.
" Then now my dear old friend we shall, I think, never have any
more disputes upon this subject. You — I — every servant in my house
— every acquaintance I have in the world, may aid and assist in putting
an end to this most atrocious factory system, which ought to weigh
HEAVIER UPON EVERY CHRISTIAN ENGLISH HEART THAN EVER THE
slave-trade did. If the whole British empire, nurse, did but know
what we are about here — if the facts we heard from Mr. Bell to-day
were but impressed upon the minds of all my fellow-subjects as they
are on mine, the horrors he detailed would cease before another year
was come and gone."
222 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" God forbid then, my sweet child, that I should ever more raise my
sinful voice to drown your righteous one. I have been a vain self-
sufficient old woman, my dear Mary, and clearly have been talking a
great deal about that of which I know nothing. Only don't think I
am cruel and hard-hearted ; for though Ido — as you truly say — though
I do love you very very much indeed, I am not such a wretch as to hear
all we were told to-day without wishing to mend it."
This was the last time Mary Brotherton had to do battle with her
nurse on the subject of the factory system. Once awakened to a
sense of its tyranny and injustice, and made to feel that the only hope
of remedy lay in the possibilty of universally raising British feeling
against it, there was no danger that the right-hearted old woman would
ever again turn with indifference, weariness, or displeasure, from the
theme. Her young mistress felt that she had touched the right string,
and that she should never again have to fear discord where it was so
essential to her comfort to find harmony. This change was really a
comfort, and she felt it to be so, removing as it did one irksome feature
from her situation, and for a few minutes it cheered her, and she said
so, cordially, but the next, a pang shot to her heart, as she rememem-
bered that this assurance of accordant counsels with her venerable
nurse, could avail her nothing in the most painful of all her difficulties,
for it promised no help either in obtaining light upon the mystery of
poor Michael's abode, or in the still more pressing embarrassment of
confessing to his unhappy mother and brother the impossibility of
obtaining it. Yet this painful task must be performed, and that with-
out delay, for well she knew that every hour that passed without their
seeing her, would be rendered dreadful, both by the agony of fear, and
the sickening hot and cold fits of uncertainty. But never had she felt
herself so very a coward as while meditating this visit of the morrow.
She saw in imagination the eager questioning of Edward's speaking
eyes, and the heavy glance of his mother, anticipating the worst she
had to tell.
Sometimes she thought she would await the coming of the boy to
take his place in the school, and let him report the failure of all her
inquiries to the poor widow. But there was a selfish cowardice in this
which instantly struck her, and she seemed to hate herself for the
suggestion. For above an hour after she had laid her head upon her
pillow these thoughts kept her painfully awake, and it was only after
deciding that she would once more see Martha Dowling, and try the
effect of repeating to her, but without quoting her authority, the dark
hints she had listened to, respecting Sir Matthew's possible motives.
It was only when her restless thoughts had fixed themselves on this,
that she at length closed her aching eyes in sleep.
Above an hour before the usual hour of rising, Mary Brotherton
was already at her writing desk. The idea of going to Dowling-lodge,
and encountering the knight and his family, was intolerable, and she
had therefore recourse to her pen as the means of obtaining the inter-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 223
view she wished for, without paying for it the penalty of such a visit.
She wrote as follows :
" My dear Miss Martha,
" I trust you are too goodnatured to be angry with me, even if
you should think that I am taking a great liberty with you. But the
truth is, that I much wish for the pleasure of seeing you, and yet am
too idle this morning to venture upon a drive. Will you then have the
great kindness to pass the morning with me here ? I send my car-
riage, lest Lady Dowling should not have one at leisure to send with
you.
" Believe me, my dear Miss Martha,
" Yours very sincerely,
" Mary Brotherton."
Having written, folded, and sealed this epistle, Mary recollected that
it would be impossible to send it for at least four hours, and she smiled
first, and then sighed, as she thought of the restless but useless activity
which had caused her so needlessly to forestall her usual hour of
rising. It would, in truth, have been better for her, poor girl, could
she have slept through the time, for her waking thoughts had little that
was pleasant to rest upon. _Even the commencement of Edward's
studies, to which she had before looked forward with great delight, now
recurred to her only to bring the recollection that if she saw him, his
thoughts would be neither of his new clothes nor his new books, but of
Michael, and of her promise to get tidings of him. For his sake, and
her own too, she determined at least to escape this interview, feeling
that it would be better for all parties that no tidings should be de-
livered to both mother and son at once, which could be done after his
school hours, by her driving to Hoxley-lane, after she had taken Martha
home.
In pursuance of this resolution, she walked to the school-house,
renewed her orders that the greatest attention should be paid to the new
scholar, Edward Armstrong, and care taken that if he were found back-
ward for his age, he should neither be laughed at nor chid. She then
left a message for him, stating that she should be engaged all the
morning, but would see him at his mother's house, after he lef
' school.
At eleven o'clock Miss Brotherton's equipage set off for Dowl/rg*
lodge, bearing her letter to Martha, and the interval till its returr was
an anxious one. First she felt doubtful if her unusual invitation
would be accepted ; and if it were, she felt more doubtful still as to
the nature of the scene which must follow. Nothing short of her
earnest wish to redeem her promise to Mrs. Armstrong could have given
Mary courage to do what she now meditated.
She entertained not the slightest doubt of the intrinsic excellence of
Martha Dowling. All she had ever seen of her, and still more, all she
had heard from the Armstrongs, convinced her of this ; and to pain
her therefore, particularly in that most tender point, the exposure of
224 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
her father, the tremendous effect of which upon her, Mary had already-
witnessed, was one of the very last measures she could have been led
to adopt. But a strong and stern feeling of justice, urged her not to
shrink from this. It was evident from the statement of Mrs. Arm-
strong that Martha had been actively instrumental in sending Michael
to his present destination, let it be where it might; and painful or not
painful, it was unquestionably right to make her understand the
doubts that existed as to the boy's well-being, in order that she might
avail herself, as she was bound to do, of her access to the only person
who could explain the transaction.
Having screwed her courage, therefore, to the strictness of ex-
amination necessary to her most righteous purpose, Mary left her
boudoir in the possession of Mrs. Tremlett, and repaired to the library
to await her guest. Nor did she wait long. Almost before the time
arrived at which she had calculated that the carriage might return,
the great house-bell gave signal of a visiter, and the next moment
Martha Dowling stood before her.
The two young girls shook hands, and each observed that the other
looked paler than she was wont to do. The heart of Mary sank within
her as she marked the expression of Martha's countenance. Not only
was it pale, but most speakingly anxious, and in addition to her usual
shy and reserved manner there was an appearance of uneasiness, and
almost of fear, as she thought, which seemed to tell that her object was
suspected. Nor was she wrong. In pursuance of a promise given to
Mickael, Martha had visited the widow Armstrong, and the intense
anxiety under which she found her suffering respecting the destination
of her boy, awakened for the first time in her own mind a shadowy
suspicion that all might not be right concerning him. The pang this
cost her was terrible. Good and kind-hearted as she was, there was
no strength of fibre in Martha's character which might enable her to brave
every thing rather than remain in doubt. She loved her father fondly, but
she feared him more, and the stronger her suspicions grew (and un-
happily the more she meditated the more they strengthened), the less
power she felt either to refute or confirm them.
The note of Miss Brotherton was delivered to her at the family
breakfast table, and the instant she read it, the truth suggested itself
to her mind. Had she been a free agent, the wounded shrinking
spirit of the poor girl would have certainly led her to invent some ex-
cuse for refusing an invitation so full of terror ; but she was not.
" What's that about, Martha?" said Sir Matthew, holding out his
hand for the note.
" It is from Miss Brotherton," muttered Martha, as she resigned it
to him.
"Mercy on me!" exclaimed her eldest sister," what a wonderful
fancy Miss Brotherton seems to have taken for Martha! I do think
it is the very oddest thing I ever heard of."
" What a goose you are, my dear, not to understand it !" observed
Miss Harriet, the second sister, giving at the same time a very signifi-
cant glance towards her brother Augustus.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 225
" But good gracious !" retorted Miss Arabella, why might not any-
other of us do as well ? It would seem so much more natural in such
an elegant and fashionable girl as she is."
"■ She is afraid of us, Bella," replied Miss Harriet, tittering.
Sir Matthew, who had not only read the note, but contrived to hear
all that his two eldest daughters said concerning it, here burst into a
laugh.
" Set a thief to catch a thief — hey ! Harriet ? Come Martha ! start
away ! You have finished your breakfast long ago. I won't have the
carriage kept waiting."
" Must I go, papa?" said poor Martha, turning very pale.
"Must you go ? and with that die-away look too ? Why, Martha !
are you jealous, because some folks fancy that the young lady wants
to make friends with you, for more reasons than one ?"
" I would a great deal rather not go, papa !" replied Martha in a
beseeching accent.
" Martha ! I shall be in a downright passion with you in half a minute.
Upon my honour I never heard any thing so cross-grained and unsisterly
in my life. Go this moment, and get on your bonnet, and remember if
you please, from first to last, to speak of your brother as a sister ought
to speak. And if she hints any thing about his having flirted a little
with Carry Thompson, be sure to say that he only did it to laugh at
her."
As he spoke these words, Sir Matthew rose from the table, as if to
accelerate the movement which was to send her off.
Martha listened to him with the habitual reverence which she ever
bestowed on all he uttered ; but shook her head, as it seemed, involun-
tarily, as he concluded.
"Why you don't mean to say he was in earnest, you good-for-
nothing spiteful girl !" cried Lady Dowling, suddenly rousing herself
from the dignified apathy in which she usually indulged.
" What a shame !" cried one sister.
" That's too bad !" cried the other.
" Just like her, though !" sneered Mr. Augustus.
" Hold your tongues, all of you," said Sir Matthew, " I know
Martha better than any of ye, trust me for that, and what I bid her
do, that she will do, and nothing else. Run away Martha. Don't
mind any of 'em."
Thus urged, thus goaded to the interview she dreaded, Martha
hastened to leave the room ; but ere she passed the door, something at
her heart told her that her best course would be to take her father
apart, and tell him all. She turned back to look at him, but met a
frown so strongly indicative of growing impatience at her delay, that
yielding to the sort of slavish feeling in which she had been nurtured,
she hurried forward to obey him. Hac^she possessed greater moral
courage, many subsequent events would have been different.
After the first salutation was over, Miss Brotherton, making a strong
mental effort to subdue her agitation — of which she was infinitely more
Q
226 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
capable than her companion — begged her to sit down ; and then,
placing herself where she could have, as a commentary on what she
might induce her to say, the advantage of watching her countenance,
she pronounced in a voice that she in vain laboured to render steady,
" My dear Miss Martha, I have suffered a great deal of uneasiness
since I last saw you respecting the little boy for whom — concerning
whom — I mean Michael Armstrong, Martha! His mother is very
"wretched because she cannot discover to what place he has been sent ;
and I, nothing doubting that it would be perfectly easy to learn this
from you, rashly promised that I would obtain this information. Can
you, dear girl ! tell me more upon this subject now, than you could
when last we met?"
" I cannot, Miss Brotherton!" replied Martha Dowling, in a voice
so low and husky, as hardly to be audible, but with a complexion and
features that spoke so plainly what was passing in her heart, that Mary
felt ashamed of having placed herself where she could so distinctly
read all she suffered, and leaving her chair to share the sofa on which
the poor girl was seated, she took her hand and said,
" My poor dear Martha ! It would be better for us both that I should
speak sincerely. I have become acquainted with an individual,
Martha, who knows more, much more, than either you or I can do,
my dear girl, respecting the factories — those great magazines of
human life and labour by which your father, and mine also, have grown
from poverty to wealth. This person, Martha, on my questioning him
respecting the probable destination of a child so circumstanced, did
not scruple to reply, that if his master were displeased, and wished to
be rid of him, there were places — factories, mills, dear Martha, where
the business was so managed as to render labour very heavy punish-
ment, and where it was easy to keep children, ay, hundreds of them,
unseen and unknown for years. Do not tremble thus, dear Martha !
Do not draw your hand away from me ! Most sure I am that your
heart and my heart must beat in sympathy on such a subject as this.
Let us be mutually sincere, and we may help each other to undo
whatever wrong may have been done. We know, we both well know,
that your father icas displeased with this poor widow's son. We
know, too, that he is a person of great power and influence. The boy
is gone — he will not tell us where. What is the inference? Turn not
from it, Martha Dowling, turn not from it, my poor friend, but boldly
and honestly seek out the truth, and let me know enough of it to save
this helpless child from further suffering."
" I have no means, Miss Brotherton," faltered poor Martha. " If
all your dreadful thoughts were true, which you have no right to think
they are — and still less have I — but if they were true, all true, I have
no means to know it."
" If we have any reason to believe them true," said Mary, solemnly,
" means must be taken, Martha Dowling, to stop farther wrong ; and
this can only be by learning where Michael Armstrong has been sent.
I apply to you for this with great reluctance, because I know the sub-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 227
ject cannot be brought before you without causing you pain. But I
feel it my duty not to shrink from this, and it is yours, my dear girl,
to obtain the information I require."
" But if I agreed with you in this, Miss Brotherton, what are my
means of obtaining it beyond your own?" said Martha, rousing her-
self, and feeling renewed courage from remembering that there was no
proof whatever of the boy's being otherwise than well and happy.
"Nay, Martha," returned the heiress gravely, u amongst those en-
gaged in your father's service, you can hardly be at a loss to find some
one who must have been employed in removing him."
" And would you have me," replied the poor girl, indignantly,
" would you have me tamper with my father's servants, in order to ob-
tain a knowledge of what it may be his will to keep secret ? Miss
Brotherton, I would rather die than do so."
'* I honour your filial feelings, Martha, and grieve to think that you
are placed in circumstances which must compel you to make them se-
condary," said Mary, gently, j
" Nothing can make them secondary," retorted Martha, warmly,
" I love my father, and I hold my duty to him the first and the
highest I have to perform on earth."
" Save only what you owe to your own soul, Martha Dowling," re-
plied Mary. " Had you been yourself for nothing in this matter, I
might think as you do, that your duty as a child must prevent your in-
terfering in it, though even that, I suspect, would be but doubtful
morality. But, Martha! the case is otherwise. It w T as by your influ-
ence that this helpless widow was induced to send her child away. She
did not trust your father, but she trusted you. Do you not know,
Martha, that I speak the truth ? And if I do, can you for an instant
doubt that your first duty is to redeem the pledge you gave to this
poor trusting creature, who hazarded all that was dearest to her in
life, upon your assurance V
A passionate burst of tears, that seemed rather to convulse than re-
lieve the bosom on which they fell, was the only answer Mary received
to her cogent reasonings, and so evident was the suffering of the in-
nocent culprit who appeared writhing under the discipline she inflicted,
that nothing less deeply impressed on her heart than was the remem-
brance of Edward and his mother, and the grief that threatened to
destroy them both, could have given her courage to persevere.
" Martha ! dear Martha ! Be reasonable !" cried Mary, throwing
her arms round her. " If you knew what I suffered in making you
suffer, you would pity me ! But I have no choice left me. I am not
a free agent, Martha, any more than you are ; we are both bound in
honour, honesty, Christian faith, and Christian mercy, not to let any
feeling stop us till we have restored Michael Armstrong to his mo-
ther."
" Restore him !" sobbed Martha. " Alas ! Miss Brotherton, the poor
woman herself has prevented the possibility of that ! Do you not
know that he is apprenticed V
" Let us but know where he is, Martha, and if the situation be one
Q 2
228
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
that his mother can reasonably disapprove, there can be little doubt
but means may be taken to release him. Teach us but where to find
him, dearest Martha," cried Mary fervently, " and we will all pray
for blessings on your head !"
" I cannot do it," replied Martha, with a sigh that very nearly
approached a groan.
"How know you that you cannot, Martha? Will you not try to
learn this cruel, this nefarious secret?"
" No, I will not, Miss Brotherton," replied the unhappy girl with
sudden firmness. " If any wrong has been done to this boy, I know
that it must rest upon my head. So let it. The remembrance of it
may bring me to the grave, and there I shall find mercy and forgive-
ness. But it shall not place me in rebellion to my father, nor force
me to reveal any secrets which it may be his pleasure to keep. Now
let me go, Miss Brotherton. I doubt not you have acted according to
your sense of duty, and so have I. In this at least we are equal.
Pray let me go ; I am not well, and greatly wish to be at home."
Mary looked at her with surprise, and almost with terror ; she was
as pale as death, and shook, as she stood up before her, as if she had
been seized with an ague-fit.
" Alas, Martha !" she exclaimed, " I have made you very miserable,
and very ill, yet have gained nothing by it ! You shall go, my poor
girl, you shall go instantly, but ere we part, let me implore you to ex-
amine in silence, and alone, the question of right and wrong in this
case. Paint to yourself the misery of the wretched mother, and re-
member that yourself— I must say it, though I wring both our hearts
as I do it — yourself, Martha Dowling, are the cause of it."
" You have said enough, Miss Brotherton, to destroy my peace for
ever," replied the miserable girl, " but not enough to make me act as
a spy upon my father. Farewell ! Do not let us meet again! It is
too painful."
Without waiting for an answer, Martha Dowling wrapped her shawl
about her and hurried to the door.
" The carriage is not waiting, Miss Dowling," said the vexed and
disappointed Mary, who had gained nothing from this painful inter-
view, but the conviction that the well-intentioned, but erring Martha,
was as much persuaded of the boy's having been unfairly dealt with,
as herself. " Let me order the carriage for you."
" No, no, I cannot wait. I can walk. I know the way. Indeed I
can stay no longer !" replied Martha, hurrying on, and closing the
door of the room after her, and before Miss Brotherton could reopen
it, she had already passed through the hall, and was almost running
from the house.
Mary lost not a moment in summoning a servant, and ordering
the carriage to follow her with all speed, an order which was so well
obeyed, that the unhappy Martha was overtaken ere she had walked a
mile, and gladly did she then avail herself of it ; for by that time
every other painful feeling was merged in the terror of having to ex-
plain to her father the cause of her having so parted with Miss Bro-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 229
therton, as to return unattended and on foot. " Perfect love castetfi
out fear," and perfect fear may perhaps petrify the heart into a sort
of unstruggling desperation ; but a union of the two reduces the mind
to a state of slavery the most abject, leaving no strength whereby
any healthful moral feeling can be sustained. Martha's whole care,
on returning home, was to satisfy her father that nothing particular
had passed in her interview with the heiress ; and, unfortunately for
all parties, she succeeded.
Miss Brotherton, meanwhile, mounted a little pony phaeton with
Mrs. Tremlett, and with a heavy heart proceeded to Hoxley-lane.
But, painful as was her errand, her condition was a far happier one
than that of Martha Dowling ; for in her there was no mixture of
motives to paralyze every word and act. Her kind heart sought and
found counsel in her sound and upright judgment, and, sustained by it,
she executed her task without shrinking. A little reflection on the
subject convinced her that it was now become her duty to confess to
her poor client, not only that her exertions to discover the abode of
Michael had been unsuccessful, but that she began to fear that there
must be some unpleasant reason for the difficulties thrown in the way
of obtaining the information she had sought. It required some cou-
rage to utter this"; but when it wasdone, Mary was surprised to perceive
that its effect, both upon the mother and son was very trifling. Having
-candidly stated her fears, she remained silent, the eyes of both being
fixed upon her with a sort of quiet hopelessness that was perhaps
more painful to contemplate than more vehement demonstrations of
grief.
" Our thanks are not the less due to you, ma'am," said the widow
gently, " and don't vex your kind heart by thinking that we are dis-
appointed. Edward and I guessed true from almost the first ; that is,
from when he was taken off without bidding us good-bye. Sir Mat-
thew is known better by his mill people, ma'am, than by the great
gentry that turns their eyes away from labour and sorrow, to revel and.
grow fat upon our graves. You would never be like to hear the truth
from them, and I am told that even now, the country round rings with
praises of Sir Matthew's goodness to Michael. Tis bitter to hear it.
But it is God's will our portion should be bitter here. He has power
to make it up to us hereafter, and it is there we must fix our hope."
" Most sure and most blessed is that hope !" replied Mary, fervently,
lt yet it should never check our efforts to put to profit the means of
happiness he has granted to us here. I have now told you the very
worst, Mrs. Armstrong, for I have told you not only all I know but
all I fear — nor will I again pledge myself to do more than I am quite
sure it is in my power to perform. I think you will believe, without my
talking about it, that I shall not give up the search I have undertaken.
But till some new light reaches us, we should but waste our time, and
wear our spirits by speaking on the subject. Let us rather think and
speak of the welfare of the dear boy that is left you ; this will be no
'hindrance to our restoring his brother, if it be God's will that we
230 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
should have the power. Tell me, Edward, how did you get on at
school to-day?"
" Every body was kind to me," answered the boy.
" That's well, dear boy, and every body will be kind to you. He
looks nicely in his new clothes, does he not, Mrs. Armstrong?"
M He does indeed, ma'am ! and I could almost fancy that he
looked better in health already, for having left the mill," replied the
widow.
u And I feel better," said Edward, looking at his mother with his
soft thoughtful eyes, " and I don't think that it would be impossible
for me to grow well again."
" My boy ! my boy !" cried the poor cripple, raising herself in her
bed, and throwing her arms around him. " Should I dare to complain
of any thing if that were possible ! But oh ! Teddy ! wouldn't he
have given one of his little hands to see it V
This appeal, which in truth only echoed the thoughts of his own
heart, overthrew all the courage of Edward, and his tears again flowed
as fast as those of his poor mother ; a renewal of weakness of which
they might both have been still more ashamed than they were, had
they not perceived that neither Miss Brotherton nor her old friend had
dry eyes.
Mary, however, was too wise to let this last.
" This dear boy," said she, " has said that which ought to give us
all courage. I can hardly tell you the delightful feeling which the
hope of his restoration to health would give me. It would repay me
a thousand fold for all the pain I have suffered. Let us fix our
thoughts on this hope, and trust me it shall be realized, if medical
skill and kind treatment can do it."
It was with this assurance she left them, and if any earthly promise
could have healed the anguish of the mother's heart, it would have
been this. But her two children were so twined and twisted together
in her thoughts, that meditating upon her hopes for Edward inevitably
brought her terrors for Michael before her, and it was but with a
jfitful sort of satisfaction that the boy dwelt upon his anticipations of
being useful to her, or that she listened to him.
Two days after this, while Miss Brotherton and Mrs. Tremlett were
pursuing their usual morning occupations in the boudoir, a servant an-
nounced that a lady and gentleman were in the drawing-room.
Had the announcement been of a gentleman alone, Mary's thoughts
would have instantly suggested Mr. Bell, for they had been fixed upon
him, and the hope of his coming, through both the preceding days.
But the mention of the lady puzzled her. Nevertheless the gentleman
was Mr. Bell, and no other, and the frank and simple kindness with
which he said, as he led the lady forward to meet her, " Miss
Brotherton ! I wanted my wife to know you too," rendered the in-
troduction as agreeable as it was unexpected.
" If you and I, my dear young lady," said he, " take to consulting^
together concerning what we may hope, and what we may do in aid of
the suffering people by whom we are surrounded, we shall do well to
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 231
take this good little woman into the committee, for she has probably
more practical knowledge of the subject we were discussing when last
we met, than any other lady you could meet with."
Equally cordial and sincere was the welcome Mary gave to her new
friends ; and if sympathy of feeling, and a community of interest, on
a subject of deep importance to them all, could have sufficed to make
them happy, the long morning they passed together would have been
one of great enjoyment ; but they were all too much in earnest to be
called happy while dwelling upon the frightful subject to which their
thoughts were turned. The longer Mary listened to those whose lives
were past in struggling to assuage the misery around them, and in
battling with the horrid principles which produced it, the more deeply
did she feel that she, too, was called upon to labour in the same thorny
vineyard. Yet terrible as were the subjects they discussed, and sad
as was the conviction that no power less mighty than that of the law
could redress the evils they deplored, there was still something inex-
pressibly soothing to her feelings, in finding herself thus in intimate
relation with persons who comprehended and shared in the sentiments
which had become so essentially a part of herself. Though her con-
science had told her, from the first moment her attention had been
called to the subject, that it was her duty not to turn away from it, she
had hitherto met little but opposition from those around her, and
though steadfast and firm in purpose, she had often felt heavy in spirit
from knowing herself to be alone, when she so much wanted assistance
and support. This oppressive loneliness she could never suffer from
again, as long as Mr. Bell and his excellent wife were within her reach,
and fervently did she bless the courage which had led her to their
dwelling. Tidings of poor Michael, however, there were none. Mr.
Bell had sought information concerning him wherever he thought it
possible to obtain them, but he had learnt nothing. Nevertheless he
declared himself by no means satisfied that the boy might not be at
some one of the Bastiile-like establishments to which he had applied.
*' I know them, and they know me too well," he said, " for me to
place implicit confidence in any answer they may be pleased to make,
to any question I may venture to ask. If 1 knew where to find a trust-
worthy stranger, who could not by possibility be recognised by any one
as a friend of mine, I still think the chances would be greatly in favour
of our finding the boy at some of the noted apprenticing establish-
ments which I have named. But, in truth, I know not where to look
for such a person."
" Am I not such a one ?" cried Mary, eagerly. " Hardly a creature
in the world, beyond the town of Ashleigh and its neighbourhood,
knows me personally, and in all such places as those you have named,
the Emperor of all the Russias would not be less likely to be recog-
nised." v
" But how, my dear young lady, could you represent yourself with
any face of probability as interested in the inquiries you would have-
to make ?" demanded Mr. Bell.
" Methinks, Mr. Bell," replied Mary, colouring with her own enthu-
232 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
siasm, — " methinks I could carry through an enterprise which had the
recovery of little Michael for its object, with a degree of diplomatic
skill that would surprise you. It should not be by downright and
direct inquiry that I should proceed. Where such inquiry would be
likely to excite suspicion, I would only contrive to insinuate myself
and my eyes, and would ask no questions save what they should
answer."
" Many strangers, travelling, desire to see the factories, certainly,"
replied Mr. Bell, musingly. " But you are so young to undertake a
wandering expedition. And then, how could you be accompanied?
Your servants would unquestionably announce you every where."
" I am older, 1 think, than you suppose," replied Mary ; " and if
I undertake this, I will be accompanied by Mrs. Tremlett, with whom I
have no reserves, and by no one else."
" You cannot travel without attendants, Miss Brotherton ?" said,
the clergyman, looking at her kindly, but as if doubting that she was
quite in earnest.
" Do not either of you judge me harshly," replied "the heiress,
with great earnestness ; "do not set me down in your judgments as
a hot-headed girl, indifferent to the opinions of society, and anxious
only to follow the whim of the moment. Did I belong to any one, I
think I should willingly yield to their guidance. But I am alone in
the world ; I have no responsibilities but to God and my own consci-
ence, and the only way I know of, by which I can make this desolate
sort of freedom endurable, is by fearlessly, and without respect to any
prejudices or opinions whatever, employing my preposterous wealth in
assisting the miserable race from whose labours it has been extracted.
If you can aid me in doing this, you will do me good ; but you will
do me none, Mr. Bell, by pointing out to me the etiquettes by which
the movements of other young ladies are regulated. I cannot think
that I have any right to a place among them ; and I therefore feel that
to check any possible usefulness by a constant reference to the usages
of persons with whom I have little or nothing in common, would be
putting on very heavy harness, neither effective for use, nor for orna-
ment. But t something too much of this.' I must not talk of my-
self," she added, cheerfully. " Let us examine the possibility of my
setting off with Mrs. Tremlett on a little home tour, without announcing
the important event to the neighbourhood, or taking any servants with
me to enact the part of Fame behind my chariot."
" By what conveyance would you propose to travel, Miss Brother-
ton?" inquired Mr. Bell, still looking, as an American would say, "as
if he could not realize the scheme."
Mary meditated for a moment, and then replied — " In the first in-
stance, if you and Mrs. Bell will permit it, we shall go to your house
in the same manner a sbefore, only carrying with us a small travelling-
trunk or so, such as would be necessary if we were going to pass a
week with you. On the following morning we would set off by the
* * * coach, in which you will secure places for us. At * * * we
will order dinner and beds, like any other travellers, and inquire of
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 233
the waiter what will be the best way of getting a sight of the
factories."
"And he will tell you that such and such factories — naming pre-
cisely those in which there would not be the slightest chance of find-
ing the boy — may be seen by application made to Mr. So-and-so,"
said Mr. Bell.
Mary coloured, and seemed about to answer him ; but, either from
consciousness that she had nothing very satisfactory to reply, or be-
cause she had some notion in her head not sufficiently digested to
communicate, she changed her purpose, and instead of combating an
objection which seemed almost fatal, drew from her pocket a set of
little ivory tablets, on which she had written the names of all the esta-
blishments within a distance of twenty miles, notorious for taking ap-
prentices, and of retaining them by means that converted the scene of
their labour into a most strict and wretched prison-house. She read
their names aloud. " These, 1 think, were all you mentioned to me V*
said she. " I think they were," replied Mr. Bell. " But to these,
believe me, you will get no admission as a visiter."
" Will you admit me as a visiter, if I come to you the day after to-
morrow, Mrs. Bell ?" said the heiress, playfully, and apparently wishing
to wave any further discussion of her projects.
" Most joyfully !" was the kind and hospitable reply.
•' Then, for the rest we must trust to chance. And now, if you will
let me, I will show you my pretty garden," said Miss Brotherton,
rising, and taking from a chair by the open window the ever-ready
shawl and parasol, which made her lawns and shrubberies essentially
a part of her dwelling-place. " Of all the fine things I possess, I
believe I am only truly thankful for this," she continued, ** I hardly
know how I should pass my life if I had not a garden."
The garden was indeed one that spoke of its owner's love, by a multi-
tude of enjoyable nooks that seemed all courting her approach, and by
that perfection of elegant neatness which is never found in an equal
degree where the mistress is indifferent respecting it. To her new
friends' praises of all this she listened with pleasure, and sketched many
pleasant plans for future meetings, when they should not, as they de-
clared unavoidable now, remain only while their horse was resting.
But Mary said not a word more on the subject of her purposed expe-
dition till the very moment of their departure, and then it was only to
remind them that they would see her come with her friend to claim
their promised hospitality on the next day but one. This was received
with renewed promises of a joyful welcome, and so they parted.
The next day was a busy one for Mary. In the first place she was
closeted for at least two, hours after breakfast with Mrs. Tremlett, and,
whatever might be the subject of their conversation, it appeared to end
satisfactorily, for when it was over Mary embraced her old friend very
cordially, saying, " I feel more grateful, much more grateful, than I
have words to express, nurse Tremlett, and never shall I forget your
kindness to me !"
After this they drove to the entrance of Hoxley-lane, and walked
234 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
thence to pay a farewell visit to Mrs. Armstrong:; and here it was evi-
dent that, however wild the projects might be which the heiress had
conceived, she knew how to be discreetly silent concerning them, for
after bestowing upon the widow a gratuity sufficient to supply all her
wants for a longer time than she purposed to be absent, she took leave
of her, saying, " You will not see me again Mrs. Armstrong for a week
or more, I am engaged to go from home for that time ; but I shall take
care that Edward shall receive as much attention at the school as if I were
at home. Be sure also, that my absence will not make me the less
mindful of Michael. Neither at home or abroad shall I cease to employ
every means in my power to obtain intelligence concerning him."
To Edward, whom she visited at the school, she gave the same
assurance, adding an earnest injunction that he should keep in mind
the necessity of exerting himself, both for the industrious prosecution
of his studies, and the not less important regulation of his mind on the
subject of his brother's absence, the welfare of his mother greatly de-
pending upon both. Weakness of every kind seemed to vanish before
the powerful stimulant thus offered, and she left her little protege
comforted and invigorated by the belief that he had a great duty to
perform, and that his mother was the object of it.
The preparations for her own and her friends' convenience during the
journey were very simple, but they puzzled her maid considerably.
First, it was so very odd that she should be going out upon a visit and
take absolutely no dinner dresses at all with her ; and secondly, it was,
if possible, odder still, that she should not take her. But Mary listened
to all the hints and innuendoes to which these feelings gave rise with a
sort of gentle indifference, which was doubtless very provoking, till at
length she was induced to damp the curiosity, which she feared might
prove inconveniently active during her absence, by saying, " I am going
to visit the family of a clergyman, Morgan, and, as much dress will not
be necessary, I shall not want you."
This was perfectly satisfactory. " A clergyman's family, where much
dress would not be necessary, was where the lady's maid never did nor
never could want to go."
Nothing could have been more judicious than these explanatory
words. They accorded perfectly with the report of the servants who
attended the carriage, and so completely satisfied the household, that,
though it was the first absence of so long duration that she had made
from her home since she became mistress of it, it fortunately led to no
gossipings whatever.
We must not pause to describe the pleasant sociable evening passed
by our travellers at the house of Mr. Bell, nor even relate all that
was said in the course of it, concerning the expedition they were about
to undertake. Every instruction, every hint which Mr. Bell believed
might be useful, he gave clearly and succinctly, and not a word of it
was lost upon Mary.
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 235
CHAPTER XXII.
MISS BROTHERTON SETS OFF ON HER TRAVELS, AND FEELS FRIGHTENED
AT HER OWN TEMERITY BUT SPEEDILY RECOVERS HER COURAGE,
AND PLAYS THE HEROINE SHE VISITS SOME FACTORIES, AND IS IN-
TRODUCED TO A SUNDAY-SCHOOL SHE APPROACHES THE PRECINCTS
OF THE DEEP VALLEY.
It was about nine o'clock on a bright autumn morning that Miss
Brotherton and her faithful nurse mounted into a lumbering six-inside
vehicle, bound for * * *. Their two small trunks, with " Mrs. Trem-
lett, passenger ," modestly written on both, were safely lodged on the
top ; Mr. Bell gave them a silent blessing and a silent nod ; the horse-
boy vociferated " all right," and the richest young lady in Lancashire
rolled off, very literally in search of adventures.
The novelty of her situation, and of her sensations of every kind, the
unceremonious examination bestowed upon her by a smart young clerk
who sat opposite, the anxious look of Mrs. Tremlett's usually tranquil
face, and the consciousness that the enterprise she was upon must
even by herself be characterized as wildly extravagant, if not carried
through with much steady courage and discretion, altogether produced
a feeling of oppression on her heart that very nearly overcame her. " Am
I acting rightly in thus exposing myself?" was the question that her
startled nerves suggested : and had her conscience been unable to
answer it boldly and promptly, her condition would have been really
pitiable. Happily, however, this was not the case. There was some
feminine timidity about Mary Brotherton, but not an atom of false
shame or affectation of any kind. " Yes ! — I am right !" was the
answer recorded on her heart of hearts, " and shame to me if I shrink
at the first step, for no better reason than because the dust flies, and
a vulgar young man stares me in the face."
From that moment Mary recoiled no more ; and a little resolute
meditation on her object, and of the strength demanded to obtain it, so
effectually restored her usual self-possession, that she looked round
upon her fellow-travellers with as little embarrassment as if she had
been used to travel in public all her life, nodded to Mrs. Tremlett with
an encouraging smile, and thought how very silly people were who
fancied that every thing unusual must of necessity be terrible.
"Are you going all the way to * * *, miss?" said a goodnatured-
looking woman who sat bodkin between the smart clerk and Mrs.
Tremlett.
" Yes, ma'am, I am," replied Mary, civilly,
The good-natured woman twisted herself round to reconnoitre Mrs.
Tremlett.
" Your mamma, I suppose, my dear V
" No, ma'am — the lady is a friend !"
236
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
u Oh ! I ask your pardon ; you are so very much alike made me
say it."
Mary bowed— Mrs. Tremlett smiled.
The goodnatured-looking woman persevered in the same train of
pertinent observation, sometimes addressed to one passenger, and
sometimes to another, so as to prevent the party from sinking into total
silence, which might otherwise, perhaps, have happened. But Mary
bore her share in this trifling annoyance with perfect good-humour ;
and when at length they arrived at* * *, and Mrs. Tremlett asked her
in rather piteous accents, the moment they were alone together, whether
she did not feel dreadfully worn out, she cheerfully replied,
" Not the least in the world, my dear friend."
" Thank God !" replied the old woman, fervently, " I know you do
so hate to be bothered, Mary, that I was afraid that old fool would
put you out of all patience."
" Times are altered with me now, nurse Tremlett," replied Mary ;
" I have left off living for myself, and I feel my temper improving
already by it. Now, then, ring the bell, and give your orders ; remem-
ber, nurse, you are the great lady, and must order every thing."
Encouraged by this cheerful submission to circumstances, which
was in truth somewhat more than she expected, Mrs. Tremlett began
to think that Mary might indeed prove capable of carrying through
the scheme, the first sketch of which had appeared so wild, that nothing
short of a devotion to her will, which knew no bounds, could have
surmounted her averseness to it.
" My darling child !" cried the old woman, looking at her with equal
admiration and delight, " your mind is as strong as your heart is
tender, and never will I again oppose my silly ignorance to any thing
you wish to do."
It was not difficult in this first stage of their expedition to follow
exactly the plan that had been laid down. The two ladies professed
themselves to be travellers, anxious to see all objects of curiosity, and
particularly the factories, which were, as they observed, so famous
throughout all the world. The master of the hotel where they lodged
exerted himself with the utmost civility to gratify so natural a desire,
and Mrs. Tremlett and Mary were accordingly promenaded, on the
following morning, through one of the largest establishments of the
town. It is probable, from the drowsiness of the public mind on the
subject, that many travelling strangers who are in like manner led by
a skilful official through the various floors of a factory, retire from the
spectacle they present without having any feeling of sympathy excited
by the cursory glance they have thrown over the silent unobtrusive
little beings, one moment of whose unchanging existence they have
been permitted to witness. It is the vast, the beautiful, the elaborate
machinery by which they were surrounded that called forth all their
attention, and all their wonder. The uniform ceaseless movement,
sublime in its sturdy strength and unrelenting activity, drew every eye,
and rapt the observer's mind in boundless admiration of the marvel-
lous power of science ! No wonder that along every line a score of
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 237
noiseless children toiled, unthought of, after the admirable machine .
Strangers do not visit factories to look at them ; it is the triumphant
perfection of British mechanism which they come to see, it is of that
they speak, of that they think, of that they boast when they leave the
life-consuming process behind them. The more delicate, and (alas !)
living springs by which the Great Artificer has given movement to
the beings made in his own image, are not worth a thought the while.
The scientific speculator sees nothing to excite his intellectual acumen
in them ; he hardly knows that they are there, but gazes with enthu-
siasm and almost reverence on the myriads of whirling spindles amidst
which they breathe their groans, unheeded, and unheard.
But it was not thus that Mary won her way through the whirling
hissing world of machinery into which she now entered for the first
time in her life. The hot and tainted atmosphere seemed to weigh
upon her spirits, as well as upon her lungs, and the weary aspect of the
Drakes, and the failing joints of Edward Armstrong became fearfully
intelligible as she watched the children (and she watched nothing else)
who dragged their attenuated limbs along. Then it was that Mr, Bell's
tremendous statement of the number of suffering beings thus employed
came with full force upon her mind. She would have given years of
existence at that moment, could she have believed it false. Two
hundred thousand little creatures, created by the abounding mercy of
God, with faculties for enjoyment so perfect, that no poverty short of
actual starvation can check their joy so long as innocence and liberty
be left them ! Two hundred thousand little creatures, for whose free-
dom from toil during their tender years the awful voice of nature has
gone forth, to be snatched away, living and feeling, from the pure
air of heaven, while the beautiful process is going on by which their
delicate fabric gradually strengthens into maturity, — taken for ever from
all with which their Maker has surrounded them for the purpose of
completing his own noblest work — taken and lodged amidst stench and
stunning, terrifying tumult, — driven to and fro, till their little limbs bend
under them — hour after hour, day after day — the repose of a moment
to be purchased only by yielding their tender bodies to the fist, the
heel, or the strap of the overlooker ! All this rushed together upon
poor Mary's f heart and soul, and, turning deadly pale, she seized the
arm of her friend to save herself from falling.
" Terrible hot day !" roared their conductor, in the hideous scream
by which some human voices can battle successfully with the din of
machinery.
Fortunately, they were near the door of the room, and Mrs. Trem-
lett, urging her steps forward, now brought her to an open window
outside it. The fresh air, so carefully excluded within,* soon revived
her : the colour returned to her lips, and having remained silently in-
* Except in the mills of Messrs. Wood and Walker, at Bradford, it is difficult
to find any factory properly ventilated — free admission of air being injurious to
many of the processes carried on in them.
238 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
haling the breeze for another minute or two, she signified her wish to
proceed.
" Not now, Mary ! Pray, not now !" said the frightened Mrs.
Tremlett, " Indeed, indeed, you have not strength for it !"
Mary gave her one steady look, and the opposition ceased ; for it
said as plainly as look could speak — " Is it thus that I shall find
Michael Armstrong?"
u For a moment I felt the heat oppressive," said Miss Brotherton,
in a voice of very steady composure. " But I am quite sure the sen-
sation will not return. I came to * * * on purpose to see the factories,
my dear friend, and, indeed, you must not disappoint me/'
" The young lady's right," replied their conductor. " She'll never
see the like of our mills, you may depend upon that. Why all the
machinery in the known world put all together won't equal one of our
spinning-mills. There is nothing in creation to compare to it ; and I
don't question but the young lady heard as much before she come.
So it would be altogether wrong to disappoint her of the sight
of 'em."
" Thank you," said Mary. " Are we to go up stairs now V
(i Yes, if you please, miss. We have got seven stories here, and,
thank God, all is busy just now, one as the other, from the bottom to
the top."
On entering the second room Mary felt, as she expected, that her
bodily strength was quite sufficient to sustain her. She had not
habituated herself to " seek the sun upon the upland lawn," for
nothing. Few girls so lapped in luxury could boast of equal vigour
and activity. The first aspect of the system (the horrors of which had
been so clearly explained to her) in action, was for a moment over-
whelming — but it was past — the terrible " premier pas" could not come
again , and far from shrinking from the task she had imposed upon
herself, she left the enormous fabric, after having perseveringly mounted
to its summit, with the satisfactory conviction that she should not fail
in her enterprise either from want of strength, or from want of will.
Good Mrs. Tremlett, however, still felt less confident upon the subject,
and no sooner found herself tete-a-tete with her young mistress within
the shelter of their drawing-room, than she said, "You will never stand
it, Miss Mary ! — feeling about it all as you do — the sight of those poor
ragged, sickly little souls will be the death of you."
" Then so let me die, dear nurse !" replied Mary. " If I have not
vigour enough both of mind and body to be in some degree useful, I
should hardly think it worth while to live ; but I know myself better,
nurse Tremlett. I turned sick and giddy, I confess, on entering that
first room, but it is my friend, Mr. Bell, who has to answer for it. The
impressions received at that moment by my senses served as a specimen
of all the horrors he had described to me. The account I had heard
enabled me at a glance to comprehend the scene before me, while that
scene itself acted back again, as it were, upon my memory, making me
understand, a thousand times more clearly than before, all the frightful
details he had given me. The effect of this was overpowering, but it
w^mm
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 239
cannot return upon me again in the same manner; I am already
hardened. Think therefore no more of me, dear friend, but let us
cogitate together upon the likeliest way of turning all such visits to
account."
This cogitation led them both to the conclusion that it might, for the
sake of appearances, be as well to take the landlord's recommendation
to another of the establishments, usually pointed out to the attention of
strangers, and then to consult the ivory tablets, and venture upon a
visit to the only one near * * * named therein, as notorious for the
reception of apprentices.
In pursuance of this plan, the waiter was again interrogated when he
attended the ladies at their luncheon, and again he brought a written
address from his master, accompanied by a message intimating that the
following morning being Sunday, the ladies might have the advantage
of visiting the Sunday-school attached to the factory, for which he had
given the address, to a sight of which they would be admitted without
difficulty, if they would make known their wishes for such admission to
the person who would show them the factory.
" There is a Sunday-school attached to the establishment?" said
Mary in an accent of great satisfaction. " Yes, miss," replied the man,
" Messrs. Robert and Joseph Tomlins, the serious gentlemen as owns
the factory, has built a school-room altogether at their own expense,
and attends their ownselves in person every Sunday morning to see
that both master and children puts the time to profit. Their factory
is about a mile or so out of the town, but master says as he can let you
have a carriage very reasonable."
" I should wish to go there by all means," replied Mary, " desire the
carriage may be got ready for us directly."
The man left the room to obey her.
«' Thank Heaven !" exclaimed Mary, as the door closed behind him,
u there is, then, some Christian feeling still left among them here, as well
as at Bradford. We shall not here, at least, be shocked by witness-
ing such degrading ignorance as that of the poor Drakes. — They are
treated like Christian children, at any rate."
" Most surely it is a pleasure to hear of it, my dear," replied Mrs.
Tremlett, " and it is quite as well, Mary, that we have got to ride to it —
at least if you feel like me, my dear."
Less than half an hour's drive brought the travellers to a large factory,
which, whatever it might be within, was on the outside, though in itself
as grim as coal-smoke could make it, surrounded by a fine expanse of
rural scenery. In answer to their" application at the gates they were
civilly desired to walk in, and presently found that the routine of exhi-
bition was precisely similar to that of the morning. It struck them
both, however, that if possible, the children looked more worn and
weary, more miserably lean, and more frightfully pallid, than those they
had seen before ; nevertheless Mary failed not, when taking leave of their
couductor, to request permission to attend the Sunday-school on the
morrow.
" Certainly !" was the reply, pronounced in a tone as clearly an-
240 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
nouncing the speaker's connexion witbt he party self-styled evange-
lical, as the broadest Irish brogue does the birthright of the speaker to
call himself a son of the Emerald Isle. "Certainly! the Lord forbid
that Christian women should ask to be present at the doings of the
godly and be refused V?
On inquiringthe hour at which they should be there, the man replied,
" As the clock in the tower of the Lord's house strikes seven, Mr.
Joseph Tomlins, by the blessing of God, will begin to speak the exhor-
tation. The prayer will follow from the lips of Mr. Robert, and then
the schooling will begin."
" We must be here, then, exactly at seven V* said Mary.
" Ten minutes earlier, would be more decent time," replied the man, with
a gravity of aspect that approached a frown, " our gentlemen are very
strict as to their hours in all things."
They civilly promised to be very punctual, and departed. The
factory was built on the side of a hill, so steep, that the back part of
it, to which the shed used as a school-room was attached, could not be
safely approached by a carriage ; Miss Brotherton, therefore, and her old
friend, on arriving at the bottom of the hill on the following morning,
got out, and, desiring the vehicle to await their return, proceeded on
foot by the path pointed out to them as " the way to Master Tomlin's
school." The ladies were more than punctual, for it still wanted a
quarter to seven, they therefore seated themselves on a fallen tree by
the road side, and watched the arrival of one or two miserable-looking
children who werelaggingly approaching the spot.
" You look half asleep my poor child !" said Mary, laying her hand
on the shoulder of a little girl, who ragged, pale, half-washed, and with
eyes half- closed, was being dragged onward by an older child, a boy,
apparently about ten years old.
" She be so hard asleepby times, "said the boy ," that I can't get her on."
" But why is that, my dear?^surely seven o'clock is not so very
early !" said Mary.
" We were all to the mill till five minutes afore twelve," said the
boy, making another effort to pull his sister onward.
" How ! — do you mean to tell me that you were working at mid-
night ?" demanded Mary.
" Five minutes afore twelve we stopped — 'cause it was Sunday,"
replied the boy. * ■ Come along Peggy !" he added with another stout
tug, " I shall catch it to-morrow from the looker if I'se too late for the
'sortation."
The little girl who had fallen fairly asleep, during this short delay,
being thus roused again, stumbled onwards, leaving Mrs. Tremlett and
Mary alike undeceived as to the humanity of instituting a school to be
carried on under such regulations. They determined, however, to
witness with their own eyes the operation of teaching children to read,
who were fast asleep, and walking on -came within sight of the school-
room door just as Mr. Joseph Tomlins showed himself on the step
before it, with his watch in one hand and a bible in the other.
" Wicked and ungrateful children I" he began, " Is this the way
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 241
you obey your earthly master, who leaves his comfortable bed, and his
breakfast untouched, to lead you to the feet of your heavenly one !
Wicked, idle, and ungrateful — " But at this moment Miss Brotherton
and Mrs. Tremlett appeared in sight, and in a voice suddenly changed
from reprobation into drawling softness, he went on, " Come unto Him
little children — I forbid you not, but urge you w ith tender Christian
love, early and late, late and early, to hear His word, and sing His
praise."
Here he stopped, and bowing to the ladies offered to lead them to a
place where they might be well accommodated for the exhortation and
and prayer, and for hearing the children also, if they wished it.
As soon as they had entered the sort of pew to which Mr. Tomlins
led them, the twenty or thirty miserable-looking children who were
assembled in the room were called upon by a loud word of command
to " Kneel!" and down they tumbled, the elder ones in several in-
stances taking the little creatures already asleep beside them, and
placing them on the floor as nearly as they could in the attitude com-
manded. The sonorous voice of Mr. Joseph Tomlins was then heard
pronouncing an exhortation, intended to show that obedience to their
earthly masters was the only way of saving children from the eternal
burning, prepared for those who were disobedient, in the world to come.
Mary, as she looked earnestly round upon every child present,
greatly doubted if there was one sufficiently awake to listen to this ;
and in her heart she blessed the heaviness which saved them from hearing
the mercy of their Maker blasphemed. A prayer followed this exhort-
ation, as little like what a prayer ought to be, as was the preparation
of the little congregation who listened to it for bearing part in a
religious ceremony. Still Mary Brotherton waited to the end, nor left
her station till the nominal business of instruction had proceeded
sufficiently to convince her that poor Sophy Drake's account was
strictly true when she said " keeping our eyes open Sundays wasn't
possible, 'cause they didn't strap us." The children were not strapped,
and consequently they were, with very few exceptions, literally fast
asleep during the hour and half that this ostentatious form of instruction
was going on.
Unwilling to attract more notice than was necessary, Miss Bro-
therton and her companion remained till the drowsy tribe were roused,
awakened, and dismissed by the loud voice of Mr. Joseph Tomlins,
and then they also slipped away, regained the carriage that waited for
them, and returned to * * *.
" Now then," said Mary, as their one horse dragged them deli-
berately along, " now then, dear Tremlett, our search must really begin.
As soon as we have breakfasted we will set off in this same equipage
for Mill, that being the first on my list where apprentices are
taken, and, moreover, within a morning's drive of * * *."
" And how shall you endeavour to gain admittance my dear?"
demanded her friend.
" As we did yesterday — merely stating that we are strangers, tra-
velling, who are desirous of seeing the factories," replied Mary.
R
242
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" But you don't expect to get in, my dear, do you ? — after all Mr.
Bell told you about apprentices !" exclaimed Mrs. Tremlett.
" Probably not," was the answer, " and in that case, my dear woman,
you know what is to happen. "
" You are really in earnest then, Miss Mary?" rejoined her friend
in an accent which betrayed some nervousness. " You really mean to
do all you said when we were shut up together?"
" Most certainly I do," replied Miss Brotherton, gravely. " Did you
suppose I was jesting, nurse Tremlett, in what I then said to you ?"
" Not jesting, Miss Mary. — No, certainly, not jesting. Only I
thought that may be after a little more thinking about it you might
change your mind."
" You do not yet understand me, nurse !" said Mary, with vexation.
" You do not yet comprehend how determined I am to persevere in the
business I have undertaken."
" Do not say so, dearest Miss Mary !" replied the old woman with
emotion, " I do understand you, — I do know that you will leave no
stone unturned to obtain your object, — and indeed, indeed, I love you
a thousand times better than ever I did, and that is just because I
do understand you ; only I did not feel quite sure that you would
have courage."
" We shall see, nurse Tremlett. Courage, I believe, often depends
more upon the earnestness of the will than the strength of the nerves, ,r
said Mary.
Their attempt to get admittance to the apprentice factory was, as they
both expected, abortive; they were told that no persons were admitted
there except on business, and having nothing such to plead, they
retreated as they had advanced, somewhat fearful lest their having
taken so much trouble for nothing, might excite the alarming observa-
tion, " It is very odd," on the part of their driver or some of his gossips.
The distance was considerably greater than they had expected, and
they had little more time on their return to * * *, than sufficed for
securing places in a cross-country coach for the morrow, which would
convey them to a small town named by Mr. Bell, within a morning's
drive of which were two establishments known to receive apprentices,
howsoever and wheresoever they could get them.
Having again booked their places in the name of Tremlett, pre-
pared their travelling luggage for a further progress, and taken a meal
that served for dinner and tea in one, they went to rest. But it was
long ere the excited mind of Mary permitted her to sleep ; nor did
she, in fact, close her eyes till, after repeated consideration, she had
decided totally to change the plan of operations she had fixed upon
for the morrow.
Mrs. Tremlett had not yet left her bed, when her young mistress
appeared at the foot of it, on the following morning, with her ivory
tablets in her hand. " Nurse Tremlett," she said, e< do you remember
which, among all the places mentioned here, was the one Mr. Bell
declared that he considered as the most likely for Sir Matthew to
have selected, if his purpose was to keep the abode of Michael Arm-
strong unknown?"
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 243
" Dear me ! My dear Miss Mary ! Only think of your being up
already and me lying abed so !" was the reply she received.
" Never mind that, dear nurse. It is not getting-up lime yet — only
I am restless. Do you remember the name of the mills Mr. Bell par-
ticularly dwelt upon V
" I dare say I might, Miss Mary, if I was to hear it spoken again,"
said the old woman, sitting up in bed, and endeavouring to feel
awake.
" Now then listen, dear soul, and stop me when you think I name
the right." Mary then turned to her tablets, and read the names,
with the descriptions of the localities inscribed there. It was not till
she had reached the last in the list that Mrs. Tremlett again spoke,
and then she exclaimed promptly, " That is it, Mary ! I am quite sure
that is the place ! ' I will bet ten to one,' he said, ' that if Sir Mat-
thew has been for putting the boy out of sight, Deep Valley Mill is
where he will have lodged him.' Those were his words, Miss Mary —
I could quite swear it."
" I was pretty sure of it before, nurse Tremlett, but now no doubt
can possibly remain. Hear me, then, my dear kind friend, and tell
me truly if I am right or wrong. I settled last night, nurse, to set off
and visit all these factories exactly in the order in which they are here
set down. But, after I went to bed, it struck me that it would be
surely better to begin with the place pointed out by our good friend as
the most likely to afford success. I like the business quite as little as
you do, nurse, and would gladly shorten it, if possible."
" But, my dear, won't the stage we are going in take us the wrong
way ?"
" A little round about — but I see no objection in that ; we have no
particular wish, you know, to have our course traced, and this setting
off in one direction, when our purpose is to take another, must go far
towards preventing it. So that you see we have no immediate change
to make, and you have only to get up, and eat your breakfast in time
to be ready for the coach, that is to stop for us here."
" God bless your dear heart V said the old woman. " You think
ten times more of me than you do of yourself, darling ! Little sleep
last night, Mary, and getting up before any body else in the morning,,
is not the way to be quite strong and composed by-and-by."
" Fear nothing — I feel perfectly well, and greatly pleased by our
change of plans. I have great faith in this visit to Deep Valley, and
long to have the experiment made and over."
Mary Brotherton was quite correct in her geography ; the place to
which the coach conveyed them was at about the same distance from
Deep Valley as from * * * ; and, without making any further inquiries
concerning that mysterious spot, which indeed the memoranda received
from Mr. Bell rendered quite unnecessary, she ordered a chaise, on
quitting the stage-coach, to convey them to the nearest town at which
he had stated that it would be likely they should find decent accommo-
dation for the night.
Both the young and the old lady were rather surprised, on reaching
r 2
244 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
this place, to find every house in it that offered public accommodation
so poor and miserable looking, as to make them almost afraid to enter.
Their driver, however, soon drew up to one which, upon Mrs. Trem-
lett's inquiring if it were the best, he assured them, was not only the
best, but the only one that ladies could find comfortable. " Here
then we will get out," said Mary, courageously, and giving her friend
an encouraging smile, she preceded her into a room that smelt strongly
of tobacco- smoke, ale, and gin.
" Can we have an up-stairs room that might be more open and airy
like V*. said Mrs. Tremlett, looking anxiously at her young mistress.
" To sleep in ?" demanded the woman who had received them.
" A sitting-room, good woman, I mean," responded the meek-
spirited Mrs. Tremlett, half frightened by the woman's look and accent.
" What, this is not good enough, I suppose? Then you may trudge
— it is good enough for your betters," replied the woman, looking
most alarmingly sulky. Had the last been addressed to herself, Mary
Brotherton would have thought it one of the duties imposed by her
pilgrimage to endure it ; but, as it was, she slipped out of the dun-
geon-parlour with great celerity, and reached the house-door before
the postboy had succeeded in his attempts to untie the cord which
fastened their trunks behind the chaise. Apparently hands were scarce
at this unpromising hostelry, for he was performing the business alone,
at which Mary greatly rejoiced, as it enabled her to address him un-
observed. " This does not seem a comfortable house, my lad, that
you have brought us to. Don't you think we might do better if we
tried another?"
" It be the best in the town," was the reply.
" Then could you not drive us a mile or two out of it ?" said Mary,
in a very coaxing voice. " We should like to sleep at any little
country inn by the roadside a great deal better than this."
" And how would my master's horses like it I wonder ?" said the post-
boy. By this time Mary's purse was visible in her hand. The youth's
countenance softened as he gazed upon it, and he presently gave an
unequivocal symptom of relenting, by scratching his head. Miss Bro-
therton held half-a-sovereign between her finger and thumb — " I will
give you^this, she said, beyond the sum you are to receive for the horses ,'if
you will drive us on to some clean country inn at which we could sleep."
" Where is the old lady ?" demanded the boy in something like a
whisper.
" I will bring her out this moment," said she ; and, without waiting
further parley, Mary flitted back again through the vapour of tobacco
and spirits to rescue her old friend, — a deed of daring that found its
reward in the look of gentle satisfaction with which her signal to quit
the parlour was obeyed ; for Mrs. Tremlett was one who could not
bandy words, and she had therefore endured, without intermission or
resistance, as much insolence as could be compressed into the period of
her abode in the apartment.
" Why did you not follow me at once, dear nurse?" said Mary, as
soon as the postboy had closed the carriage-door upon them.
35
•^// /x///
•
////. -
■„//
r"
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 245
" Bless you, my dear, I never thought of getting away again till to-
morrow morning, and I staid with her to prevent her following you.
How very glad I am we are got away safe and sound from that terrible
woman ! How could you have the courage and cleverness to think of
it, Mary ? Sure enough, dear, it is you that take care of me — and
that's a shame, isn't it V*
" It is but fair, nurse, that we should divide the labours of the road
between us. It is you who always take care that we are not starved,
and it is not too much in return that I should be watchful for your
preservation from all the wild cats and tigresses we may chance to
encounter."
The postboy earned his golden gratuity, greatly to the contentment
of its donor, by drawing up at a small but perfectly neat little man-
sion, where milk-pans set on end to dry before the door offered a de-
lightfulcontrasttoallthathad been visible atthe sign ofthe ThreeCrowns.
The clean-coifed landlady looked a little surprised at being asked for
sleeping-rooms by ladies entitled to so splendid a mode of travelling,
but the demand being satisfactorily answered, they were quickly in-
stalled in a parlour smelling of geraniums instead of gin, and giving
orders for their evening meal to the bustling good woman of the house
with an air of old acquaintanceship, that looked as if they had been
her guests for a month.
" Nothing was ever so fortunate as this, nurse Tremlett," said Mary,
as soon as they were left alone ; " our stage-playing, as you are pleased
to call it, must begin here. There is no danger that this kind simple-
hearted creature should misdoubt a word we say, and if you will only
perform your allotted part with your usual quiet good sense, I have no
doubt but we shall reach her heart sufficiently to make her very useful.
I do not ask you to say any thing — only look sufficiently interested to
support the character I assign you."
" Oh ! dear Miss Mary !" exclaimed Mrs. Tremlett, colouring, — " is
it to begin already ?"
The countenance of Miss Brotherton fell from an expression of great
animation into that of deep despondency and disappointment, she
found that all her difficulties with the old woman were about to be re-
newed. "Oh! why, Mrs. Tremlett, if you are unequal to this, did you not
honestly tell me so when I explained my purpose to you before we set out?"
said she, with more of severity than she had ever used in addressing
her during her whole life before, " I could then have taken measures
to carry on this business without you. You know how deeply my heart
is in it — I did not expect this weakness — I thought it was over!"
" You are wrong, Miss Mary — you are mistaken altogether," re-
plied Mrs. Tremlett, eagerly. «' I am neither weak nor silly, and so you
shall see, if you won't be so very rash and hasty with me."
By no means displeased at the energy with which the good woman
defended herself, Mary replied, " Let me see this, Tremlett, and my
love and value for you will increase a hundred fold."
" Begin, then, as soon as you like, my dear, I am quite ready."
246' THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
And, in saying this, the good old woman assumed an aspect as full of
confidence and courage as her own.
In a few minutes their repast, which a good dairy made luxurious,
was before them, the landlady remaining in attendance to replenish the
tea-pot, and so forth.
Miss Brotherton's manners, though by no means remarkable to those
in her own station for that perfect polish which guards every thing
without, and every thing within, from disagreeable impressions, were
always conciliatory and kind to all below her, and seldom was she
waited upon by any one who would not have gladly retained that office
near her. So it was with Mrs. Prescot of the King's Head ; the good
woman lingered in the room, evidently because she liked being there,
and taking advantage of this, Mary addressed her, venturing to give
her the name she had read upon the sign.
" We are in Derbyshire, are we not, Mrs. Prescot?"
" Yes, miss ; this is Derbyshire, sure enough."
" What distance is it from hence to Deep Valley ?"
" What, the factory, miss, that is called Deep Valley Mill?"
" Yes ; how far is it to that factory ?"
" Why it is not over easy to say rightly, seeing that there is no direct
road to it. It is a lonesome out-of-the-way place as ever human
beings thought of taking to, and I can't say as much is knowed about
it by any of the neighbours round. There is a cart-road, I believe, as
goes right down to the mill, but the nearest way would be over them
hills there, of course, because the factory is built down amongst the
very middlemost of 'em," replied Mrs. Prescot.
" Would the walk over the hills be too far for my aunt and me?"
inquired Mary.
" Oh dear yes, miss ! I should think so ! Besides, 'tis no place
whatever for ladies to go to. The poor little creturs as bides there
bean't no sight for them to look at; and, besides, nobody of any sort
is ever let to look at 'em."
" We must get there, somehow or other, Mrs. Prescot," said Mary ;
" and I trust in God that we shall not be refused admittance, for our
business is no common one."
" You have got business at Deep Valley Mill?" demanded Mrs.
Prescot, abruptly.
" Indeed we have," replied Mary, " and, by some means or other,
we must get in, and, what is more, we must see every apprentice
they have."
The woman shook her head .
" I have had more than one lodging here for a night," said she,
" who for some reason or other was curious to get inside of
Deep Valley Mill. But I never knowed one of 'em that ever did
more than get a look down upon it from the top of one of them
mountainous hills out yonder ; and it's no easy matter, they
say, to get to the right place even for that ; for, by what folks say,
them as built the mills seem to think that they could puzzle the
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 247
wicked one himself to find 'em out. But there's one eye as sees
'em, if no other do."
These last words were added in a mutter that might, or might not,
be noticed, according to the pleasure of the parties within hearing.
Mary did not notice them.
" Could you have the kindness to tell us to 'whom 'we should apply
for permission to go through the factory V said she.
" Indeed, miss, I am happy to say I knows nothing about 'em, and
if all's true as I've heard said over the ale-pot by the kitchen fire, the
more people ask for leave, the less they are likely to get it. But may
I make so bold, miss, as to ask the reason why such ladies as you wants
■to get in there? It would only break your hearts ; and what's more,
they've been having a horrid fever there, and that I know for certain,
though they sent the poor little creturs off by night to be buried, some
to one churchyard, and some to another, to stop people's tongues. It
bean't no place, ladies, for you to go."
'* When I tell you why we wish to enter there you will not say so,"
replied Mary. " The mill is worked by apprentice children, is it not?"
" Yes, miss, the more's the pity — for that's what makes the poor
wretches slaves for life — for not many of 'em, by all accounts, lives till
their time is up."
11 Hear me then, Mrs. Prescot — among those miserable apprentices we
hope and expect to find a dear child who belongs to us."
" Lack-a-day ! what a story-book that would make !" exclaimed Mrs.
Prescot. " How long is it since you lost him ?"
" It is a long time," replied Mary, evading the question, " and it is
a long story to tell how it happened. He is my own brother — and
this lady who is come with me is our aunt."
" Are you quite sure, miss, that you shall find him there?"
" How can I say that, Mrs. Prescot, when you tell me so many of
the children are dead ?" replied Mary. " But so much do I think I
shall, that I will give five sovereigns to any one who will only put me
in the way to get admittance to the mill."
Mrs. Prescot again shook her head. " There be a many and a many
poor souls round about that would do amost any thing Jionest for such
a reward ; but if any body told you they could do as much, they would
only deceive you, I don't believe there is any body in the parish, not
even the parson, could make 'em open their doors to let strangers in."
" Do you think that the person who has the power to open them
would do it for a hundred pounds?" demanded Miss Brotherton.
" I can't take upon me to say, miss ; it sounds like a fortune to me
— but they are all rich at Deep Valley, as folks say, managers, over-
lookers, and all — so, may be they mayn't think so much of it."
" Mrs. Prescot, I would give five hundred pounds, rather than not
look over the children at Deep Valley Mill."
The woman stared at her with a very natural mixture of curiosity
and astonishment ; but there was a friendly interest in her eye, also. " It's
late to-night, ma'am, to do anything," said she, " and if you'll be pleased
to say nothing to nobody till my husband comes home, I don't know
248 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
but what he may be as likely to think upon what would be the best
way to set about it as any body ; not that he ever meddles or makes
with the people of the mill in any way, but he's a good schollard, and a
quick-witted man too, as ever I knowed, though I say it as shouldn't."
This proposal was readily agreed to, and the interval till their host's
return employed in a ramble of a mile or two along the road, where a
recent shower had laid the dust, while every woodbine in the hedges
which skirted it, sent forth a delicious perfume. The outline of the
hills around them, though hardly deserving Mrs. Prescot's epithet of
mountainous, was bold and picturesque, and the foreground, with its
hanging levels and rich copses, altogether formed a scene of consider-
able beauty.
" All this is very pretty, my good Tremlett," said Mary, offering her
arm to her old friend to assist her ascent of a steep hill, " and I should
enjoy it greatly did I not fancy that could we look over yonder hill-
tops we should see a hateful roof, excluding the sweet breath of evening
from the helpless creatures it encloses."
" God grant that you may snatch one of them from it, my dear
child," replied the old woman ; li let that thought comfort you."
" Should I succeed !" cried Mary, " should 1 indeed carry home that
little fellow to his poor mother and my pretty Edward, I should
certainly feel something approaching to perfect happiness ! But if I
fail ! how shall I bear to meet them ?"
" Think not of it, dear .! see how that last bit of sunshine comes full
upon your face as you talk about it ; that is a sign my dear that you
will have your wish."
It was the last bit of sunshine, for the next moment the golden disk
was hid behind a ridge of hills; yet they walked on for nearly a mile
further, and, when they returned to the King's Head, they found the
good man of the house already returned, and his supper, as his wife
assured them, very nearly finished. " He shall come to you in half a
minute, ladies, if you'll please to be seated, while I bring in the
candles ; — I have told him all you said to me, and he don't seem so
much put out about it, by much, as me, — but he's uncommon 'cute, as
you'll find when you comes to talk to him."
In about a quarter of an hour Mr. Prescot knocked at the parlour-
door, and being properly introduced to the ladies by his wife, was left
standing before them, while she retreated to pursue her various avo-
cations.
" Your wife has told you, Mr. Prescot, our reason for coming here V*
said Miss Brotherton, glad to escape the repetition of her fictitious
tale.
" She has, ma'am," was the succinct reply.
" And do you think it possible for us to obtain admission to Deep
Valley Mill, and to go over it in such a manner as to give us an oppor-
tunity of seeing all the children ?"
" If I had heard that much, as to your purpose, ladies, and nothing
more, I should have said no, you could no more get into Deep Valley
factory than into the moon. But my missis added something to the
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 249
back of it, as makes a difference." This was said with a look and
accent which fully justified Mrs. Prescot's assurances of her good man's
«' 'cuteness."
" I think, Mr. Prescot, that she said no more than I am willing to
make good," replied Mary. " I do not wish to expend money wantonly,
but, if less will not serve, I am ready to give five hundred pounds to
any person who could enable me to see all the children in Deep Valley
Mill."
"It is a longsum/miss," replied the man thoughtfully, " and I can't
but fancy that less might serve. The people as is in authority there
is bad people, I don't scruple to say it, and sooner than open their
doors for pity towards any Christian soul, man, woman, or child, they
would see 'em all in the bottomless pit. But 'tis just because they do
all the wickedness we hears of, that I sees hope they may be bought to
break their own laws ; for if they does one thing for the love of gold,
they may do another. Tis plain enough to see, to be sure, that they
knows it is for their interest to keep all eyes off their cruel goings-
on — and what's for their interest they won't easily give up. — So it may
be that squire Elgood Sharpton himself would turn away from five
hundred pounds, rather than show off his poor miserable apprentices. —
But that mayn't hold good for his agent, and I believe in my heart that,
if we could quietly get to offer Woodcomb the manager a hundred
pounds, you would not have long to wait for a sight of the children."
" And how is this to be done, Mr. Prescot?" said Miss Brotherton,
" if you can undertake to manage it, you may put what price you like
on your services, I feel certain that you would not name a higher sum
than I should be willing to pay."
'* Why, as for me, miss, I must not be known to meddle or make in
the matter. Squire Sharpton would have my licence away before I
could say Jack Robinson. Any advice I can give is at your service,
and I may be able to put you up, perhaps, to doing the thing in the
likeliest way ; but as to my going to the mill, it won't do. One reason
is, that I never was there before, and it's like enough that, seeing a
stranger, they'd set the dogs at me before I had time to say my errand.
No ! — that won't answer. The only man I can think of as would give
us a chance is one Smith, the miller as serves 'em with oatmeal, and
pretty stuff 'tis, as I've been told, which don't speak over- well for his
honesty, you'll say, though, 'tis likely the price is in proportion.
Howsomever, whether he be good or bad, I don't know another as
comes and goes to Deep Valley as he does, and that's what makes
me fix upon him as a messenger."
" And when could I see this man ?" demanded Mary.
■' " Why, betimes to-morrow, miss, there's no doubt, if I goes and
gives him notice."
" Then, do so Mr. Prescot, and be assured your trouble shall not
be forgotten."
" There is no fear of it, miss," replied the acute landlord with very
honest sincerity, " and I'll go to the mill outright. But I think—
you'll be pleased to excuse me for speaking my mind — that you two
250 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
ladies must settle between yourselves what you'd be willing to give
Timothy Smith himself for the job — seeing that he's not one to work for
nothing ; — and another thing I'd make so free as to mention is, that
you'd do well to make him understand that you don't want to get in-
side their wicked den, but only to see the children, one and all of 'em
— and then you know, miss, they may trim 'em and scour 'em up a
little tor shame's sake, afore they brings 'em out/'
Miss Brotherton, after this conversation, felt as fully convinced as
the good wife herself could desire of the value of the landlord's head,
and determined to be guided by his advice. After a little further con-
versation between them, it was settled that she should write a note to
Mr. Woodcomb, the manager, in readiness to give into the hands of
Mr. Timothy Smith on the following morning, if she could prevail upon
him to deliver it.
Mr. Prescot performed his part of the business ably, for the portly
miller was waiting for the ladies in the parlour when they returned from
their early walk.
Miss Brotherton possessed a sort of instinctive skill in reading the
human countenance, which rarely deceived her, and it took her not
long to discover that the man she had now to deal with was one upon
whom it would be folly to waste any arguments which did not affect his
own interest. She, therefore, briefly stated the fact that it was of great
importance to her to obtain sight of all the apprentices at Deep Valley
Mill, having great reason to hope that she should find a young relative
there, for whose release from all engagements she was willing to pay-
handsomely.
" It is not the custom, ma'am, to admit visiters at that factory. It
have been found to hinder the work," replied the miller solemnly.
" So I understand, sir. But, hearing that you are in the habit of
visiting the mill on business, I have taken the liberty to send for you
in order to say, that if you would undertake to deliver this note to
Mr. Woodcomb, the manager, I would willingly give you five pounds
for your trouble."
""That is hardly enough, ma'am, for the risk of offending so good a
customer," replied the miller.
" Will double that sum induce you to do it for me ?" said Mary.
" On what day do you wish it to 'reach Mr. Woodcomb's hands V
demanded Mr. Timothy Smith, endeavouring to retain a doubtful
expression of countenance.
" To-day, sir ; as early as possible."
" Then, ma'am, I'll be fair and open with you, and not go about to
mince the matter, or deceive you in any way. If you will pay me down
twenty pounds in gold, or Bank of England notes, I will consent to
give up all the important business I had fixed to do this morning, and
undertake, not only to give your letter to Mr. Woodcomb, but to use
my influence with him — which is greater than you may guess for — to
make him do what you wish, provided that you treat him with the
liberality which a gentleman like him has a right to expect."
Miss Brotherton drew forth her pocket-book.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 25l
" I will give you the twenty pounds you demand, Mr. Smith," she
said in a tone as business-like and decided as his own, " if you perform
my errand successfully. I will give you this ten-pound note now, as pay-
ment for conveying the letter, and another of the same value when you
return to me with the manager's permission to see the children who are
apprenticed at the mill."
Mr. Timothy Smith looked at Miss Brotherton's pocket-book and he
looked at her. His glance at the first inspired a strong inclination to
increase his demands ; but the miller had studied the human counte-
nance as well as the lady, and when he looked at her he felt certain
that though young, rich, and very eager in pursuit of her object, she
was not a fool, and that if he pushed her to a more preposterous pay-
ment than he had already proposed, she would be likely enough to
turn about and look for another agent. He therefore demurely replied,
" It is all fair, ma'am ; I agree to the terms."
And without wasting any further time, the man of the mill received
the note, put on his hat, and departed.
Not all Mary's self-command, and, considering all things, she had
a great deal, could enable her to await the return of her costly messen-
ger with composure. All that she heard of this mysterious mill tended
to prove that it was precisely such a place as Sir Matthew Dowling
would be likely to fix upon as the abode of Michael. The more she
meditated the more she became convinced that the boy was there, and
she was hot and cold, pale and red, a dozen times in an hour.
She had kept a copy of her letter to the manager, that she might
show it to Mr. Bell, from whom she hoped to receive absolution for the
innocent fraud she had practised. To read and re-read this letter, and
to speculate with Mrs. Tremlett upon its probable and possible effects,
occupied some portion of the tedious time ; slowly dragging her steps
up and down Mrs. Prescot's little garden, and occasionally sitting for
a fidgety five minutes in a bower of scarlet-runners, employed the
rest. But the morning seemed endless, and more than once she sus-
pected that her watch stood still.
The important letter to Mr. Woodcomb was as follows :
" Sir, — A wealthy and respectable family have recently had reason to
believe that a dear child, long considered as lost, has been sent as an
apprentice to Mr. Elgood Sharpton's factory at Deep Valley. Fully
aware that the examination necessary to prove whether this hope be
well founded, must be attended with considerable trouble to you —
inasmuch as the children must be brought out from their work for me
to see, I beg to say that, if, without giving me further trouble, you will
permit this, I will pay the sum of one hundred pounds for the accom-
modation. Should it be refused, I must have recourse to other means
for the purpose of ascertaining what it is so important for me to know.
" I am, Sir,
" Your obedient servant,
" Dorcas Tremlett."
It was not till five o'clock in the afternoon, by which time Mary
was fully persuaded that her commission had failed, that Mr. Timothy
252 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Smith, in his white hat and well-powdered blue coat, was again seen
approaching the King's Head. The heiress, who was sitting near the
window, started up, and would certainly have stepped forward to
meet him, had not Mrs. Tremlett whispered, "Sit down, Miss Mary,
sit down, there's a darling, and look like a great lady as you did
this morning; and that's what you are, and always should be."
Mary reseated herself, and, after a short interval, the miller
knocked at the parlour-door, and was desired to enter. j Miss Brotherton
pointed to a chair, and he rested himself. "The weather is warm,
ladies/' said he, drawing forth a cotton handkerchief, and wiping
his head and face, " and I have not loitered in my errand, as you
may see by the state I'm in ; but my horse is getting in years, like
his master, and it's no easy work to drive him by such a road as
that I have corned by."
"Have you succeeded, sir?" said Miss Brotherton, looking as
grand as Mrs. Tremlett could desire.
" I am happy to say, ma'am," he replied, with dignity, "that the
second ten pounds is fairly won."
" I rejoice to hear it," cried Mary, brightly colouring ; " and I shall
have great pleasure in paying it. When, sir, may I see these chil-
dren ?" she added, pulling out her pocket-book as she spoke.
" Here, ma'arn, is Mr. Woodco nib's reply to your note, and on the
reading of that, I look to hear you say that the ten pounds is mine."
Miss Brotherton took the dirty epistle offered her, and read : —
" Madam, — My employer is strict in his orders not to let the hands
be interrupted, as they too often are in some mills, to gratify the idle
curiosity of strangers. But in consideration of your handsome pro-
posal, and hoping that you won't scruple to follow it with a like sum in
case of your finding and carrying away the child, which will be no
more than just, seeing that if I part with a hand I must get another in
the place of it, on this condition I am willing that all the children on
the premises shall be placed in the feeding-room for your inspection at
twelve o'clock to-morrow.
" I am, Madam,
" Your humble servant,
" James Woodcomb."
The miller kept his eye fixed upon her as she read, and the result he
looked for followed the perusal of the despatch he had brought. Miss
Brotherton handed the letter to her friend, and then drew the promised
bank-note from her pocket-book. The jolly miller rose, and received
it from her hands. " I thank you, madam," said he, folding it care-
fully, " and I beg to say, in return, that you would have been troubled
to find another man who could have done your errand as well."
" I am quite satisfied, sir," she replied, " and will only ask in
addition to what you have already done for me, that you would be
obliging enough to tell me by what conveyance it will be best for us to
get to the factory to-morrow ? Mr. Woodcomb, as you probably know,
has named twelve o'clock. I suppose the distance is too great for us
to walk ?"
as
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 253
" Quite impossible, ma'am — altogether out of the question. But I
shall have no objection to hire out my chay-cart for the day, if so be
you would think that suitable," said the obliging miller.
" I have no doubt it would do perfectly well, provided you have a
horse that can draw it — I should be sorry to lose time in going, and
should not choose to be later than the hour appointed," replied Mary.
" I'll look to having a fitting horse, ma'am, and one as is used to the
road, and that is what but few are. The road is no very good one in
parts, that's the truth, and I'm not over sure that there's another man
besides myself that would like to undertake the job ; but I've no
objection to driving you myself, ladies, provided you think it worth
while to pay a tradesman for the loss of his time — of course I can't
charge my labour like a postboy."
" If you take means, sir, to getusto Deep Valley Mill, by the hour
appointed, and drive us back again safely to this house, we shall not
dispute about the price. But remember, if you please, that the
carriage, or cart, or whatever it is, must have accommodation for
the child I hope to bring away with me."
" I will take care of that, ma'am. I will put a little stool in on
purpose — and I think if I say two guineas, ma'am, for the job, which
is no easy one, that you can't complain of the price."
" I certainly shall not complain of it," said Miss Brotherton.
Nine o'clock was then fixed as the hour of setting out, and Mr.
Timothy Smith departed.
Mrs. Prescot's roast chicken and French beans were treated very
differently from her previous breakfast and luncheon. Mary Brotherton
was in higher spirits than she had enjoyed for many weeks — she felt
confident of success, and for the first time in her life, perhaps, fully
enjoyed the possession of the wealth which gave her such power of
surmounting difficulties. The kind-hearted Mrs. Tremlett was at
length as sanguine, and almost as happy as herself; and very freely
confessed, again and again, that her dear young lady knew ten times
better how to manage things than she did, old as she was.
The evening was again spent in a long late ramble, and though they
did not forget that over a certain towering height, pointed out by Mrs.
Prescot, lay the dismal spot called the Deep Valley, the exceeding
happiness which was anticipated for one who dwelt there, made them
almost forget the misery of the rest.
254 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER XXIII.
MISS BROTHERTON AND HER FRIEND ARRIVE AT THE DEEP VALLEY
A REVIEW — DISAPPOINTMENT " A SUDDEN THOUGHT STRIKES"
THE HEIRESS — SHE CONCLUDES A BARGAIN, THOUGH NOT THE
ONE TOR WHICH SHE MEDITATED SHE SETS OUT UPON A WALK.
Mr. Timothy Smith was punctual to his appointment, and at a very
few minutes past nine, Mrs. Tremlett and Mary were jogging along in
the miller's jockey-cart, on a seat whereon cushions, that looked very
like pillows, had been carefully strapped, and with a little stool placed
before them, the sight of which conjured up so delightful a picture of
the manner in which they should return, and the joy it would be her
lot to confer, and to witness, that the pretty eyes of the heiress
sparkled through tears of pleasure, and she would not have exchanged
her present expedition for the best party of pleasure that ever was
devised by man.
A considerable part of the way was the same as that followed by
Mr. Parsons when he conveyed Michael to the factory, and need not
be again described. The tranquil loneliness of that portion of the
road which ran along the stream, before it made the turn which
brought the hideous prison-house in sight, lulled her spirits into a
state that but ill prepared her for the aspect of the grim, desolate-
looking dwelling into whose recesses she was about to penetrate ;
and when it suddenly became visible, something like a groan
escaped her.
" I hope that jolt didn't hurt you, ma'am V said the miller, turning
towards her. " Here we are, safe and sound, and that's half my
bargain, at any rate."
The vehicle drew up to a small door in the exterior wall of the
extensive enclosure in which the buildings stood ; Mr. Smith threw the
reins upon the neck of his horse, and bringing his stout person cau-
tiously to the ground, offered his services to assist the two ladies in
doing the same.
Miss Brotherton trembled as she stood waiting till the miller's
summons at the door should be answered. Now that the moment was
come which was to decide the question of her success or failure, she
no longer felt the same confidence which had cheered her while the
trial was still distant, and her heart sunk with anticipated disappoint-
ment. Several minutes of irksome delay gave her time to dwell on
these oppressive forebodings ; and when the door was at length slowly
and cautiously opened by Mr. Woodcomb himself, her pale face spoke
such painful anxiety, that the suspicious guardian of the unholy spot
was comforted from the satisfactory conviction that her tale was true,
and that she came not under any false pretences to look at that w r hich
he considered it to be the first duty of his life to conceal.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 255
" Good morning;, Smith — all's right, and all's ready for you. Walk
in, ladies, if you please," said the stern manager, relaxing his habitual
frown, and intending to be extremely gracious.
Mary and her friend stepped forward, and heard the stout lock and
two heavy bolts secured behind them.
" This" way, ladies, this way, if you please ; there is no need to
trouble you to enter the factory, which, do what we will to keep it
nice, can never be quite free from dust. You are a trifle after your
time, Mr. Smith, but it's no matter; dinner time is over, but if the
ladies will walk into this room they shall have all satisfaction. How-
somever, as the young uns is again at work, I can't well stop the mills
to march 'em in all together. Nevertheless, 1 don't see but it may be
quite as agreeable, or may be more, for the ladies to look at 'em one
or two at a time."
Miss Brotherton did not attempt to speak, but placed herself in a
chair near the open door, and bent her head to indicate that she was
satisfied with the proposed arrangement.
" You had best walk this way with me, Mr. Smith," said the ami-
able Woodcomb, " the ladies look quite agitated, as is but natural,
and would sooner be without strangers I don't doubt." A proposal
which truly was a welcome one to all parties — for Mrs. Tremlett and
Mary longed to be at liberty to speak without restraint — Mr. Smith was
thirsting for his accustomed mug of ale, and the manager himself
bursting to make a few inquiries respecting his mysterious visiters.
" Have you seen the colour of their money yet, friend Smith ?"—
were the first words uttered as they crossed the court.
" Twenty good pounds," replied the miller, expressively patting the
pocket where the treasure lay, " and given as freely as if it had been
twenty pence — out of a full pocket-book, too, Mr. Woodcomb, I can
tell you that — and I can tell you besides, that your money's as sure as
the bank, and your customer One as is thinking of her own concerns
and not of yours."
" That's what I'm judging too, Mr. Smith. One can see in a
minute if folks eyes are roving here and there, up and down, to take
account of all they can see. God grant that those poor whey-faced
females may find what they want, and we shall both of us have made a
good day's work of it. I sha'n't wish the thing talked of, that's a fact,
not but what I shall be ready with an answer, if I'm troubled with
questions. People as have money to throw about, like these folks,
are not to be put off with a short word, and a lock turned in their faces.
It mayn't chance once in a century that any such should trouble
themselves concerning the cart-loads of live lumber as we takes off
to relieve the overstocked parishes. But now it is come to pass, in
course we must manage to get through it quietly — so I'm not without
my answer, Mr. Smith, if the squire should hear of it, and make
a riot."
" No, to be sure you arn't — besides there's no need to say nothing,"
replied the miller.
Mr. Woodcomb, in answer to this, gave an assenting nod, and an
256 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
approving smile. " Now then, my man," said he, more gaily than he
often uttered any thing, " sit you down here, and you shall presently
have a snack and a mug to keep you company. I'll see myself to the
turning in a few of the hands at a time, to be looked at. For I have
been- thinking the matter over, Master Miller, and I judge it will
make ten times less talk and tumult that way, than if they were all
turned out at once. I'll have out a few boys and girls together,
chance-like, just as they come — and ten to one nobody but Poulet
will find out that there's any thing more going on than some job, as I
wants to get done."
Mr. Woodcomb accordingly proceeded to the different parts of the
large establishment, and contrived, without stopping the work any
where, to perform the task he had undertaken. As the selected chil-
dren came forth from the various rooms, he told them to cross the
court to the 'prentice-house, where they would find one as wanted to
look at them, adding an order to come back again as quick as light,
" if they didn't wish to be strapped dead."
Whenever such promises were made, Mr. Woodcomb was known to
be strictly a man of his word; and Mary and her friend had soon
gazed with anxious eyes and shuddering hearts upon a greater number
of half-starved trembling little wretches, than could possibly have been
made to pass before them in an equally short space of time, by any
other mode or process whatever.
They came so quickly in succession, however, that no interval was
left in which Miss Brotherton and her faithful attendant could exchange
a word on the melancholy panorama of human misery that passed be-
fore them. Strange and unwonted as was the spectacle of " two ladies
sitting in the 'prentice-house," the cowed and frightened children, for
the most part did little more than stand before her with eyes and
mouth wide open for a single minute, and then start off again, while
Mary herself aided the celerity of the process by a shake of the head,
and a wave of the hand, which indicated plainly enough that they
were not to stay, but go.
" What a multitude, nurse Tremlett !" she exclaimed at length, her
spirits worn with repeated disappointments, and the contemplation of
the wretched creatures for whom she knew she brought no help.
" The train seems endless !"
The old woman returned her a speaking look., and whispered in her
ear — "Could you not question them, Mary? Might not this dismal
work be shortened by your asking them if the boy is here ? They
can't have any reason to hide him. They can't be agents of Sir
Matthew."
Mary took the hint, and said to the next young skeleton that pre-
sented itself — " Can you tell me if there is a boy here named Michael
Armstrong?"
The result was a stupid and silent stare, and, without answering, the
child darted off like the rest. Thrice she repeated the question, but
with no better success, for two out of the three were among those newly
arrived to supply vacancies caused by the late mortality, and the third
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 257
from working and sleeping in another chamber, had never heard poor
Michael's name. " No !" was pronounced by this one, " No, ma'am/'
by the two new comers, and Mary's heart almost faiiing her, she re-
sumed her silent examination. In truth there was in most of the
unhappy faces that thus presented themselves, such a look of blighted
intellect, and dogged apathy, that she clung to the ever-lessening hope
of seeing the boy appear, in preference to any further questioning.
And thus the coming and going lasted for another rralf-hour without a
word being spoken.
At length the sad monotony of the spectacle was broken, at least to
the eyes of Mary, by the appearance of a little girl, who though pale
and lamentably thin, had not yet lost thereby the sweet expression of
her delicate features, neither had the soul within yielded to the para-
lyzing influence of the hopeless, helpless, unvarying misery by which
she was surrounded. Her soft gray eyes still retained their eloquent
power of speaking, and the look of surprise, mixed with something
that was almost approaching to pleasure, with which she fixed them
upon Mary's face caused her to make a sudden movement to detain
her, as the child, following the example of the rest, was turning away.
At first this movement was caused entirely by the interest which the
little creature herself inspired — but it almost immediately occurred to
her, that here, at length, there was a chance of receiving a rational
and intelligent answer to any question she might ask ; and such
strength did this idea gain as she continued to look at the child, that
she told Mrs. Tremlett to stop the approach of those who were coming
on, and by keeping them waiting in the court for a minute or two, to
give her time to see if she could not learn something from this most
interesting-looking little creature. Mrs. Tremlett showed that she too
thought something might now be hoped for, and with great alacrity
stepped out into the court to meet the fresh arrivals, shutting, to
Mary's extreme satisfaction, the door of the room behind her.
" My dear little girl!" said Miss Brotherton, taking the child's pale
and slender hand in hers, " How came you in this sad place ? You
do not look as if you were used to it."
" Not for very long, ma'am," was the reply.
" But you have been here during the few last weeks?"
" I have been here for several months," answered the little girl.
" Can you tell me" — and Mary almost gasped as she asked the
question — " Can you tell me, if there be a boy here called Michael
Armstrong?"
The look of modest and well-pleased curiosity with which the soft
eye* were fixed on Mary's face, was instantly changed for an expression
of deep anguish — for a few moments no reply was uttered, and large
tears were already chasing each other down her cheeks before the trem-
bling child found voice to speak ; at last she uttered, almost in a whis-
per, and still looking through her tears in Mary's face — " Michael Arm-
strong is dead ! "
" Dead! — Oh, do not say so !" cried Mary, in a voice so shrill as
s
258 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
to reach the ears of Mrs. Tremlett, who immediately opening the door,
close to which she had been stationed, entered in dismay, exclaiming,
" What is the matter, Mary ? For Heaven's sake, tell me, was it you
who cried out in such a piercing voice V*
Several of the children, who were by this time assembled in the court,
followed at her heels, thrusting open the door, and staring at the scene
before them.
" Shut the door, Nurse Tremlett ! — Send them away — send them all
away — I have no further need to see them !" said poor Mary, weeping
from sorrow, disappointment, and complete prostration of spirits. Be-
fore she spoke another word, Mrs. Tremlett obeyed her instructions,
and gently pushing back the curious throng, closed and bolted the
door.
" Now tell me then, my poor dear child, what new sorrow has come
upon you? Sure nothing dreadful has happened to the poor little
fellow?"
" Nurse Tremlett, he is dead !" replied Mary, weeping afresh, as if
the boy had indeed been her brother.
" Lack-a-day for his poor mother !" cried Mrs. Tremlett, u these
are bad tidings to take home with us, after all our trouble and pains.
Oh, Mary, dear, I wish you had never left your home !"
" Say not so, Mrs. Tremlett," said Mary, recovering herself, " cer-
tainty is ever better than doubt — and here, here is one I may still save
from misery. What is your name, my dear child, and who was it sent
you to this dreadful place ?"
" My name is Fanny Fletcher," said the little girl, " and it was mo-
ther's parish that sent me here as soon as she was dead."
" Have you no other friends? — no relations anywhere who could
take care of you ?" demanded Miss Brotherton, with quickness.
" No, ma'am, nobody," replied Fanny; but, in saying this, the
child ceased to weep, and, young as she was, an expression of such
hopeless, yet enduring composure took possession of her beautiful
features, that Mary's memory instantly applied to her Byron's thrilling
words —
" My thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And bleed within their secret cell."
" Tell me, Fanny," she said, " tell me quickly, should you not like
to come away from this place ? I came here to take away poor Michael
Armstrong. I was to pay money for taking him, and I will pay it now
for you, if you will tell me that you wish to come, and will be a good
girl to me."
"Poor Michael!" said Fanny, while her tears again began to
flow.
"Speak, Fanny! shall I take you with me?" cried Mary, impa-
tiently, for she heard without the door the sound of a heavy step ap-
proaching. Fanny Fletcher heard it too, and an almost ghastly
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 259
paleness spread itself over her face and lips, she seemed choking, and
perfectly unable to articulate, but clasping her hands together, and
dropping on her knees before Miss Brotherton, raised her eloquent eyes
to her face with a look which required no commentary.
" Open the door, Mrs. Tremlett !" said Mary. " Don't you hear
the knocking ? This is the child I shall take away with me," she
added in a whisper, and with a look that her friend perfectly under-
stood.
Mrs. Tremlett opened the door, and the well-pleased Mr. Wood-
comb stood before them.
u That's well," he said, looking at the kneeling child, and at Mary,
whose arm encircled her neck, with an air of great complacency. " I
thought by what those said, as you sent back without looking at 'em,
that you had found what you wanted. And now, ladies, I hope you
remember the conditions."
" Do not doubt it, sir," replied Miss Brotherton, instantly drawing
forth her pocket-book. Here is a note of one hundred pounds to repay
the trouble I have given you, and here, a second of the same value
to atone for the loss of Fanny's labour."
" All right, ma'am," said Mr. Woodcomb, very graciously, " and if
you had but told me that it was a little girl, with a very pretty face,
and that her name was Fanny, I could have saved you all your trouble,
for we don't happen to have another that would answer to that
description."
" I have taken no trouble, sir, that I at all regret," replied Miss
Brotherton, " but I am anxious to set off on my return without any
further loss of time. Will you have the kindness to inquire if Mr.
Smith is ready ?"
" I don't doubt, ma'am, but he will be ready to obey orders, though
the horse have hardly been baited well yet. Howsomever, those as
pay well generally looks to have things done in a little less time than
other folks ; and it's very right and fair that so it should be. If a horse
can stand, he ou^ht to go, if his owner is well paid — there is no doubt
of it."
" I should be sorry to distress the horse," said Mary, (( and if he
be not sufficiently rested, we must wait."
"At your pleasure, ladies, at your pleasure. Pray sit down and
make yourselves comfortable. And of course your ladyship would like
to have this pretty little girl here made as decent as we can manage ;
the dirtiest part of her clothes can be changed easy, though the missis
of the 'prentice-house being lately dead, puts us out a little in our
management. However, if little Miss Fanny, as we must call her now,
will please to come up stairs with me, I can make her look a deal
better, I will answer for it."
Fanny Fletcher having been raised from her kneeling position by
the hand of Miss Brotherton, still continued to hold that hand tightly,
and the young lady now felt so strong a compression of her fingers,
and was at the same time conscious of so tremulous a movement in
s2
260 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
the person of the child, as she nestled closely to her, that she felt
persuaded the proposal of Mr. Woodcomb had frightened her.
" You are very kind," she replied, drawing the child, sordid as its
wretched garments were, still closer to her, " you are very kind, sir.
But I shall prefer taking her away, exactly as I first looked upon
her."
" Dear me ! only to think of that now ! That's the beauty of what's
called natural affection ! Then if you will please to keep seated I'll
go tell Miller Smith as you're ready, and all the business done, so as
he may set off as soon as he is able."
Mary again thanked him for his civility, but felt disposed to think
that he might have executed his mission more satisfactorily, when he
returned in about three minutes, with the assurance that Master Smith
would be ready to start in little less than an hour.
An hour at that moment seemed to Miss Brotherton an almost in-
terminable space of time; she felt painfully conscious of being,
" confined and pent up" with sin and suffering. Heated, agitated,
and impatient — panting for the fresh air, and longing to question her
little purchased protegee, concerning poor Michael, she determined to
walk forward on the road they had that morning traversed, and letting
Mr. Smith and his cart overtake them.
"Should you dislike walking on, Mrs. Tremlett?" she said. " My
head aches, and I am sure nothing will relieve me but a walk."
" I should like it too, my dear," replied her observant com-
panion, looking anxiously in her face, and perfectly understanding her
feelings.
" Walk, ladies !" exclaimed Mr. Woodcomb, looking exceedingly
shocked, " ladies such as you to walk out upon our wild moors? Oh
dear no ! That is quite impossible !"
This was said to prove at once his tender care of personages possess-
ing the power of dispensing hundreds, and to show that he was not
unacquainted with the refinements of polite society ; but this civilly-in-
tended opposition to their exit produced on his hearers an effect very
different from what he intended.
That Fanny Fletcher should tremble at the mention of delay was
not extraordinary, but that Mary should hear again, in fancy, the
grating sound of the locks and bars, which had closed behind her as
she entered, and feel a sick qualm at her heart, as if she were be-
trayed, and doomed to remain in that hateful spot against her will,
showed that her nerves had indeed been severely shaken, and that her
heroism had more of zeal than strength in it.
Mrs. Tremlett, too, looked exceedingly annoyed, though certainly
without the same lively recollection of the bolts and bars ; but she
was so accustomed to consult the wishes of her young companion, and
to feel at ease herself only when she saw her so, that she too coloured
with impatience, and sustaining admirably her character of aunt, said,
" I beg pardon, sir, but I know my niece's constitution so well, that I
am quite sure the jolting of that rough cart would not do for her just
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 261
at present. She is a great walker, and a mile or so, creeping along
in the fresh air, will do her a deal of good,"
" In course you know best, ladies, and I can't, for certain, take the
liberty to oppose. But, by your leave, I'll just mention your plan to
Mr. Smith before you start, and then, maybe he'll be for pushing on
his horse a little."
So saying, Mr. Woodcomb left them ; when Mary, turning to the
little girl, said, " Have you any bonnet and shawl to put on, Fanny V*
" I don't know," replied the child.
" Not know ? How can that be, Fanny ?"
" Because I have never been out of the doors since I first came
into them," said Fanny.
" Poor dear ! I wish they would not keep you here any longer —
this is quite intolerable !" said Mary, again opening the door, and
looking impatiently across the dismal court.
" Keep me here V murmured the little girl,' in a voice of the most
evident terror. " Do you think they will keep me here V'
" No, no, my poor child, they shall not keep you here," said Mrs.
Tremlett, kindly. " Here come the two men together."
Fanny did not venture to look at them, but Mary did ; and again, in
spite of her reason, she felt terrified at the idea that she was in their
power. Mr. Woodcomb, indeed, looked smiling and obsequious as
before, but in the countenance of the burly miller there was something
of opposition and displeasure that she could not understand.
" Setting off walking, miss, is very like bilking your driver," said
he, with considerably more bluntness than civility.
u What does he mean, Mrs. Tremlett V* said Mary, turning pale.
" You had better pay the gentleman before you set out, my dear.
That's what you mean to say, isn't it, sir ?"
" Why surely, ma'am, it would be more like doing business," replied
the man, looking a little ashamed of himself.
** Is that all?" said Mary, inexpressibly relieved, and drawing out
her ready purse with such cheerful alacrity, that could the hearts of
the two men before whom she stood have been read, there might
have been found in both a strong inclination to profit by it a little
further.
" That, I think, sir, is the sum you named for the hire of your
vehicle ?" said Mary, extending her hand with two sovereigns towards
him.
Mr. Timothy Smith took the money, but certainly thought that if
that sharp-eyed rogue Woodcomb had been further he might have hit
upon some excuse for demanding more. As it was, however, he could
not venture it, and with a rather surly inclination of the head,
pocketed the gold, and left the room.
" Now then, sir, if you please," said the still frightened Mary, " we
will wish you good morning."
u Yes, ma'am, surely, you can go if you please. Only perhaps you
might like, for the honour of your young relation here, to leave some little
gratuity to be divided as a little treat among her late companions ?"
262 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Mary looked in his face, and the sort of half-ashamed glance with
which the extortioner watched the effect of his words, appeared to her
so sinister, that with a sudden feeling of something like rational alarm,
she remembered'that she had only a few shillings left in her purse, and
that again to open in his presence her still well-filled pocket-book,
might be dangerous.
" Aunt Tremlett, have you any money to lend me V she said, at
the same time drawing out again her almost empty purse. " I am
very sorry I have only these few shillings left ; but I will willingly
send you five pounds, sir, for the purpose you mention, if the miller
will take the trouble of bringing it to you."
" Oh ! It's no matter, ladies. Pray do not trouble yourselves
any more about it," replied Woodcomb, keeping his eyes, however,
furtively directed towards Mrs. Tremlett, 1 who was still engaged in
seeking for money in the recesses of a very large pocket.
" I have two pounds and a few shillings, my dear," said the old
lady, at length placing her little leathern purse in Mary's hand.
"That will do, that will do perfectly," said the worshipper of
Mammon, with an air and tone of the most amiable liberality, but at
the same time stretching out his hand, in which he received the entire
contents, uncounted, of Mrs. Tremlett's purse, which Miss Brotherton
unclasped, and emptied into it.
Had she studied the man's character for years, she could not have
devised any manoeuvre so likely to hasten the unlocking the door
which enclosed them as thus emptying their two purses before his
eyes. He now moved forward of his own accord, drew forth from the
pocket of his coat the massive key, applied it with a large, strong, and
effective hand, to the enormous lock, drew back the heavy bolts, and
finally threw wide the hateful door.
The three females passed through it with no lingering steps, and
heard it close heavily behind them, with feelings assuredly very dif-
ferent in degree, but in so far the same, that each one as she stepped
over the threshold, breathed a prayer that she might never repass it
again.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WALK PROVES TOO FATIGUING TO ONE OF THE PARTY, BUT
NOT TO MISS EROTHERTON SHE WANDERS FURTHER, AND
MEETS WITH AN ADVENTURE, BUT AT LAST RETURNS IN SAFETY
TO HER INN A JOURNEY HOMEWARD, AND A FACT RELATED
WITHOUT ORNAMENT.
It is but a dreary and desolate landscape which greets the eye imme-
diately without the walls of the Deep Valley factory ; but to all who
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 263
are happy enough to feel that they are quitting those hideous walls for
ever, it can hardly fail to convey a sense of beauty, freshness, and
freedom, sufficient to expand the heart with admiration and delight.
Mary felt disposed to bound along the grassy path beside the stream
with the joyous playfulness of a child, and rather than have re-entered
that creaking door again, would have been tempted, like another Un-
dine, to plunge into the water, and take her chance of finding quarters
less hateful beneath its rippling wave. Mrs. Tremlett breathed more
freely, and seemed to have recovered the elastic step of youth, as she
moved briskly on. But compared with what was passing in the breast
of the ragged, dirty little creature that walked beside them, their
feelings were most earthly cold and dull. Her small hand was still
clasped in that of Miss Brotherton, who felt that the child was urging
her onward, even faster than she was inclined to go, while her head
upturned towards the towering heights which hemmed them in,
seemed eagerly seeking an outlet from the region that her soul ab-
horred.
" You are glad, dear Fanny, are you not, to know that you have
left that frightful place V said Mary, kindly pressing the little emaci-
ated hand she held in hers. The child stopped short in her hurried
walk, and looking up in her deliverer's face, with a doubting anxious
look that it was painful to see, murmured very softly, and as if fearing
to be overheard from within the walls,
" Shall I never, never go back again V*
" No, never Fanny ! Do you think I would be so cruel as to take
you back ?" said Mary.
" I do not know if it is not all a dream," replied the child. " I
have dreamed that I saw green grass, and felt the air upon my face,
before."
" Do not be afraid, Fanny ! You are not dreaming now," returned
Mary. " Run on, and gather that fine large stalk of foxglove. You
never saw such a gay flower as that in your dreams, did you V
The little girl sprang forward, and falling upon her knees on the
grass, plucked the tall flower, and pressed it to her lips, and to her
heart. But though this was a childish action, it was not done child-
ishly : there was an appearance of deep feeling, and even of devotion
in her look and attitude which strongly awakened Mary's interest, and
when the little creature rose again, and holding the flower in one hand,
slid the other once more into that of her new friend, the heart of that
friend yearned towards her with newly-awakened tenderness. But
when she spoke to her, and endeavoured to lead her into conversation,
the attempt entirely failed. There are many who might have felt
disappointed and chilled by this ; but Mary Brotherton had truer sym-
pathy, and as, from time to time, she felt a loving contraction of
Fanny's little fingers upon her own, and sometimes caught her looking
up, as if by stealth into her face, she felt no misgivings as to the cause
of her silence, but loved her the better from knowing that her heart
was too full to speak.
They all, and as if moved by one common impulse, walked quickly
264 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
forward as long as their road continued along the margin of the
stream ; but when it turned round the steep hill's base, and began to
mount, their pace relaxed, Mary felt that her little companion dragged
on her steps with labour, and perceived that Mrs. Tremlett was out of
breath.
" Let us sit down under this ash-tree, and wait for the jolly miller,"
said Miss Brotherton, " it cannot be very long, I think, before he
overtakes us."
This proposal was the more amiable, because, in the first place,
Mary could herself have run from the bottom of that steep hill to the
top, almost without perceiving that it was any hill at all ; and in the
next, she so exceedingly disliked both the miller and his cart, that
had she consulted her own inclinations alone, she would probably
have preferred retracing the whole way on foot.
But very gladly was her proposal for rest accepted, by both her old
and young companion, and long did they remain seated under their
pleasant canopy before they any of them grew weary of it ; till at
length, after consulting her watch, Miss Brotherton expressed a doubt
whether the fat miller and his lazy steed intended to overtake them at
all.
"Good gracious, my dear! do you really think so?" said Mrs.
Tremlett, considerably alarmed. " Why, Mary, we shall never get
back to Mrs. Prescot's without him !"
" I hope I may be mistaken, my dear old woman," said her kind
mistress, affectionately; " for I fear such a walk would be too much
for you. But when I remember that he is paid, and remember, like-
wise, how very little he seemed actuated by any motive, save that of
sordid interest, I confess that I do think it very probable he means to
leave us in the lurch."
"Then let us walk on, Miss Mary, without saying a word more
about it. The shadows are beginning to grow long already, and you
shan't be kept out half the night by my laziness. Come along, little
giri." * ;
With these words, Mrs. Tremlett raised herself from between two
comfortable roots, which had made her an excellent arm-chair ; but
the little girl whom she summoned to do likewise, though she exerted
herself to get on her feet, seemed hardly able to stand.
" My poor Fanny, you are quite knocked up !" exclaimed Miss
Brotherton, looking at her with great anxiety. " How in the world
shall we ever be able to get her on ?"
" It is only because I have not been used to walk lately," said
Fanny ; " that is, not as we have been walking now. Our work keeps
us always on our legs, and that makes them bend about so, when I
try to walk ; but 1 can walk though it hurts me, and I think it would
be better to die outright in getting on, rather than rest so near the
factory — so, please ma'am, I'm quite ready to go on."
And again the party set off, but the difficulty with which the little
Fanny got along became more obvious at every step, and it soon be*
came evident that to get as far as Mrs. Prescot's would be impossible.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 265
The dilemma was not a pleasant one. They were still in a part of the
road so little frequented, that it was probable they might wait for
hours without obtaining assistance from any passer by, nor did either
Mrs. Tremlett or Mary recollect to have seen any dwelling nearer
than the high-road, from which they were still at a considerable dis-
tance.
The distress of the little girl was painful to witness. At the very
moment when the dark cloud which had seemed to settle upon her
was withdrawn, and hope gradually and with difficulty, as to eyes long
unaccustomed to its light, began to reach her ; at that very moment her
strength failed, and a sensation, like the sickness of death, rendered
every attempt at further exertion impossible.
" I must stay here," she said ; " it is the will of God."
" No, no, Fanny." said Miss Brotherton, seating herself beside her,
and letting the languid little head drop upon her bosom ; " you have
no reason to think that, while I have a thousand to believe the con-
trary. It is a most strange chance which has brought me here, and
placed you in my hands — this was by the will of God, and I will not
believe it has so chanced, only that I may see you die."
" You must not stay here," said Fanny, feebly ; " night will come
presently, and you must go fast to get home. Do not be sorry for me
— but, indeed, I think I am as bad as Michael was, when he fell sick,
and was carried away to die."
" Did you see — " began Mary, eagerly ; but suddenly stopping herself,
she added, " Not now my poor Fanny, you must not tell me about it
now — when I have got you strong and well at my own home, we will talk
of poor Michael. Try now, to think how glad you will be when we have
got you homeland all our difficulties are over ! But something must
be done, I know, my poor child, before this can be. How had we
best act in this dilemma, Mrs. Tremlett ? Do you think you shall have
courage to remain with this poor child while I run on, and endeavour
to find some house where we may get assistance,?"
" Alone, Miss Mary ?" replied the good woman, looking terribly
alarmed. " How can I let you set off in a strange, wild country like
this, with nobody to take care of you? Let us go together, Mary;
nothing can hurt this little girl, you know, while we are away."
'* Think it over once more, dear Tremlett," said Mary, " and then
I believe you will perceive that there is more chance of your being use-
ful to her, than to me. I shall get on faster without you, good nurse,
and with a lighter heart than if I took you for company, while this
little creature was left with nothing but her own melancholy thoughts
and childish terrors to comfort her."
" Then I will stay," said the poor woman, sighing heavily ; " but
just think, Miss Mary, how I shall feel till you come back again !"
" I will not loiter to amuse myself," replied her young mistress with
a cheering smile ; " and now take my place, and' let this poor little
head rest on your shoulder."
" She shall lie down on that bit of level turf vonder, with her head
266
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
upon my lap," said the old nurse, tenderly assisting Mary to lift her
up.
" God bless you, my dear good soul ! I will be quickly back
again," replied her grateful mistress. " How much more you show
you love me now, than if you insisted upon walking after me. There !
she lies as nicely as if she were in bed. If our faithless miller makes
his appearance, keep him and his cart till I come back ; tell him he
shall have more gold, and he will stand waiting beside you, as gentle
as a lamb."
Having said these comforting words, Mary hastened onward and
was speedily out of sight. Having reached the top of the hill, she
looked anxiously round in search of a human dwelling, but nothing
met her eye, but barren moor-land, which at some distance showed
symptoms of cultivation, being enclosed in patches by low stone
walls, and here and there the fragment of a stunted hawthorn fence,
which seemed to sustain a hungry life with difficulty. Making her
way across the rude and imperfectly-formed sunk fence, which marked
the boundary of the cart-road, along which they had travelled in the
morning, Mary found herself on a level of some extent, but without
the slightest track to direct her steps amidst the long parched grass,
and frequent stones with which it was covered.
" This will never do ! I may walk here till I have completely lamed
myself, without a chance of meeting any living soul," thought Mary,
stopping short ; " I shall do better by making for the high-road at
once."
And having so decided, she turned about to retrace her steps, and
regain the road ; but ere she reached it, a sort of hillock at a little
distance caught her eye, and wishing to take advantage of its eleva-
tion, for the purpose of reconnoitring, she turned aside to reach it.
Her approach to it was from the east, and a dazzling sunset was in her
eyes, as she made her way up the rugged side of what looked like one
of the tumuli which served as resting-places for human bones, "ere
churchyards yawned for them. Greatly was she startled on reaching
the top of it, to perceive on the western side, crouching' % in a hol.'ow that
looked as if it had been excavated by the shelter-seeking sheep, a
strange wild figure, whose dress, as she looked down upon it, left its
sex doubtful. The fragment of a hat, and the remnant of a jacket
were evidently intended, by their original construction, for the use of
the nobler sex, while something resembling a petticoat enveloping the
lower half of the figure, suggested the probability that the masculine
portion of the attire was worn by sufferance, and not by right.
Mary's light step among the matted tufts of coarse vegetation which
covered the thin soil, had not been heard, and she stood looking down
upon her doubtful neighbour with the advantage of being herself un-
seen.
" There goes another day !" said a voice, which though harsh and
aged, was unmistakably female; " and the silly soul has got to wait
for another."
' / /////
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 267
Glad to find that her unexpected companion in this most desolate
spot, was of the safer, because the weaker portion of the human race,
the wandering heiress determined to address her ; but deemed it
wisest to approach her visibly, instead of startling the poor soul by
speaking to her unexpectedly from the spot where she stood. For this
purpose, she gently descended from her elevation, and making a little
circuit, presented herself before the eyes of the sun-gazer.
The old woman, for such she was, sat nose and knees together, in a
sort of hole which completely sheltered her in every direction but the
west ; and from the earnest manner in which her dim eyes were fixed
upon the last bright rays of the setting sun, it seemed as if her lair was
chosen on purpose to look upon it.
The appearance of Mary seemed to startle her, but not much ; for
after looking at her for a minute as if she examined her person with
difficulty, because her eyes were dazzled by the object on which she
had before been gazing, she said, pointing a stick that she held
towards the point whence the bright orb had just disappeared,
" Who be you, coming to spy out old Sally at her devotions?"
" I want to find a house, my good woman, for I have left a poor
child very ill at a short distance from hence ; I want to find people
who can help me to remove her."
" There are no people here," said the old woman, in a gentle but
melancholy voice, and turning her eyes round the desolate moor as if
in confirmation of the assertion.
" But perhaps you may be able to tell me where I can find some
one ?"
" O dear ! O dear ! there is no want of finding for such as you.
Just go upon the high-road and turn yourself about, and say, * Come
to me/ and you'll be seeing 'em flock in, right and left, and north and
south, all bowing and scraping as genteel as possible. Tis only me
as lives in a hole, and prays to the sun every night to be so kind as
not to wake me the next morning ; 'tis only me that never sees any
body. I am the only woman in all the world — all the rest have got
their death in the factories."
There are many circumstances of more danger, that are infinitely
less appalling than meeting, when out of sight of every other human
being, a poor frail shattered remnant of humanity with a disordered
wit. Mary shuddered as the wild speech of this poor creature con-
firmed the idea of insanity which her appearance suggested, and her
first impulse was to turn and run. But her steps were stayed by the
shrill, trembling voice of the old woman, who in an accent, the most
helpless and forlorn, called after her,
" One minute — only stay one minute ! Let me look at you one
minute !"
Mary turned again, and all feeling of terror was lost in pity as she
beheld the miserable little crippled figure which was hobbling towards
her. Her height hardly reached that of an ordinary child of twelve
years old, her gait showed that her legs were dreadfully deformed, her
uncouth garments hung about her in tatters, and as she painfully
268 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
rolled herself at every step round the stick by whose aid she was sup-
ported, it was hardly possible to conceive a more complete image of
poverty and decrepitude, than her whole appearance offered.
" Do not hurry so !" cried Mary, every idea of alarm lost in con-
templating her suffering helplessness. " I will not go yet, if you wish
me to stay." They were now close together, and the shaking creature
looked up in her face, with a soft, silly smile, that had all the woful
innocence of imbecility. With a small, skinny hand that was deli-
cately pale, and perfectly clean, she took the end of Mary's silk scarf and
gazed upon it in a sort of ecstasy. " Oh, fine ! oh, pretty, pretty, pretty !"
she exclaimed, smoothing and patting it with her hand, as if it had been
a tame and favourite bird. " I think," she added, with a sagacious nod,
" that I know where you come from. This is just the things, I know, that
they wear in heaven — I think I know where you come from." Then
breaking into what sounded like a genuine laugh, she again repeated,
" I think I know where you come from — that is what the overlooker
man said to me," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, " when
he caught me running away from the factory. It is not so very long ago
— I can tell you all about it, if you would like to hear — and it is not like
the rest of the things you know," touching her forehead with her fore-
finger ; " I don't tell that backwards and forwards, nonsense-fashion,
like the other things I talk about — that w T as beat in upon my brain by
the blacksmith, and nothing can ever take it out again, they say, till
one of the angels does it in heaven. It used to pain me a good
deal," she continued, taking off her hat, and laying her open palm on
the top of her head, " but since I took to sitting on my throne there,
as the folks call it, and gathered the dew morning and night to put
upon it, the pain is a deal better."
" I cannot hear your story now," said Mary, gently, " because there
is a poor sick girl on the side of the hill that wants me very bad — she
comes from the factory too, and she is too ill to walk — can you tell me
where I can find any body to help me carry her?"
" Come from the factory, is she? Dear, dear, dear, dear! She
will be sure to die, you may depend upon it — they all do die, except
me. Don't you fancy that you'll ever take her back alive, it was only
I that could bear that, and I was burnt in the head for it, as I told
you."
« I do not want to take her back," said Mary, " I want to help
her. Where do you live ? Are there any houses or people near this
place ? Now, be a good woman, and take me where I can find some-
body to help us."
" Yes, I will," replied the poor creature, in a tone which convinced
Miss Brotherton that she understood her, and at the same time be-
ginning to hobble on before her towards the road.
Nothing probably less pressing, and less hopeless than her present
position could have tempted Mary to trust herself to such a guide ;
yet she felt a strange sort of confidence that the old woman knew what
she was about, and though aware that the experiment was rather a
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 269
desperate one, determined to follow wherever her feeble guide should
lead, certain, at least, that the distance could not be very great.
There was, however, much more strength and power of locomotion
in the little cripple than she gave her credit for. Having contrived to
crawl through the grassy dyke that fenced the moor, she crossed. the
road obliquely, and making her way through a very imperfect hedge
of furze and quickset, hobbled on across a bit of miserably arid stub-
ble, which presently descended abruptly, and led to a tuft of stunted
elder-bushes, beside which stood a small farm-house, with its cow-yard,
barns, and ricks.
Surprised and delighted to find herself so near a human dwelling,
Mary had hardly patience to restrain her steps to the pace of her poor
guide, nevertheless she had not the heart to leave her, for there was an
expression of pride and pleasure in the woman's eye as she turned
round from time to time as they advanced, which she felt it would be
most cruel to check by showing that she could do without her. So
it was together that they reached the bottom of the steep descent, and
together that they entered the kitchen of the farm-house, where a very
decent-looking, middle-aged woman was engaged in preparing sup-
per. She looked exceedingly surprised at the appearance of Miss
Brotherton, and for a moment turned her eyes from her to her com-
panion, and back again, with an air that was almost bewildered ; but
soon recovering herself she courtesied with much respect, and said, " I
hope you haven't been scared, ma'am, by falling in with this poor
cretur ? She is as harmless as a baby."
" Oh, no !" replied Mary, " she has been very kind to me, for she
has brought me here, where I should never have been able to get with-
out her, the house is so completely concealed — and I want help, ma'am,
very much indeed."
" You haven't met no accident, I hope?" said the good woman,
kindly, and ceasing her notable operations, she drew forward a wooden
chair for her guest to sit upon.
" Thank you very much," said the young lady, seating herself.
" Yet it is not rest I most want. I have a little girl with me whom I
have left by the side of the road that leads from the mills ; she is too
weak and ill to get on, and I hope you will be able to lend me some
conveyance — a cart, a waggon, any thing to take her as far as the
King's Head, three or four miles I suppose from hence, upon the turn-
pike-road : I would pay well for it."
" From the mills V repeated the woman staring
" Yes ; from the place called Deep Valley Mill," replied Mary,
" perhaps rather more than a mile from here."
" Oh ! ma'am, I know the Deep Valley Mill well enough," was the
answer. " All Mr. Woodcomb's own butter and milk comes from
here. That is not the difficulty. But we shan't like to have nothing
to do with carrying away any child from there."
" You need fear nothing on that point," replied Miss Brotherton,
eagerly, " I have paid for permission to bring this child away."
" That alters the case for certain. But — I ask your pardon, ma'am,
270 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
—there is something very odd too, in such a lady as you walking
away from the factory with one of the children."
" Indeed I do not wonder at your saying so. But believe me, I
tell you nothing but the truth when I assure you that I have permis-
sion, and have paid largely for it, to bring this child away. Our un-
fortunately attempting to walk was merely accident, and occasioned
entirely by my foolish impatience to get away from the place before
Mr. Smith, the miller, who took me there, thought his horse sufficiently
rested to return. "
" Mr. Smith, the miller ? Then for certain all's right — for they be
known for the greatest of friends, Mr. Woodcomb and he — and I dare
say my husband, ma'am, would be proud to help you when he comes
home. It's coming dark fast, and he won't be long I dare say."
u But I must go back to this poor child ; I have left her with an
old lady, who will, I fear, be greatly alarmed at being left so long,"
said Mary.
u Poor child.'" repeated her limping guide, who, from the moment
they had entered, had been reposing herself, by sitting on the floor,
and had not spoken till now. " Poor child ! — think of that! — and
she comes from the factory ! Think of speaking in that way of a
factory child !"
" Hold your tongue, Sally, or I'll give you no porridge for supper,"
said the woman, but by no means harshly ; and as she spoke, she drop-
ped into the maniac's lap a piece of bread that lay in a plate upon the
table.
" Had your factory child got this now," said poor Sally, nodding
her head with a sort of boastful exultation, " she would not be so
terrible bad. But there's nobody but me as gets this. I am the only
old woman in the world ; all the rest die young — and most of 'em,"
she added, in a whisper, " before they get away."
" Was this poor creature at the Deep Valley factory when she was
young ?" demanded Miss Brotherton.
" She tells you quite true, ma'am," replied the farmer's wife, re-
suming her cookery, which consisted in chopping up bacon, cabbage,
and potatoes, for the frying-pan. " She talks nonsense about the
moon sometimes, and is very wild when it comes to the full, but she
never makes any blunder when she tells of her own troubles at the
factory. She never varies the least bit in the world when she tells
about her getting away, and being stopped, and taken back again,
poor cretur. ? Tis only too true, that's the worst of it — and she has
never been in her right mind since."
" I would hear her tell it willingly, and should listen to it with great
interest," said Miss Brotherton. " But at this moment I can think of
nothing but those I have left."
" Whereabouts be they, ma'am ?" demanded the farmer's wife.
Mary described the spot very accurately. " Why, dear me ! them
surely must be the trees right against our gate," said the good woman,
■with great apparent satisfaction. " And if so be as I'm right, 'tis
hardly more than a stone's throw from our back gate. I take it,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 271
ma'am, as you walked by the lane just round our farm, and them trees
as you speak of, bean't not one quarter of the distance as you have
come."
" In that case," replied Miss Brotherton, greatly comforted, " I have
no doubt that we could get the poor little girl here, and then if you
would give us leave to remain till your husband has contrived to procure
some sort of conveyance for us, all our troubles would be over, and
most gratefully will I repay you for your assistance."
" I will show you the way this moment, ma'am," said the woman,
with great alacrity ; and once more suspending her labours for the
good man's supper, she prepared to attend the lady by taking off an
external apron, and smoothing that which was below it.
Though not quite within a stones throw, the spot to which Miss
Brotherton was so anxious to return, was reached by a very short cut
across the piece of meadow-ground on which the back part of the
farm-house opened.
The joy of Mrs. Tremlett at seeing her was great indeed ; and poor
Fanny, refreshed by the interval of rest, declared herself quite able to
walk " a good piece more."
" Poor little creature !" exclaimed good Mrs. Roberts, the farmer's
wife ; " she do look bad, sure enough ! It is seldom or never that we
gets a sight of the children at the mill, for they sends regular for what
they wants, and bean't over fond of having any body go near 'em ; —
but she puts me strongly in mind of old Sally's stories to be sure !"
The little party reached the farm without difficulty, and then, indeed,
as Mary had predicted, all their present troubles seemed over, for
nothing could exceed the earnest kindness with which Mrs. Roberts
administered to all their wants. Mrs. Tremlett's appearance and
manner appeared to have entirely removed the sort of doubtful im-
pression which poor Mary's hurried entree had produced, and having
been told that the little girl had been reclaimed by them as a relation,
the whole adventure appeared to her as one of the deepest interest,
and her sympathy and good- will were most fully excited.
Old Sally was sitting upon the floor exactly where they had left her.
" Poor thing !" exclaimed Mary, " she has not moved an inch."
" Not she, poor soul," replied Mrs. Roberts, " I told her to bide
still, and when we says that to her, she'd keep still, if Ave was to
be away a whole day, I believe. Get up, Sally !" she added, good-
humouredly. " There's a brave woman ! Look at that little girl, and
tell the ladies what she puts you in mind of."
The expression of the poor withered, idiot face, that was turned upon
Fanny Fletcher when this was uttered, was most touchingly sad and
solemn. The gentle, silly look, which her countenance usually wore,
was exchanged for one full of deep mysterious meaning. She drew
herself towards the little girl with a sort of stealthy movement, as if
afraid of being seen to approach her, and when quite close beside her,
said,
" You then have done as I did— you have run away ? Poor, poor
272 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
little thing ! Can't you guess what will come next ? Poor little thing !
They will catch you ! hide where you will, they will catch you."
" I have not run away," said Fanny, gently.
The maniac shook her head. " Don't you scream as I did, my poor
lamb, for it's no good ; they care no more for screams and groans
than for the whirring of the spindles. But the screams went into my
own ears, and I have never got rid of them since. I still hear them,
all night long, when it is moon-time. Poor, poor little girl !"
" Come, come Sally — let her alone now, she is going to eat some-
thing."
And Mrs. Roberts completed the arrangements upon which she had
been occupied since they entered, by placing chairs at the table on
which bread, butter, and cheese, were placed.
Not even did the Deep-Valley apprentice feel more disposed to do
justice to these preparations than did Miss Brotherton and her old
servant. They had tasted nothing since breakfast, and when a bowl
of fresh milk was added to the bread-and-butter, Mary gratefully
assured her entertainer that she considered it as the most delicious
supper she had ever eaten.
" Now that's different," said poor Sally, who had perched herself on
a low stool close to Fanny Fletcher. " I never had any pretty creature
like that, all clothed in heavenly trappings, giving me milk ; but it
will make no difference in the end — you must be dragged back again,
poor little thing !"
" No, no — she won't be dragged back again," said Mrs. Roberts ;
" and there's a cup of milk for you — so now let the ladies eat in
peace, Sally. You know it's time for you to be crawling home— the
master will be here in no time, and maybe he will be after asking how
many stones you have picked up 4 to-day, so you had better be off."
The docile creature immediately shuffled off her stool, and prepared
to depart.
" I should like to hear her describe her own adventures, which you
say she does so faithfully," said Miss Brotherton. " Do you think
you could persuade her to repeat her story to us V
" Yes, yes, ma'am ; she will do that quick enough ; it is just what
she likes best," replied Mrs. Roberts ; " except now and then when
she is moody. Now, Sally, if you will behave yourself like a sensible
woman, you may sit down again, and tell the ladies how you ran
away from the mill, and was caught and brought back again, and all
the rest of it."
The little cripple's eyes twinkled, and a gleam of intelligence
flashed across her countenance with a sort of Will-o'-the-wisp bright-
ness, as she took the fragment of a hat from her closely-shorn gray
head, and reseated herself.
" 'Twas my knees as was the first of it," she began ; " I couldn't
bear it. The pain growed worse and worse, and my legs dipped
down, and they strapped me harder and harder, and that was the
reason that I couldn't bear it. So one day," she continued, in a deep
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 273
clear whisper, " one day when the 'prentices, and overlookers, and
manager, and all was off for dinner, I stopped behind 'em, and no-
body seed me — no, not one of 'em. And while they were at dinner, I
slipped into the yard where the pigs bide, and then away again, all
upon the sly, to the door where they takes the dirt out. I thought
maybe, I might have the bolts to pull., but not a bit of it — there it
stood wide open, with a barrow full of rubbish between the posts — that
was fun !"
And here the poor creature laughed that dreadful laugh which none
but maniacs utter.
"But the fun lasted longer than that," she went on, " it lasted
while I creeped along for a mile or more among the bushes as grows
so rank t'other side the mill ; and there I laid down at last in the
midst of 'em, 'cause I heard a noise, and what d'ye think it was ?
What d'ye think the poor cretur heard with her heart galloping just
at the bottom of her throat, for all the world like the flap — flap — flap
of a fly-wheel V*
" Perhaps 'twas a dog barking, Sally," said Mrs. Roberts, humour-
ing the maniac as she made a pause.
" No ! 'twas not a dog barking, nor it wasn't a wolf, nor it wasn't
a tiger ; but it was something ten million of times worser than either —
It — was — the — 'printice-master !" replied Sally, in a slow deep whis-
per. " It was the divilish 'printice-master with his eyes of fire, and
his breath of flame. Oh-h! I feel him at my throat now !" and she
clasped her withered neck with her pale thin hands, shuddering vio-
lently from head to foot.
" Speak soberly, Sally, and like a sensible body, or you must not
go on, you know that," said Mrs. Roberts, interposing in a warning
tone, which poor Sally seemed to understand, for though her breast
still heaved with a panting movement, like one who had run a race,
and was out of breath, she assumed an affected air of composure, put-
ting her hands before her primly, and shutting her eyes.
" Yes, mississ, I know that," she replied, sedately, " I know that
very well, and we won't trouble Joe ploughman to help us home this
time ; but I may go on, if I speak sensible, and like a wise woman, as
I am ?"
The farmer's wife nodded assent, and Sally continued more
quietly.
" It was the 'printice-master, and none but he as dragged me forth,
head foremost, out of the bushes — very much like the butcher, you
know, my dears, when he takes the little lamb's head between his two
hard hands — 1 never sees that up at Tom Blake's shambles, without
thinking of it. So he dragged me back again — and then you may
guess how the strap went ! But think of me ! think what a spirit I
must have had in those days, my dears — will you believe that I made
up my mind to start again, though I hadn't a bit of unbruised skin
upon my body? — I did though. Oh, dear ! oh, dear! how I used
to hear the birds singing in my ears o' nights, when I laid down, and
made believe to sleep ! But I don't fancy it was sleep, not right
T
274 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
wholesome sleep ever, as I got then ; for I can mind now, yes I can,
with all my moonshine, I can mind now, how I used to smell the grass,
and see the dew shining, and hear the pretty sweet cows a mooing,
and I all the while shut up in a stone prison-house — that was the divil
tempting me, wasn't it ? But I didn't start again for two whole years
though, — 'cause why, I never found no chance for it ; and by that time
my legs was shocking bad, and if it was the divil as made me run, he
ought to have sent me a stick to help me — for, oh, dear ! I crawled
dreadful slow — and then — "
" Come, come, Sally," interrupted Mrs. Roberts, " I won't have all
that at full length, or else we shall have you off again; make an end,
there's a fine woman. Tell the ladies about the shutting up, and then
go home and to bed, for 'tis time."
Miss Brotherton ceased to wonder, as she had first done, at the
chartered licence which the crazy cripple seemed to enjoy, when she
observed the perfect docility with which she obeyed every word and
look of the farmer's wife. She now resumed her story, exactly at the
word commanded.
" Yes, I was shut up, my dears — I shall have soon done now, for I
am coming to the black gap, as I call it, and I always stops there —
but where do you think they shut me up? In this room, or that room,
or t'other room, perhaps ? Not a bit of it. They shut me up in a
little narrow place, not much bigger than a grave, and it was dark —
dark — dark, all but one little narrow slip, and there was no light
corned through that at first ; but by and by, after I had been days and
days locked in, I heard a horrid, horrid lumbering noise, and then I
saw a flash of light through the narrow slip, for all the world like the
light of a candle — and the light of a candle it was too, and what do
you think it showed me ? Crippled as I was, I managed to scramble
high enough to peep — there was beams, on bricks or something,
and what do you think I saw V
The poor creature began shaking again, but on Mrs. Roberts hold-
ing up her finger, she seemed to make a strong effort to control her-
self, and once more slipping off her stool she drew close to Miss Bro-
therton, and in a low rapid voice, hurried through the remainder of
her narrative.
"I saw," said she, "the master's wife laid stone dead upon a
truckle-bed, amost as close to me as I to you — think of that ! Stone
dead ! Stiffened, stark, and ghastly, and blue ! There was a candle
that flaed full upon her dead face ; but they as brought her was run
away — they couldn't bear it, I'm sure they couldn't bear it, and I
was left alone to look upon it, and I couldn't run away ; but I could
not bear it either ! and then it was that I screamed— hush ! I must not
scream now, you know !"
Here she stopped, putting her hands before her eyes, and remaining
perfectly still for a minute, and then added with more composure,
" After that came the black gap, and I don't know any thing more
about it ; only that I watch the sun go to bed every night, and I have
been going on praying for years and years, all the time I have been
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 275
growing* into an old woman, that he would please not to wake me in
the morning."
" Here's the master, Sally !" said Mrs. Roberts ; " so take yourself
off, there's a good woman. Here's your mug of porridge ; put on
your hat steady, and wish the ladies a good night."
Again she was most docilely obeyed, and in another moment poor
Sally was gone, and the hardworking master of the premises occupied
her place. The situation and wants of his unexpected guests were
speedily explained to him, and his best assistance as speedily pro-
mised. While he devoured a hasty supper, one of his farm-horses
was put into the shafts of a jockey-cart, and in less than an hour after
his return, the comforted party set out by the light of a friendly moon,
and were safely jolted to the King's Head, without having been over-
taken by the treacherous miller, who probably preferred sharing the
jovial supper, in which his good friend Woodcomb indulged on this
memorable evening, to forsaking it for the purpose of overtaking the
ladies, from whom it was derived — as there seemed but little chance
of drawing any thing more from the same source.
Great was the joy of Mrs.Prescot at seeing her guests return ; for
their long absence, together with the nature of the business on which
they were engaged had caused the good woman to torment herself
with many dark forebodings. Nevertheless, she was well prepared to
receive them, and nothing was wanting that she could furnish towards
refreshing the adventurers after their fatigue.
But, alas ! it was only then ; it was only after the anxiety, and the
agitation of the enterprise were over, that poor Mary fully remem-
bered how abortive that enterprise had been ; and then she wept, wept
bitterly, as she thought of the load of anguish she had to carry home
to Michael's mother and brother. Yet as she listened to little Fanny's
tearful narration of all that had passed between them, during the
weeks they had worked together, she felt that when the first dreadful
pang should be over, there would be something like consolation for
them in listening to it also ; and as she studied the delicate and ex-
pressive features of the pretty creature she had rescued, and watched
the sort of timid, doubting hope, that by degrees took place of the
nervous, heart-struck look, that had been so painfully legible in her
sweet face when first she saw her, it was impossible not to feel that
while deploring the loss of one object of benevolence, she had to re-
joice for having found another.
Luckily for the respectability of their appearance, in setting forth on
their homeward travels the following morning, the active Mrs. Prescot
was enabled, by the aid of the heiress's magic pocket-book, to pro-
cure from a neighbour a suit of decent apparel for the little orphan.
The same freely-flowing source supplied wherewithal to reward all the
friendly offices performed by the host and hostess of the King's Head,
and in addition, they were left in possession of a romance which was
likely enough, from the frequency with which it was repeated, to
furnish a legend to the little village to the end of time.
One single adventure occurred to Miss Brotherton on her way home,
t2
276 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
which though forming a very isolated episode in the history of her
journey, shall be recounted, because the fact which it brought to her
knowledge is one that well deserves publicity.
The heiress varied her road homewards, by driving through a village
which, were it not infested by the plague-spot of a factory, might be
considered as one of the most attractive in Derbyshire. At one
point the road passes through a rocky defile of such wild beauty, that
Mary, who was equally unacquainted with fine scenery, and capable of
enjoying it, called to the postboy to stop, that she might get out and
walk up the long ascent, in order the more thoroughly to enjoy the
widely-spreading landscape it commanded. Neither of her companions
accompanied her. Mrs. Tremlett consenting, nothing loth, to remain
in the post-chaise, upon the steepness of the road being pointed out
to her, while little Fanny, though in her heart longing to spring after
her benefactress, replied to the observation, that she was not yet
strong enough to climb, by a look that spoke more of gratitude, than
regret.
It was alone, therefore, that Mary Brotherton started forward, her
active steps soon leaving the carriage behind ; when cutting short the
spiral ascent by making her way through the underwood which clothed
the bank, she soon found herself high above the road, and on a spot of
great beauty. After lingering here for a few minutes she proceeded,
when hearing the ever attractive sound of rushing waters, she again
stopped, and then, guided by her ear, followed where it led, till she
reached an opening, not far from the high-road, but apart from it,
where, instead of the mountain cascade she had expected, a spectacle
greeted her that for an instant seemed to petrify every nerve, and the
bounding elastic movement which had brought her within sight of it,
was changed to the rigid stillness of marble. A man, almost ferocious
in his aspect, from the squalid, unshorn, brutal negligence of decency
which it betrayed, was supporting in his arms, and on his bosom, a boy
of ten or eleven years old, whose ghastly countenance showed plainly
that death was busy at his heart. Before the rock from whence flowed
the gushing stream, whose sound had brought Miss Brotherton to the
spot, stood what looked like the fragment of a rude pillar, and on this
stone the father had rested the wasted form of his dying child. Be-
fore him stood a little girl gazing on the boy with a mixture of infant
fear and sisterly love, as she tended a bowl, filled from the spring, to
his lips.
" He is very ill I" said Mary, addressing the father, " can I go any
where to get help for you V*
The man, who had the fragment of a pipe in his mouth, and who
looked rather bewildered, and fiercely angry, than oppressed by sor-
row, stared at her, but answered not a word.
" What is the matter with him?" said Miss Brotherton, addressing
the little girl.
" He be worked down," replied the child, sobbing. ll We have
been at long hours for four weeks, and Dick couldn't stand it — father
liave carried him to and from mill for a week-— but he couldn't stand
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 277
it. Mother said, when we started, that he looked as if he'd never
come back alive ; but he'd have had to pay double fine if so be as
father had left him to bide at home, so he carried him to mill ; but
though they strapped him, and strapped him, he couldn't stand to his
work, and he have been lying in the mill-yard till father corned to take
him."
This horrible statement was uttered amidst tears and sobs, but poor
Mary lost not a word of it ; and as her very soul sickened at the tale,
she felt tempted to believe that she was doomed to witness every cir-
cumstance that could most painfully recall the source whence all her
greatness flowed.
With clasped hands, and streaming eyes, she stood silently watch-
ing the gasping breath of this young victim of unnatural labour. The
boy's eyes fixed themselves on the face of his little sister. He might
be listening to her history of his early fate — or he might be consciously
taking a last look at what he loved. In either case the effort demanded
more strength than was left him — his eyes closed, a shivering move-
ment passed through all his frame, and then he became still. The
quick, short, unequal heaving of the breast was seen no more, and
Mary hid her eyes as the mysterious change, which no human being-
can gaze upon unmoved, came upon the stiffening features. It was
rather instinct than feeling, which prompted her even at that awful
moment to proffer what she had learned to know would be felt as con-
solation, did one starving member of a family alone survive amidst the
dying and the dead of a whole race. Without venturing again to look
at the father and his son, she dropped into the bowl, which the little
girl still held, what she hated to think would soon turn natural sor-
row into unnatural forgetfulness of it : but she had no power to serve
them more effectually, and hastily turning into the road, she awaited,
the slow arrival of the post-chaise in a state of mind which left no
faculty at leisure to enjoy any longer the hills and valleys for whose
sake she had left it.
From this time the journey homeward proceeded without accident
or adventure of any kind, and Mary would probably have shared the
pleasure so energetically expressed by Mrs. Tremlett at being restored
to the luxurious tranquillity of Milford Park, had not the heavy news,
she carried to the poor Armstrongs made her dread the day that
would follow her reaching it.
But how she got through that painful day, and all that resulted from
it — how little Fanny Fletcher fared in her new and most strange home,
and whether her patroness had most reason to bless or deplore the
sudden movement which had caused her to hazard the blending thus
the destiny of one so utterly unknown, with her own, must all be re-
served for future narration, as the adventures of Michael Armstrong, of
necessity, draw the pen of his historian elsewhere.
278 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
CHAPTER XXV.
THE NARRATIVE RETURNS TO ITS HERO AND RELATES WHY AND
WHEREFORE HE WAS KEPT ALIVE THE BOY GROWS TALL, AND
TAKES TO THINKING.
The answer which Fanny Fletcher had received to her inquiries con-
cerning Michael was as false as it was heedless. The little fellow who
gave it had no intention of uttering what was untrue : he believed that
the boy she inquired for was dead — so many had died, and been borne
from the wretched garret where he had himself lain, battling with the
fever, sometimes delirious, and sometimes asleep, that it was no great
wonder he should blunder. But Michael Armstrong was not dead,
though the state in which the malady left him was such, that for weeks
the surly old woman, hired to supply the place of Mrs. Poulet, mut-
tered curses on him for not being in a state to be quietly buried out of
the way, like the rest.
It was just five days after Fanny Fletcher left the Deep Valley
Mills in company with Miss Brotherton, that Michael waked from that
first sound healing sleep, which often announces the conquest of life
over death, after a hard-fought struggle between them.
The little fellow raised himself upright on his straw pallet, and for a
minute or two looked about him to make himself quite sure where he
was ; for so heavy had been his sleep that it was not immediately his
senses could recover their usual powers of perception. But only too
soon, alas J he made it all out. He was still in that foul den of
misery and filth ; and the first impulse of his fully- recovered intellect
was to utter a bitter expression of regret that his life had been spared
for further suffering, while so many had been mercifully permitted to
sink into their peaceful graves. But even as he breathed the words,
he repented of them. The image of his mother seemed to rise before
him — he remembered that she had bade him ever to trust in God, and
let no cause tempt him to take his name in vain. The quiet eye of his
much-enduring brother rose to his memory, as he had seen it a thousand
times fixed upon him, while he enjoined patience and submission for
their dear mother's sake ; and the more recently-heard precepts of
little Fanny, all preaching the same righteous, but hard lesson, came
in their soft, pleading, innocent tone to give him strength to bear.
Michael crossed his emaciated hands upon his breast, and murmured,
" God forgive me !" — then dropping again into a gentle sleep, awoke
not, till the old woman shook him rudely, rather for the gratification
of her curiosity, than in performance of her duty, in order to see
whether the "wiry, hard-skinned little varment wasn't dead 'at
last."
She started with a feeling very like terror, when the boy, opening
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 279
his large eyes upon her, asked her to please to be so kind as to give
him a drink of water.
" What, then ! — you don't mean to die after all? If you bean't
born to be hanged, it's a mystery. Water ? — if you haven't got summut
in it after lying this fashion, the Lord knows how long, you'll balk the
hangman at last !" And with these words the crabbed crone retreated,
hastening, with the consciousness of having something wonderful to
tell, into the presence of Mr. Woodcomb.
" There's a boy, sir, as have been lying a dying amost ever since I
corned, as is actually coming to, now ; not but what he must still be
within an inch of the grave, seeing what he has gone through — and he
looks for all the world as if he had been buried and dug up again.
Howsomever I don't think but what he might come through, if so be as
you thought it worth while to give him food. That sort of sleep as I
waked him out of, shows plain enough as the fever is gone, and then
you know, sir, as kitchen physic is all the cretur's wants, perhaps,
for the sake of preventing the burying beginning again, your honour
might think it was as well to give him a little broth, and meat, too,
after a bit, for he won't do without it, that's certain."
" I had clean forgot that there was one left up there, Molly," re-
plied the superintendent. " But in Heaven's name, let him be fed,
woman — I wouldn't have to bury any more of 'em just now, for ever
so — he'll come round again, I suppose, before its very long ? We are
still very short of piecers, and it's as well to keep him alive, you know,
as to go after another."
" As for that, sir," replied the old woman, " it won't be to-morrow,
nor next day, either, as he'll pay for his salt ; I'll tell you that before-
hand. So you had best please to make up your mind at once about the
keeping him alive. There's nothing will do it but giving him amost a
bellyful every day, and maybe a little fresh air into the bargain, I'm
thinking, seeing the time he's laid stewing up there, with such lots
dying all round him."
" If it wasn't for the having to open ground for him again, I'd be
hanged, drawn, and quartered, before I'd trouble myself about what
sort of air a 'prentice had to breathe. Howsomever, I have got my
own reasons for not choosing to trouble the parson again, nor yet for
doing the job without him. So cram the brat as much as you like — I
suppose my leavings is good enough for him V*
" Please master not to talk of my liking to cram 'prentice brats," re-
torted Molly. " Often and often, as I've been back and forward here,
for one job or another, nobody ever saw me trying to pilfer any thing
for their starving stomachs, the low creturs ! I dispises 'em too
much. But I knows what will save life, and what will lose it, better,
maybe, than most folks, and so now you may do just as you please,
without putting it upon my likes or dislikes."
" Don't be so frumpish, Molly Bing," replied Mr. Woodcomb, laugh-
ing, " there's nobody going to charge you with being such a fool as to
make a pet of a factory 'prentice while there's a puppy-dog to be had
for love or money. Don't you be scared at any such notion as that,
280 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
for I knows ye a deal better, old woman, than to put any such affront
upon ye. You just stop the creature from dying, if you can, for that
will suit me a deal best just now."
The will of Mr. Woodcomb, thus clearly expressed, was acted upon
with very implicit obedience; the consequence of which was, that
Michael Armstrong Avas not only saved from death, but his constitution
greatly benefited. Molly Bing had pledged her judgment upon the
result of his case, and in order to prove it correct, she contrived that
he should swallow about ten times as much nourishment as fell to the
share of any other child in the mill. He had grown surprisingly during
the period of his confinement, and this gave so lengthy a look to his
thin person, that Molly more than once fancied the audacious little
villain would give her the lie at last ; so she not only fed him, but got
leave for him to clean out the pig- sties, scrape up the filth from the
yard, and sundry other jobs of the same description, all of which, how-
ever unsavoury in their nature, bore, as the sharp-witted old woman
well knew, the balm of health in every movement they enforced, com-
pared to the monotonous and grinding slavery of the mill. But in
the course of a month or two, another glorious proof of England's
prosperity reached the Deep Valley, in the shape of a large order, and
Mr. Elgood Sharpton, in communicating the cheering intelligence to
his manager, enforced the necessity of strenuous exertion in the
execution of it, by telling him that, sick or well, the children must
work long hours, and that it was far better that they should a little
overwork the hands, than run any risk of disappointing so valuable a
customer.
In consequence of these instructions, Michael was withdrawn from
his out-door labours, and once more made to follow the mules. It
was then, and then only, that he discovered the heavy loss he had sus-
tained by the departure of Fanny. While employed upon the out-
of-door tasks assigned to him by the commands of Molly Bing, he had
been strictly enjoined never to speak to any of the apprentices who
might chance to pass while he was at work. His meals were eaten in
Mr. Woodcomb's kitchen, and the place assigned for his lodging by
night, was a sort of closet that opened from it. No day, no hour had
passed, unless in sleep, since he recovered his senses, without his
thinking of her. At the risk, or rather with the certainty of cuffs and
hard words, no foot-fall had ever passed within his hearing without
causing him to turn his head to reconnoitre, and much as he preferred
the labour on which he was now employed to that of the mill, he
would willingly, nay joyfully, have exchanged it in the hope of again
seeing his little friend. It was therefore with a feeling of gladness,
instead of regret, that he received orders to turn into the factory.
" That is queer V thought the little fellow, as he bounded to obey
the command, with the double energy of recovered health, and
awakened hope, " it is queer for me to feel glad that I am going back
to the factory !"
As it happened, he was marshalled into the same room in which he
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 281
had worked before his illness — but alas ! when he turned his eyes to
the spot which Fanny had formerly occupied near him, a singularly
ill-favoured boy met his gaze, instead of the pretty creature he
sought for. This was a death-blow to the joy which a few minutes
before had given him a gait and an expression of countenance so
unwonted in a factory-boy returning to his well-known sufferings.
Nevertheless, though a tear blinded the eyes which at length settled
reluctantly on the broken threads which awaited his fingers, he remem-
bered that the factory had seven floors, and cruel as it was to lose the
pleasure of giving his little friend a look or a word as they each paced
their weary walk, he still thought he might get a sight of her at their
dismal meals, and fancied that he should not greatly regret exchanging
scraps of wholesome meat, for musty oatmeal, provided Fanny
Fletcher was by to tell him not to mind it. But the musty oatmeal
came all too soon, for no word or look of Fanny's came with it; nor
did any uncertainty long remain, on which to hang a lingering hope
that some unfinished task detained her in the mill, and that he should
see her soon. His first question, whispered to the girl who sat beside
him, brought forth the history of Fanny's wonderful departure, at as
full length as the time and place would permit. At first he listened to
it with incredulity. It seemed, he thought, like a story made up to
deceive him, for fun ; and little as the blighted young spirits of that
sad fraternity were given to jesting, Michael clung to the belief that
such was the case, as long as the meal lasted. But, as usual, a few
minutes followed, during which they were left alone — an indulgence
which necessarily arose from the fact, that even the niggardly allow-
ance of time awarded by the regulations of Mr. Elgood Sharpton for
their meals, was more than the famished children required for devour-
ing the scanty portion set before them. No sooner had Mr. Poulet
withdrawn himself, after witnessing the orderly consumption by each,
of the allotted morsel, than such of the miserable crew as had sur-
vived the pestilence, and remembered the close alliance between Mi-
chael and the heroine of the marvellous tale which was still in every
mouth, all rushed together towards him for the purpose of recounting
it. Notwithstanding the confusion of tongues, their noisy testimony
was too consistent to admit of doubt, and Michael remained with the
astounding belief that his little friend was taken away to be made a
great lady of.
The heart of Michael Armstrong proved itself to be a very generous
one on this occasion.
" Some natural tears he shed, but wiped them soon."
as he remembered that the more miserable the situation in which he
was left, the more he ought to rejoice that Fanny had been taken from,
it. And he did rejoice ; truly, sincerely, and at the very bottom of his
heart did he rejoice. As day after day the hateful routine of unva-
rying suffering again laid its grasp upon his existence, with a power as
irresistible as that of the vast engine which within those prison-wails
282 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
seemed " lord of all," the generous heart of Michael felt thankful
that Fanny Fletcher shared in it no longer. It had been quite in vain
that he had laboured to persuade himself, while listening to the rea-
sonings of his little friend, that they ought mutually to rejoice in the
probability of each other's death. Though he had allowed that as far
as he was himself concerned he might easily be brought to think that
it would be a comfort to die, he could never reach the pitch of sub-
limity necessary to form the wish that Fanny might die before him.
But now it was evident that this weakness, which had more than once
caused his little monitress to shake her head, and say that he did not
love her as well as she loved him, it was now quite evident that it was
no selfish motive which had caused it.
By degrees this truly noble feeling, this generous power of living, as
it were, in the prosperity of another, so strengthened the character of
the boy, as perfectly to save him from that worst result of youthful
suffering, a reckless, desperate despair, which by destroying hope, that
beautiful mainspring of all our best actions, leaves the poor spiritless
machine alive only to the wretched consciousness of its capacity for
pain. It is, beyond all question, this bitter hopelessness which dete-
riorates in so remarkable a manner the moral character of operatives
under the present factory system. In no other situation, excepting
only that of slaves purchased and paid for like an ox, or an ass, is the
destiny of a human being placed so wholly and completely beyond the
reach of his own control. He is, as Wordsworth truly says,
" A slave to whom release comes not,
And cannot come."
In no other situation do labouring men, women, and children, feel
and know that unless they submit in all things to the behests of their
employer, they must die — and that too by a process ten thousand times
worse than either the hangman's cord, or the headsman's axe — they
must die the death of famine. If their lingering hours of labour be
prolonged beyond the stipulated time for which they are paid, they
cannot turn and say, " I will not, for it is not in the bond," for the
ready answer is, " Go. We employ none who make conditions with
us." And where are they to go ? To the parish officers ? As ready
an answer meets them there : " Go. We relieve none who can get
work, and refuse it." If they are fined, however unjustly, however ar-
bitrarily, if the iniquitous truck system be resorted to for payment of
wages, instead of money, if their women be insulted, or their children
crippled, and remonstrance follow, the same death-dooming reply
awaits them : " Go, We employ no grumblers here."
Then to what quarter can they look with hope ? Where are they to
find that only elixir by which human strength is mercifully made for
ever equal to sustain human suffering ? The sparkling draught is not
for them ! The factory operative alone, of all to"*whom God has given
the power of thought, is denied the delicious privilege of hope. It is
this which degrades their nature ; it is this which from youth to age
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 283
renders one ruinous hour of brutal debauchery more precious, than all
that steadfast sober industry can promise or bestow.
It was long, very long, ere this intellectual blight, this smothering
mildew of the soul fell upon Michael, for he seemed to possess a sort
of twofold existence, " the worser half of it," being his poor self,
while the better was found in the happy destiny of Fanny. Countless
were the miles that he walked backwards and forwards hefore the
mules, during which he cheered his fancy by painting her in the midst
of liberty and green fields, Sometimes he thought that if she were
rich, she would remember all he had told her about his mother and
Edward — that she would find them out — would take compassion on
their poverty — would talk of him — would sooth and comfort them.
All this may seem, to happier beings, but a frail support, under in-
cessant labour, accompanied by every species of privation, yet it did
Michael service — it kept his faculties alive ; for it gave a theme, and a
pleasant one, on which to fix his thoughts, and half the the tedium of
his own sad life was forgotten, as he meditated on the probable happi-
ness of hers.
Sometimes, it must be owned, — though he always told himself
that such thoughts were nonsense, — ideas would suggest themselves
less abstractedly disinterested ; for it would now and then come into
his head, that Fanny Fletcher knew where Sir Matthew had sent him,
if nobody else did ; and that, perhaps, if she grew to be a great girl,
with power to do what she liked, she might think of him, and try to
do something to rescue him. Vague as was this notion, vague as he
himself felt it to be, it was a blessing to him. When such thoughts
arose, his bodily strength seemed to revive, his aching knees no longer
bent under him, his gait was no longer that of an ordinary factory-
child, the energy'of his mind lent itself to his limbs, and wearily as he
stretched himself upon his bed of straw, and long and lanky as his
half- starved person grew, Michael Armstrong did not become a
cripple.
But years wore away, and the stout-hearted young prisoner of the
Deep Valley began again to think that he had better have died of the
fever, than have lived so long, hoping for some happy chance to set
him free, and hoping for ever and for ever in vain.
" I am a fool," argued Michael at fourteen, — " I am a fool for
thinking so very much of one who it is quite plain has never thought
of me — nor of mother — nor of my poor Edward either ; she never gave
a thought to either of us ! I was a fool to dream it ! The fine folks
that carried her away, took her far enough from sight and sound of
factory-people. And who can blame her if she never turned her head
back again to inquire about any of them ? Poor little Fanny ! She
was very kind to me once — and she was the very prettiest little girl
that ever I happened to see. But other people may have found that
out by this time, as well as I. Fanny Fletcher is a whole year older
than me ! I will try with all my might and main never to think of her
any more !"
284 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
This resolution was not very steadily adhered to ; but the struggle
to do it, which was perfectly sincere, made the poor boy moody, and
more miserable than ever. His dreams perpetually represented to him
his mother and helpless brother, suffering from some unkindness from
Fanny, whom he saw superlatively beautiful, and superlatively rich,
but more superlatively hard-hearted still. These nervous and irritating
visitations brought his mother and brother so vividly before him, that
for weeks he could never, whether waking or sleeping, get them out of
his head. He fancied himself again running at full speed from Dow-
ling Lodge, with Martha's basket on his arm ; his mother's little room,
decent and orderly in spite of poverty, came back upon his mind as if
he had left it but yesterday. He saw the soft expression of her faded
countenance, and felt the welcome of her fond embrace.
"Oh, fool! oh, proud and wicked fool!" he murmured to his
tear-stained pillow, as these, and a thousand other tender recollections
pressed upon him. a Why could I not endure the tyrant's cruelty? I
might have kissed her now ! I might have comforted poor Teddy !"
The sound of his own voice as he pronounced this dear familiar name,
though in a whisper too low to awaken the weary sleepers round him,
wrung his very heart by the vivid recollections which it brought, and
though he was now beyond fourteen years old, he cried himself to
sleep.
Fitful and feverish were the transitions of his mind at this period.
Sometimes he persuaded himself that his mother was no more, that the
loss of him had broken her heart, and that she had died, believing him
to have gone before her. At other times it was Edward whom he wept
as dead. His shattered health, his feeble limbs were, as he thought,
sure evidence that nature meant him not to struggle long against the
misery of his lot, and there were moments in which this persuasion
even soothed him.
" Sweet fellow !" thought he. " How calm and beautiful he must
have looked in death ! Even in suffering, even in agony, his coun-
tenance was lovely — so patient, and so heavenly mild ! Better, far
better he should die, than live a factory-boy like me !"
And then again his mood would change, and he had for ever before
him images of the most fearful destitution — his mother starving, and
Edward slowly perishing beside her, because he had been too proud
and too impatient to endure sundry buffetings and other indignities,
which, when put in competition with the thought of having injured
them, dwindled into petty injuries, which he deserved eternal shame
for shrinking from.
Dreadful were the hours he thus spent ! and, fearful to think of, was
the hopeless, helpless, joyless, comfortless existence by which he held to
earth ! His very soul sickened as he looked around him, and read in
every withered melancholy face the history of blasted youth, and the
prophecy of premature death.
But there are spirits which sorrow and suffering cannot quench, and
Michael Armstrong's was one of them. Nature and accident together
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 285
had been stronger than the tendency of his employment to cripple his
limbs, and he was neither deformed nor stunted. This happy exemp-
tion from the common lot, was doubtless greatly owing to the perti-
nacity of Molly Bing, in proving to Messrs. Woodcomb and Poulet
that she was no fool, and knew well enough what she was about. This
steadfastness on her part, acting in unison with the superintendent's
judicious objections to Michael's being buried at that particular time,
had certainly given a very critical and efficient impulse to the vigour
of a frame of great natural strength and comeliness. The energetic
self-sustaining soul within it, had also much to do in defying the
paralyzing influence of his miserable situation. It was rarely that
Michael could be seen to drag his limbs along, even in the last hours
of long-protracted labour, with the same crippled, dipping gait as his
companions. A broken-spirited child, when his knees are aching, per-
mits them to bend under him ; and not one in fifty, perhaps, of the
half-starved, over-worked apprentices of the Deep Valley, reached the
term of their captivity, without carrying away with them some species
of bodily weakness or deformity. But let the reason be what it might,
Michael was saved from this, and though exhibiting a fabric, composed
of little besides skin, bone, and sinew, he was, at the age of fourteen
years and six months, both tall and straight.
But it seemed as if the inward strength of mental suffering kept
pace with this vigour of frame ; for day by day the bitter conscious-
ness of his own wretched and degraded state increased upon him —
and day by day his swelling heart grew more indignant as he looked
around him, and watched the exercise of lawless power and coward
tyranny upon his miserable companions.
It was after a peculiarly hateful display of this power, by an act of
insult too disgustiug to relate, upon the unresisting person of a little
fellow who seemed crawling (only too slowly !) to the grave, that
Michael, when every other sufferer in the chamber was fast asleep, set
himself to meditate gravely and deliberately upon his own situation.
He had that day been so near trying the power of his bony arms, by
flying at the throat of the ruffian who had so revoltingly outraged his
companion, that with more than boyish judgment he became con-
scious of the growing danger that beset him. Though he had felt
almost to suffocation the boiling rage which nothing but injustice,
and the pitiful abuse of adventitious power can generate, he was not
such a Quixote as to hope that his arm could effectually redress the
wrongs he witnessed, yet he thought with a sort of trembling exulta-
tion, that if he had seized the craven overlooker, as he kicked from
him the helpless object of his tyranny, he might have held him with a
grasp that would have stopped his breath for ever !
It was a horrid and a murderous thought ! and poor Michael, once
the gentlest, fondest little heart, that ever nestled to a mother's bo-
som, did penance for it by a pang of self-condemnation, that made
him grind his teeth in agony. Yet even then the goaded spirit
seemed to rise in rebellion against its own remorse.
"I cannot bear it!" he exclaimed in smothered accents, as he
286 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
turned his face towards his bed of straw. " I know I cannot bear it
long ! I have seen two attempting to escape, who have been brought
back to frightful tortures — to I know not what ! A solitary cell ? the
whip ? the knotted thong ? What matters ? Would they could slaugh-
ter me at once ! All would be over then."
For a long still hour of that feverish night, the boy lay sleepless.
A terrible conviction that there was something within him which might
prove stronger than himself — stronger than all his mother's precepts,
and the holy fear of God which they had left upon his mind — made
him feel sick with horror, and shudder in abhorrence of his own wicked-
ness. He prayed to God to give him power to turn his thoughts from
this ; and soothed to calmness by the healing act, he meditated with-
out passion, and with great acuteness for his years, upon the probable
result of attempting to escape.
The difficulties of the enterprise were greater than any can imagine
who know not the locality, and the intricate network of security which
surround the imprisoned apprentices of Deep Valley on all sides. Of
this the elder children, and the few who lived to approach their majo-
rity, were by no means ignorant. Considerable pains were indeed
taken to impress upon their minds the certainty of their being caught if
they succeeded in clearing the walls ; together with the important fact
that, as apprentices, it was illegal to assist them in running away from
their master, and that it was the duty of every justice of peace to assist
in securing and sending them back to complete the term fixed in their
indentures.
All this Michael knew perfectly well ; neither was he at all sanguine
in his hope of avoiding the toils from which he had never heard that
any had escaped. Yet he determined to make the attempt, assuring
himself, that no change in the treatment he received could render him
more miserable, and sincerely thinking that it would be better and
safer for him, should the failure of this desperate attempt lead to such
a degree of restraint as would render the yielding to such violence of
emotion, as had that day seized upon him, impossible.
Having come to this conclusion, and firmly pledged his young
spirit to the attempt, his feverish restlessness subsided, and he dropped
asleep.
The waking of the next morning was unlike any he had ever known
before. He no longer felt as one among a miserable crew, sharing in
common with them starvation, labour, and indignity ; he felt himself
to be one alone, and apart from all. He was on the eve of doing that
which would involve him in difficulties and dangers altogether new
and strange to him, and the only termination he could be really said
to expect was the being dragged back to his prison to suffer all that it
was in the power of his tyrants to inflict. These were strange mate-
rials for meditation which was decidedly agreeable ; yet such Michael
felt it to be, in spite of reason. A sensation of active, dauntless cou-
rage swelled his breast, which, with all the danger it threatened, was
well worth the heavy monotony of his ordinary existence. At times,
too, a gleam of hope would dart across the stern and steady gloom of
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 287
the prospect ; and during the moment that the flash lasted, he saw
himself restored to his mother and Edward. He could hardly be said
to hope this, yet the feeling that it was possible sufficed to sustain his
spirits through the days and nights which preceded the attempt.
It was exactly by the same exit that poor crazy Sally had made use
of some fifty years before, that Michael determined to leave the pre-
mises. The month or two during which he had been employed in
cleaning the yard and its appurtenances, had made him thoroughly well
acquainted with the outward door, and also with the region imme-
diately beyond it, for it was thither that he was accustomed to convey
all the rubbish which it was his office to remove — an office which
might have been attended with some danger of the escape of him who
performed it, had not those in authority taken care to inform him that
no celerity of step could avail against the watchfulness of certain eyes
about the factory, which were always on the alert to reconnoitre
that door, and never far distant from the commodious windows which
gave them power to do so.
Poor Sally had found this but too surely in making her attempts,
and Michael had more than once listened to the merry tradition, which
was a favourite story with the overlookers ; of how the silly girl had run
in full sight of a dozen watchful eyes, till her strength failed, and she
sank down among the bushes and was taken, like a bird that having
been long confined, has no strength of wing left to bear him beyond
reach of the first hand extended to recapture him.
Yet this open postern was the only one by which it was possible
to pass ; but the very extremity of the danger of passing it, made the
attempt easy ; for though it was always carefully locked at night, and
the key placed, together with those of every external door on the pre-
mises, under the pillow of Mr. Woodcomb, the manager had more
than once seen a miserable little head peeping through it when left
open for the passage of the wheelbarrow, without testifying the least
alarm.
The time chosen by Michael for passing this terrible door, was that
during which the dirty herd were commanded to expose their faces
and hands for a short moment to such cleansing as might be obtained
in a huge trough, in company with a score or two of competitors. It
was constantly a moment of great noise, bustle, and hustling; and it was
in the midst of this that the young adventurer contrived, unobserved, to
push back the only bolt which secured the door during the day, leaving
it in a position to yield noiselessly to a very slight touch. At the sound
of a bell, which rang about ten minutes after the children were turned
out into the court to wash themselves, the whole troop hurried back
again to the apprentice-house for their breakfast. It was then that
Michael, often the last to finish the too-short operation of washing,
remained for a moment behind the rest, and in that moment, opening
the door just wide enough for his slender figure to pass, he slipped
through, and closed it after him.
The interval which elapsed before his departure was suspected, cer-
tainly did not exceed two minutes ; and before the expiration of ten,
288 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
the fact was completely ascertained and known to nearly every inmate
of the mill.
Mr. Poulet's second wife, to whom he had then been married about
three years, was in appearance the very reverse of the first, being as
remarkably small, as the other was large. But what she wanted in
muscle, was made up in watchfulness. Nothing escaped her restless
and malignant little eyes, and either from the incessant danger of her
spying sharpness, or the propensity of the human mind to think pre-
sent suffering worse than every other, there were many who declared
they would be glad to have her brutal predecessor back again. It
was this woman who first descried the absence of Michael from # the
board.
" Hollo ! where is No. 57 V she cried.
No one could answer ; and No. 57 was sought for in vain from one
end of the premises to the other.
" He is gone through the yard-door I" proclaimed the active and
intelligent Mrs. Poulet, after discovering that the bolt was with-
drawn. " Off with you, you stupid old fool !" she added, addressing
her husband; " what d'ye stand staring therefor? If you had the
wit of a jackass, you might trace him by his feet on the dew — for there
are the marks plain enough to any body, that has sense enough to
look for 'em."
And so in truth there were. A continuous track of footmarks, were
easily traced from the door to the steep bank behind the factory,
where they were lost in the covert of bushes, which had of late years
been coaxed to clothe its sides for the purpose of furnishing fagots;
That some one had recently broken through these bushes was equally
evident, from many boughs having been torn, and the soil beneath
them trampled. This was enough to direct the pursuit, with so much
certainty of being right, that Mr. Woodcomb laughed as he gave the
orders for it.
" The bushes last for about half a mile," said he, " and then he
must take over the hills, of course. Fine fellow, isn't he? It will be
mighty hard to take him again, won't it ? There's only three justices
of peace for him to be handed to, and only every man he meets ready
to introduce him. The worst misfortune is, that I don't quite see
where he is to get his dinner."
Two stout overlookers started accordingly upon the track thus easily
hit upon, and Mr. Woodcomb awaited the result of their exertions
without the slightest anxiety, or any irritation of nerves whatever ;
albeit he knew that, favourite as he was, he might run no small risk of
losing his place, should one of the apprentices really escape — but the
thing was impossible ; no one could live without eating, not even one
who had served his apprenticeship to starving as well as piecing at the
Deep Valley Mill. So Mr. Woodcomb slept soundly, although in
ignorance of the fact that Michael Armstrong was already within a
few feet of his premises.
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 289
CHAPTER XXVI.
A DISMAL ENTERPRISE, AND ITS MELANCHOLY RESULT MARTHA
DOWLING PUNISHED MORE SEVERELY THAN SHE DESERVED VERY
WILD PROJECTS CONCEIVED BY MISS BROTHERTON, AND SPEEDILY
PUT IN EXECUTION.
It is now necessary that the narrative should briefly return to the
period of Miss Brotherton's arrival at Milford Park, after her unsuc-
cessful expedition in pursuit of Michael.
There was no needless delay between this return to her home, and
the communication to Mrs. Armstrong and Edward of the dismal news
of which she was the bearer ; nor was there any consultation on this
occasion, concerning the mode of her reaching Hoxley-lane. Poor
Mary had greatly advanced in independence of spirit within the last
few months ; and had she encountered all the military quartered with-
in twenty miles, with the Dowling family marching in procession at
their head, she would have quietly driven through them all, with the
carriage-windows up, perhaps, but with no greater precaution — except,
indeed, an order to the coachman to drive on without stopping, let
them meet who they would.
The carriage was at the door the morning after their return, and
Miss Brotherton had not yet named her intended expedition to Mrs.
Tremlett.
" You are going out without me, my dear ?" said the old lady on
hearing it announced.
"lam going to the widow Armstrong's, dear nurse," replied the
heiress. " Your presence cannot help me through this dreaded visit.
Then why should I make you share the pain of it V*
'* Why ? my dear ! because I am of no earthly use, and had better die
at once if I cannot be of some little comfort to you at such a time as
this. Why, don't I know all about it, and how you must feel at this
very moment, just as well as you do yourself, Mary ? Sure it was a
foolish notion to leave me here enjoying the arm-chair and the foot-
stool, and the flowers, while you are having your heart broken by
telling that poor pale body, that the child she loved so dearly is dead
and gone for ever."
" If you could save either her or me a pang, nurse Tremlett, I would
not thus have spared you," replied Miss Brotherton. " However, you
shall go with me, dear friend. It is quite like yourself to wish it —
and in truth, I might have guessed that you could not have remained
easy and quiet at home while I was so engaged. And poor Fanny !
— I have left her very busy with Martin, assisting in arranging the
little room I have assigned her near my own. Shall we tell her where
we are going, in case she should come in here to look for us ?"
" My dear Mary ! If you will take my advice, you will let her go
too. If you do not, the whole of this terrible talk will have to begin
u
290 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
all over again ; for of course, when Mrs. Armstrong hears that you
have got with you the only person who can tell any thing about her
boy, she will be restless and anxious to see her — and then won't it be
all over again, Mary?"
" It will, indeed, dear nurse ! You are very right, and very wise in
this. She shall go with us, poor child. Though it will be a dreadful
task for her !" replied Mary.
" And you would rather take it, dear, all on your own shoulders?
I do not doubt that — only you don't know how to manage it," replied
Mrs. Tremlett. " But there is another thing, Mary, that I have been
thinking of," continued the kind-hearted old woman, " and that is the
other poor boy. I'll engage to say, he has never missed school for an
hour, after what you said to him about exerting himself. I saw how
he took it ; and, therefore, you may depend upon it, that he is at the
schoolhouse now. Then just think, my dear, what his going home will
be after you have told all ! Poor creatures ! It makes one's heart
sick to fancy it ! If I were you, Mary, I would send for him, tell him
every thing at once, and then take him home to his mother."
Miss Brotherton instantly rose and rang the bell.
" Do not say you are of no use, my dear good creature !" said she.
" How infinitely better this will be than the hurried, thoughtless plan
which I had sketched !"
A message was accordingly despatched to the schoolhouse to sum-
mon Edward Armstrong, and in a few minutes he stood before them.
Most true is it that there is something holy and imposing in the
presence of sorrow. It would be difficult to imagine any entree into
the boudoir of Miss Brotherton, which would have inspired a feeling
both in her and her friend so nearly approaching awe, as did that of
Edward Armstrong.
" There is no need to tell him, poor fellow !" exclaimed Mrs. Trem-
lett, mournfully shaking her head, as she saw the sudden and eloquent
change in Edward's countenance the moment he looked in the face of
Miss Brotherton. " There is no need to tell him ! He knows it all,
already !"
" He is dead, then !" said the boy, his pale lips parting, as it
seemed, with difficulty, to pronounce the words, " Please, ma'am, let
me go away."
He looked as if he were unable to sustain himself; and Mary,
really fearing he might fall, started from her seat, and throwing her
arms round him, almost carried him to the sofa.
" No, no, my poor Edward !" she said, " do not go away. Stay
with those who love and pity you ! Poor Michael is dead, Edward,
and we must all try to support your mother under the dreadful
news."
" How do you know he is dead ?" cried Edward, starting up, and
looking almost sternly at his benefactress. " How do you know that
they have hot hid him away where you cannot find him, that they may
torture him, and work him to the bone, when there is nobody by to
see?"
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 291
"I know that lie is dead but too well, Edward," replied Mary,
gently. " I have brought home with me a little girl who worked in the
same factory, and who knew him well. He died of an infectious fever
that killed many, many more. I am going to take this little girl with
me to your mother, Edward, that she may question her, if she wishes
it, about poor Michael, and I wish you to go with us, my dear boy ; it
is better that your poor mother should have you with her."
" You are going to tell mother V said the boy with a shudder.
" Yes, Edward ! — it must be done, and the sooner it is over the
better. Your mother is a good woman, and a pious Christian, my
dear boy. She will know and feel that all that can befall her is the
will of God ; and when she remembers this, she will rise above her
sorrow, and thinking of the better world hereafter, will be able to say,
' His will be done !' "
" Yes, ma'am — if it does not kill her first," answered Edward.
" Indeed, I think a great deal will depend on you, dear Edward, as
to her manner of bearing it. If she sees you sink, be sure she will
sink too ; but if you make her feel that she has still a beloved child to
live for, to whom life may yet be a blessing, she will cease to repine
for the loss of one child, for the sake of making the other happy."
Edward slowly and silently shook his head ; but after the melan-
choly silence of a minute or two, he said, " I will do my best,
ma'am."
The scene which followed beside the bed of the poor widow, was
one of such deep, but patient sorrow, as left an impression never to
be forgotten on the minds of those who witnessed it. Mary's counsel
had not been thrown away upon Edward. The boy displayed both a
delicacy and firmness of character beyond his years, and above his
education. No ordinary topics of consolation were clumsily uttered
to redeem his pledge to Mary, nor did he affect a stoical indifference
which he could not feel ; but with gentle endearments he drew the
mourning mother to think of him, and there was healing, as well as
agony, in the tears she shed upon his bosom.
Of all this Fanny was a silent, but deeply-moved spectator. The
widow gave her one earnest look when Mary said, " This little girl was
the last person who spoke to Michael before he was laid on the sick
bed from whence he never rose, and she seems to have loved him
dearly."
One long earnest look was turned upon her when this was said, but
no word was spoken to her, for the time was not yet come when the
bereaved mother could seek comfort in any thing. Nevertheless, when
Miss Brotherton rose to go, and pressing the hand of the poor sufferer
in her own, promised to pay her another visit soon, Mrs, Armstrong
murmured in her ear, " I should like to see that little girl again,
when I can bear to name him." Mary nodded her assent, and left the
mother and son to exchange thoughts and feelings, which, when deep
and genuine, must ever be held sacred from every unkindred eye.
Most watchfully did Mary attend to this poor pensioner ; and many
were the hours during which she sat, reading the book of life beside
u 2
292 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
her bed. By degrees, too, the bereaved mother did bear to name her
lost darling to Fanny Fletcher ; and having once listened to the sweet
tones of her gentle voice, as she related all she had heard him say, all
he had seemed to feel, and all he had seemed to think, the poor woman
grew so enamoured of the uneventful tale, that she wearied not of
making her repeat it. For days together Fanny would beg to be left
beside her, while Edward resumed his place in the school ; and Miss
Brotherton often thought, when she drove to Hoxley-lane in the eve-
nings, to bring back her little protegee, that she had never chanced to
witness so pretty a specimen of female tenderness and pity, as this
lovely little girl exhibited, while ministering to the poor crippled
woman, whose only claim upon her love was, that she wanted it — a
species of claim, by the by, that is very rarely made in vain upon any
uncorrupted female heart.
With every want prevented, soothed by the most generous kindness,
attended with the most watchful love, and cheered by a greater ap-
pearance of reviving health in the boy that she had thought crippled
for life, than she had ever ventured to hope for, it might have been ex-
pected that the widow Armstrong would, in some degree, have for-
gotten passed sufferings, and have once more looked forward with
hope. But no, it could not be ! This last, this heaviest of all her
sorrows came too late to be wrestled with, as others had been ; and
though her meek nature seemed so peacefully resigned, that there was
more pleasure than pain in watching over her, she was, in truth, dying
of a worn-out spirit and a broken heart.
By some means or other, the news that little Michael Armstrong was
dead, reached Dowling Lodge. Sir Matthew knit his brows — won-
dered how the devil any body could have got tidings of him, but said
nothing. To all the rest of the family, save one, the intelligence was
too unimportant to be listened to at all ; but to that one, to the al-
ready conscience-stricken and repentant Martha, it was a heavy blow !
Most miserable, indeed, had been her state of mind for the last few
months ; from the day of her painful, but useless visit to Miss Brother-
ton, her eyes had been, in a great degree, opened to the hard and
avaricious nature of her father's character. Like a person excluded
from the light of the sun, and seeing only by the delusive glare of an
unsteady lamp, Martha had passed her whole life in mistaking the
nature and the value of almost every object around her. The lan-
guage of Mary Brotherton had shot with a painful and unwelcome
brightness upon the dim and uncertain twilight of her moral percep-
tions ; and the unhappy girl learned to know that the only being who
had ever seemed to love her, or whom she had ever ventured to love,
was one that her better reason shrunk from, and her sober judgment
condemned.
Yet still he was her father, and still she loved him, and gladly, joy-
fully, would she have given her young life, could she thereby have
changed his love of gold, for love of mercy. Sometimes she thought
that time and age would teach him the hollowness of his present pur-
suits, and that if she never left him, but ever stood ready at his side
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 293
to watch some favourable moment, she might have the surpassing joy
of seeing his heart open to the truth, and in a state to permit her help-
ing to lead him to efficient repentance, and the all-merciful forgiveness
of God. It was impossible but that such thoughts and feelings must
separate her, more than ever, from the rest of her family, and she had
already pretty generally received the epithet of methodistical, from
the whole neighbourhood ; but she hailed it as a blessing, and without
a shadow of religious enthusiasm, beyond what was almost inevitable
under the circumstances, and with no sectarian views or notions what-
ever, poor Martha gladly sheltered herself under the imputation of both
iu order to avoid joining in scenes of amusement for which she had no
relish.
In such a state of mind it was natural enough that Martha should
deem a visit to the bereaved mother a penance which it was her duty
to perform (though it was more painful to her, perhaps, than almost
any other to which she could have been subjected), and she did per-
form it accordingly. She found the poor sufferer, whose eye she
dreaded to meet, sinking fast into peace and rest, that never more could
be disturbed. Miss Brotherton and Fanny were both with her ; a
bible was in the hands of the former, and Mrs. Armstrong's counte-
nance, though greatly more pinched and pallid than she had ever be-
fore seen it, expressed a tranquil calmness which it was impossible to
contemplate without pleasure.
But, alas ! for poor Martha ! she had the pang of seeing this con-
soled and consoling look suddenly changed to an expression of intense
suffering, the moment her own person met the poor woman's eye.
They had never seen each other since the fatal morning on which
Martha had so innocently persuaded her to sign the articles of her boy's
apprenticeship, and the recollection of that scene, and all its con-
sequences, could not so suddenly come upon one, reduced already
to almost the last stage of weakness, without shaking her terribly.
The distended eye, the open mouth, the heaving breast, all spoke a
degree of agitation, which in her condition was frightfully alarming;
and Mary, who dreaded lest the calmness of her last moments should
be disturbed, hastily turned to the intruder, and said, " Go, go ! —
the sight of you will kill her !"
Though there was no more of harshness in this, than the urgent cir-
cumstances of the case seemed to call for, Mary Brotherton would
have rather died than utter it, could she have guessed the pang it
gave to the already wounded heart of poor Martha. She made no re-
ply ; but, fixing on the victim of her most innocent delusion, a look,
just long enough to impress the terrible expression of her countenance
upon her own heart for ever, she turned away, and reached her splen-
did home in a state of mind that seemed fearfully to verify the annun-
ciation, " He will visit the sins of the fathers upon the children. "
That day was the last of the widow's life, and it is probable it might
have been so, even if Martha Dowling had not made her unfortunate
visit ; but the coincidence was fatal to the poor girl's peace, for the
anxious inquiries she made respecting her, brought the intelligence of
294 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
her death, and the time of it, with sufficient accuracy to leave no
doubt on Martha's mind, that the event had been accelerated by her
appearance.
Happily, however, for those who tenderly watched her last moments,
the widow Armstrong's gentle nature permitted her not long to suffer
from the irritation which the presence of Martha produced, and many
hours before she closed her eyes for ever, she expressed her sorrow for
having yielded so weakly to feelings which she had hoped were alto-
gether conquered ; assuring Mary (who never left her) that she ac-
quitted the young lady of all intention to deceive her, and that the
shock she felt from seeing her, only proceeded from the vivid recol-
lections her appearance awakened.
Unhappily, however, it was longere this healing assurance reached
poor Martha; for Miss Brotherton, who was far from guessing its im-
portance to her, had decided upon having no further intercourse with
the Dowling family : a resolution which would never have been taken
had her last interview with Martha at Milford Park ended more plea-
santly. But it had been already so long acted upon, that it would
have been equally awkward and disagreeable to break through it ; and
Martha long continued in the terrible persuasion that she had been
accessory to the death of both mother and son.
The loss of the only relatives he had ever known, following as they
did so closely on each other, made Mary tremble for the health of
Edward. She had watched the affecting close of the poor widow's
life with all the tender feeling such a spectacle was calculated to ex-
cite in such a heart as hers. She had mourned for Michael for many
reasons, and mourned sincerely ; but she had hardly known the boy,
and it was her sympathy with the sorrow of others, rather than her
own, which caused the event to touch her so deeply. But to Edward
she had become attached with so much fondness, and he had inspired
such a feeling of wondering admiration in her mind by the extraor-
dinary faculties he displayed, and the justness and uprightness of every
thought and feeling, that to watch over his health and welfare had be-
come nearly the first object of her isolated existence. The few months
which had elapsed since the whole system of his life had been changed
from all that was most injurious to health, to a mode of living in every
way conducive to its recovery, had produced a more favourable and de-
cisive effect on him, than could have been reasonably hoped for in the
time ; and it was a remarkable evidence of the powerful influence which
such a change produces on the frame, that not all the sorrow and suf-
fering which Miss Brotherton's intelligence brought, or the heart-
wringing loss which followed it, could check the active energy of be-
nignant nature in restoring health, where all she required for it was
given, and all that had hitherto impeded her kindly operations was
removed. Yet Edward was still lame, though so much less so than
he had been, that his benefactress could not help indulging a hope
that time and judicious treatment might remove the infirmity alto-
gether. For some reason or other Miss Brotherton entertained no
very particular respect for the medical practitioners of her immediate
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 295
neighbourhood, and for several months after her return she contented
herself with following: Mr. Bell's prescriptions, for friction and moderate
exercise, without calling in any medical assistance at all. But though
the improvement that followed was very perceptible, it was not rapid,
and the idea of London advice suggested itself, as the most satisfactory
mode of ascertaining at once whether a perfect recovery might be hoped
for ; information which it was very desirable she should obtain, before
she decided in what way she should bring him up. Since the death
of his mother, Milford Park had been Edward's home, and the orphan
boy's hold on Miss Brotherton's warm heart had been greatly increased
by the opportunities this gave her of more frequent intercourse with
her. In truth, though he still attended the school for an hour or two
every morning, by far the more important portion of his education went
on under her own eye, and, as well as that of his little companion
Fanny, was beginning to take a form and extent totally different from
what she had at first intended for either of them. Ideas respecting
them both, began by degrees to arise in her mind, which she at first
endeavoured to resist, as being too much out of the usual course to
be safely indulged in ; but " use lessens marvel," and the notion of
making a man of learning of Edward, and a woman of fortune of
Fanny, which once and again she had rejected, as too romantic and
absurd, gradually grew into an habitual theme of meditation on which
her fancy delighted to fix itself.
Mary Brotherton was at that time about twenty-two years old, ex-
tremely pretty, and moreover almost childishly young-looking for her
age ;andwhatever she mighthavebroughtherselfto think of it, most others
would very naturally have deemed her adopting a boy of twelve, and a
girl of eleven, a most outrageously preposterous and imprudent act.
But her situation was one in most respects quite out of the common
way, and she every day felt it more impossible that she could continue
to endure the station of one of the magnates of a manufacturing neigh-
bourhood, with all eyes fixed upon every thing she did, and her whole
heart and soul recoiling from companionship with the only persons
whom her neighbours and watchers would deem fit to be her particular
friends.
The heart of this isolated girl was so clingingly affectionate that it
is probable she would, under almost any other circumstances, have at
least loved the beautiful mansion in which she had passed the greatest
part of her life, and felt the trees and flowers that adorned it to be as
companions, and familiar friends ; but a thousand painful thoughts
were mingled with the consciousness that she was mistress of that fair
domain ; and the very fact that the education she felt inclined to be-
stow upon the two orphans would bring down upon her the criticisms,
and probably the reprobation, of the whole neighbourhood, making it
very desirable that the extraordinary project should be carried into
execution elsewhere, was in her estimation more in its favour, than
agains it. When, in addition to all this, she succeeded in persuading
herself, from some of her miscellaneous reading, that there were Ger-
man baths which might assist the restoration, of Edward's limbs, and
296 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
that it was her duty to consult the most approved authorities upon his
case, the decision to leave Milford Park, and remove to London, was
at no great distance.
Had her valued friend and counsellor, Mr. Bell, led her to believe
that all the wealth she had, if thrown back among the class from which
it was drawn, could have sufficed to remedy the evils under which they
groaned, she was quite capable of stripping herself to her last shilling
for the purpose ; but he knew better, and he taught her to know better
too ; and having convinced himself that her best chance of happiness,
as well as her best opportunity of doing good, would be in yielding to
the affection which " her boy and girl" had inspired, he promised to
assist her projected removal, by seeing that the orders she left, respect-
ing her property, were faithfully executed ; and, about eight months
after the death of Mrs. Armstrong, the heiress left her parks and
gardens, her splendid mansion and all its gorgeous appurtenances, to
attend the orphan boy to London.
The consultation which, immediately after her arrival there, took
place upon the case of Edward, was productive of, perhaps, the
greatest pleasure Mary had ever known ; for the sentence unanimously
pronounced was, that the limbs of the boy were in a state of progress
towards perfect recovery, the weakness and distortion brought on by
his employment, not having lasted long enough to produce any de-
formity, capable of resisting the tendency of nature to recover herself,
if not impeded by any fresh unhealthy influence. That any such
should arise to disappoint her hopes was not likely ; all that was re-
quired for him being good air, regular and moderate exercise, whole-
some food, and abstinence from all violent exertion for the next year
or two. As to her question respecting German baths, the answer
was less unanimous ; two gentlemen being of opinion that they would
do no good at all ; two that it was doubtful whether the case would be
affected by them or not ; and one that great benefit might probably
ensue. But as all were of opinion that change of air was desirable,
and as a pretty strong inclination to try fresh fields and pastures new
seconded this judgment, Miss Brotherton determined to start for the
Rhine. Mrs. Tremlett declared that she had not the slightest ob-
jection to foreign parts ; Edward's heart swelled with an ecstasy made
up of gratitude, hope, curiosity, and^the delicious exhilaration attendant
upon returning health; while Fanny looked around her, and listened
to every one whose words referred to the expedition, with a very de-
lightful consciousness of being wide awake, but not without some fear
that she was dreaming, nevertheless.
Such was the party that filled the travelling-carriage of Miss Bro-
therton, while sua English maid, a French footman, and a German
courier, formed her suite.
Nothing, certainly, could be well more whimsical than the party
with which she had thus surrounded herself; but this mattered little,
since she was pleased with it — and we must leave her in the full enjoy-
ment of a whole host of delightful feelings, while we return to follow
the fortunes of poor Michael.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 297
CHAPTER XXVII.
MICHAEL ARMSTRONG SETS OUT UPON A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION
ITS TERMINATION PROVES RATHER MORE THAN HE CAN BEAR
HE MEETS A GOOD MAN, AND TAKES SERVICE UNDER HIM HE
ASKS AND OBTAINS A HOLIDAY, AND MEETS SEVERAL ADVEN-
TURES IN THE COURSE OF IT.
While this gay and happy party, who would any of them have
gladly exchanged pleasure for pain, could they thereby have purchased
only the knowledge of his existence, were thus placing kingdoms be-
tween them, the unhappy Michael was still enduring all the miseries of
an apprentice at the Deep Valley Mill.
It would be difficult to imagine a stronger contrast in the situation
of two brothers than that which many subsequent years presented be-
tween him and Edward. Edward ! — who had ever been to him as a
dearer second self — who had never enjoyed a pleasure unshared by
him, and never known a sorrow that had not also been his — Edward was
enjoying all that nature and fortune could give ; while Michael still
hopelessly dragged on a wretched existence amidst unceasing and un-
varying suffering ! At length the desperate resolution was formed
which put the officials of the Deep Valley factory in the state of
activity already described. And where was Michael the while ?
Safely ensconced in a sort of rude drain, which he had himself
assisted to construct, when he held the regretted office of scavenger
of the court, and over the aperture of which he easily arranged sticks
and rubbish sufficient to conceal him, Michael lay for many hours
listening to the hubbub which his absence occasioned. He distinctly
heard the expression of Mrs. Poulet's anger and scorn, as messenger
after messenger returned, without bringing tidings of him ; and had,
moreover, the advantage of knowing the track that he had purposely
made on the grass which grew tall and rank immediately behind the
factory, had led them, and would continue to lead them, all one way,
while he would of course take especial care to go another.
Having left his foot-marks on the grass in the manner described,
Michael had scrambled through the bushes which covered the steep
hill-side, for the distance of a few hundred yards, and then, taking
advantage of a layer of stones, by which a patch of marshy ground had
been rendered firm, he again crossed from the hill towards the factory,
without leaving any trace behind. By this simple device his pur-
suers were completely thrown out, for when night came and he crawled
out from his shelter, no eye was open to look for him close to his
prison-walls, though very keen ones were busy elsewhere in search of
him.
The same strength of frame which had enabled him to escape de-
formity in the mill, helped him well now, as without food, without
298 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
sleep, and with every pulse throbbing between hope and fear, he strode
rapidly onward on the road he had come with Parsons four years be-
fore, carefully avoiding its grassy margin, however, lest more footsteps
might be traced. Then, revolving with great clearness of local recol-
lection, the direction in which this road led, after mounting the hill,
he firmly resolved, as long as his strength lasted, to pursue it, till it
brought him to the door of his mother's home — provided always,
that he was not stopped short by the grasp of an overlooker in the
way.
The necessity of procuring food had not appeared to him any ob-
stacle to the undertaking ; for not only had he great faith in his own
power of enduring abstinence, but he had faith too, in the impossibi-
lity of begging at a farm-house door for a morsel of bread, in vain—
nor did either hope deceive him : he walked till nightfall with no other
refreshment than water, caught in the hollow of his hand from a
trickling road-side spring, and a few blackberries, snatched in terror,
as he hurried on.
As the darkness thickened round him, he called a counsel with him-
self, as to whether it would be wisest to lay down under the shelter of
a hay-rick, and let sleep serve him for supper, or to venture a petition
for a morsel of food at a decent-looking mansion which he saw at some
distance, and walk on through the night, if he succeeded, by help of
the strength so recruited.
After many anxious reasonings, pro and con, he at last decided upon
the latter, and so well did his handsome face and simple assurance that
he was very hungry, plead for him, that he not only obtained scraps
sufficient for a hearty supper, but a crust or two for the following
morning ; and with this treasure he trudged on, footsore indeed, and
with a pretty strong inclination to lie down and sleep, but mental
energy sufficed for many hours to conquer bodily fatigue, and it was
not till past three o'clock the next morning, that he yielded, and at
last laid himself down in a dry, and, as he thought it, most delight-
fully comfortable ditch, and slept the sleep of youth and weariness
for three or four hours. The bright beams of an autumn sun shooting
directly upon his eyes awakened him, and he started up, ready and
able to walk forward, sufficiently thankful for the hoarded crusts in
his pocket.
He was now not more than seven miles from Ashleigh ; a fact which
he joyfully ascertained by a milestone on a road which he had
reached, he hardly knew how, but it must have been by missing, not
hitting the way he had endeavoured to find ; for Parsons had not fol-
lowed the high-road from the town for more than a mile, and that
was before Sir Matthew's carriage overtook him. Michael looked
backwards and forwards along this wide unsheltered road, and
trembled to think how easy it would be, to see and recognise a fugi-
tive from any spot within sight of it ; but there was a burning impa-
tience at his heart when he thought of home, and remembered that he
was within two hours walk of it, which left all caution far behind, and
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 299
commending himself to God, he set off at the fleetest pace he could
achieve, towards Ashleigh.
No symptom of pursuit, however, alarmed him. From the moment
he quitted the mills, to that when he reached what had once been his
mother's door, no terror of the kind had come near him ; he had heard
no whispering voices, nor seen shadowy figures stealing towards him
from a distance. All he had most feared was got through with ease ;
but all he had most fondly hoped, turned out a fearful blank.
As Michael drew near the door, he remembered so well every
object which met his eye, that he began to fear lest he himself
might be remembered by others, and making a circuit to avoid Sir Mat-
thew's mills, he reached Hoxley-lane without having met a single face
he knew.
It was a tremendous moment for him, that in which he first caught
sight of the lowly door through which he had passed a thousand times
in eager anticipation of his mother's kiss ! Some minutes followed be-
fore he could reach it, and the boy trembled so violently that he tot-
tered as he hurried onward, like a drunken man.
At length his hand was on the latch ; it yielded as in days of yore,
and in an instant the door was wide open before him. Poor Michael I
what death can have a pang so bitter as that he felt, when the almost
impossible project of reaching his mother's home being performed, he
found that home empty and desolate, and telling him as plainly as
angels trumpet-tongued could do, that she was dead !
A dismal groan burst from him, and he sunk on the floor, just where
he had last stood gaily talking to her of his bright fancies for the fu-
ture, a few hours before he was snatched away from her for ever.
The noise he made reached the ears of a woman in the front room,
and she opened the door of communication to ascertain who it could
be, rummaging in the empty room that was " to let."
u My gracious ! I should like to know who you are ? "What do
you want here, you ragamuffin ? Is this the way you come to take
lodgings, pray V
This was said by a young and pretty woman who held a baby in her
arms, and who being the wife of a confidential overlooker, had not
only succeeded to the occupation of No. 12, upon the death of Mrs.
Sykes and the dispersion of her family, but considered herself privi-
leged to assume, on most occasions, an air of great importance.
" Mother lived here !" said Michael, with a look wretched enough
to soften the heart of the saucy girl who had addressed him.
" Your mother, my poor boy ? Are you the little orphan Armstrong,
then ?" was the reply.
" Is mother dead V said the unhappy boy.
" Dead ? to be sure she is. And where can you have been not to
know that ? Wasn't you with her, when she died V
" No, no, no !" sobbed Michael; " I came here to find her."
" Poor fellow ! that's dismal enough to be sure. I bean't Ashleigh
born, but I have heard a deal since I corned here, about the widow
Armstrong and the boy as died !"
300 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Died !" echoed Michael, looking wildly at her. " Is he dead
too ? Is my poor Teddy dead V
" Sure-ly he is," replied the unthinking young woman, who, in
truth, knew nothing about either the widow Armstrong or her son, but
remembered hearing that a little more than a year before she took
possession of the premises, a widow Armstrong had died in the back
room, for grief at having lost a boy. She was far from intending to
be cruel to the poor lad, who looked himself so very nearly like a
corpse, but was too indifferent upon all subjects which did not imme-
diately concern herself, to take the trouble of thinking before she
spoke.
A few more questions might probably have obtained, if not the
truth, at least some proof of his informer's ignorance of it, but
Michael had heard enough ; he rose to his feet, and without uttering
another word, rushed out of the room.
The state in which he then found himself was certainly nearly approach-
ing to delirium. His strength of body and mind completely exhausted
by fatigue, fasting, and intense anxiety, the blow which had fallen
upon him was heavier than his reason could bear, and he wandered
forth into the fields without knowing where he was, or having any dis-
tinct idea of what had befallen him. His devious and unheeded
path led him to a spot, at the distance of nearly a mile from his former
home, at which several miniature rocks of sandstone give something of
wildness and dignity to the little stream, which for the most part .runs
tamely enough, and looks little more than a wide and dirty ditch, as
it passes through the town of Ashleigh. A multitude of cotton-
factories, with their tall chimneys mocking the heavens, were visible in
the distance, on the other side, and the boy stopped in his wild, hur-
ried walk, to gaze upon them, with a feverish consciousness that there
at least stood something he had seen before. A frightful flash of
memory then shot across his brain — his mother dead — his darling
Edward dead — himself a houseless, friendless, starving wretch, who
soon would be caught and carried back to the prison-house he had
ran from only to learn that he had no friend on earth ! Such were the
thoughts which racked him, as he stood upon the edge of the rocky-
little precipice, and fixed his eyes upon the quiet water that flowed
some twenty feet beneath him. It seemed to present an image of
coolness and repose ; his burning lips longed to kiss the gentle ripple
on its surface — he drew nearer to the extremest verge.
" I should be safe there !" he murmured, looking downwards till his
sick head reeled. " God forgive me !" he added, raising his eyes to
heaven. " But if I drown, mother! I shall go to thee!" and as he
spoke the words, he sprang forward, and plunged into the stream !
The shock restored his wandering senses in a moment ; he felt that
he was perishing, though unconscious that it was by his own act ; and
forgetting how little reason he had to wish for life, struggled hard to
grasp a bush that protruded from the bank into the stream. But he
could not swim, and the efforts he made, though they served for a
minute or two to keep him afloat, only increased the distance between
/ ■''?//'
t
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 301
himself and the object he endeavoured to reach. His heavy shoes
filled with water, and dragged him downwards — his strength failed,
his arms ceased to move, and in another moment the water rippled
over his head.
But poor Michael's history was not finished yet. A heavy-looking
elderly man, who had as little as possible the air of one desirous of
seeking an adventure, was in the act of examining some sheep in a
field, the fence of which was not fifty yards from the rocky ledge from
whence the boy had sprung. Having completed his survey, and di-
rected two men who were with him to select a score or two from the
lot, the old man reposed himself upon a style in the fence above men-
tioned, and having chanced to turn his head from the sheep, towards
the spot where Michael stood, had watched for a minute or two the
boy's agitated movements and demeanour, but without the slightest
suspicion of the frightful catastrophe that was to ensue.
No sooner, however, did he hear the splash occasioned by the
plunge, than he sprang over the style with the activity of a younger
man, and calling to the others to follow him, made his way with little
loss of time, to a bit of pebbly ground on a level with the stream, and
at no great distance from the point at which Michael had sunk. But,
short as the time had been, the ripple had already disappeared from
the surface of the water, and no trace remained of the object of his
search. The two young men whom he had summoned to follow him,
though they had not seen the accident, had gathered from his words
that something terrible had occurred, and clambering down the rocky
cliff, were by his side in a moment.
1 ' It is too late, lads I" exclaimed the old man, wringing his hands
together. " I saw the poor distracted creature take the leap, but he
was sunk before I got to the bank, and I take it he will never rise
again. I shall never forgive myself for not going to him when I saw
him throwing his arms about in that wild way. I might have guessed
what was going to happen — and may Heaven forgive me for not pre-
venting it I"
" Tis a man who has thrown himself in V inquired one of the men.
" Not a man, but a fine young lad as ever you see. Poor fellow !
'Twas early days for him to have found sorrow enough to throw
himself out of life that way ! If I had ran to him, as I ought to have
done, and stopped the deed, who knows but we might have brought
him round to a better manner of thinking ?"
" 'Tis ten to one but he'll come to the top again yet, if he hasn't
done it already," said the man.
" But if he comes, he'll come dead, William !" replied the old
man.
" I don't know that," rejoined the young shepherd." " The stream
runs brisk ish round yon corner, and would carry him right away with
it ; but it's worth while having a look lower down. If he rises at all,
'twill be there."
And so saying, the young man set off at a swifter pace than his
master could follow him ; while the old man and the other shepherd-
302 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
lad continued for a minute or two to watch the place where he had
fallen.
" Halloo ! Halloo ! Halloo !" cried a voice at no great distance.
" That's William, by all that's good !" exclaimed the young shep-
herd, and without waiting for his companion's reply, he ran off at full
speed, the old man following with no lagging step, and at the distance
of a few yards, after turning the corner formed by another huge mass
of sandstone rock, they perceived William, breast deep in the water,
and grasping, at the utmost extent of his arm, a limb of the drowning
boy. Before the old Westmorland statesman (for such he was) could
overtake his young companions, the hero of our tale was lying high
and dry upon the bank, but whether life was quite extinct, or still
lingered in the cold, corse-like form before them, was a question
which, when the old man joined the group, the young ones were not
able to answer. Luckily for Michael, the old statesman had seen a
man saved from drowning some thirty years before, and he remembered
enough of the process he had then witnessed, to enable him to give
some very useful instructions on the present occasion. They managed
to make their patient discharge from his mouth some portion of the
superfluous draught he had swallowed, and after bestowing patient and
assiduous friction on his breast and limbs, they had the great satisfaction
of seeing the chest heave with returning respiration, and all other symp-
toms of revivification follow in their proper order, till the eyes of Mi-
chael were once more widely opened, and fixed with perplexity, and
something like terror, on the faces which were bending over him.
" Thank Heaven!" ejaculated the old man earnestly, " he's safe now,
at least from drowning, and I have not got that to answer for. But he
isn't in a trim to be left, my lads. He would have been as well in the
river, perhaps, as out of it, if we do no more for him.' ,
Then causing Michael to sit, and examining his features, with a
glance of very friendly curiosity, he said,
" You don't look like a bad boy, my poor fellow. What could
have set you upon doing such a desperate action ?"
The effort which the poor boy made to answer was ineffectual, and
he only shook his head.
" I suppose it's oversoon as yet, to expect any information from
him," resumed the old man, " so there's nothing to be done, as I see,
but just to carry him up between us, if he cannot walk, to the Nag's
Head, and have him laid upon my bed there, till hejs in a condition to
tell us something about himself. Can you feel your legs yet, my
boy?" he continued, endeavouring, by the help of his man William,
to make him stand up.
But Michael had no power to second their efforts ; the two lads,
threfore, raised him head and heels, and preceded by the gray-
haired farmer, bore him between them above a mile, to the humble
hostelry of the Nag's Head. The procession was too remarkable a
one to escape notice, and before it reached the shelter of the little inn a
miscellaneous crowd of men, women, and children had joined it.
Many of these had been familiar with the features of poor Michael in
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 303
days of yore, but not one of them recognised the widow Armstrong's
boy, in the long-limbed, pallid figure, that they now gazed upon.
Muster Thornton, the Westmorland yeoman and farmer, was too
substantial a customer to be refused any reasonable favour, and the
ragged, dripping Michael was not only permitted to lie down on
Muster Thornton's best of beds, but accommodated promptly with dry
linen, and duly comforted with more hot brandy, water, sugar, and
biscuits than he had any inclination to swallow. He took enough,
however, to remove the faintness of inanition ; and this, together with
dry linen, and a bed, sufficed, in spite of the heavy sorrows upon
which his mind had not yet dared to fix itself, to sooth him into a
long and healing sleep.
When he awoke from it, he was capable of answering all the
questions Mr. Thornton put to him, and this he did with a simplicity
of pathos that went straight to the good man's heart. That he had
been working in a distant cotton- factory, where he had been very
hardly treated, and having got away to see his mother and his brother,
had found them both dead, was a tale, that if it could not excuse the
desperate act which he had attempted, at least accounted for it, in a
manner that left as much to pity as to blame.
" Poor boy! poor boy 1" exclaimed the old man, with tears in his
eyes. " It was wrong and wicked, very wrong and wicked ! but you
must pray God to forgive you, my boy, and never think of any such
desperate doings more."
" I did not know what I was about, if I remember rightly," said
Michael. " My head seemed gone. I don't know how I got to the
river, but I am sure I did not go there on purpose."
" So much the better — I am glad to hear it — and it's no great won-
der, sure enough, if you did lose your head, coming to such a home
as that. But what are you to do next, my poor fellow ? I suppose
there is no other home for you, is there ?"
" I have no home, nor a single friend in the whole world,'' replied
Michael.
" And the only work you have ever been used to, I suppose, is fol-
lowing the wheels in the factories ?" said the farmer.
" Except once for three months and a bit that I was kept to cleaning
the outhouses and yard, and wheeling away garden-rubbish and such
like," replied Michael.
" Well, but that's better than nothing, boy. At any rate, you know
how to hold a spade, which is a long deal better than having never
used your fingers, except for tying bits of thread. D'ye think you
should be willing to work for me, my boy, and tend my farm-yard
stock, and do a turn of work in the fields when it was wanted V
" I should be willing, sir," replied Michael, while a flush passed
over his pale face, " I should be willing and most thankful to work for
you."
" That's well," said the old man cheerily, " and as to terms, I don't
expect we shall find much difficulty ; you will come to me my poor
fellow, much in the same condition as you first come into the world,
304 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
therefore all that you want, I must find, which will be about as much
as I can afford to give, I take it, just at first, till you, and I too, find
out what you're good for. Will you agree to it, my lad, and give me
your time and best endeavours for clothes, food, lodging, and good
will w
" It will be a blessed bargain for me, sir," said Michael, " if you
will add to all Jyour goodness the excusing my ignorance. But if
will was all that was wanting to make a good servant, you should not
lose by me."
" And will is all that is wanting, boy. You are no fool, I take it,
by your looks ; and if you will mind what is said, and do your best, I
shall ask no more. What is your name, my good fellow V
" Michael — Michael Armstrong, sir."
"Well, then, Michael Armstrong, I am your master, and you are
my man: And now you must eat, and then you must go to sleep
again, I think, till I have got some decent clothes for you. Those you
wore yesterday have had a good washing to be sure. Nevertheless, I
don't justly like the looks of them."
*****
Within six months from this time, Michael Armstrong, promoted to
a place of trust, might have been seen sitting upon the hill-side in one
of the most romantic spots in Westmorland, a shepherd's maud
wrapped round his person, a sheep-dog at his feet, and his master's
flocks nibbling the short grass around him on all sides. Many were
the solitary hours he thus passed, and very rich was the harvest they
brought him. Had the boy remained a year or two longer in the state
that
/'Blocks out the forms of nature, preconsumes
The reason, famishes the heart, shuts up
The infant being in itself, and makes
Its very spring a season of decay ;"*
had Michael remained a year or two longer at the Deep Valley fac-
tory, in the state thus admirably and accurately described, it would
have been too late for any contemplation of God's works to have
roused his withered spirit to worship and to hope. But as it was, his
mind seemed to awaken day by day from the long and heavy sleep in
which it had been plunged. With an intellect naturally vigorous, and
covetous of acquirement, and having had his first infant stretch of
thought happily and indelibly directed, though with primeval simpli-
city, to one God and father of all, his transition from a condition in
which
" Scarcely could you fancy that a gleam
Could break from out those languid eyes,"*
to one
" Sublime from present purity and joy,"*
was rapid and delightful. His heavy losses were not forgotten ; but
while he meditated beneath the bright arch of heaven on the mother
and the brother he had so fondly loved, there were so many sublime
* Wordsworth.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 305
and hope-inspiring thoughts mixed with his sorrow, that it could hardly
have been called painful.
The worthy «* statesman" to whose service he had vowed himself,
though he did not, perhaps, follow Michael through all the improving
processes which his mountain occupation led to, nor very clearly com-
prehend the elevating effect of the " skyey influences" under which he
lived, was no way slow in perceiving that the Samaritan feeling he had
so opportunely displayed in the township of Ashleigh, had bound to
his service one of the most trustworthy, active, and intelligent lads he
had ever met with. There is always, moreover, in the human heart a
propensity to cherish whatever we have preserved ; and this feeling,
joined to his more worldly-minded approbation of Michael's good gifts,
rendered Muster Thornton exceedingly fond of the boy, and well-in-
clined at all times to grant him every reasonable indulgence. But
Michael rarely taxed his kindness as far as it was ready to go. Once
he had asked, and obtained leave to mount to the top of Helvellyn,
and once to make a sabbath-day's journey over the mountain-tops to
Ulswater ; these w T ere the only occasions on which he had expressed
any wish to wander beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the
farmer's sheep-walks, and, in truth, this immediate [neighbourhood
included so many mountain torrents, glassy lakes, stupendous crags,
and sylvan solitudes, that there was little need to go beyond it, in
order to gratify a passion for the picturesque. But when Michael had
attained the age of eighteen years, a longing, and somewhat restless
desire seized him to revisit the place of his birth, to seek for the
graves of his mother and Edward, to learn tidings of the kind-hearted
Martha, to discover, if possible, whether his own escape from the
Deep Valley had been communicated to Sir Matthew, and to ascertain
whether he still stood in any danger of being reclaimed as an appren-
tice, in case of its being discovered that he was at liberty. As to any
danger of being personally recognised at Ashleigh, he feared it not;
conscious that from his remarkably tall stature and florid health, he
was too unlike the factory-child of former days, to run any risk of
being known.
It was, however, some months after this wish first suggested itself, be-
fore he took courage to name it to his indulgent master. When at
length, however, he did so, the good man not only gave his free con-
sent, but declared himself well pleased that such a project had entered
his favourite's head.
" It will do thee a power of good, Mike," said he. " The only
fault I have to find with thee is, that thee beest too steady for a lad of
thy years, and that looks as if, with all our care and coaxing, we
had not yet been able to make thee forget thy sorrowful childhood.
Set off, in God's name, my boy ; stay as long as thou wilt, but only
promise to come back at last, for I think it would be heart-aching
work to part with thee."
Michael gratefully promised a speedy return, and dressed in his best
attire, he set forth upon his much wished-for pilgrimage to his early
home. " It was the pride, the spring tide of the year," every leaf was
x
306 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
opened, yet every leaf retained the new-born freshness of its lovely
green. The birds saluted him from every bush ; the herds lowed
from amidst their dewy banquet, in a note that spoke their measureless
content; and every object on which his bright young eye fixed itself,
seemed to echo the abounding gladness of his own heart. How elastic
was the step with which he passed along ! How proudly and thank-
fully did he feel conscious of his own high place amidst this won-
drous creation ! and how perfectly was he convinced, despite all he had
read during his lone hours on the mountain-side, of the splendour of
the cities of the earth, that nothing on its whole surface could exceed
in grace and glory the majesty of the gorgeous sun, as he rose triumph-
antly from out his bed of gold ! Had every thought of the boy's heart
been chronicled, a very poetical sort of hymn would have been the re-
sult; but as it was, all the glowing thankfulness, the heavenward
rapture, and the joy supreme, was but for himself alone — yet was it
not thrown away, for Michael enjoyed his own existence during these
early hours with an intensity that made him feel all his former sufferings
mostbenignantly overpaid by his present happiness. Yet in the midst of
this, tears more than once started to his eyes, as he thought of his
mother, and the brother he had so entirely loved. His very soul longed
to have Edward by his side, as various fancies chased each other
through his fertile brain ; and the image of little Fanny, too, with her
soft reasoning eyes, as she used to look at him when preaching patience
at the Deep Valley Mill, as he fondly laboured to recall it, made him
sigh in the midst of his pleasure and his freedom, to think how sad it
was that all he had ever loved should have passed away from his eyes
for ever.
But amidst the million proofs of tender commiseration for the suffer-
ings, incident of necessity, to our place in creation (which those who
run may read, if they are not very great dunces indeed), there is,
perhaps, none more remarkable than the gradual softening of the
agony which all who survive what they love, are doomed to feel. The
state which follows, though as sad as the darkness of the lonely night,
made visible by the pale backward glances of the parting moon, has
the same soothing stillness too. Passion is over, anxiety at rest,
and we feel more than consoled, we feel joyful, as we remember that
we too shall pass away, and follow them.
The journey to Ashleigh cost Michael three days' smart walking, but
his pockets were no longer in the condition they had been at the time
of his never-to-be-forgotten escape from the Deep Valley. He had
proved himself a good and faithful servant, and the worthy yeoman
paid him accordingly, so that he had wherewithal to recruit his spirits
and his strength as he jogged along, and reached the hospitable Nag's
Head in his native town on the third evening, rather the better than the
worse for his pleasant toil.
His first walk on the following morning was to Ashleigh churchyard ;
but here he was obliged to content himself by knowing that the
dear relics of those he . wished to honour were near him ; for, of
course, the only indication by which he could guess whereabouts these
I
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 307
precious relics lay, was to be found in the want of all memorial. On
the sunny side of Ashleigh churchyard, a number of handsome tomb-
stones may be seen ; many a massive monument is there, protected by
its strong and stately rail; and thereon maybe read, by those who
list, the important fact that some one who bore a Christian appellation^,
lies below. To the north, where the grass grows strongest, though
the sun never comes to cheer it, are a multitude of little nameless, un-
claimed hillocks, closely wedged together, and rarely showing even a
withy-band across the swelling sod, to testify that some one has cared
for what lay hidden under it. To this green republic Michael turned
himself, and knew full surely that it was there his mother lay. Another,
though even as humble as himself, might, under similar feelings, have
addressed inquiries to the parish-sexton, and endeavoured to set his
memory to work as to the exact spot where he had buried her — but
this Michael dared not do ; for it would be at once losing the advantage
of his incognito, and laying himself very needlessly open to the dan-
ger of being reclaimed by his old enemy, Sir Matthew, as a bound ap-
prentice, who had run away. So he contented himself with walking*
carefully, and with reverential tread, through and amongst the many
grassy mounds, permitting his tears to flow freely as he thought of
Teddy, and the dear gentle mother who had so equally loved them
both ; and then turned slowly away, following a path that brought him
at the distance of a mile or so to Brookford factory.
The sensation which he felt when the great many-eyed monster first
met his sight, was one of unmixed pleasure. He literally hugged
himself, and blessed the freedom of his limbs, the firm and healthy
action of his pulse, and the delicious consciousness that he was no
man's slave.
For many minutes he stood still to enjoy this ; and as his ^es pe-
rused line after line of the dusky smoke-stained windows, and recalled
the early sufferings he had endured within them, his very heart swelled
with gratitude for the change, and he blessed God aloud. But as he
approached nearer, and perceived the dim shadowy figures slowly
moving here and there, and thought upon the condition of each of
them, he almost repented of his selfish joy, and blamed the ecstasy
that for a while had made him so utterly forget that thousands were
imprisoned still, though he was free.
On, and on, he walked with his eyes immovably fixed upon the
hideous fabric till, sooner than he expected it, he stood before the
gates. He had conceived no previous plan by which to enter it, and
knew that without some specific business, real or feigned, it would be im-
possible ; but while he stood weighing the danger of possible discovery
against his very strong inclination to see what alteration time had made
in the troop within — whether he should recognise any among them — and
whether his old tyrant, Parsons, was still their chief, — the gates
opened, and one of the engine-men, a grizzly fellow, whom he well re-
membered when his sable hair was somewhat less silvered, came
forth.
He gave Michael a look, that very plainly said, " What do you want V
x 2
308 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
and in truth, his neat appearance, unstained skin, and free unshrink-
ing eye, very naturally suggested the idea that he could have no busi-
ness there.
" Is Mr. Parsons within?" said Michael boldly, and daring the in-
quiry as much because he knew not what to say, as from any deliberate
resolution to do so.
" Yes,' 7 replied the man ; " he is about the place somewhere, I seed
him not more than ten minutes ago."
Michael nodded his head, and walked through the gate into the
court, across which he had passed in trembling a thousand times.
Nor was he now quite free from a slight feeling of alarm at the idea of
meeting the sharp eyes of his former terrible taskmaster, and felt
much inclined to blame himself for the curious temerity which had
brought him so nearly within his gripe. But it was too late to retreat^
for at the distance of a dozen yards he saw Parsons before him, coming
forth from the building into the court. On seeing the stranger he im-
mediately approached him ; Michael touched his hat.
" What may your business here be, young man?" said Parsons eye-
ing him from top to toe.
H I called in, sir, to inquire whether you happened to want a spin-
ner, and what the wages may be," said Michael.
" Is it for yourself ?" demanded Parsons, knitting his brows, and
looking at him with a sort of incredulous sneer.
" Why, no sir, it is for a kinsman who happens to be out of em-
ploy," replied Michael, colouring from the unusual consciousness of
deceit, and from the same cause casting his eyes upon the ground,
thereby displaying the remarkable length of his black eyelashes, and
giving to his whole countenance a look much more resembling that of
former days, than he had worn when he first entered.
Parsons looked at him with a sort of vague idea^that he had seen
him before.
" Where do you come from ?" said he.
" From Westmorland, sir. I have been living in service there for
these four years past."
" And pray what may your name be ?"
" Robert Thornton, sir," replied Michael, blushing again, as he
thus unceremoniously borrowed the appellation of his worthy master.
" Have you ever worked in a factory yourself?"
" Yes, sir, I have, when I was a boy," said Michael, from mere
want of skill and hardihood in the art of lying.
" And you think you have bettered yourself, I suppose, with your
fine buff waistcoat, and the rest of it. No we don't want no spinners
here."
Michael by no means unwillingly obeyed this dismissal, and walked
away, more than half ashamed of his achievement.
",If I didn't know that Michael Armstrong was dead, I should swear
that there chap was him," said a girl somewhat older than our
imprudent masquerader, and who had been watching him very earn-
estly during the foregoing conversation. The observation was not
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 309
addressed to the overlooker, but to another girl, who had brought the
speaker her dinner to prevent her leaving some particular work on
which she was employed.
" What's that you say, Sykes?" said Parsons, turning quickly to-
wards her.
" I was saying, sir, as that boy was unaccountable like Michael
Armstrong, as used to live in mother's back-kitchen. He wasn't
above a year or two younger than me, and I knowed him as well as I
did my own brothers."
" Stuff and nonsense, girl ! All the world knows that young rascal
died years ago ; and fuss enough there was made about it by that
mad miss at Milford, who I suppose, found out that she was their
cousin, or something of the sort, for she took it so to heart, that she
sold her house and lands, and ran away with another of 'em to some
foreign country, for fear he should die too. Sure you must mind all
that queer story ?"
" Yes, sir," replied the girl ; " I remember it right well, and that's
the reason why I says that I know it can't be him."
" Yet upon my soul, now you mention it, he was the very image of
him. I fancied as I looked at him that sure-ly I had seen him some-
where before. But it can't be — a dead dog is dead, all the world
over."
" Yes sure, sir," responded Kitty Sykes, who being what is called a
very sightly girl, was not unfrequently indulged with a little conde-
scending notice from Mr. Parsons. " But 'twas his queer curly black
hair, and his particular-looking eyes as put it into my head."
" And if you go on talking of it, Sykes, in that way, you will be
putting it into my head too. And after all, there is nothing so very
impossible in it. Nobody in these parts could really know much
about it, you see, and there's no reason, as I can tell, why the scamp
might not have run away from the Deep — that is, the stocking-
weaver's manufactory as he was sent 'printice to, and they as ought to
have stopped him, might have given out that he was dead," replied
the overlooker.
"Then if it was possible," resumed Kitty Sykes, " I wouldn't mind
taking my bodily oath that that there young fellow was Michael Arm-
strong, and nobody else."
" Egad, I wish I hadn't let him go !" cried Parsons, running to
the gates. " He was 'printiced till twenty-one, and if he has run away,
he's liable to be taken up and put in prison, by the first as catches
him."
Kitty Sykes took the liberty of running to the gates also ; but to say
the truth, she had no wish at all that Mr. Parsons should catch him
up, and put him into prison. The girl, though she had prudence
enough not to communicate the opinion to her friend Mr. Parsons,
thought the stranger by far the handsomest young fellow she had
ever seen, and secretly determined, if she could catch sight of him
again, that she would give him a hint to keep clear of his old acquaint-
ance.
310 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" There he goes," cried Parsons, watching Michael, as with upright
gait, and rapid strides, he was pursuing his way by the well-remem-
bered path, which led from the factory to Dowling Lodge. " There
he goes ! He don't look like one of the mill-people any way — and
yet the fellow said that he had worked in a factory. Didn't you hear
him, Kitty ?"
" Yes, sir," replied the girl, " and it was just then as I felt so un-
accountable sure that, unless it was out and out impossible, it must be
Michael Armstrong as was speaking. I never did see such eyes a
Michael's, nor such hair neither."
" And there he goes, I'll bet a sovereign," rejoined the overlooker, " to
take a look at his old quarters at the Lodge. Kitty, I'll give you a
glass of gin and a shilling, if you'll run after him — you can run like a
hare, I know— run and bring him back, Kitty, there's a darling, and
say as I have got some good news to tell him."
Off started the girl with right good-will, having her own reasons for
wishing to do the errand, as well as a very sufficient inclination to gain
the promised reward.
Mr. Parsons by no means over-rated her running powers; and had
she been less fleet, she would have failed in her object, for Michael
walked briskly, and without any inclination to remain longer in the
vicinity of the mill, though by no means conscious that he had been
recognised.
He had just turned the corner of a hedge when the girl overtook
him, so that their colloquy did not take place within sight of the over-
looker.
Michael heard the fair Kitty's approach, and turned to see who it
was that thus came galloping and panting after him.
" Do you want me, young woman?" said he, civilly stopping for
her.
" Well then, you are no changeling !" replied the girl, laying
her hand on his arm; "you were always out-and-out, the civilest
boy in the mill." ,
A very bright suffusion dyed the clear brown of Michael's cheek as
he heard this.
" I do not know what you mean"!" he replied.
"Come, come, Michael Armstrong," rejoined Kitty, "you needn't
he afraid of me. Don't you remember Kitty Sykes, as have gone to
and from the mill with you and Teddy, a hundred and a hundred
times?"
"Is it indeed Kitty Sykes, grown into such a handsome young
woman ?" said Michael, holding out his hand to her, and feeling quite
incapable of preserving his incognito, in the presence of so old an ac-
quaintance. "And to think of your knowing me, Kitty! But you
must not betray me, my dear girl. If I was found out for Michael
Armstrong, I might get into a scrape."
" And that's true, and no lie," answered the faithless ambassadress,
" for I am sent after you by that old beast Parsons, to tell you to come
back, because he had good news for you. But his news would just
%
„ //ssis ^z&ay speedy //<"y/ } s!fc{?, ^# ^6ce v&u /
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 311
be to give you notice to march into prison for having run away ; and
I agreed to carry his message for him. He thinks that I delight in
him, the old monster ! but I'd rather walk a mile to do a kindness to
you Michael, than stir an inch, to please him."
" God bless you, my dear girl ! 1 hope you have done me a great
service now ; for I think I could show him leg bail, that he would find
it difficult to refuse, Kitty. So now good by, old friend ; I am sorry
to part so soon, but it won't do to stay here to be caught, will it?"
" No, truly, Mike ! I'd be loath to see any friend of mine at his
mercy, or at that of his master either. But you won't go clear away
out of the country without seeing me again, will you ? You needn't
be feared of him, 'twill be easy enough to put him off the scent. I'll
back, and tell that we was both of us altogether deceived, and that you
bean't no more Michael Armstrong than he be."
" I don't think I ought to stay in Ashleigh now, Kitty ; there's
others may know me as well as you and he, and 'twould be a terrible
change, I can tell you, my dear girl, to come down from the hills where
I am tending a good master's sheep, and often feel so high and so
happy, that I think I am halfway to heaven — it would be a terrible
change, Kitty, to come from that, into the Deep Valley Mill again,
which is as much worse than our old factory here, as hanging is worse
than whipping !"
" Lord have mercy upon 'em, then !" ejaculated the poor girl.
" But I say, Michael, you needn't run no risk at all, if I go back and
say as it isn't you, and then you might meet me after nightfall, in the
town."
" It will not be very long, Kitty, before I am one-and-twenty, and
a free man, and it's then, please Heaven, that I'll come back again, and
pay the old place a visit. You have been kind enough to remember
me so long, that I don't think you'll have forgotten me by that time,
and it shall go hard with me but I'll bring you a token from some of
our north-country fairs." So saying, he gave the damsel a kiss, and
she wrung his hand without making any further effort to detain him.
" God bless you !" said the retreating Michael, over his shoulder.
" And God bless you, too, you nice boy ! muttered poor Kitty.
" I wouldn't ask no better luck, than just to follow you, and keep sheep
too."
Either from wishing to look after him as ong as he was in sight, or
for the purpose of giving him law, in case Mr. Parsons should de-
termine on pursuit, Kitty Sykes remained stationary on the spot
where Michael left her, till, abandoning his hardy project of a visit to
Dowling Lodge, he had stretched far away over the fields towards the
road he was to pursue northwards to his peaceful home ; and then she-
walked leisurely back to the factory, where, after a sharp reproof fo.
staying so long, and a pert reply to it, she informed the overlooker
that they had both been wrong, but that the young lad said he might
be found if he was wanted, at the sign of the Magpie, that was about a
mile on the road towards London.
Warned by this unexpected recognition, Michael determined to run
312 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
no more risks among his townfolks ; but not being disposed to lose
the little bundle he had deposited at the Nag's Head, he ensconced
himself within the shelter of a small public-house, on the road-side,
resolved to wait there till the evening set in, and then to venture back
to his last night's lodging, pay his bill, reclaim his bundle, and set forth
upon a night-march, which he hoped would take him beyond all danger
of Mr. Parsons, before the following morning.
Having secured his welcome by the usual ceremony of ordering a
meal, Michael looked about him for some means of occupation during
the hours which he had doomed himself to pass there, and in despair of
finding any better literary amusement, seized upon a heap of hand-
bills, of a vast variety of external forms, but having, as he found upon
examination, one and all the same object, namely, the calling together
a general meeting of the whole county of York (then undivided), for
the purpose of signing a petition to parliament for a law, limiting the
hours of labour in factories to ten hours a day. Michael Armstrong
was no longer a factory operative ; free as the air he breathed upon his
beloved mountain-tops, he no longer trembled at the omnipotent frown
of an overlooker, nor sickened as he watched the rising sun that was to
set again long hours before his stifling labour ceased. All this was
over and ended with him for ever. Yet did his heart throb, and his
eye kindle as he perused page after page of the arousing call which
summoned tens of thousands, nay hundreds of thousands to use the
right their country vested in them, of imploring mercy and justice from
the august tripartite power that ruled the land.
Very powerful was the male and simple eloquence with which many
of these unpretending compositions appealed to the paternal feelings
of those they addressed ; and such terribly true representations were
found among them of the well-remembered agonies of his boyhood, that
Michael was fain to put his spread hand before his face to conceal the
emotions they produced.
He had sat in this situation for some minutes, revolving both his
former sufferings, and the blessedness of his present release from them,
when a man, who had been quietly sitting writing at a distant window,
but had nevertheless found leisure to watch Michael's countenance as
he proceeded with his examination of the handbills, rose from his place,
and gently approaching him said, in deep, yet very gentle voice, " You
seem moved by the perusal of these papers, my good friend. Is it the
first time you have met with them?"
" Yes, indeed, sir, it is," replied Michael, starting from his revery.
" Then I presume you are a stranger in this part of the country ?"
" Why, yes, sir ; the master I serve is a Westmorland statesman,
and I am only come this way upon a holiday trip."
" Then maybe you don't care enough for the poor factory opera-
tives to join their meeting, and put your name to their petition?"
" If caring for them could do them any good, master," replied
Michael, warmly, " they would be in no want of help, as long as I was
near them. But I don't think the name of a poor servant-boy like me,
could do them either honour or service."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 313
u Then what sort of names, my good lad, do you suppose will sup-
port this petition. Do you think the great mill-owners will sign it?
— Do you think such men as Sir Matthew Dowling for instance, whom
you may have heard spoken of, down at Ashleigh, maybe, do you think
it will be such as he, whose first object in life is to get as many hours
of labour out of the little creatures that work for him, as stripes can
make them give, do you think it will be such as he, that will sign the
ten hours bill ?"
" Not if that bill is either to hurt himself, or better the children, I
should think/' said Michael.
" True enough," replied his new acquaintance, " and not only is
that true, but he and the like of him will do all that mortal men can,
to prevent all others from signing it. But Heaven forbid they should
succeed, young man — for if they do, the best hope of many thousand
suffering, and most helpless human beings, will fall to the ground !"
" Then, indeed, may Heaven forbid that they should have their will !"
returned Michael, fervently. " When is this meeting to take place V
he added, turning his eyes again to the papers he still held in his hand.
H But three days hence ! — truly I should like to witness it !"
" Is there any reason against your doing it ?" demanded the stran-
ger. " Will your services be wanted by your master before that
time?"
" He won't expect me, till two or three days after it," replied
Michael ; *' I have done all I wanted — at least I have stayed as long
as I wished at Ashleigh, and I don't see any great harm there would be
in witnessing; the meeting;."
DO
" Do see it, my good lad !" said the stranger ; " I predict that it
will offer a spectacle such as never was witnessed before, and most
Jikely never will, or can be seen, again. A multitude, probably amount-
ing to above a hundred thousand overworked operatives, will meet in
peace and good order, to petition for legal relief from the oppression of
a system which has brought them to a lower state of degradation and
misery than any to which human beings have ever been brought be-
fore. Were those in whom these poor people have confidence, less
deeply anxious to preserve the public peace than they are, a different
mode of redress might be sought for, But as it is, an honest man
may venture to advise such a respectable young fellow as you seem to be,
to stretch your good master's leave a little, in order to be present at
this great spectacle."
A good deal more conversation followed on the same theme, and
ere Michael had ceased to listen to his companion, he felt convinced
that duty as well as inclination would lead him to do all that a loyal
subject and peaceable citizen could, in aid of the suffering class from
whose ranks he had so miraculously escaped. In a word, Michael
Armstrong determined to attend the great Yorkshire meeting, and hold
up his hand for the ten hours bill.
The extraordinary circumstances attending that enormous meeting;
the unaccountable disappointments which at every halting-place at-
tended all the precautionary efforts of the committee to procure bread
314 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
for the multitude, while beer was every where found ready, and in the
greatest abundance ; the terror felt by those most interested, lest heat,
fatigue, exhaustion, and beer, together, might lead to some disturbance
of the peace ; and the triumphant influence of reason and kindness
joined, in inducing the hungry multitude to separate peaceably, are
already matters of history, and the narrative must therefore adhere to
the fortunes of its hero, without dwelling upon nobler themes.
In returning to Ashleigh for his bundle, Michael took good care to
be as little seen as possible ; he was in fact more than ever anxious to
avoid detection, as the more he meditated on his recollections of Sir
Matthew Dowling and Parsons, the more did he feel convinced that
should he fall into their power before the age of twenty-one, matters
would go very hard with him.
At the great assembling of the people at York, he feared not that he
should encounter any enemy ; the only human beings whom he could
so designate being likely to show themselves at the most distant part of
the kingdom, rather than before the face of the multitude to be ex-
pected there. No feelings of distrust or alarm, therefore, arose to
check the pleasurable excitement which this expedition was calculated
to inspire ; and Michael, with his stout staff over his shoulder, and the
cotton handkerchief, containing a change of linen, suspended from it,
set out with a light heart and active step upon a walk in which he
soon found himself joined by many thousand companions.
The assurance given him by his unknown acquaintance, that he
should see a wonderful and spirit-stirring spectacle, was fully verified.
The very sight of the road along which he travelled, which looked like
a dark and mighty current moving irresistibly along, while tributary
streams flowed into it on all sides, so thick and serried was the mass
that moved along it, was of itself well worth the toil it cost him, to
behold its peaceful tumult. From time to time Michael indulged in
a little questioning of the various individuals beside whom he found
himself ; but for the most part the men were too intent upon the ob-
ject of their expedition, to converse idly respecting it — and by degrees
our hero grew as silent as the rest, and trudged on without any other
communion than that of his own thoughts.
It was at about twenty miles distance from York, when the multi-
tude were on their return, that a circumstance occurred, which, being
of considerable importance to Michael, must be detailed somewhat at
length. He had entered an inn by the road-side, which, being one of
the largest post-houses on the north road, had an air of pretension and
costliness about it, that caused the great majority of the host to walk
on, without venturing to approach precincts so dangerous.
But Michael was much exhausted, and having already discovered,
•when passing before the humbler houses of public entertainment, that
no rest could be hoped from entering them, every inch of space being
occupied, he deemed it wisest to disburse a splendid shilling, rather
than fag on till he had no strength to go further.
In pursuance of this reasoning, he entered the kitchen of the Royal
Oak, and called for bread, cheese, and a pint of beer. Though there
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 315
were not many of his fellow-travellers either rich or extravagant enough
to share these splendid quarters with him, there were, nevertheless,
three or four men taking refreshment in the apartment. One of these,
an elderly respectable-looking personage, who had, as it seemed, exclu-
sive possession of a snug little round-table in a corner, made a sign to
Michael to share it with him. This was gratefully accepted, the loaf
and cheese were already there, and the foaming tankard quickly fol-
lowed.
" I marked you at the meeting," said his sociable companion. " It
did my heart good to see a sprinkling here and there of them that
come out of pure love and kindness to their poor fellow-creatures, hav-
ing nothing themselves to gain. 'Tis a pity and a sin too, that so
many Englishmen stand idly by, when such a business as this is afoot,
just as if they had nothing to do with it. But they are one and all
mistaken, and that they may chance to find out, too, one of these
days."
" You give me credit for more than I deserve, perhaps," replied
Michael ; " that is, if you think my heart was enough with the poor
factory-folks to make me take a long roundabout to sign with them,
without having had some knowledge of their sufferings myself. You
are right in thinking that I am not one of them now ; but I have been,
and Heaven forbid I should ever forget it ! for the keeping that time
mind, is quite enough to make every thing that comes to me now seem
light and easy."
" You have worked in a factory V said the other in an accent of
surprise; "I should never have guessed as much — but you are very
right to be thankful for the present, instead of ashamed for the past.
But I don't think," he added, eyeing the fine person of Michael from
head to foot, " I don't think I ever saw a lad who showed so little
signs of having suffered in health and limb from it. Some lucky ac-
cident must have taken you away early?"
" I have seen many a boy and girl crippled for life," replied Michael,
" before they were as old as I was when I ran away."
" My good fellow," whispered his companion, " don't you use them
words again. You are safe with me, I promise you ; but if you ran
from indentures, you won't do wisely to tell of it." '
" You must blame your own kind and friendly looks," said Michael,
smiling ; " I know well enough that what you say is true, and it isn't
a thing I should have told to many. But excepting just now that I
took a fancy to come back, and take a look about the old place where
I was born, I have got so clear and clean away from mills and mill-
owners, that I have grown rather bolder, maybe, than I j ought to be.
My business now, thank Heaven ! is sheep-tending upon the beautiful
free hills of "Westmorland."
. " You may well be thankful for such a change," replied his friendly
companion. " It must have been some unaccountable good luck ; for
in general, a runaway factory 'prentice is hunted down and caught long
before he has got among the good hill-folks."
" It was, indeed, a blessed chance for me !" said Michael, with deep
316
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
feeling. " I fell into the hands of the best man and the best master
that ever a wretched runaway hit upon."
i( I almost wonder at you then venturing to come within sight of
your own place again. You can't be one-and-twenty yet by your
looks, and you would not over-well like to work tut your time in a
factory, I should think," said the other.
" I don't think I should," replied Michael, laughing ; " and I have
run some risk, I promise you , already, of the very thing you talk of, since
I left my master's house. Nothing would content my foolish fancy for
calling back old times, but going to look at the very factory where I
first worked, and talking to the identical tyrant who tortured me
there."
" But he did not know you, I hope ?" said the old man.
" I can hardly say that he did not," replied Michael ; *' for some no-
tion or other came into his head, and after I left him he sent for me
to come back again. It was, however, by a friendly messenger who
knew well enough who I was, and gave me pretty plainly to understand
which way I had better walk — and that was good luck again. But I
was sorry, too, to have to turn away from the old place without learn-
ing any news of my former acquaintance. I found the same over-
looker at Sir Matthew Dowling's mill, and that was all I could find
out."
" Sir Matthew Dowling's mill at Ashleigh ? that's my country,
too. My wife keeps a school at Milford," replied the man, " and we
have heard enough of Sir Matthew."
" Can you tell me any thing about his daughter Martha ?" de-
manded Michael, with the appearance of being greatly interested in
the inquiry. " She was very kind to me, and I loved her next best,
I think, to my own dear mother and brother. Do you happen to
know any thing about her?"
" Not just at present," replied the man; "though they do say,
that all the family are likely to have a downfal, owing to Sir Mat-
thew's getting into a scrape about bad bills, or something or other,
t'other side of the water. But I do well remember something particular
about Miss Martha that you talk of, a matter of seven years ago ; and
if she was good to you, it was more than she was to every body, for it
was all along of a cruel piece of treachery of hers, that I lost the best
mistress that ever man had. I dare say, if you come from Ashleigh,
you must know the name of Miss Brotherton, though it's long since
she left Milford. I was her coachman, and if it had not been for
JVIiss Martha Dowling, I believe I might have been so still."
" I was but just turned ten years old, at the time I knew Miss
Martha," returned Michael ; " but I shouldn't have thought she could
be treacherous to any body."
" She was though, for all our people knew the whole story from
first to last, and a queer story it was too, when one thinks of the end
of it; which was neither more nor less than sending our dear young
lady away out of the country."
" I never happened to know anything about the lady^who owned the
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 317
park," replied Michael ; " except that she was one of the fine folks as
I have seen at Dowling Lodge, but I should like to hear the story, be-
cause of Miss Martha."
" Why the short and the long of it was, that there was a poor widow
called Armstrong* — "
Michael started so violently, that his companion stopped.
" Did you happen to know her, my lad V he added, after a pause.
" Yes, sir, I remember her very well — but please to go on."
" Well then, this widow Armstrong had two sons, and one of them
was had up to the great house, Dowling Lodge, I mean, for some non-
sensical reason or other; and Sir Matthew pretended to make the
greatest fuss in the world about him, and the whole country was talk-
ing about it. But for some offence of the poor boy's, I never rightly
heard what, the old sinner determined upon sending him 'prentice to
the most infernal place, by all account, that the earth has got to be
ashamed of. And how do you think the poor widow was coaxed
over to sign the indentures ? Why by your friend, Miss Martha, and
no one else, and that I know upon the best authority. Well, 'tis a long
story, the ins and outs of it, and I can't say that I ever rightly understood
the whole, but this I know to be fact : that our young mistress took
the whole thing so much to heart, that she actually set out to look after
the boy ; but when she got to the murderous place the poor little fellow
was dead ! And what did she do then, dear, tender-hearted lady ! but
bring back a pretty little girl instead of him, because, as we all guessed,
she was determined to save somebody."
The emotion of Michael Armstrong on hearing this, was so entirely
beyond his power to conquer, that he lost all capability of utterance,
and instead of asking the name of the little girl — an inquiry which he
in vain strove to make — he sat pale and gasping, with his eyes fixed
on the speaker, and every limb trembling.
" The Lord have mercy on us ! what is the matter with you, my
good fellow V said Miss Brotherton's ci-devant coachman. " You
look cruel bad ! Is it my tale as turns you so ? or is it that you have
walked too much and too fast V
" No, no, no ! Pray go on !" murmured Michael, making a strong
effort to articulate.
" 'Tis the story, then ? and you knowed the poor Armstrongs, be-
yond all doubt !" said the kind-hearted coachman. " Well then, you
shall hear the end of it. When my mistress brought back the news of
the little fellow's death, his poor mother, who was but a sickly, cripply
sort of body, just broke her heart and died; whereupon Miss Brother-
ton took home the other boy, put him to school to my wife, and then
took to teaching him herself, and treated him for all the world as if he
had been her own brother; and then she began to fancy that he
wanted a doctor — "
" And then," groaned Michael, suddenly interrupting him, — " and
then he died !"
"You don't say so?" said the coachman, in an accent of regret.
"Did he indeed, poor boy ? Well now, I'm sorry for that; for it was a
pleasure to see him growing taller and stouter every day, almost, as
318 LIFE AND ADVENTURES
one may say. And when was it he died ? It's curious that we should
never have heard of it."
" Heard of it?" said Michael, while a sort of wild uncertainty took
possession of his mind, that gave him the feeling of one whose reason
threatened to leave him. " Heard it? Why did you want to hear it?
Could you not see it, and know it, if he was living in the same house
with you V
" For certain I could, if he had died while Miss Brotherton remained
at the park ; but that he did not, for I drove him off the first stage
myself, alive and well, and looking as beautiful as he always did, poor
lad, for he was to be sure the handsomest- faced boy, that ever I looked
upon. But what might have happened to him afterwards, is of course
more than I can say ; for when the place was sold, and all of us paid
off, all we heard was, that our dear young lady was set off to travel in
foreign countries, and had left pensions to every one of her servants
according to their length of service. So we know nothing since."
" Is there no one can tell me where she is gone, and in what land
my brother died?" said Michael, violently agitated.
" Your brother ?" said his companion. " Who do you mean by
your brother, my lad ?"
" Teddy ! — my brother Edward ! — I am Michael Armstrong !" was
the convulsive reply.
" God bless my heart and soul ! And you be the boy as Miss Bro-
therton went to look after? And she got into the wrong box, then,
about your being dead? Was there ever any thing like that? But
who was it, my boy, that told you as your brother was dead ?"
" A woman in Ashleigh — one living in the house where my mother
died. She told me that my mother was dead, and my brother too."
" Did she know who she was speaking to ? Did she know you was
Michael Armstrong?" said the old coachman with quickness.
" No, she knew me not," replied Michael ; " but she knew that the
widow Armstrong and her boy were dead/'
" Then I'll be hanged if I believe as your brother is dead," replied
the other eagerly. " When she said the widow's boy, she meant you,
I'll lay my life on it; and there is nobody in Ashleigh, if they had
told of her death, but would have named that of her boy too; but it
would have always been meaning you, because every body knew that
one followed close upon the news of the other. And I don't believe
that your brother's dead, and that's a fact."
Michael clasped his hands rigidly together, and closing his eyes, re-
mained so long motionless, that his good-natured companion became
alarmed, and laying his hand upon the poor lad's arm, shook him
gently, as he said, " Any how, my good fellow, there is no cause for
you to break your heart with thinking about it all. Talking about your
poor mother, and her love of you, has made you turn as pale as a sheet ;
and natural enough, too, perhaps. But my notion that your brother
is alive and well, ought to comfort you — oughtn't it?"
Michael opened his eyes, and fixing them on his companion, said 7
" The joy of it is more than I can bear !" and then the tears bursting
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 319
forth, he wept copiously ; a timely relief, for which he had great
reason to be thankful.
" Well, well, I don't mind seeing you cry a little — that won't do
you no harm ; and thank goodness your colour is coming back again I
I declare I thought I had been the death of you," said his new friend.
" But I'll tell you something more, and that is the name of him as
knows more about Miss Brotherton and your brother too, I'll be bold
to say, than any body in the whole country, and that's Parson Bell,
of Fairly."
"And where is Fairly ?" said Michael, starting up. " How long
shall I be in getting there ? The hope is only hope yet, you know —
there is no certainty. Edward ! dear, dear, Edward ! Is it God's plea-
sure that I should see him again in this world ? Is it possible that such
a heavenly dream can ever come true ? Oh ! how often have I sat upon
the hill and watched the clouds, and thought that he was above them
all !"
" Poor boy ! But 'twill be better still, for a few years to come, that
he should be upon the earth along with you, won't it ?"
" Where is Fairly?" reiterated Michael. " How long shall I be in
getting there?"
" Longer than you'll like, my dear boy," replied the coachman.
" It's a good sixteen miles from this very house ; I should not wonder
if they was to charge seventeen, and you must not think of trying to
compass that to-night, for you are not in any wise in a fit condition
for it, changing colour, as you do, every minute. Your best course
will be to rest here for the night, and set off again by times to-mor-
row morning, and that will bring you in easy by about the middle of
the day, you know."
" Impossible !" said Michael. "I owe you more than I am able to
thank you for, and I would be willing to show my gratitude by fol-
lowing your advice — only, sir, I am quite sure I could not sleep a
wink. And I don't think it would do me any good to lie tossing from
side to side, unknowing, for certain, whether my own dear Teddy was
alive or dead ! So if you please, I must set off directly, that I may
know the best and the worst at once."
" I suppose at your age I should have done the same ; therefore I
won't pretend to quarrel with you for it," replied the good man ; " but
I suppose it would be just prudent to call for an ink-horn, and to
set down upon a bit of paper the name of the good clergyman that
you are to call upon, as well as his place of residence."
" There is no need of that, sir," said Michael ; " Parson Bell, of
Fairly, are the words you said, and they, as well as all the rest you
have spoken, seem as if they were stamped upon my very heart. But
yet, before I start, I should like to use the ink-horn too, that I might
write a line or so to my good master. I know he will be troubled in
his mind about me if I don't get back, and I don't know rightly how
long it may be. God bless him, good man !" continued Michael ;
" it was he* that had me taught to Avrite, and he shan't be left with
any doubts or fears upon his mind for want of a letter from me."
320 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES.
This was a measure that the coachman greatly approved, and ob-
serving that he was well known in the house, and sure to be minded,
he undertook to order the writing-materials, as well as something sub-
stantial by way of a supper ; declaring that though he had come into
his young friends wild scheme of walking off straight away for Fairly,
instead of putting upTor the night, either where they were, or at Leeds,
he should not part with him without a quarrel, if he refused to ac-
cept, and do justice to the good cheer he should provide. This kind-
ness on the part of the man who had so strongly influenced his
destiny, was both kindly intentioned and wisely devised ; for greatly
did the agitated young man stand in need of recruited strength and
tranquillity, before he set off upon a new expedition, which was to
lead to information so vitally important to his happiness. Though it
was somewhat against his inclination, he accepted the friendly invi-
tation gratefully, and the materials for writing being set before him, he
addressed the following epistle to Mr. Thornton :
" Honoured Master !
" Your goodness to me, in all ways, would make any abuse of it
on my part a heavy crime indeed — too heavy, I think, for me to
commit, or you to suspect me of. But I cannot be at the supper-
table at Neckerby, on next Saturday night, according to my promise.
A very strange thing has happened to me, dear master, which may,
perhaps, come to nothing, and in that case I know you will hear my
story, and pity me too much to think of anger. But if all I hope
comes to pass, your generous heart will rejoice with me, and you will
bless your own goodness, for bringing me to the knowledge of the
very greatest joy that ever fell to the lot of a human being, by giving
me this holiday.
" I am, honoured Master,
" Your faithful and grateful servant,
" Michael Armstrong."
Having finished his letter, and committed it to the post, Michael
felt somewhat more tranquil, and endeavoured to assume with his new
acquaintance an air of greater composure, and self-possession. But his
heart beat, his temples throbbed, his thoughts wandered, and when he
and his friendly companion sat down to supper, the poor boy felt that
he could almost as easily have swallowed the board itself as any por-
tion of the substantial fare which was spread upon it. But he quaffed
a long and refreshing draught from a pitcher of cold water, and
putting, at the suggestion of the worthy coachman, a crust in his
pocket, he sallied forth with the agitating consciousness that on the
information of which he was in pursuit, hung all his earthly hopes.
His new friend shook his head as he felt his feverish hand, and
marked his heightened colour, and his eager eye.
" God bless you, boy!" said the good man. " Remember, if you
fall sick by the way,' that my name is Richard Smithson, that I live at
Mil ford, near Ashleigh, and that I'll hold myself ready to come to
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 321
you at a pinch, if you should happen to have need of me. And here,
Michael Armstrong, are three sovereigns, that I give you to keep for
two reasons. One is, that you may use them in case you have need.
The other, that if you don't want them, I shall be sure to see you,
when you bring them back, and that you will do, or I'll never trust a
lad's face more ; and now good bye. It is but a wildish sort of boy's
trick though, setting off this way at night, when you ought to be in
bed."
" The air and the walk will do me more good than all the beds in
the world!" replied Michael. " God bless you, sir! See me you
shall, if I continue to live ;" and so saying, he. strode forth into the
night, with a longing for greater space to breathe in, than could be
found in the kitchen of the Royal-oak.
The boy was right as to the effect which this bodily exertion would
produce upon him. The very darkness calmed him; he took his hat
off that the cool air might bathe his temples with its dewy breath •
and though his pace was rapid, and scarcely relaxed for a moment
during many miles, the action of his pulse became more healthy, and
the aching of his throbbing temples passed away.
All he now seemed to fear was that his imagination should cheat
him into the persuasion that all he wished was true. Edward !
Fanny ! (for of her identity with Miss Brotherton's protegee he could
hardly doubt, when he remembered the history of her departure from
the Deep Valley) — these names seemed to ring in his ears, and to be
inscribed in starlight on the heavens as he raised his eyes towards
them. And thus the sixteen miles were traversed before he had half
chewed the cud of all the sweet thoughts that thronged upon his
fancy. When he reached Fairly, it was still much too early to find
any one stirring, so Michael unceremoniously walked into a cart-
shed, and clambering up into a vehicle that had the sweet savour of
newly- carried hay to recommend it, he placed his bundle under his
head, and despite both hopes and fears, fell into a sound sleep, nor
waked till cocks, hens, cows, pigs, and ploughboys, all joined in
chorus to arouse him.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW DOUBTS AND FEARS.
Michael's first recollections on opening his eyes were not of the
clearest kind, and it required at least a minute's looking about him,
after seating himself upright in the cart, before he could perfectly
understand where he was, or why and how he got there. But no
sooner did all the events of the day before rush back upon his mind,
Y
322
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
than he felt conscious of being near the most important moment of
his life. Again he closed his eyes, but not to sleep, and fervently-
prayed that whatever might be the tidings which awaited him, he might
have strength to receive and bear them as he ought. Then, springing
from his resting-place upon the ground, he inquired of a lad near him
the way to Mr. Bell's, and set off to follow the directions he received
with no greater delay than was necessary for a short halt beside a
little streamlet on the way, which offered a welcome opportunity of
washing his face and hands before he petitioned for admission to the
presence of the good clergyman, to whose words he looked forward
with an intensity of interest which almost amounted to agony.
Though it was still early, Mr. Bell was already in his garden, and
when the gate opened, it was himself who turned towards it to learn
the errand of the young stranger. Michael felt at the first glance
that the gentleman who stood before him was the person from whom
he was to learn whether the brother he had so long mourned as dead
was still alive, and he trembled so violently from head to foot that he
could not articulate a word.
" What ails you, my lad ?" said Mr. Bell, gently laying a hand
upon his shoulder, and looking earnestly in his face. " You have not
the look of one who has done mischief, or else I could fancy that you
had some terrible tale to tell. Come into the house and sit down, my
boy, for it is very clear you are not quite able to stand."
Michael, still silent, followed his considerate host into the house,
and thankfully received from his hands a glass of water, which did
him good service, for in a minute or two he was able to say, " I want
you to tell me, sir — may God give me strength to hear your answer, let
it be which way it may ! — I want to know — if Edward — if my brother,
Edward Armstrong, is alive or dead?" But notwithstanding Mi-
chael's torturing eagerness to hear the answer, he put his hand before
his eyes, because he had not courage to bear the look that might fore-
stal it.
"Your brother? Edward Armstrong your brother? Who then
are you, boy, in the name of Heaven ?" said Mr. Bell, eagerly.
" 1 am Michael, sir, Michael Armstrong. But oh ! for pity's sake,
tell me what I ask !"
" Yes, boy, yes. But compose yourself, my dear fellow ! Edward
is alive, and your friend Fanny Fletcher too."
Michael sunk from his chair upon his knees, and lifting his clasped
hands towards Heaven, seemed breathing thanksgivings for this as-
sured confirmation of tidings which, till now, he had not dared to
believe true. But, startled as he was, the anxiety, the excitement,
and the fatigue of the preceding night and day, had been more than
enough for him, and at the moment when every thought would have
been joy, and every sensation delight, he ceased to think or feel at all,
— the colour forsook his lips, his eyes closed, and, greatly to the dis-
may of Mr. Bell, he sunk prostrate on the floor.
No time was lost before the usual means of restoring suspended
life were administered ; and the uncared-for factory-boy, the moun-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 323
tain-braced Westmorland shepherd, lay extended on a sofa, with
essences at his nose, and the opening of his dark eyes watched for, as
tenderly as if he had been a delicate young lady.
A deep-drawn sigh announced to Mr. Bell, who stood by, anxiously
watching him, that his remedies had been successful, that the boy so
long mourned as dead, was really and truly alive, and a very hand-
some, well-grown fellow into the bargain.
1 ' This is a strange history, Michael, as ever I chanced to hear,"
said he, taking the boy's hand, and ascertaining that his pulse again
made * healthful music/ " Why we have all been mourning for you
as dead for this many a year, and now you drop down, as if from the
clouds, and by what I can make out, have been fancying on your
side that Edward was dead too. The first thing to do, must, I think,
be to give you some breakfast, and then, if you are strong enough,
you shall tell me how all this has come to pass."
Full as his heart was, and eagerly as he longed for the conversation
in which he had so much to learn, as well as to tell, Michael grate-
fully submitted to this arrangement, till having received from the
hands of the deeply-interested Mrs. Bell herself the refreshment he
so greatly needed, he felt his young strength return, and if he
trembled as he turned his eyes towards his kind host, with a look that
seemed to say, " Now, sir, I can talk to you," it was from eager-
ness, not weakness.
Mr. Bell understood the appeal, and well inclined to answer it, said,
" Having told you that Edward is alive and well, my dear boy, and
only wants the sight that I see now to make him perfectly happy, I
think you ought to be satisfied, and not expect me to tell you any
more till my curiosity is gratified by hearing your own history. How
in theworld did it happen, Michael, that when Miss Brotherton went
to the Deep Valley Mills, on purpose to look for you, she should come
back persuaded that you were dead, though the charming little girl
she brought away with her had seen you there, and seemed to know
you welf?"
Michael Armstrong told his own story more succinctly than I have
been able to do it, and probably much better too ; for he beguiled Mrs.
Bell of many tears as she listened to him ; and bare as the sad narra-
tive was of events, her husband also hung upon every word of it, as
if, contrary to the theory which seemed to be pretty generally esta-
blished in his neighbourhood, he thought the feelings and the suffer-
ings of a factory-child might be capable of exciting interest.
When the history had reached its conclusion, and Michael had
fairly brought himself into Mr. Bell's breakfast-parlour, he paused,
and with a very eloquent look of entreaty said, " Now, sir, may I not
listen to you ?"
" Yes, my dear boy," replied his new friend, in the happy tone with,
which a kind heart inspires words calculated to give pleasure. " Yes,
you have much to hear, and a wonderful story it is, I promise you.
But it shall be all true Michael, so don't fancy that I am telling you a
fairy tale, and that Miss Brotherton is the fairy. But first tell me, be-
y2
324 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
fore I go any further, what sort of a boy was your brother Edward
when you saw him last V
" Oh, sir ! he was the dearest, kindest fellow that ever lived !" re-
plied Michael, his fine eyes beaming with tenderness and well-remem-
bered love.
" But what sort of a boy was he to look at V demanded the
clergyman.
Michael closed his eyes as if the better to contemplate the inward
picture engraven on his memory.
" His face was a sweet face," said he, a but his dear limbs were
crippled. He was a slighter boy than me, and could not stand the
labour of the mill ; and I fear — I fear," he added, shuddering, " that
my poor Edward must live and die a cripple."
" What is your opinion about that, my dear?" said Mr. Bell, turn-
ing to his laughing wife.
" Why, I am inclined to think that Michael will have some diffi-
culty in identifying his brother when he gets to him," she replied.
" Instead of being a cripple," resumed Mr. Bell, " I suspect that
your brother is a handsomer fellow than you are, Michael. Every
thing promised well for it when he took leave of us, and since then
my wife has had letters from Miss Brotherton, which do not speak of
any falling off in his improvement."
" Nay," said the lady, " I have had more than letters to speak for
it. Shall I show him Miss Brotherton's drawing, George ?"
" Most certainly, my dear ; it will save me a vast deal of descrip-
tion, and you may trust to Miss Brotherton's pencil, Michael, as im-
plicitly as to my words, for there never was a more faithful limner."
Mrs. Bell then opened a little portfolio, secured by a key, and drew
thence a drawing in water-colours, the composition and finish of which
would have done no discredit to a professional artist. How the stout
nerves of the young and athletic Michael trembled as he received it !
At first his eyes seemed to fail him, the outline, the colouring, the
whole group was indistinct. " I am a fool, sir !" he said, letting the
hand that held it drop beside him ; " I positively cannot see."
" I don't much wonder at it," replied Mr. Bell; " but try again,
Michael, it is worth looking at."
And so thought Michael, as he once more placed it before him, and
gazed upon it with an eye as eager as that of Surrey might have been,
when contemplating the magic mirror that was to show him what he
loved " in life and limb." The drawing represented a terrace-walk,
along which ran a handsome stone balustrade partially covered by
vine-leaves ; while beneath it in the distance, stretched to a far hori-
zon a glorious river, careering through a rich and varied landscape.
All this was fair to look upon, but the boy's eyes saw it not — they
were riveted upon two figures that occupied the foreground of the
terrace. One of these was a slender girl, whose bright curls seemed
just released from the restraint of a straw-hat which she held in her
hand. But though the head was thus uncovered, the features were
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 325
not visible, for the other hand was placed upon the balustrade, over
which she hung, as if in earnest contemplation of some object below.
But the head of the other figure, a young man of some twenty years
or so, was so turned as fully to meet the spectator's eye ; and if the
pencil that drew it flattered not, it was one of the handsomest that
nature ever formed. The large expressive eyes, beaming with mingled
softness and animation, were directed to some object out of the pic-
ture, but at no great distance ; for the sweet smile that played about
the mouth seemed to indicate that he was listening to pleasant words
from some well-loved companion. The figure of the young man thus
represented, was tall and graceful. His dress was the light summer
garb of a southern climate — an open book was in his hand, his straw
hat lay at his feet, beside which stood a basket of newly- gathered
grapes, and a small Italian greyhound, its bright eye looking in the
same direction as his own, completed the group, which spoke in every
part of it a sort of graceful ease and enjoyment, that it was very plea-
sant to look upon.
" Can this indeed be my Edward?" said Michael at length, after a
long silent examination of the drawing. " How beautiful ! — how
noble ! — how happy — how healthful — how intelligent he looks ! Is it
my own dear, pale, sickly brother ? Can this be true ?"
"As true as that you stand there to look at it," replied Mr. Bell.
" Is there nothing in the face, Michael, that recalls vour brother to
you?"
'Yes, sir," he replied quickly ; " the eyes and the sweet smile are
so like my own Edward, that strange as it is to see him so healthy,
tall, and graceful as he is represented here, and looking, too, so greatly
like a gentleman, I do quite believe that this was never drawn for any
one but him ; for never, never since I saw him last, have I seen such
eyes, or such a smile as that."
" You are quite right there, Michael. The face is one not easily
forgotten, and I can trace it here, notwithstanding all the change of age
and circumstance. But who do you think that slender girl may be?
It seems a pity not to see her face ; the form, the pretty attitude, the
bright waving locks, all plainly tell that it must be worth looking at.
Can you guess who it is ?"
" I suppose it is Fanny Fletcher," replied Michael, colouring.
" And there, too, you are quite right. But does it not puzzle you
to think how all this has been brought about ? How does it happen,
think you, that those whom you remember in a state so different,
should now be living as you see them here, looking as if their exist-
ence were made up of sunshine and sweet air ?"
" And now again I shall answer, as they say the fortune-tellers do,"
replied Michael, smiling, " by telling you, sir, what you have before
told me. It is Miss Brotherton, whose name I well remember at
Dowling Lodge, it is she who has done all this, and may God bless her
for it ! But yet, truly, it still seems a mystery. How did it happen,
sir, that this rich young lady should have left her grand house, and all
326 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
her fine acquaintance here, to go into^ foreign countries with two poor
factory-children V*
" You may well marvel at it, Michael, for it is no common act.
But will you not think it something; stranger still, if I declare, as I can
do with all truth, that you are yourself the primal cause of it?" said
Mr. Bell. " You look incredulous, yet so it is. Do you remember
the play, Michael ?"
" Sir Matthew's play ?" cried Michael, burying his face in his hands.
** Oh, sir ! can T ever forget it V 9
" It was a vastly gay thing, too," returned Mr. Bell, smiling, " and
all the performers were exceedingly admired ; but you do not seem to
remember it with any great pleasure ?"
"Pleasure, Mr. Bell?" returned Michael, with something like a
groan ; " I have suffered a good deal, considering how few years I had
lived before my sufferings were over ; but, excepting the coming home
to mother's, and finding her and Teddy gone, and, as they told
me, dead — both dead ! excepting then, I never was ' so very, very
wretched as while Sir Matthew was making me practise for that
p la y ! "
u Do you remember the very night it was acted, when you, and he,
and Dr. Crockley were in a room by yourselves, somewhere behind
the scenes; do you remember, Michael, his beating and abusing you
because you had cried upon the stage ?"
" As well as if it had happened yesterday," replied the young man,
" I had to utter false and lying praise about him, and something I am
sure there was about loving him as well as my dear mother. That I
could not bear — and then it was that the tears burst out, though well
I knew what I should pay for shedding them."
" They were the luckiest tears that ever boy wept, so pray do not quar-
rel with them," replied Mr. Bell. " While you were paying for them, as
you call it, in the green-room, Miss Brotherton by accident heard and
saw every thing that passed ; and from that hour she has never for-
gotten you, Michael, though more than seven long years have passed,
if I mistake not, during which you have never profited by it in your own
person. I will not enter now 7 into any description of what her feelings
were. An accident prevented her seeing your mother immediately,
and when she did, my poor boy, you were already beyond the reach of
any help. But she never ceased to inquire, by every means in her
power, whither you had been conveyed, and it was then she came to
me, so that it is to you I owe the pleasure of knowing one of the purest
and noblest-hearted human beings it has ever been my lot to meet
with. It was in consequence of — not information, for I had none to
give — but of a hint I gave her as to the nature of the place, that she
set off on her exploring expedition to that horrid den of sin and suffer-
ing, the Deep Valley Mills, in Derbyshire. There she met the pretty-
creature whom she has since adopted. Little Fanny believed that you
were dead, and this was the dismal news they brought to Hoxley-lane.
— Your poor mother, Michael ! But let it comfort you to know that
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG, 327
every want and every hardship were relieved from the first hour that
Miss Brotherton saw her — and she died with the comfort of knowing
that her poor Edward would never have to labour more. Soon after
her death, Miss Brotherton took your brother to London for the purpose
of consulting the most able surgeons about his lameness. Their
science did not fail them ; for they predicted that with proper treat-
ment he would outgrow it — and so he has, completely ; being at this
time not only the graceful well-made personage you see him repre-
sented there, but healthy, active, and gifted, as I hear, with a most
rare intelligence. For reasons which it is not very difficulty to guess,
Miss Brotherton thought that she and her young protegees would find
themselves better off on the continent than in Lancashire ; and from
the time she first left Milford Park to visit London, she has never re-
turned to it. The place is now sold, and Miss Brotherton has no
longer any possessions in this neighbourhood. And now my dear
boy, I think I have told you all, excepting the exact spot where they
now are ; and this I cannot do, because our last letter from her informed
us that they were just setting off upon a tour through Italy. She re-
sided some time ago, for one year, at Paris, that the young people
might acquire the language ; but for the most part, Germany has been
their home. It is there that your brother has received his education,
and I think it very probable that it is there they will finally settle ;
for it is in the far-famed valley of the Rhingau that Miss BrothertOR
has purchased a spacious mansion, large enough, as she tells me, to
accommodate half-a-dozen rich English families, with extensive and
very beautiful grounds around it, and all capabilities for being con-
verted into a delicious residence."
Here he ceased, and it was several minutes before poor Michael was
capable of uttering a single word in return. The mention of his mo-
ther — the hint that she had not long survived the hearing he was
dead, wrung his heart anew, with grief as fresh as if he had lost her
yesterday ; and spite of his manly stature, the tears flowed silently,
but plenteously, down his cheeks. Yet, even when he had conquered
this, there was something so surprising in the present situation of his
brother, something, that notwithstanding all the fond yearnings of his
own heart, seemed to place them so widely asunder, that the joy
which Mr. Bell looked for, was less obvious, than an expression of
almost timid embarrassment, as he said,
"Alas, sir! what shall I seem like amongst them? You speak of
my dear Edward's education in Germany — of his learning a foreign
language in France — while I !— my best, and truly my only education
has been looking at nature from the mountain's side as I kept
sheep, and all my learning, what I have gathered from a few strangely-
mixed volumes that I have bought or borrowed during the last four
years. How can I present myself before them ? How they can wel-
come me?"
" Be so kind, my dear," said Mr. Bell to his wife, without imme-
diately replying to Michael's question, — " be so kind, my dear, as to
find Miss Brotherton's last letter for me. I think you took possession
328 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
of it, and I doubt not have preserved it among other treasures of the
same kind."
Mrs. Bell immediately left the room, and presently returned with
the letter in her hand.
" Take that letter, Michael," said Mr. Bell ; " take it into the gar-
den, my dear boy, and read it alone, and without interruption. You
will find a shady seat where you may be very comfortable, and when
you have finished the perusal come into my study, and tell me what
you think of it."
Michael's hand trembled as he took the letter, and silently obeying
the instructions he received, he walked out to an embowered spot
where he could not be seen from the house, and seating himself on a
garden-bench perused the following letter with a mixture of trepida-
tion and eagerness which may easily be imagined :
" Have you thought it long since last you heard from me, dear
friends ? I hope you have, for it has seemed very long to me since
last I wrote to you. But what a thief of time is occupation ! I have
been so very busy in drawing plans for the repairing and beautifying
my old castle— you would certainly call it a castle in England — and
so constantly called upon by Edward, to give my approval to his
carte du voyage for our Italian tour, and by Fanny, to sanction her
plans for our future flower-garden, and by Mrs. Tremlett to settle
some point of enormous difficulty respecting the packing up of the
things to be left, and the things to be taken, that though day by day I
have told myself, for at least a month past, that I was behaving most
abominably in not writing, I have never before found a leisure hour to
set about it. But if I have not written, I have drawn for you — wit-
ness the view from my beautiful terrace which I shall send with this
letter. I wish I could have put my own phiz in it to show you how
healthy and well I look ; but unfortunately, you know, there is no
point of sight from which an artist can catch a peep at himself without
the aid of a looking-glass, and though I pretty nearly live upon my
terrace, I have not yet taken either to sleeping or dressing there, so
no mirror was at hand. But instead of myself I have given you Ed-
ward ; sometimes I do feel a little glorious as I look at him,^and re-
member the delicate pale face and feeble limbs that greeted my first
sight of him in Hoxley-lane. He is now — but you will laugh at me if
I attempt to describe him in words — the sketch I send is no bad like-
ness, and may give you a tolerably correct idea of the alteration that
has taken place. As to my sweet Fanny, though the attempt would
have been a bold one, I meant to have given you a likeness of her
too, but her attitude was so picturesquely pretty as she stood, uncon-
scious of what I was about, that I contented myself with the back of
her curly head — you shall have her face another time.
" How can I be sufficiently thankful to Providence- for having re-
deemed my isolated existence from the state of uselessness in which I
vegetated before I met Edward Armstrong and Fanny Fletcher ! Not
an hour now passes by me, without leaving behind it some trace of
OP MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 329
my having advanced in the precious labour of making these two be-
loved beings happier. Were they merely ordinary young people, with
average hearts and average capacities, I should still bless Heaven with
a grateful heart, for having permitted me to be the means of changing
their condition, from one of great suffering to a life of innocent enjoy-
ment. But as it is, I know not how to be thankful enough !
" It seems to me, dear friends, however much I increase my ac-
quaintance with other human beings, that Edward and Fanny are
the noblest creatures in the world. Is it that suffering, being of ne-
cessity a part of our earthly nature, we cannot arrive at the perfect
development of all our faculties without it ? Where it arrives in later
life, perhaps, the effect, though inwardly healthful, may not show
fruits so beautiful. There is in the minds of both of them, a bright-
ness of intelligence, and a delicious calm of temper that I have never
met elsewhere. It is as if a heavy weight that had been painfully
crushing them, was suddenly removed, causing all the ordinary sen-
sations of human existence to be felt as a luxury. Young as they
are, they are full of instruction, right thinking, pure feeling, and
a firmness of integrity which it is the best joy of my life to contem-
plate — and all this built on so firm a foundation of religious principle,
that I can have no fears for its endurance. After this, it would be
very weak and womanish folly to dwell much on their personal advan-
tages, or even on the peculiar charm of their manners and conversa-
tion — yet they are gifts which bring a charm, to which it is difficult to
be quite insensible.
" Is it not strange, dear friends, that being such as I describe them,
and having passed so large a portion of their lives together in the mu-
tual contemplation of each other's excellence, is it not strange that
they should not by this time be lovers, instead of friends ? Yet such is not
the case. That they love each other sincerely is most true, and I could
give a thousand proofs that either would at all times gladly renounce
amusement or pleasure of any kind, for the sake of the other; but
they are not in love. If I did not believe it impossible, considering
the age of the parties when they parted, I should think that Fanny's
little heart had been buried in the grave of Michael, the poor little
fellow, whose early sufferings under the tender patronage of Sir Mat-
thew Dowling, first roused my sleepy existence into action. She can-
not yet hear his name mentioned, without betraying a degree of emo-
tion that it is painful to witness ; and when, as sometimes happens,
Edward is taken for her brother, it seems to delight her. « Yes, yes,
indeed he is my brother ! I love him as such ; and if you ask him,
he will tell you that I am to him a dear and loving sister,' I have
her say, and if Edward had been asked, I do believe he would have
answered, and truly too, in the same strain.
" Edward is now twenty-one, and my pretty Fanny nineteen ; but,
notwithstanding the variety of captivating young people with whom
they are perpetually associating, I cannot believe that the heart of
either has as yet received any tender impression — though in more
cases than one, I have had reason to know that they have not been
330 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
looked at with indifference. Yet, sometimes I am puzzled about Ed-
ward ! I think he is less gay and joyous than he used to be. At any
time, indeed, the name of Michael has ever been sufficient to bring an
expression of profound and hopeless sorrow upon his fine counte-
nance, which it wrings my heart to see ; for, alas ! how vain must be
all my affection, all sisterly love, to help him there ! But, inco'ntes-
tably of late, his spirits have been less gay than formerly. This, to
tell you the truth, is the only drawback to the happiness I enjoy.
Could Fanny and Edward learn to forget poor Michael, I should
hardly have a wish left ; but I have little hope of this — his memory, I
truly believe is too deeply engraven on their hearts, for any subsequent
events to efface it. Sometimes, when I meditate on this sadly-en-
during sorrow, I fancy that I should rejoice if they were both of them
to fall in love, as a cure for it. But, alas ! whenever that happens,
what a breaking up of happiness it will be ! for lean hardly hope to
find a continental wife or husband for my adopted children, suffi-
ciently English in habits and character, to permit my inviting them to
make a part of my family. Yet marry abroad they must, I think, if
they marry at all — for I will never by my own free will expose them
to the mortification likely to ensue upon such an explanation respect-
ing their origin, as must be the consequence of any matrimonial nego-
tiation in England. On the continent, the ample fortunes they will
possess, with their good education, and great natural advantages, will
suffice to make them very desirable alliances to almost any one. But
these are anxieties, which though they must come upon me sooner or
later, I suppose, I shall endeavour to push from me, and forget as
long as I can.
s .f And now I must bid you farewell|; for during the next month, or
perhaps longer, our course will be directed by circumstances that we
are not fully acquainted with as yet. But I will write as soon as I
can tell you with certainty where your letters can reach us.
" Mrs. Tremlett, Edward, and Fanny, send affectionate greetings to
you all. And should it fall in your way to see, or convey a message
to poor Martha Dowling, I will beg you to tell her that I shall ever
remember her with great affection and esteem. Adieu !
" Ever dear Mr. and Mrs. Bell,
" Your grateful and affectionate,
" Mary Brother/ton."
Did one reading of this epistle suffice for Michael? did two? did
three? It is difficult to say, for he remained in his shady and obscure
retreat so long, that Mr. Bell, notwithstanding his previous determina-
tion not to disturb him, began to think that it was time to see whether
all the good news it contained had not killed him with joy. And when
he reached the bench, Michael still sat with the precious letter in his
hand, and his eyes fixed upon it, so that it appeared as if he had not
yet finished the perusal of it. Michael looked up as Mr. Bell ap-
proached him, and immediately rising, stepped forward to receive him*
It was not, however, any wild excess of joy that his features ex-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 331
pressed, but there were traces of very strong emotion on his counte-
nance, and his hand trembled as he stretched it forth to receive that
■which was kindly extended towards him.
" You have remained too long alone, my dear boy, in this cold
nock," said Mr. Bell, taking the young man's arm within his own,
and leading him towards the house. " What makes you look so pale,
Michael ? You are not ill, I hope V
" No, sir, I think not," was the reply, " but I can hardly tell you
how I feel. At one moment the idea that my dear brother still lives,
and that it is possible I may again see him, hear him, hold him in my
arms, seems to make me too happy to breathe — and then again, a
sort of doubt and sadness takes hold upon me, and I do not feel as
if it were possible I could ever make one in the happy party on the
terrace."
" And why not, Michael?" demanded Mr. Bell somewhat reproach-
fully ; " after reading that letter, can you find it in your heart to doubt
that the party on the terrace would receive you joyfully ?"
" Will not the happiness be too great?" cried Michael. " Oh ! how
can I deserve it ?"
" Not by doubting the goodness or the affection of those who love
you," replied Mr. Bell. " But come, I must not preach to you now,
I believe, for I suspect that you are not in a condition to profit by it.
Come into the house, sit down, and grow reasonable as fast as you
can, and then we will talk of the time and the mode in which you
must set off to join your family — for your family they are, and will
be, Michael, you may depend upon it."
" Can I throw myself upon Miss Brotherton, sir, without her per-
mission ?" demanded Michael, while his paleness was changed for a
moment into a glow of the deepest red.
" I am afraid you have a very proud heart, Michael," said Mr. Bell,
looking at him ; " and that is not right, it is not christianlike."
" Oh, Mr. Bell !" replied Michael, with strong feeling, " have I not
already eaten the bitter bread of dependence, and can I, at my age,
and with my power to labour, submit to it again V
" You have a notion then, young man, that benefits conferred by
a Sir Matthew Dowling, and a Miss Brotherton, are the same thing?"
said Mr. Bell.
" Not so, sir," replied Michael, " I cannot doubt that she who
wrote this letter, must be both great and good, and I well know that
Sir Matthew Dowling was neither. But I only know Miss Brotherton
as one of the fine folks visiting at his house, and I cannot feel that
I should like to start out suddenly upon her, from the tomb, as it
would seem, appearing to expect that she should adopt me too, as she
has done my brother Edward."
"Well, Michael, I must not blame you for this, because I believe
it is very natural ; yet, nevertheless, I feel quite sure that you will
forget all such notions when you see Miss Brotherton," returned
Mr. Bell, smiling. Michael shook his head, but he returned the
smile, though rather languidly ; and when they had reached the house,
332 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
and were again seated in the study, he said, " What does Miss
Brotherton mean, sir, by calling Miss Martha Dowling ' poor Martha?'
I trust that no misfortune has befallen her? she was very kind to me,
and I shall always love her, although her name is Dowling."
" I believe she deserves it, Michael," returned Mr. Bell, "and,
by the by, you have it in your power to show your love, and do her
a great kindness by the very simple process of letting her know that
you are alive. Poor girl ! She has suffered dreadfully from believing
that she caused your death by the advice she gave to your mother
about signing your indentures, and I fancy that letting her know that
you did not perish in consequence, would be conferring a real blessing
on her."
"Dear, good Miss Martha!" exclaimed Michael, "how well do I
remember the walk we took together when she went to Hoxley-lane,
to give my dearest mother that advice. She did it for my good, and
for my good it would have been, if what she advised had been the
thing she thought it ! I owe her still, notwithstanding the misery she
brought me to, the deepest gratitude ; for her kind and careful teaching
during the short time 1 was in her father's house first gave me the
ambition and the hope to learn, and, spite of my degraded condition,
I have never lost sight of it — and this it is, which, if any thing can,
may reconcile me to presenting myself as a poor shepherd-boy before
my well-taught brother."
" You are right there, Michael," replied Mr. Bell ; " it is very clear
to me that you have profited greatly by the feelings so inspired, not-
withstanding the adverse circumstances in which you were placed
during the four terrible years passed in the Deep Valley ; and such
feelings I can tell you, will make a vast difference in the degree of
happiness you are likely to enjoy in a reunion with your brother."
"And to Fanny Fletcher too!" said Michael, with the eagerness of
reviving hope heightening his colour, and darting its brightness from
his eye, — " to F'anny Fletcher too, I owe the suggestion of thoughts
which have saved me from being too utterly degraded to meet her
again with pleasure. It is to Martha Dowling, surely, that I owe all
the little book learning I have been able to acquire, as well as the
power of writing down the thoughts and meditations to which it has
given rise ; but it was Fanny who made me feel that however lowly
our condition and state on earth, we may yet retain as good a right
as any of the kings of it, to open our hearts before God, and ask for
His Spirit to help us. How many mornings have I watched the sun
rise, how many evenings have I seen him set in glory behind the
mountain-tops, and thought as I lay amidst the heather, and wor-
shipped his Almighty Maker, that, but for her, I should never have
known the comfort of loving and trusting, as well as of adoring him.
It was that dear patient little girl who taught me this, and perhaps I
may yet live to thank her for it."
" I trust you will, my dear boy," replied Mr. Bell, touched with the
earnest energy of the boy's manner; " I trust you will, Michael: and if
I mistake her not, she will receive such thanks as a very welcome
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 333
reward for all the pains she took to comfort you. Such kindness as
she showed you is, indeed,
twice blest,
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes :
and I doubt not that she, as well as yourself, has been the better for
it, from that time to this."
" May I look once more at that drawing, sir?" said Michael, with
some little embarrassment.
'« There it is, Michael," said the clergyman smiling, and once more
laying it before him. " Were it not that I think you will so soon see
the dear originals, and that we shall not, I would ask my wife to give
it you."
" I think I shall learn every line, and every shade of it by rote,"
said Michael, " if I do but look at it a few minutes longer. There,
sir," he added, after an earnest gaze, and resigning it into his hands;
" I feel as if it were my own now." Then, after one deep sigh, he
seemed to rouse himself; and, as if endeavouring to shake off some
feeling that oppressed him, he said, " But you have not told me yet,
sir, the reason why Miss Brotherton calls my first benefactress * poor
Martha !' "
" I am sorry to say," replied Mr. Bell, " that there are more reasons
than one, for applying that pitying epithet to Miss Martha Dowling.
In the first place, she is greatly out of health, poor girl ; and in the
next, her father's affairs are said to be in a very tottering condition, in
consequence of his having overloaded himself with a greater quantity of
spun cotton than he can get any sale for. He is said to have lent out
money, too, on some speculation which has not answered : and, in short,
that it is rather a nice question, whether he will be able to get through
his difficulties or not. Another misfortune is, that Sir Matthew, as
soon as he possibly could after the death of his first wife, thought proper
to marry the Lady Clarissa Shrimpton, who, strange to say, thought
proper also to marry him; and it is said also, that poor Miss Martha,
who is the eldest of the daughters unmarried, is not permitted to enjoy
much peace under the rule of her noble step-mother."
" Lady Clarissa Shrimpton?" said Michael, with the air of one to
whom some long-lost image is brought back — " Lady Clarissa Shrimp-
ton ? Why, surely, that was the name of the tall, thin woman who
had to practise the laying her bony hand upon my unfortunate little
head, when the terrible play was about?"
" I dare say it was," said Mr. Bell. " But, at any rate, Lady
Clarissa Shrimpton is now Lady Clarissa Dowling."
" Poor Miss Martha ! — and she is out of health too ? How can I
manage to pay my duty to her, Mr. Bell, without running the risk of
being recognised by Sir Matthew, as the unfortunate boy who escaped
from the Deep Valley ? He would be able, I suppose, to make me
serve out my time ?"
" I do not think he would attempt it just now, Michael V was the
consolatory reply. " Thank God !" continued Mr. Bell, " there has
been a good deal said of late concerning the abominations of the
334 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Deep Valley Factory, and I don't much think Sir Matthew Dowling
would run the risk of having it proved that he had kidnapped a boy
away to it, in the style he managed you. I should have no fear
whatever, of your presenting yourself at Dowling Lodge ; only I
think it is ten to one her ladyship will not let you get a sight of Miss
Martha without her being present, — unless you were to write a line to
the young lady first, and then perhaps she might contrive it."
Michael now rose to take his leave, offering with a fervour that was
very touching, his earnest thanks for the generous kindness with
which he had been received ; but he resisted all the hospitable efforts
made to retain him as a guest. He had need, he said, to be alone,
that he might bring his mind to such a state as should enable him to
sustain the wonderful change in his prospects with something like
fortitude and rational composure. There was more real kindness, and
true sympathy, in the manner of accepting this excuse, than the
most pressing offers of hospitality could have shown ; and Michael,
after involuntarily kissing the hand stretched out to bid him farewell
took his departure from the clergyman's house, with a heart full of
thankfulness to God and man.
CHAPTER XXIX.
MICHAEL CALLS HIS WISDOM TO COUNCIL, AND THE POINTS TO BE
DISCUSSED PUZZLE THEM AN EARLY WALK AN OLD FRIEND
WITH A CHANGED FACE.
To describe Michael Armstrong's feeling as he took his solitary way
along what seemed to him the most unfrequented fields he could find,
would be both a difficult and an unnecessary task. That his heart
swelled with thankfulness and joy cannot be doubted; yet there was a
vagueness and uncertainty as to what he ought immediately to do,
which made him anxious and sad, even in the midst of hope and joy.
The small sum he had been able to save from his wages had been
spent, or very nearly so, since he set out upon his eventful expedition.
He had already accepted a loan from the friendly old coachman of
Miss Brotherton, and he shrunk from the idea of contracting more
debts, while unable to say with certainty when they should be paid.
How then was he to reach his brother in his happy distant home ?
And where and how was he to pass the anxious interval that must of
necessity intervene before he could even know to what point he should
direct his pilgrim steps, even had he the means of setting forth?
The path he had taken proved to be a short cut leading into the high-
road from Fairly to Ashleigh, and on quitting the fields he found
himself close to the door of a public-house which he was tempted to
select for his shelter as long as he remained in the neighbourhood,
both because it was lonely, and because it was humble. Having en-
tered there, bespoken a bed, and made a very frugal repast, he
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 335
inquired the distance to Dowling Lodge, and finding it was greater
than he could traverse on foot with any hope of returning in decent
time to occupy his newly-taken lodging, he resolved to wait till the
following morning, when, by setting off at daybreak, he might be able
to make his visit to Martha, and perhaps report the result of it to
Mr. Bell, before he slept.
His mind had too much on which to employ itself for him to feel
the afternoon a long one : an orchard close behind the little inn,
afforded him shade and soft turf whereon to sit or lie, or to pace back-
wards and forwards, with unequal steps, as he meditated on the
chances for and against his ever being one in the happy, thrice happy
party described by Miss Brotherton. Nor had he wearied of these
exciting, but most anxious thoughts, when the moon, and the stars,
and the heavy dew warned him at length that the day was gone, and
night come. And then he remembered that, in order to follow Mr.
Bell's advice, he must prepare himself with a letter to Miss Martha,
which it would be necessary to write before he went to bed. Fortu-
nately his hotel was able to furnish the needful implements, and after
a little reflection, he penned the following note :
u A poor lad, to whom Miss Martha Dowling once showed much
charitable kindness, is now waiting at the park-gates, to know if he
may pay his duty to her. He takes the freedom of asking for this
favour, because he has been told that she would be pleased to hear
he was alive and well." Having directed this to Miss Martha Dow-
ling, and sealed it in the best manner he could, he retired to his little
bed in a state of mind that hovered between inexpressible felicity, and
anxiety that he was hardly able to bear.
He was afoot in time to hear the lark's first overture on the following
morning ; and his spirits, cheered by the bracing influence of the
delicious hour, and by the sound sleep which had preceded it, en-
abled him to breakfast on a slice of brown bread, bespoken the night
before, and laid ready for him, with a draught of icy-cold water from
a neighbouring well, without any mixture of melancholy, though he
thought the while of all the dangers and difficulties he might have to
encounter ere he stood beside his Edward on the beautiful terrace
to which his dreams had transported Vim so easily.
Michael was a stout walker, and had reached the well-remembered
precincts of Dowling Lodge soon after the earliest servants were
stirring. He had made up his mind to be the bearer of his own
letter, and accordingly, having shown the address to the woman at
the lodge as a reason for being permitted to enter, he approached the
stately mansion by the road which led to the offices, and intrusting
his epistle to the first female he encountered, requested her to deliver
it to Miss Martha without delay.
" Why she bean't up yet, " said the girl, looking at him, however,
with the good-humoured smile with which light-hearted young dam-
sels are wont to greet such very handsome lads as our Michael.
" But perhaps you will be so good as to let her have it as soon
as she is awake ?" he replied, returning the smile.
" Well, poor thing, and that may be now, most likely," returned
336 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
turned the girl, " for her cough often wakes her before this time.
Will you wait for an answer ?"
" I won't trouble the servants by staying here," replied Michael ;
" but if you please you may tell the young lady that I will walk up
and down the road till she can let me have it. Does Miss Martha
walk out early in the mornings, as she used to do V he added.
" That's just what she likes best, poor thing," replied the girl. " But
you needn't be afeard that she's gone out already ; for if she had, I
should have been sure to have seed her ; for she never has the great
door opened for her at this time of day, for fear of disturbing my
lady, who always lies unaccountable late."
"And does Sir Matthew rise early now?" demanded Michael with
some anxiety.
" He ! — not he ! He eats and sleeps like a pig, they say ; but he
is grumpier than ever he was, both to men and maids too, since he
married the new lady. I wonder as I never happened to see you
before, as you seem to know 'em all so well."
" It is several years since I was last here," returned Michael ; " but
run up stairs with it, there's a dear girl, will you ? because I want to
get my answer and be off."
"You had better stop here till I come down again," replied his
good-natured messenger, " instead of walking up and down the road,
without knowing whether there's an answer or no — sit down in the
kitchen, and I'll be back in no time."
And into the kitchen he |went — the selfsame kitchen which just
eight years before had been the scene of his painful examination by
Sir Matthew Uowling's servants. He remembered the room perfectly ;
could have pointed out the exact spot where the awful housekeeper
sat, and the place where he had himself stood, with no better champion
to sustain his courage than the greasy kitchen-maid, whose pitying
broad face, bent over him, he recollected as perfectly as if it had
beamed upon him but the day before. He was still deeply revolving-
these interesting reminiscences, and the strange contrast they offered
to his present hopes, when his envoy returned — " Miss Martha wants
to know your name, young man," she said, "but she is getting up,
and will be walking in the park as usual, she says, presently, so it is
likely enough that she will give you the answer herself."
" Very well," replied Michael, perfectly satisfied — " good morning !
—I am very much obliged to you."
"But you haven't told me your name, and Miss Martha says that
she should like to know it."
" My name isn't one that would make any difference," he replied,
" so I won't trouble you to go up again about that — ^ood bye !" And
without waiting for any further discussion, he walked off, exceedingly
well pleased at having arranged the wished for tete-a-tete so satisfac-
torily. The noble dimensions of the park enabled Michael to select
a space amply sufficient for his promenade which was neither within
sight of the mansion nor the lodge, and ere he had made many turns
upon it, he perceived the lady he wished to see, approaching him.
He could not doubt that it was Martha, for at that hour of the
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 337
morning none other was at all likely to be there ; but she was too
much altered for him to recognise her in any degree. He thought she
was taller than he had expected to see her, but at any rate she was
greatly thinner, and so delicately pale, that her appearance was rather
a contrast, than a resemblance to what he had expected to meet. She
was already near him when he turned upon the path, and met her.
He stopped, took off his hat, and bowed respectfully.
" You are Miss Martha Dowling, ma'am ?" he said interrogatively.
" Yes," replied Martha, " that is my name, but when did I see
you before, young man ? I do not know you."
" It is a great many years, Miss Martha — but I can never forget
your kindness/'
The pale cheek of Martha was tinted with a vivid blush, as she ex-
claimed, " If it were possible — if I did not know that he was dead —
But this is nonsense," she added, recovering her composure. " I
quite forget your person, young man," she continued, after a pause :
" But if I have ever done you any service, I am glad of it. Perhaps
if you tell me your name I may remember the circumstances to which
you allude."
" Oh! Miss Martha!" replied Michael, " I am afraid my name
will startle you, and therefore I do not like to speak it. But I think
it came into your head just now, only you stopped short, and said it
was impossible."
" Can it be Michael Armstrong that I see ?" demanded Martha, in
an agitated voice.
" It is indeed, Miss Martha !" he replied. " It is Michael Arm-
strong, come back to thank you for all your great kindness to him."
" My kindness to Michael Armstrong?" she exclaimed. — " Alas!
it was I who occasioned all his sufferings, and, as I have thought for
many years, his death. How is it you have been saved, Michael?
How is it you have escaped from the horrid place to which I was the
cause of your being sent ?"
" My dear Miss Martha !" returned Michael, greatly affected by her
look of ill-health, and by the agitation she displayed — for tears were
trickling fast down her pale cheeks. " My dear Miss Martha," he
said, " / know, if nobody else does, the kind motive that you had for
every word you spoke — and was it not I myself that said I wanted to
go, Miss Martha, when we walked together from here, down to poor
mother's house? Never, never can I thank you enough for all your
goodness then, as well as at all other times, from the very first mo-
ment that ever I saw you ?"
" Thank God !" cried poor Martha, fervently, clasping her hands,
and raising her eyes to heaven, " you know not, Michael, what a load
you have taken from my heart ! I have for years lived under the
dreadful weight of believing myself to be your murderer. The thought
has haunted me by night, and rarely quitted me by day. And my
poor father too ! This crime at least he has not to answer for !"
Michael could not help thinking — though for worlds he would not
have lessened her pious satisfaction by uttering the thought — that
z
338 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
though he had escaped with life from the terrible sufferings to which
he had been exposed, he owed Sir Matthew but little gratitude for it.
Fortunately, however, for his veracity, he was not called upon to answer
this observation, for Martha immediately added,
" Does Miss Brotherton know that you are alive, Michael V
" No, Miss Martha, she does not," he replied ; " my brother Ed-
ward is Jiving with her in some place abroad, and till yesterday I have
existed in the dismal belief that he was dead, and that I had not a
single relation in the whole world."
" And where are you living, Michael ? What is your home now l
And how did you escape from the dismal place to which you were sent
as an apprentice ?"
In answer to this, Michael related, as briefly as he could contrive to
do it, all that had happened to him, confessing freely that he had
run away, and that he supposed he was liable to be sent back again to
work out his time, if Sir Matthew discovered that he was alive, and if
it were his pleasure to do it.
" We will not talk of any thing of that kind, Michael," said Martha,
a bright blush again visiting her cheek. " It would not be prudent,
certainly, for you to make yourself known here — and I particularly
desire that you will not do it. I am grateful, oh ! most grateful, for
your coming to tell me that the dismal news of your death was not
true, but now that you have set my heart at rest on that score, do not
come here again, Michael — Lady Clarissa is very particular about every
body that comes to the house — and — in short — though I shall always
have the greatest regard for you, Michael — I would a great deal rather
that you did not come to Dowling Lodge again."
Michael perfectly understood, though it was evident she would not
avow it, that poor Martha had fears for his safety, should Sir Matthew
discover him ; and without giving her the slightest reason to suppose
that he saw this, he assured her that he was going immediately from
Ashleigh without any intention of returning to it. Martha then looked
at her watch, and seeing that there was still above an hour to spare
before the usual time at which the family came down stairs, ventured
to seat herself on the trunk of a newly-felled tree, while she questioned
the youth, for whom she still felt the strongest interest, as to what his
projects were, and when, and how he thought of leaving England to
join his brother. With frank and touching simplicity, Michael entered
freely into all his harassing doubts and difficulties — confessed that he
had not a shilling in the world that he could call his own, and, worse
still, that he could not help feeling a strong repugnance to throwing
himself wholly on the charity of Miss Brotherton, for no other reason
in the world than because she had nobly provided for his brother.
'** To know that Edward is alive, and not endeavour to see him is im-
possible," he continued. " But I would fain earn money enough, if
it were possible, to enable me to get to him without being chargeable to
her, and once within reach of him — once near enough to his dwelling-
place to know that we need never be many days asunder, I should not
fear but that I might earn my living, without being indebted to charity
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 339
for it. I was always stronger than Edward, you know, Miss Martha,
and there is no reason because he lives an idle life, dear fellow, that I
should do so too."
" Michael I" she replied, her "hole countenance lighted up with
the most animated expression o/ pleasure, " my dear Michael Arm-
strong ! your coming here is certainly the greatest blessing that
Heaven could have sent me. I cannot tell you, and you can never
know, all I have suffered from believing you were dead, and from
knowing that I had been the cause of great and terrible suffering to
you. And that, too, wholly owing to the trust which you, and your
poor mother reposed in me ! May you never, my dear boy, know
what it is to have a conscience burdened as mine has been. Be very
sure that it is worse than any thing you could have suffered at the
Deep Valley, Michael ! When you see Mary Brotherton, tell her that
I owned this to you — and perhaps she may think, at last, that she
judged me rather more harshly than I deserved."
" If she judged you harshly at all, she was very wrong," replied
Michael, warmly. " People should know, before they judge. No-
body who really knew you, could judge you harshly."
" I had rather that kind sentence came from your lips, Michael, than
from those of any other human being. If you can say it, and mean
it too, as I am sure you do, who is there living that can have a right
to say the contrary ? Yet this is not my only pleasure — I happen to
have the power — and I bless my poor lather for it — of making some
little atonement for the years of suffering that I so unwittingly caused
you. From the day we were each of us fifteen, we have received an
allowance of sixty pounds a year for dress, and though I really never
wanted one-half so much as my sisters, my father, who has ever been
a kind father to me, has always insisted upon my having the same, and
at the marriage of my two elder sisters, he gave me a hundred pounds
each time, that I might be smart. But I have no taste for finery,
Michael, it always made me melancholy ; so I am very rich — I really
do not know how rich, for I have always kept on laying the bank-
notes that I did not want in a drawer, and I have never counted them.
Think if it will not be a pleasure for me now to open that drawer, and
give you all that is in it? Oh ! with what different feelings shall I go
to bed to-night from any I have felt for years past ! I am sure there
must be enough to take you to Italy, or wherever else Miss Brotherton
may be gone, and to set you up in some little business into the bargain.
Wait here only ten minutes, my dear Michael, and I will return with
my treasure — a real treasure now, and for the first time that I ever
thought it so !"
Martha had risen from her seat as she spoke, and literally before
Michael could recover from his atonishment sufficiently to answer her,
she was already at some distance from him. He had by no means
settled to his satisfaction the question of whether he ought, or ought
not, to strip the generous Martha of her little hoard when she again
appeared. But she looked hurried and out of breath.
•• Make haste, Michael, dear Michael t* she said, with much agita-
z2
340 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
tion. " For pity's sake let me not be again plunged in all the misery
of self-reproach from which I have so recently escaped. Take this
parcel, Michael! Nay, never stay to count them! My father has
left his room — may have inquired for me — and even now be following
me. Bless you, Michael ! Bless you ! Go, go, for goodness sake, and
leave the country as quickly as possible/'
"With these words she turned from him, and with a step too rapid for
her state of health, and plainly showing her extreme anxiety, she
hastily retreated towards the house.
Though after hearing Mr. Bell's decided opinion that no further
danger was to be feared from Sir Matthew Dowling, Michael would
himself have felt not the least desire to run away from him, yet it
was impossible not to perceive that Martha was of a different mind,
and that for some reason or other she was exceedingly anxious
that he should not remain near Dowling Lodge, or, in other words,
within her father's reach. Whether she were right, or wrong, in
fancying that it was necessary for his safety that he should keep out
of the way, he felt that it would be cruel to oppose her ; and with the
unexamined roll of bank-notes thrust into his coat-pocket, he gave
but one farewell look at the retreating drapery of poor Martha, and
then with rapid strides, and thoughts so full of the scene which had
just passed, that he followed the right path rather mechanically than
from judgment, he set off upon his return to the humble lodging he
had secured for the night.
CHAPTER XXX.
MICHAEL GROWS RICH, AND TAKES A VERY DELIGHTFUL WALK BACK
TO WESTMORLAND HIS PREPARATIONS FOR A LONGER JOURNEY
ARE SUDDENLY STOPPED HE MAKES A PAINFUL VISIT, BUT MEETS
MANY OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
The morning's walk had been a long one, even for Michael Arm-
strong, and right glad was he to find himself again in the neatly-
sanded kitchen of his little inn, with a loaf and cheese before him, of
sufficient dimensions to resist any attacks he could make upon them.
A moderate proportion of beer, in addition to the solid meal these
afforded, refreshed him so effectually that he determined to take his
leave of Mr. Bell that night, preparatory to setting off on his return
to Westmorland on the following morning, in order to bid farewell
to his good old master there. On the subject of Martha's bank-notes
he meant to be entirely guided by the advice of the clergyman, being
equally fearful of offending, or rather of paining their generous
owner by refusing to accept them, or of depriving her of what might
be hereafter useful, by agreeing to do so.
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 341
" I have seen Miss Martha, sir !" were his first words on entering
Mr. Bell's parlour, and both look and accent showed that the inter-
view had been an interesting one. "But, alas! she is greatly al-
tered," he added, restraining with difficulty the tears that rose to his
eyes. " I fear she is very ill ; — but she was glad — oh ! so glad to see
me, sir ! She has been fretting, poor dear young lady, under the
false notion that she had been to blame about me ; but, thank Heaven !
think she knows better now, and perhaps when her mind is at ease
again she may recover health. I can't bear to think how pale and
thin she is grown, and all about me, to whom she was the best and
kindest friend that ever poor boy had. And see, sir, what she has
done now !" continued Michael, drawing forth the roll of notes from
his pocket. " Here is a large sum of money, I believe. She did
not rightly know how much it was herself, she told me, because
she had kept on putting by what she did not want, and had never
counted how much it came to — and I'm sure I have not counted it
either ; but whether it is little or much, I don't feel quite certain
whether I ought to take it."
Mr. Bell smiled at the unusual manner in which the rich-looking,
but carelessly-packed roll of paper had passed from one hand to the
other. Before he examined the contents he questioned Michael as to
all that the generous-hearted girl had said to him, on bestowing it,
and the young man's faithful answers soon convinced him that there
would be little kindness to the self-reproaching Martha in refusing a
donation which she evidently considered as an atonement, and which
would, he doubted not, by its application to Michael's necessities, do
more towards healing her wounded mind than any other thing what-
ever.
"You must not refuse the gift, Michael," said Mr. Bell, after
hearing his narrative to the end. " I do not wonder, little as she has
been to blame in the matter, at her having suffered greatly for all that
she innocently made you suffer ; nor am I at all surprised, since it was
in her power to do so, that she should wish to make you this atone-
ment. It comes at a lucky moment, my dear boy, for not only will it
enable you to present yourself before Miss Brotherton, without
throwing yourself, as you said yesterday, upon her charity, but I sus-
pect it may go far in assisting your hopes of entering into some busi-
ness, which may enable you to support yourself."
Mr. Bell then opened the bundle of notes, and found that they
amounted to rather more than five hundred pounds ; a sum which,
to Michael, appeared so enormous that he uttered. something like a
remonstrance against the opinion which advised his appropriating the
whole.
" Did you not tell me, sir." he said, " that Sir Matthew Dowling's
affairs were not considered to be in so flourishing a state as they had
been ? And may not this money be wanted by Miss Martha in case
he should really become involved in difficulties ?"
" I think there is no danger of her wanting it, Michael," returned
Mr. Bell. « Let what will happen, I have no doubt that Sir Matthew
342 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
will be able to secure sufficient from the relics of bis enormous wealth
to maintain his family in easy circumstances. A sum like this, my
dear boy, is but a drop in such an ocean."
Michael resisted no longer, and this point being settled, his plan of
operations was soon arranged. In deference to Martha's fears for his
safety, he decided not to visit his good friend Richard Smithson, at
Mil ford, Mr. Bell undertaking to settle the matter of the loan, and
moreover to convey to the kind-hearted man the assurances of Mi-
chael's well-doing, of his gratitude, and hearty good wishes. The
letter from the travellers, which was to settle the happy Michael's
road, would probably arrive within a week or two, and Mr, Bell re-
commended that, having paid his farewell visit to Westmorland he
should return to Fairly, and there equip himself in such a manner as
would be suitable for presenting himself before Miss Brotherton. Mr.
Bell agreed to take the custody of his treasure, till his return, and
with his bundle again on his shoulder, and five pounds in his pocket,
Michael set off to walk over the fells and moors he had to traverse,
with a lightness of spirit that seemed to strew the deserts with flowers,
and made every blast that blew upon him as soft and sweet as the
gales of Araby. It was not the least, perhaps, of his pleasures, as he
strode sturdily along, to compare his present walk with that which
had conducted him from the Deep Valley to Ashleigh, four years be-
fore.
The suffering, the terror, and the final agony of that expedition
could not come over his mind, however, without throwing a shade over
his gladness ; but it chastened without obscuring the bright combination
of objects that glowed in the prospect before him ; and, altogether, it
would be difficult to find any walk on record more replete with enjoy-
ment than this of Michael to the humble mountain-home that had so
kindly sheltered him.
It was with a very flattering mixture of joy and sorrow that the
good statesman and his family accepted Michael's farewell, and lis-
tened to his happy hopes ; and it was amidst blessings and hearty-
good wishes that once again he sallied forth to wend his way for the
last time over the mountains, and bid a fond and lingering adieu to his
beloved lakes and tarns. He felt that those had been to him as
teachers and preachers, elevating his heart and imagination, and
preparing him, more effectually perhaps than any other school could
have done, for the different sphere of life in which he now hoped to
move.
On reaching Fairly, he found that a letter had arrived from Miss
Brotherton, enclosing one to Martha Dowling, which had been for-
warded immediately ; and which, by what the kind-hearted heiress
said to her Fairly friends, seemed to have been written in consequence
of the reports which had reached her respecting the failing fortunes of
Sir Matthew. Miss Brotherton was at Nice, where it was her purpose
to remain for some months. To Nice, then, the thrice happy Michael
prepared to go; a respectable wardrobe, and all other necessary
equipments were easily procured in the neighbourhood, his place to
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 343
London taken, and all things ready for his setting off, save that he
still expected an answer to a very cautiously-worded epistle which he
had ventured to address to Martha, informing her that he was setting
off for Nice, and that any letter or message she might wish to convey
to Miss Brotherton, should be carefully delivered by her faithful
humble servant, M. A.
Michael was at breakfast with his kind and hospitable friends, when
a lad, bearing great marks of hasty travelling in his appearance, made
his way into the room, and with a look that seemed to prophesy eventful
tidings, if he were but asked for them, delivered a letter to Mr. Bell.
This proved, however, to be only a blank cover, enclosing one to
Michael, which was handed to him, while the eyes of his host and
hostess fixed themselves with some anxiety on his face. Michael tore
open the despatch, and changed colour as he read it. Then, giving
an intelligible glance at the messenger who ceased not to wipe his fore-
head with one arm, while he held his hat squeezed to his side with
the other, he said, " I should like to speak to you about this, Mr.
Bell." ^ •
" Go into the kitchen, my lad," said the clergyman, " and get some
breakfast. You shall know when the answer is ready."
Though evidently disappointed at being thus dismissed unquestioned,
the boy consoled himself with the hope of a kitchen audience, and
making his reverence, retired.
" What in the world have you got there, Michael?" demanded Mr.
Bell. U Not good news, I am afraid?"
" No, indeed, sir," replied Michael, " very far from it. "" It is from
Miss Martha Dowling, who seems to be in great distress."
" Read it to us, my good fellow, will you ? If there is no reason
to the contrary."
" What is written here, sir, cannot long be a secret from any body.
This is what she says :
<" Dear Michael!
<__Sf//?/ mas, ///yy^ y/" (a/A>
-; ■<• // //'//
idon:Pab Cdlburn
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 345
" I tell you, Martha, that you talk like a fool, and that is what you
always were, and always will be !" said J;he upright lady, in a shrill
voice, but in a tone that she was endeavouring to reduce to a whisper.
" What right can any one of these horrid dirty fellows have with what
is mine, I should like to know? I am not going to be made bankrupt,
or sent to jail, or have my property seized, because your abominable,
wicked, low-born, brutal, treacherous, false father, has been found
out, and is going to be treated as he deserves. As for you, and all
the rest of your family, there is nothing to be said or done, I suppose,
but to submit, and just do what you can to get your bread. With
such blood as you have got in your veins, there will be no great harm
done if you were all to go out as housemaids and footmen. The thing
happens among low people continually, if the father gets into distress ;
but I should like to know who ever heard of a woman of quality, the
daughter of an earl, being treated in the same sort of unceremonious
way ?"
M But indeed, Lady Clarissa, it will be a great deal worse for my
father, if it is found out that his wife has been endeavouring to secrete
property,'* said Martha.
i( His wife, indeed! A pretty sort of husband he has made me,
hasn't he ? Having my noble arms painted on his paltry carriages,
and engraven on his plate, not a single ounce of which had been,
twenty years in his possession; and then, vulgar wretch! insisting
upon seeing my housekeeper's account, for fear I should save any
thing out of the money he allowed me ! Pitiful, cheating, brutal,
manufacturing savage ! But thank Heaven ! my slavery is at an end!
— To-morrow will see me many a good mile on my way to Scotland !
The monsters say I may take my clothes and my money — and my
clothes and my money I will take, I promise you, Miss Martha ; so
I would really advise you to go and collect your own things, and see
them put together decently. You may be able to sell some of them
perhaps, which might be very useful, and that would be spending
your time much more profitably, and decently too, than sitting there
lecturing me upon what I may, and what I may not take. I shall take
every thing that belongs to me, and there's an end of that ; and I
wish to my heart you would just go away and leave me in peace."
" Did I not know, Lady Clarissa, that my father would suffer for it,"
said Martha rising, " I would not have troubled you with my remon-
strances ; but I am certain that you are now occupied in abstracting
things that of right belong to my poor father's creditors, and if it is
discovered, it may be the means of their refusing his certificate, and
he may be thrown into a jail for life."
" And where could he be better, Miss Martha? I am sure I don't
know. My belief is that he is mad, or going to be mad, and I don't
see but a jail is as comfortable as a mad-house, and as it must
be a great deal cheaper, it will suit his circumstances a great deal
better. I wish you would go, child, and see if there is such a thing in
the house as a basin of soup for my luncheon. I may ring and ring,
but there is not a creature that will answer the bell now."
346 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Martha made no reply, but she rose from her chair, and Michael
stepped back into the passage, that she might not meet him within
hearing of her selfish step- mother.
" You are come, then !" exclaimed the poor girl, on catching sight
of him. "This is very kind of you, Michael ! If you will walk this
way with me — there is nobody in the great drawing-room now — I will
explain my reasons for sending for you."
Michael followed her to the well-remembered drawing-room, which
had so often witnessed the display of Sir Matthew's munificent charity,
by showing him off to all the neighbourhood. The recollection was
very hateful to him, yet the right-hearted lad felt a pang as he ac-
companied his benefactress into this greatly-altered scene of former
splendour. The whole house was under preparation for a sale by
auction, and nothing could exceed the speaking state of gilded deso-
lation which this fine room exhibited.
Never mind the confusion, Michael ! Just step over these curtains
— we can sit down, up in that corner of the room — take care of the
mirrors, my dear boy ! Surely they have thrown these costly things
about more heedlessly than was necessary !" said poor Martha, as she
led the way rather over, then through the scattered mass of splendid
furniture with which the room was strewed.
" It is strange, Michael," she resumed, as soon as they had seated
themselves in a clear space of six feet' wide, where two chairs were
standing near one of the windows, — " it is strange, most strange, that
you should be the only person that I could think of to assist my poor
father in his misery ! You who have suffered so severely from — from
his displeasure. But I found out, Michael, that you had a kind, good
heart, when you used to talk to me of your mother and poor Teddy.
It was that which made me take notice of you then, and it is that which
makes me ask for your assistance now."
M And happy and thankful shall I be if I can do you any good,
Miss Martha !'* replied Michael, eagerly. "I have brought back the
notes, all but about twelve pounds, that has been laid out for me. It
is a very large sum, Miss Martha, and I trust it will be useful to you."
" I do not want it, my dear boy '."replied Martha, smiling through
her tears, " but I am glad to find that I was not mistaken in
you. No, Michael ! let me still, under all circumstances, have the
unspeakable comfort of believing that I have been able to make you
some little atonement for all you have gone through from my ill-
judged and ignorant advice. You would make no difficulty about
keeping what has been accumulated out of my hatred of silks and
satins, Michael, if you could guess the extraordinary good it has
done me to know that you are alive and well, and less destitute than
you would have been, had you never seen me. I thought I was dying,
Michael, before your little note reached me ; but now, strange to say,
spite of all the calamities which have fallen upon my family since, I
feel as if I might still live long enough to be useful to my poor father.
Alas ! Michael, his condition is very dreadful ! For some months
past, I have perceived a great alteration in him. His memory ha
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 347
failed him, and at times his temper has been so variable that I have
seen himviolently angary, and very intemperate in his language, one
minute, and enduring the insolence of Lady Clarissa, with the meek-
ness of a child, the next. And now — In short, Michael, I greatly fear
that his reason is shaken by the misfortunes that have fallen upon
him. He has kept all his commercial disasters so completely to him-
self, that not even his most confidential agents were at all aware of
their extent ; and I therefore hope that if T can contrive to remove
him from this melancholy scene, his mind will be relieved by feeling
that the worst is over, and that I may have the exceeding happiness
of seeing him restored to reason and to health."
" And in what way then can I be useful to you, my dear Miss
Martha? I dare not combat your will, but it seems to me that if his
creditors are stripping his house in this way, such a sum as you have
put into my hands might be very useful to him," said Michael.
" And so it would, certainly, my good friend, if he had not pro-
vided for the exigences of this terrible moment, by having a large
sum of ready money in the house, a fact which he has confided to me
only," replied Martha. " His marriage with Lady Clarissa," she
continued, " has been a greater misfortune to him, Michael,
than any losses in his business could possibly be. She has led
him a most wretched life — constantly keeping his high spirit in subjec-
tion by threatening to bring her brother upon him, if he treated her
with any want of respect, and my poor father's reverence for rank
and title is such, that he has submitted to her in every thing. But
during the terrible fortnight that has passed since the disclosure of his
ruin, her conduct has been perfectly frightful — and I feel quite certain
that when she has taken herself off to Scotland, which she intends to
do to-morrow, my father will feel so greatly relieved, that the very
best effects upon his mind may be hoped for from it. What I want
you to do for me, Michael, is this : You must procure a postchaise
to be at the Lodge-gates to-night at twelve. The men who are left
in charge of the house, get both tired and tipsy before that hour, and
will be in bed and asleep ; and then I think I shall be able to get my
poor father away from all the irritating objects which surround him
here. He has been very ill with violent spasms, and confined to his
bed for a day or two, which one of the maids tells me is the reason
why he has not been more strictly watched. They think he is too ill
to get away. But he is greatly better to-day, and though I have per-
suaded him to remain in bed, I think he has quite lost the complaint,
and will be able to get off if you will do what I desire of you. I
know not another being that I could trust. My poor father has spent
a great deal of money, and been very liberal to many, but I do not
know one whom I do not suspect would be more ready to betray, than
to help him, if they saw him endeavouring to get away. His physician,
Dr. Crockley, a man on whom he has heaped innumerable favours, is,
I strongly suspect, acting as a spy upon him ; and it is because I ex-
pect his daily visit presently, that I will not let my father get up.
Therefore you see, Michael, there are some difficulties to be en-
348 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
countered. Do you think you could manage to get a chaise to the
gates without its being known that it was for him V
" I am quite sure of it," replied Michael ; u for to save time I came
hither in a chaise myself, which is now waiting at the public-house to
take me back to Fairly. I have only to go and tell the boy that I shall
not be able to return before night, in order to have him ready to start
at any hour you please."
"To Fairly ?" said Martha, musingly. "But it is no matter — he
may sleep at the inn there as well as at any other, and the next morn-
ing we must make our way to the nearest port where there is a chance
of our finding a steam-boat going to France. It will not do at present
for my father to remain in the country. When he has got his certifi-
cate, he will be safe ; but I greatly fear some difficulty about it."
"While Martha was thus explaining her hopes and fears, the sound
of carriage-wheels was heard slowly approaching by the road which
led to the chief entrance, and which passed at no great distance from
the window at which they were sitting.
" Here comes Dr. Crockley !" she exclaimed ; " I am very glad his
visit will be over so early. This will give me time for preparation."
But she was mistaken ; the equipage she heard approaching was not
the recently set-up cab of Dr. Crockley, but the donkey-chair of the
ever active Mrs. Gabberly. Nothing could be much farther from
poor Martha's inclination than encountering the prying old woman at
this moment; but having hastily told Michael to appear as if he were
employed in taking a catalogue of the furniture, for which purpose,
paper, pens, and ink lay conveniently ready on one of the marble-
slabs, she hurried out into the hall for the purpose of meeting
the physician, and attending him as usual to her father — so that the
avoiding Mrs. Gabberly was impossible.
"Oh, my poor dear Martha! that's you, is it? Well now! you
was just the person I wanted to see. But I do wonder you did not
get off with your father, poor man ! when he made his escape, this
morning," said the unchanged little lady.
"I know not what you mean, Mrs. Gabberly," replied Martha
gravely. " My poor father has been extremely ill, and is at this
moment confined to his bed." The old lady gave a wink with one of
her little cunning black eyes, and nodding her head very expressively,
replied, " Old birds are not caught with chaff, my dear."
" What is it that you mean, Mrs. Gabberly — that you do not believe
me ?" said Martha, indignantly.
" You are very foolish to bawl out in that manner, my dear, with
that young fellow that's cataloguing in there, close within hearing.
Mind, it is your fault and not mine, if he suspects any thing from your
violence."
" You are taking an account of all the looking-glasses, are you
not?" said Martha, approaching the drawing-room door and address-
ing Michael. " You may come into Sir Matthew's room now, if you
please. He was asleep when I sent you away just now." Then,
turning to Mrs. Gabberly, she added — " Perhaps you would be so
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 349
good as to see my poor father, Mrs. Gabberly ? I would not wish you
to stay long with him, for he is very feverish; but I dare say he
would take it very kindly if you will just come in to inquire for him."
Looking a good deal surprised, but accepting the invitation with,
great alacrity, Mrs. Gabberly began to mount the stairs; exceedingly
well pleased to have an opportunity of procuring so excellent a ticket
of admission to every house in the neighbourhood, as this ocular
demonstration of the actual condition of the fallen knight would fur-
nish. Michael, in compliance with the order he had received, followed
after; and in a few minutes, found himself once more in the presence
of the man under whose tyranny he had suffered so terribly. But a
harder heart than Michael's might have been softened into forgiveness
and forgetfulness of all former injuries, by the miserable aspect of the
wretched man who lay stretched upon the splendid bed that] he
could no longer call his own. His steadfast-minded and affectionate
daughter — -the only earthly good that avenging Heaven had left him —
entered first, intending to announce the visit of Mrs. Gabberly; but
Sir Matthew started up in bed, and before she could speak, cried out,
" Do not let that devil Crockley come to me, Martha ! I will not see
him, I tell you. I have got no pain now; and if I had, don't I know
he would rather give me poison than physic ? He is going to lose
his annuity, you know."
" It is Mrs. Gabberly, dear papa, just come to ask you how you
are," said Martha, leading the old lady to the bedside. " She will
not stay, because you are not well enough to talk; but you will be
glad to see her, will you not?"
" Glad?" said the miserable man, knitting his brows, and throwing
upon her a look of deep aversion. " Don't I know her ? Is she not
the town-crier of all the country round? Have I not paid her for it a
hundred times ? And do you think I don't know what she is come
for now? Somebody else will pay her now, for bringing them word
how the poor bankrupt Dowling looks."
" Well now, that is terrible, to be sure!" exclaimed Mrs. Gabberly.
" He is quite shook in his mind. Do you think he would be outra-
geous if 1 was to feel his pulse, my dear ? I should like to prescribe
for him — I should indeed. Poor dear man ! His talking about paying
me is comical to be sure. Let me feel your pulse, Sir Matthew,
shall I ?"
Sir Matthew looked so very much as if he would have liked to take
her up in his enormous hand and throw her to the further end of the
room, that Martha thought it prudent to prevent her nearer ap-
proach.
" You have now seen my father, Mrs. Gabberly," she said with
emphasis, " and that, I think, is all that can be necessary for your
satisfaction."
" Oh ! certainly — it is very satisfactory," she replied, but without
appearing to have the slightest intention of leaving the room ; for, in
truth, it was at that moment the place where, beyond all others, she
best liked to be. The downfal of Sir Matthew Dowling was the
350 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
subject that employed every tongue, and nobody could be so welcome
to every drawing-room, and every dining-room too, throughout the
neighbourhood, as one who could testify to having seen him, listened
to him, and ascertained how he seemed to bear it. It was impos-
sible that any person could have been better qualified for the service
than Mrs. Gabberly. Willingly would the still brisk little lady have
crept under the toilet-table, or the bed itself, rather than have lost so
glorious an opportunity ; and instead of attending to Martha's repeated
assurance that she "had better go now," she began opening sundry
physic-vials that stood on a table at the bottom of the bed, smelling
some, tasting others, and pronouncing judgment upon all.
" It is quite a mystery to me, my dear, what Dr. Crockley can be
thinking of, giving such medicines as these to your father," said she.
a I see, plainly enough, that he is in a very inflammable and irritable
state, and he ought to be put altogether upon the depleting plan."
Then putting her finger on her lip, in sign of secrecy, she whispered,
" I'll just stay here, Martha, behind the bed-curtains, till Dr. Crockley
comes, and I think it may be very useful for us to have a little con-
versation together. I know my poor dear father's method in these
cases as well as he did himself, and he was regular bred you know,
which is more than we can say of poor dear Dr. Crockley."
Exceedingly provoked, Martha now addressed her father, -saying,
" Mrs. Gabberly wishes to stay, papa, till Dr. Crockley comes, in
order that they may have a consultation about you ; but you won't
like that, shall you V
" Like it?" replied the prostrate man, with bitterness, " Oh! dear
yes, I shall like it vastly ! They are exactly a fitting pair to come to-
gether, glowering and gloating round the bed of a ruined neighbour.
Let her stay, by all means, Martha, let her stay and watch it all. See,
Mrs. Gabberly, there is a young auctioneering gentleman come to
take an account of the furniture. Isn't it pleasant ? I am sure it
must do your heart good to see it. Don't go away, young man !" he
continued, addressing Michael, who, shocked and disgusted, was
making his way towards the door. " Don't go away. Go on, never
mind losing a little time, I dare say you will be paid for it all the
same, and my dear good neighbour would not enjoy it half so much
if she did not see something of the kind going on."
" Oh, dear! oh, dear! quite wild and wandering! Isn't he? —
Calling Crockley and me a pair too ! As if we ever thought of such
a thing ! I am sure, for one, I can answer for it that I never did. —
His doll of a wife, you know, hasn't been dead above a year, and I've
no notion of such quick work, it is quite indecent, I think. Good
gracious me, now !" she continued, catching Sir Matthew's fierce eye
fixed upon her with a mixture of hatred and bitter irony ; " what have
I said ! — I'll bet a guinea he fancies I mean something about his mar-
rying himself up, all in such a hurry with Lady Clarissa."
" Lady Clarissa !" cried the knight in a loud voice. " That's right !
I had very nearly forgotten her ladyship. Go to her this moment,
Martha — tell her to come here. Is she not my wife — bone of my
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 351
bone — flesh of my flesh ? Is she not, Mrs. Gabberly ? And shall
she not come hither and share with me the delight of seeing a broker
taking possession of my furniture, and a dear good soul like you look-
ing on ? Go, Martha, go when I tell you, and bring the right ho-
nourable Lady Clarissa Bowling here."
" I am quite certain she won't come, papa," said Martha, leaning
down, and whispering in his ear. " So don't make me go to her."
" But she shall, though !" shouted Sir Matthew, " even if I go
down, and fetch her myself. My dear Mrs. Gabberly, my sweet Mrs.
Gabberly — will you have the great condescension to go for her ? You
used to run about, if I did but hold up my finger, you know — and
you would not be so ungenerous as to refuse now, merely because I
am a bankrupt ! Go to my Lady Clarissa, if you please, sweet Mrs.
Gabberly, and tell her that as she is a daughter of the noble house of
Highlandloch, I wish, before we part, to give her a parting token of
remembrance. She knows that I wear a magnificent diamond ring,
Mrs. Gabberly, and you may just hint to her, if you please, that
nothing has been taken off my body yet. I do assure you it will be a
very pretty touching scene for you to witness, and talk about. It will
indeed. lam quite determined to have a sentimental parting; and
as she has told me that she means to set off to-morrow, this will be
just the right time for it — won't it, Mrs. Gabberly V
Perfectly well disposed to execute the commission, and quite as de-
sirous as Sir Matthew could be that the proud poor lady who had
ever treated her with haughty coldness, should be properly humbled,
she darted towards the door, in order to perform her errand ; but
Martha, remembering the manner in which she had left her step-
mother engaged, stepped forward to prevent her, quietly saying, " If
my father wishes to see his wife, Mrs. Gabberly, I can go for her,
without troubling you — and I really wish you would permit me to lead
you down stairs to your donkey-chair, at the same time — I am sure
you must be aware that papa is not in a state to bear seeing company."
" You are quite right, my dear, quite right, indeed — Sir Matthew is
looking sadly wild and feverish, and I should say that nobody what-
ever but the doctor and his own family ought to see him. Of course
I suppose it would not be very convenient to hire attendants now, for
these sort of people, I am sorry to say, always insist upon ready money,
which is a cruel thing under such circumstances. But so it is, and
therefore it follows that you and Lady Clarissa must be the chief nurses."
" Certainly, ma'am, it will be his own family who will wish to at-
tend to him. And therefore, if you please, I will take you down stairs,
and see you to your carriage."
" Me ! my dear!" cried Mrs. Gabberly, in the shrillest possible tone.
" Surely you cannot mean to call such an old friend as I am, com-
pany ? No, no, my dear Martha. Don't think me such a brute ! I
would not leave you just yet, for the whole world ! You shall go
yourself, my dear, if you will, and bring her ladyship up. I will stay
here as quiet as a mouse, and watch by your poor papa. But per-
haps it might be as well to desire that young man to finish with his scrib-
352
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
bling, and get out of the room. He must have gone over every thing
by this time, mustn't he V*
" I will have her right honourable ladyship here before that fellow
stirs a step, Martha. Do you hear me ? That's more than half the
fun," cried Sir Matthew, bursting into a shout of laughter. " Doesn't
she know our kind, clever, observing, neighbour, who is come here so
thoughtfully, just to look about her a little ? Doesn't she know her,
almost as well as I do ? And won't she enjoy thinking what a pleasant
description dear Mrs. Gabberly will be able to give of my Lord High-
landloch's sweet daughter watching the broker, and seeing that he sets
every thing down fair?"
Thankful was Martha that the supposed broker was one who could
not in reality add to the horror of the scene. She turned to him as
she left the room, saying, " You had better remain here, if you please,
till I return," upon which he modestly ensconced himself in a distant
corner of the room, and resting his paper upon a commode, continued,
as he stood, to scribble upon it.
Quite certain that it would be impossible to get rid of Mrs. Gab-
berly till her father's summons to his proud wife had been obeyed, and
greatly more anxious to clear his room of this troublesome guest, than
to spare the feelings of her ladyship, Martha entered the little sitting-
room, determined to deliver the message concerning the diamond -ring,
if she could not prevail without it. She found Lady Clarissa in the
act of finishing the packing of her basket, by laying on the top of it
sundry light articles of female attire, very cleverly calculated to make
the whole pass under the general description of wearing-apparel, which
the courtesy of the law permits to be removed by all persons in the un-
fortunate situation of her ladyship.
" Now I hope you will cease your impertinent preaching, Miss
Martha," she said, as the pale and agitated young woman entered the
room. u Unless every separate nightcap and frill are to be examined
one by one by these brutes, I conceive no objection can be made to
this package. Gather up the cotton-wool, and poke it somewhere out
of sight directly." Martha obediently set herself to collect the
scattered fragments of the suspicious-looking wool, but as she did so,
said, " My father wishes to see you, Lady Clarissa."
" Insolent wretch !" exclaimed her ladyship, pausing in the act
of collecting various little articles for which she had not found room
in the basket, "have you the audacity to bring me this as a mes-
sage ?"
" My father says, Lady Clarissa, that as you are going to leave
him to-morrow, he should wish to see you once more," replied Martha.
" Monster !" screamed Lady Clarissa stamping her foot upon the
floor, " he, see me again ? he, dare to lift his bankrupt eyes upon the
noble woman he has so basely injured ? — -Tell him, you bold messenger,
who fear not to face the descendant of a dozen earls to convey to
her the words of a bankrupt cotton-spinner, tell him, that the only
atonement he can make, is to die. Tell him this from me ! — and
may the ostentatious settlement his unprincipled pride made on me,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 353
excuse me in some degree in the eyes of my noble brother, for the
degradation I brought upon him by accepting it!" These last words
were uttered with clasped hands, raised eyes, fervent accents, and all
other ordinary indications of uttering a prayer.
Indignant and disgusted, Martha felt no scruple in employing the
means her father had given her for obtaining the interview he desired,
and quietly said in reply to this burst, " My father stated that his mo-
tive for asking to see you, Lady Clarissa, proceeded from his wish to
present to you, as a parting gift, the diamond ring which he wears on
his right hand."
The effect of these words was as sudden as that produced by the
magic touch of a hand employed in turning off gas.
" That indeed is a most natural wish ! Unhappy, guilty man ! I can
well believe that had he the crown jewels at command, he would
deem them all too poor an offering to atone for the offence he has com-
mitted against me ! I thank God, Martha Dowling, that my noble
blood has never taught me to forget that I am a Christian ! There
are many women, believe me there are, of less exalted rank than my-
self, who would not deign to obey such a summons. But I feel what
my duties are, and I shall nerve my courage to perform them. Come
with me to my dressing-room, Martha, carry that basket for me, and
then I will go with you to the bedside of Sir Matthew."
Martha attempted to obey, but the basket was too heavy for her to
carry, and she set it down again, declaring that the task was beyond
her strength.
" A tolerably good joke that," said Lady Clarissa, endeavouring to
laugh, u considering your origin ; but this is the last day of such
pleasant jestings, and therefore I must bear it with good humour I
suppose." Then applying her own much stronger hand, she lifted her
treasure, and was stalking off with it ; but stopped short ere she
reached the door, saying, " No, I will stay here while you go and
fetch my faithful Mistress Saunderson. She enters into all my
feelings ! thank God ! and is as strong as a Highland pony into the
bargain." Having obediently performed this commission, and brought
back the faithful Scotch waiting-woman, who had adhered very stead-
fastly to her mistress through all the vicissitudes of her fortune,
Martha at length succeeded in marshalling the Lady Clarissa Dowling
into the bedroom of her husband.
No signet-ring ever made a deeper impression on wax, than the
diamond one of Sir Matthew had done on the memory of his noble
wife ; and her first glance, as she entered the room, was directed to
the hand which lay on the bedclothes, that she might see if it had
been already removed ; but no ! there it sparkled still, and with a
gentler aspect than she had been seen to wear since the tremendous
hour when the declension of Sir Matthew, from the richest commoner
in the county into a bankrupt, had been announced to her, she
said,
" You wish to see me, Sir Matthew — Martha says you wish to see
me."
2 A
354 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Yes my beloved It" replied the knight. " I do wish to see you:
Angelic sweetness ! How can I do otherwise ? Look at yourself in
the mirror, most beautiful Clarissa ? Look in the mirror before that
broker there carries it off, and tell me if you think it possible that any
man could bear to part with so much beauty, without having one final
gaze upon it ? And see, my dear, here is your amiable neighbour
Mrs. Gabberly ! Is it not kind of her to leave all other visitings,
that she may come to nestle herself here, among the very brokers, in
the very centre of our misery? It is so heavenly-minded of her,
isn't it ? I guessed indeed that one great reason for her making such
a tremendous sacrifice was the hope of edification from beholding the
christian spirit with which your ladyship bears your ladyship's over-
throw ; and besides her own improvement from it, she wishes to have
it in her power to describe it to the whole neighbourhood. Very right
of her, isn't it, my dear? And that is the reason why I sent for you."
In general the nose of Lady Clarissa greatly outblushed her cheeks,
which had more of the jonquil than the rose in them ; but now, from
the tip of her high forehead, to that of her long chin, she became
crimson ;^3Jid but from the remarkable length of her throat, which
seemed to^ear itself in defiance of such danger, a fit of apoplexy
might have been expected.
il Begone ! you vulgar gossip-picker !" she cried, turning in uncontrol-
lable rage upon the terrified little woman, " and tell the contemptible
neighbourhood through which you are going to crawl in your donkey-
cart, like a snail in his shell, leaving your slime as you go, tell them
all, from me, that the best consolation under my remorse at having
forgotten my own dignity by condescending to hold a place among
them, arises from being released from the degradation of associating
with so contemptible a being as yourself, and all who are capable of
listening to you I" And having uttered these words in a piercing voice,
she rushed to the door, threw it with great violence wide open, and so
left it, as she paced, with rapid but tragic strides, to the shelter of
her own boudoir, and the sympathy of Mistress Saunderson.
It was, perhaps, because the door was open, and that he knew the
sound would follow her, that Sir Matthew burst into the most violent
shout of laughter that ever made itself heard from mortal lungs ; it
terrified Martha, made Michael Armstrong shudder, and caused Mrs.
Gabberly herself to wish she were any where else, notwithstanding
the very valuable information this extraordinary scene would enable
her to communicate. Long did this frightful laugh continue, and
when strength seemed to fail, and the boisterous merriment could be
sustained no longer, a vehement and reiterated hissing followed,
which at length ended in such complete exhaustion that Sir Matthew
fell back pale, and apparently motionless, upon his pillow#
" Mrs. Gabberly," said Martha, " I must beg you to leave us now.
You must perceive that my poor father ought to be alone. It is very
important — fearfully important, I am afraid — that he should be kept
perfectly quiet ! Give me leave to wish you good morning."
" I must say that it does seem veryjxld in you, Miss Martha, to per*
-
L
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 355
sist in calling me company. Good gracious ! To think of the terms
on which I have always been in this house before your poor papa's un-
fortunate marriage ! I cannot and I will not leave you in such a
condition. It would be perfectly monstrous, and every body would
call me a brute for it. Till Dr. Crockley has been here, I really
neither can nor will go. I am quite determined that I will hear what
he says about him."
"Let her stay," said Sir Matthew, in a hollow whisper, which
proved that he was neither asleep nor dead, though his closed eyes,
and ghastly countenance, might have been mistaken for one state or
the other.
Martha went to him, took his hand, wiped the profuse perspiration
from his brow, and then placing herself in a chair beside him, con-
tinued to watch his altered countenance, alike unmindful as it seemed
of the presence of Mrs. Gabberly, or that of Michael either.
The lady, perfectly contented to be thus quietly established as a
looker-on, determined, for the present, neither to move nor speak, lest
she might lose the valued privilege thereby ; but Michael became so
conscious of the awkwardness of his situation, and so fearful lest
Martha, from forgetting him, might get into a scrape likewise, that he
ventured to approach the foot of the bed on tiptoe, merely for the
purpose of recalling himself to her recollection, and then, on seeing
her start at the sight of him, he said in a whisper, " I suppose I had
better go down stairs now, Miss Martha V
Martha in reply to this nodded affirmatively, and in the same low
tone added, " I shall have other business to speak to you about. Do
not go away till you have seen me."
Michael's eyes were naturally turned to Martha while this passed ;
but when he withdrew them, and was about to make his retreat, he
caught the large, wide open, wild-looking eyes of Sir Matthew fixed
earnestly upon him. The young man involuntarily dropped his eye-
lids, for the gaze was a frightful one, and turned to leave the room.
" Stay !" roared a hoarse but loud and stunning voice from the
bed. te Stay ! devil ! demon ! hell-bird ! what do you come here for ?
Cowardly blackguard ! Do you think I do not know you ? You
never dared to come till it was too late for me to hold you ! I have
heard of your purring round the place weeks ago. But you escaped me
then, base runaway ! What do you come spying here for ? Did you
think I should not know ye ? Did you think I should forget those
d — d hypocritical eyes, and that hateful curly hair, of thedevil's own
colour ? No, my pretty 'prentice, I have not forgotten your crocodile
looks, and never shall. I suppose you thought you should bring me
to repentance by sending home word that you were dead. Was that
it, eh ?"
" I am able now, Sir Matthew, to pay for leaving the mill before my
time, and I am quite ready to do it, if you please," replied Michael,
gently. But he spoke to one who heard him not. Sir Matthew had
a neck as short and thick as that of his lady was long and thin. His
last interview with her had not been a salutary one for a man in his
2 a2
356" THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
state of mind and body; and the subsequent discovery of Michael,
of whose visit to the factory he had heard from Parsons, and at whose
escape he expressed the most unbridled rage, accelerated symptoms
which had before threatened him, and sent such a rush of blood to
the brain as instantly produced apoplexy, and left him totally deprived
of sense and motion.
Martha, whose eyes were fixed upon him, uttered a fearful shriek,
and threw herself on the body, believing that he was dead. But Mrs.
Gabberly knew better. She had practised too long as an amateur
not to know a fit of apoplexy when she saw it, and promptly ex-
claimed, '? Get away, Martha ! Get off of him, child ! He is not dead,
I tell you, and, if we could but bleed him, he would open his eyes
again fast enough."
With the rapidity of lightning poor Martha obeyed. She with-
drew herself from the bed, endeavoured to raise her father in her arms,
and, by the help of Michael, succeeded. She then bared his arm,
bound her own waist-belt tightly round it, and with unshrinking cou-
rage had thrust a sharp penknife which she drew from her pocket
into a vein, before the skilful lady who had prescribed the measure
had half recovered her astonishment on perceiving that the poor girl
had conceived the project of putting it into immediate execution.
The old adage that u where there is a will, there is a way," was
never better illustrated than by this act of the tender-hearted and
invalided Martha. She felt that her father's life hung on the prompt-
ness with which the operation was performed ; she felt too, that if she
shrunk from it, there was no one else who would perform it, and
totally forgetful of herself and her own feelings conquered the re-
bellious weakness that would have held her hand, and did what
two minutes before she would have believed it utterly impossible she
could have done. The result did honour to the skill of Mrs. Gab-
berly. The lazy current flowed, though reluctantly. Sir Matthew
opened his large eyes, rolled them from side to side, heaved a deep
and heavy sigh, and presently attempted to speak, but this was
beyond his power.
" What more should be done V* said the pale, and now trembling
Martha, turning towards Mrs. Gabberly.
" Why now, my clear, you must just let him alone for a little bit,"
replied the physician by hereditary right. " Well now !" she added,
a Wasn't it a blessing that I was here ? If I had not staid, he would
have been as dead as mutton by this time."
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 357
CHAPTER XXXI.
A FRIENDLY CONSULTATION A DANGEROUS EMBASSY LADY CLARISSA
RECEIVES SOME DISAGREEABLE INTELLIGENCE AN AWKWARD CON-
TEST UNPLEASANT VISIONS A FITTING TERMINATION TO THE
CONFIDENTIAL UNION BETWEEN MASTER AND MAN.
Such was the state of affairs in the bedroom of Sir Matthew Dow-
ling;, when Dr. Crockley entered it. Were all the words which Mrs.
Gabberly then uttered in explanation of what she had done, why
she had done it, and how her doings had answered, to be written
down here, my waning pages would hardly suffice to contain them.
Dr. Crockley nodded, winked, approved, and applauded a great
deal, joked a little, and finally felt the patient's pulse, observing at
the same time that it was necessary at any rate to bring him round
sufficiently to get a little talk on business out of him, before he pop-
ped off for good and all.
" Very right and proper if you can manage it, doctor," sagaciously-
observed Mrs. Gabberly. " But you may depend upon it, that — " and
here she whispered something, that it was especially intended Martha
should be neither the better nor the worse for. The doctor nodded
and winked, and nodded again ; and then turning to the poor girl
who was not only the one who alone in that presence cared any thing
for the prostrate millocrat, but the one of all created beings who
would alone have felt his death to be a cause of mourning. Dr.
Crockley turned to her, and with very little of even the external
decency of sympathy said, " Do you think you can manage to get
some mustard, my dear, out of the clutches of the bailiffs? — because
that is what we want here."
Without answering, Martha moved towards the door ; and Michael,
not conceiving that the physician's words were but a brutal jest, and
fancying that Martha might really have to petition those who now held
authority in the household for the article wanted, stepped after her, to
request that he might execute the commission in her place.
" You shall come down with me, Michael," she replied, " and I
doubt not you will be able to procure what we want without difficulty.
But alas ! Michael, it will avail nothing— I am sure by their whisper-
ing, that they both know it will avail nothing ! Nevertheless it shall
be tried. But is it not dreadful that of all his numerous family there-
should be only one to receive his dying breath ? O God !" she
added with clasped hands and streaming eyes, i( if it be a judgment,
let it atone for all that has been wrong ! For surely it is a heavy-
one !"
On reaching the hall, the pitying Michael, who in the sufferings of
his friend forgot all the cruelty of his enemy, insisted upon going
alone into the thronged and noisy offices, while she sat down to wait
for his return. He did his errand promptly, and was by her side again
358 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
in a minute or two ; but he found that she had left the chair on which
he had placed her, and was now pacing up and down the hall in
violent agitation.
" I am overpowered, I am borne down by all this horror — this
deep and bitter grief !" she exclaimed. " And there is not a single
human being near me, but your ill-used self, Michael, from whom I
am likely to find any real kindnessl The conduct of all with whom
I have had intercourse since my poor father's distresses came upon
him, has been such as to make me wish rather to shun, than seek
them at this awful moment, yet I want some one to tell me how I
ought to act. I know that fearful man Parsons, who is greatly in his
confidence, had business of importance to settle with him ; for again
and again my father has said to me, since the execution has been in
the house, that let what would happen, he must find time to speak to
him. Ought I not then to send to him in this extremity ?"
" Would to Heaven I were fitter to advise you, my dear Miss
Martha !" replied Michael, with equal respect and tenderness. ' Cer-
tainly if such were your father's words, it is very right to remember
them. Shall I go to the factory and summon Mr. Parsons hither?"
" Oh ! It is hateful to me," replied poor Martha, «f to call such a
being to his deathbed ! But it may be that the interests of others
are at stake, and when I recall my father's earnestness as he spoke of
the necessity of seeing him, I tremble at the idea of disobeying him.
Go then, Michael ! hasten to the factory, and tell this man that his
master is very ill, but that if he recovers his senses and his speech, it
is probable he may wish to speak to him."
Michael lost no time in obeying her ; and on reaching the mills
found the superintendent, as usual, at his post. At the first glance
he did not recognise the messenger, for the appearance of the young
man was greatly changed by the style of equipment which, under
the advice of Mr. Bell, had been provided for him. No sooner did
Michael speak, however, than the man started, as if he had been
shot.
" Sir Matthew send you?" he exclaimed, "what mountebank tricks
are you got at now, you young villain? What ! did you think that
this fine toggery could bamboozle me? Has it really bamboozled
him ? Have you, faith and troth, contrived to pass yourself ofT upon
your dearly-beloved benefactor as a gentleman of fashion and fortune
who was come to make him a visit of condolence upon his misfortunes ?
A capital fellow, ain't you ? or, perhaps, my nice young grandee, you
fancy his grinders are drawn, and that he can't, or won't, maybe, have
any thing to do, now that he has fallen into trouble, with putting
such an elegant young gentleman to inconvenience ? Is that it? But
it is just possible that other people may be more at leisure. Who
knows V
" Never mind me now, Mr. Parsons," replied Michael, utterly in-
different, at that moment, to any thing, and every thing, that his old
enemy might attempt for the purpose of annoying him. " Never think
of me or my affairs, at such a time as this. You have given me no
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 359
opportunity to speak, or you would have understood that it was not
Sir Matthew who sent me here, but his daughter. Sir Matthew was
too ill, when I left the house, to know any thing about it; but Miss
Martha thinks that, if he recovers his speech and senses, he may wish
to speak to you."
"Like enough!" replied the superintendent with a sneer. "Sir
Matthew's troubles have nowise changed his nature. The young lady
is quite right : but I shouldn't have thought as he'd have told her any
thing about it, either. Not but what she might approve the job, too,
if she had got any spirit in her. But she is but a poor, puling sort of
acretur, much as she was when she used to cosset you, my beautiful
master runaway apprentice. However, never mind that now, as you
say, my pretty master ; there's a time for all things. You may just
step in here while I change my coat. It bean't the first time as you
have entered this pleasant building, Master Mike, is it?"
Michael was going to obey him ; but, at the moment he was about
to pass the threshold, something in the eye of the superintendent made
him pause. He recollected full well the ready lock of that once hated
door ; and it struck him, as by no means impossible, that his old ac-
quaintance might turn it upon him, if he put it in his power to do so.
Fears for his own personal safety, he certainly had none, being quite
aware that he was no longer in danger of being kidnapped as hereto-
fore ; but the idea of Martha being left, at this her utmost need, in
want of any little service he could afford, was quite enough to make
him cautious, and with something of an involuntary smile, he stepped
back, saying, " There is no occasion for me to wait for you, Mr.
Parsons ; I have delivered my message, and you may obey it or not,
as you please. At any rate, you cannot want me to show you the way
to Dowling Lodge." And so saying, he turned round, and walked
out of the yard.
" Pestilent young viper !" muttered the superintendent between his
closed teeth. ei That I should live to see him strut off before me in
that fashion ! But I Ml have a try if I can't plague him yet. Fool
that I was, when I had him snug by myself on Ridgetop Moor, not to
give him one farewell thrashing with the horsewhip! If I had put out
a joint or two, it would have been no great matter ; and then I should
have been spared the d — d sight of him now, marching off — hang him !
like a peacock before me! As to changing my coat, that's fudge.
People don't trouble themselves to change their coats, when they are
going to pay their compliments to an apoplectic bankrupt."
Having fairly got beyond all the bolts and bars immediately within
the jurisdiction of Mr. Parsons, Michael slackened his pace, being
rather inclined to have the society of his former tyrant, than not.
" Sir Matthew appears to be in a very dangerous state, Mr. Parsons,"
said he, as soon as the sulky superintendent came up to him.
" Perhaps your right honourable greatness has been studying medi-
cine, since I had the pleasure of taking that little drive with you into
Derbyshire?"
360 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
V I have studied many things since that time, Mr. Parsons," replied
Michael, laughing; •« and one is the nature and use of locks."
The tone in which this was answered was so brutal, that the young
man, rather from disgust than anger, walked on faster than his foe
could follow him ; and reaching the house some minutes before him,
made his way again without ceremony — for it was no time for it — into
the apartment of Sir Matthew. A considerable change had taken
place in the condition of the patient since he left it. The cataplasms
had so far succeeded as to restore animation and consciousness : Sir
Matthew, still surrounded by Martha, Mrs. Gabberly, and the doctor,
■was gazing upon them with widely-opened eyes, which, though wild
and wandering in expression, were evidently not devoid of speculation.
Michael had entered very gently, but not without being heard by the
sick man; for he turned his eyes full upon him as he approached.
The sight of him, however, no longer seemed to produce any emotion ;
for after looking quietly at him for a moment, Sir Matthew turned his
gaze upon Mrs. Gabberly, who from being in the act of leaning over
him, brought herself particularly within his sight.
" Is Parsons come?" said Martha in a whisper.
" He must be in the hall by this time," replied Michael : " shall I
tell him to come up V
" My dear father has not yet spoken," she said ; " but, perhaps, he
may understand me. — Parsons is here, papa," she added, taking her
father's hand, and leaning over him — " should you like to see him ?"
"He is in London, my dear," replied the knight very distinctly.
" Thank God !" exclaimed Martha, tenderly kissing him — " Thank
God ! His speech is not in the least affected 1"
" Rather wandering, though," said Dr. Crockley, winking his eye
at Mrs. Gabberly.
" I should say, bleed him again, if you want to get any thing out of
him ;" observed Mrs. Gabberly, looking sagaciously at the doctor.
" Perhaps I may, in an hour or two," he replied, applying his ringer
to the patient's pulse.
Sir Matthew fixed his eyes upon him, and laughed a horrid, rattling,
ghastly sort of laugh, that seemed to come from his throat. " You
haven't quite done with me yet, have you, Crockley ?" said he.
" Done with you, my dear friend? God forbid !" replied the phy-
sician, rather startled at the apparently healthy state of his patient's
intellect, and affectionately smoothing his pillows, and settling the
"bedclothes about him.
" Would you like to see Parsons, dear papa?" said Martha, gently,
and again bending over him.
" Oh, yes !" he replied eagerly ; " I'll see Parsons now, directly — I
should be very sorry not to see Parsons. I may live, or I may die,
you know ; but I must see Parsons.
Martha immediately left the room, intending to explain to the
superintendent, before she brought him into it, the state in which her
father lay, and the necessity of receiving any orders he might wish to
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 361
give, with as little disturbance to him as possible. On reaching the
hall, however, she saw him not, and was on the point of returning up
stairs to inquire of Michael where he had left him, when she caught
the sound of his voice from Sir Matthew's study. On entering this
room she perceived not only Mr. Parsons but Lady Clarissa, who,
standing before the commode in which, as she happened to know, her
husband was accustomed to keep papers of importance, as well as
money, appeared to have been very assiduously examining its con-
tents ; for every recess had evidently been visited, and, as one of her
hands was tightly clutched over a pocket-book, it seemed that her re-
searches had not been wholly in vain, and that she had not privately
obtained possession of his keys for nothing.
" I was sent for, my lady," said Parsons, apparently replying to
some question of her ladyship's, which, to judge by her angry frown,
and the vexed expression of her countenance, had not been a civil
one.
" My father wishes to see Mr. Parsons directly," said Martha.
" And by your ladyship's leave I must take that green pocket-book
with me," said Parsons.
" What pocket-book, you rude fellow?" replied Lady Clarissa, in-
dignantly.
" That one as your ladyship now holds in your left hand," replied
the confidential superintendent.
" I wonder, sirrah, that you do not ask me to give you the rings
off my fingers !" cried the angry mistress. of the mansion. " Go to
your master, fellow, if he has sent for you, and I shall go too. So
you need not trouble yourself about the pocket-book."
And with these words she pushed past both Martha and Mr. Par-
sons, preceding them to the sick man's chamber. By the time they
entered it his eyes were again closed, but he appeared to breathe
without difficulty, though rather more audibly than usual, and
Martha fancied that he was asleep.
" Hush !" said she. " Do not disturb him. He is sleeping."
Dr. Crockley and Mrs. Gabberly had withdrawn to a window, and
were evidently in consultation ; but whether on the symptoms of
apoplexy, or bankruptcy, might be doubtful. Michael, however, was
standing close beside the bed, and in answer to Martha's observation
shook his head, saying, " No ! not asleep."
"Then he'll manage to hear what I've got to say to him," said
Parsons, advancing, and throwing a glance of spiteful vengeance at
Lady Clarissa, " because it is just what he wants to know."
At the sound of Parsons's voice Sir Matthew opened his eyes, and
made an effort to raise himself, but this was beyond his power, and it
was only by being lifted with as little effort as possible on his own
part, as if he were already dead, that he was placed in the attitude he
seemed to desire, and in which he was supported by pillows, and by
the arms of poor Martha, who had placed herself on the bolster
behind him.
362 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
It was a frightful and awful expression which then took possession
of his sunken features, nevertheless a hateful sort of smile made part
of it.
"Parsons! that's you, isn't it? That's Parsons that stands
there V 9 he said, directing his misty eyes full upon the superinten-
dent.
" Yes, Sir Matthew, 'tis me," replied the man.
" Have you done my bidding, Parsons ?" demanded the knight,
with a sort of gasping which seemed to threaten that his breath was
about to leave him.
" Yes, Sir Matthew, it's all regularly made out," replied Parsons,
" nobody can mistake now about times or dates in any way."
" And isn't that the Honourable Lady Clarissa?" said the sick man,
directing his eyes towards her.
" Yes, Sir Matthew," replied Parsons, with something like a titter.
"Then — then — then," panted the dying man, "let her ladyship
know what was the last business that I gave you instructions about."
" A very fitting business for an honourable gentleman to attend to,
when his affairs are in confusion, and he not in an over good state of
health," replied the confidential servant, turning himself round, so as
exactly to face her ladyship. " No less a matter than restoring three
good thousand pounds a year, for ever, towards clearing scores with
his creditors."
Now three thousand pounds a year was exactly the sum, for the
settlement of which upon herself, a daughter of the noble house of
Highlandloch had condescended to assume the name of Dowling, and
the mention of the often-meditated sum roused her ladyship's attention
so effectually that her face involuntarily protruded itself beyond her
body, till her nose very nearly reached that of the individual who
was addressing her.
" Go on !" said Sir Matthew, positively chuckling, though his chin
dropped on his chest as he spoke.
" Well then," resumed Parsons, leering aside at Dr. Crockley, who
with Mrs. Gabberly had drawn near to listen to this very interesting
disclosure, — " well then, justice is justice ; and Sir Matthew, let him
die when he will, won't have it upon his conscience that he defrauded
his creditors to make a settlement upon any lady in the land, gentle
or simple ; because you see he has left proof, plain and clear, that he
had committed more than one act of bankruptcy before he made the
settlement upon her ladyship, and for that good and excellent reason
her ladyship will have no right to one single penny that he leaves
behind him ; and that is a comfort to an honest man like me, who
likes to see justice done to high and low."
" Villain !" screamed Lady Clarissa, " it is false !"
" No, no, no, no !" issued from the pillows, in a voice that shook
with ghastly laughter. "True, all true; and now she may go to
Scotland."
" Just ask her to give you your green pocket-book, Sir Matthew,
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 363
before she goes," said Parsons, grinning. " I saw her ladyship take
it out of your bureau, and if she will be pleased to open her hand, I
think it will tumble out of it."
With a look of inexpressible rage, Lady Clarissa turned away from,
him and made towards the door,
" Stop her, Crockley!" cried Sir Matthew, feebly, adding with
panting difficulty, " and — you — shall — have — it."
Dr. Crockley had a great respect for the peerage, and would, be-
yond all question, have preferred snatching a pocket-book from nine
hundred and ninety-nine untitled ladies in succession, rather than,
from one Lady Clarissa ; but he felt that this was no moment for cere-
mony, and obeying what was very likely to be the last behest of his
patron, he rolled his fat person after her with extraordinary muscular
exertion, and grasping the lady's robe with one hand, seized on her
rigidly clenched fist with the other, in such a sort, that, according to
the prophecy of Mr. Parsons, the green pocket-book dropped out
of it.
Unfortunately, however, the attitude in which this feat was per-
formed, was one which could not be retained by the ill-balanced
person of the doctor, after the supporting form of the lady on whom
he had thrown himself had escaped from his grasp, and, struggling
with as much anxious care as Csesar to fall well (i. e. upon the
pocket-book), he measured his length upon the ground.
Parsons, though certainly not hoping for so lucky an accident, had,
with the same sort of instinct which brings the crow beside a sickly
sheep, followed closely the retreating steps of her ladyship, and ad-
roitly jerking the coveted pocket-book with his foot, so that it should
escape the being buried under the stumbling physician, prepared him-
self to dip and catch it. But the success of the manoeuvre was less
perfect than its ingenuity deserved ; for ere his tall rigid person had
bent itself sufficiently for him to reach the ground, Mrs. Gabberly,
who had become one of the group at the same instant with Dr. Crock-
ley, was in possession of it, and ere the prostrate Crockley or the
stooping Parsons could raise their eyes, the prize had dropped into
the deepest recesses of a prodigious pocket, which reached nearly to
the bottom of her little petticoat.
It is probable that both inquiry and search might have been insti-
tuted in consequence of this, had not the condition of the patient at
that moment rendered it impossible. Sir Matthew's ghastly eyes had
fixed themselves on Lady Clarissa during the foregoing scene, but as
if, though they had still the power of discerning objects, they had lost
that of moving after them, he appeared to lose sight of her as she
approached the door, and the heavy orbs seemed seeking for some-
thing on which to rest themselves without any change of position. It
chanced that Michael, who, quite aware that the last moments of Sir
Matthew were approaching, determined not to leave the premises till
he had learned the wishes and intentions of Martha, was at that mo-
ment moving from the corner he had occupied near a window, not
within sight of the bed, to a table exactly at the foot of it, on which
364 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
was placed ajlacon of Cologne water, which poor Martha, almost ex-
hausted by the painful attitude necessary to sustain the pillows, had
made him a sign to get for her. This movement brought him within
the range of Sir Matthew's eyes, and something in his aspect as he
cautiously bent to take the bottle, or else the thick-coming fancies of
a brain diseased, though not paralyzed, suddenly produced a terrible
effect upon the dying man, and he uttered a cry so harsh and terrible
as to constrain the attention even of the preoccupied group at the
door.
" There's a dead body walking about the room!" he ejaculated in
an unnatural and frightful accent. " He is come for me ! and I must
go !" The shriek which followed these words was terrible. In a
minute or two he spoke again, but almost in a whisper. "One?
No ! — it is not one, it is five hundred ! Take them ! — take them
away from me, I tell you ! They are all dirty, beastly factory-children.
Their arms and legs are all broken and smashed, and hanging by bits
of skin. Take them away, I tell you, Crockley ! Their horrid joints
will drop upon me ! They are dangling and loose, I tell you !" and
then again he shouted with so fearful a cry, that even Parsons pressed
his hands upon his ears to save them from the sound.
" Calm him ! calm him !" cried the trembling Martha. " Can you
not give him something that may still this dreadful agony, Doctor
Crockley?"
" It is not a very easy symptom to master, Miss Martha," replied
the physician drily. " However, it is not likely that it will last long.
All the life that's left is just about the heart and brain, which is always
unlucky if there happens to be any thing particular upon the mind."
" Parsons !" cried the dying man, again raising his voice, but with-
out looking towards the person he addressed. " Parsons ! are you
not ashamed of yourself to turn the whole set of them out upon me
at once in this way ? You that have paid, and bribed, and tipped so
often ! Rascal ! Take them off me, I tell you ! Do you mean that
they shall stifle me? They will stifle me! — they will, they will. I
cannot breathe for them ! Parsons ! — I tell you they will stifle me !"
" Papa ! my dear, # dear papa !" cried Martha, bending forward till her
cheek touched that of her father. " Compose yourself! It is only
that you are unwell and fancy things. There are no children here,
papa, but your own Martha."
Her tender caresses, and her gentle voice together, seemed to reach,
and quiet for a moment his wandering intellect. He made an effort to
turn his head towards her, but that was impossible ; and Michael, who
had, upon his first frightful cry, removed himself to the head of the
bed, where the eye of the wretched man could not reach, silently
offered to take Martha's place, that she might station herself where it
could. She quickly understood him, and in a moment stood where
that dying eye could gaze upon her. His hand, with its glittering
ring, still Jay upon the bed ; she took it in hers, and fondly chafed and
kissed it. But it was stiff and cold as marble !
"Father! dearest father!" she said, "speak one word to me!"
II. : I, '.. fi»a
ii
tttf
nJMH
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 365
But it was too late ; his lips never opened more. For some hours
longer he continued to breathe, but, on again feeling his pulse, Dr.
Crockley declared that its faint pulsations must inevitably cease
before night.
" I suppose your old servant Betty Parker is still in the house,
Miss Martha ?" said he. The poor girl bowed an affirmative, but had
no power to speak.
" Well, then," said the doctor, " I should recommend that you
should put her to sit here ; it is no good for any of us to stay any-
longer, for it's all over just as much as if he was already in his coffin.
You had better go away, and see what you can pack up to get off
with, Miss Martha, that's all that is left to be done, as far as I can
see. Come, Mrs. Gabberly," he added, " I have got a friendly word
or two to say to you, so your boy shall mount my pony and I'll drive
your donkey for you." And so saying, he took the little woman
under his arm and trudged off, without waiting for her to inform him
whether she approved his proposal, or not. Mr. Parsons, giving one
scowling look at the silent bed, followed them, and Martha and
Michael were left together beside the dying roan.
Upon perceiving the totally unconscious state into which Sir Matthew
had fallen, Michael had gently withdrawn himself from behind his
pillows, and now stood, almost as silent and motionless as himself,
beside the bed, respectfully waiting to receive from the desolate and
weeping Martha some hint or instruction respecting his staying where
he was, or leaving her. Never, when the poor dependant of her
family, had the young heart of Michael been impressed with a feeling
of respect so profound as he at that moment felt for the unhappy girl.
In truth the feeling was so powerful as to interfere with his usefulness,
for he shrank from appearing to put himself forward too presumptuously
by giving her advice, or venturing in any degree to dictate what it
might be best for her to do. But when, after remaining thus bash-
fully silent for a quarter of an hour, he perceived that she gave no
other sign of life than by tears that flowed incessantly, and sighs that
seemed to heave her breast " almost to bursting," — when he saw this,
he began to think that some degree of seeming presumption on his
part might be better and more profitable for her, whom he would
really have died to serve, than the continuance of a degree of defer-
ence, which must render him useless. Approaching, therefore, to the
chair on which she had thrown herself, he ventured to say, " Miss
Martha ! where can I find your old servant Betty Parker ? I remember
her very well — ; she used to be always in the nursery. If you would
tell me where she is likely to be, I will go for her."
Poor Martha for a moment ceased to weep, and looked up at him.
" Michael Armstrong !" she replied, " I am not conscious of ever
having injured any human being but yourself; and yet you are the
only one who is near to support and help me at this dreadful hour.
God bless you for your kindness, my good boy ! Do not go away,
Michael — that is, I mean, do not leave the house till all is over — in-
deed, I think vou mav be useful to me!"
366 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
" Miss Martha," he returned, " will you trust me to sit here, while
you yourself summon whomever you may wish to keep you company.
I will keep out of sight in case — " and here he stopped.
" His eyes will never open more, Michael!" she replied, while the
tears again burst forth, u and thank God their last look at me was
gentle ! But I almost fear to leave the room, Michael — I would not
that he should breathe his last, and I not by him." But Michael,
unskilful as he was, felt that the scene" was too awful a one for the
poor girl to be left alone in, and he therefore persisted to declare with
the authority which such subduing sorrow gives to all around who
will take the trouble to exercise it, that he would watch by the bed-
side of her father while she sought the old woman mentioned by
Dr. Crockley.
Reluctantly, and unresistingly she consented, and giving a look at
the bed that seemed to wring her very heart, she quitted the room,
leaving Michael Armstrong alone with the motionless mass of still
living clay, before which he had so often trembled.
How strangely eventful had been the interval between those well-
remembered days, and the one actually present with him ! How
extraordinary the change in the circumstances of both parties ! It
was not triumph, but it was thankfulness, which Michael felt, as the
sense of this came fully upon him during these moments of profound
stillness ; and the result of all the moving thoughts that crowded
upon his mind was an earnest prayer to Heaven that he might never
be placed in any circumstances likely to harden his heart, and make
him the cause of suffering to others, — a fearful and a dreadful crime,
which he felt, as he gazed with trembling awe on the sunken features
of the living corse before him, must in the sight of God be held
as one of the most daring rebellion to his heavenly will of which man
is capable.
Solemn and solitary as was Michael's position in the chamber of
Sir Matthew, the interval of Martha's absence did not seem long.
She returned accompanied by the old servant who had been nursery
attendant, though never raised to the dignity of nurse, from the birth
of the eldest child of the family, and who was the only one remaining
of all the numerous household who retained the slightest feeling of
attachment to any of them. To her, habit stood in the place of
preference, and she might perhaps be said to love all the Dowling
children, from the eldest to the youngest; a sentiment which led her
to conceive, as in duty bound, a most hearty detestation of their step-
mother. It was, therefore, with something very like pleasure that she
obeyed a summons so solemn and so peremptory as to justify her, even
in the judgment of Mrs. Saunderson, for laying aside the ironing-box,
which she had been plying incessantly for two whole days upon the
frills and furbelows of Lady Clarissa, in order to obey it. On per-
ceiving the condition in which her master lay, Betty Parker strongly
advised poor Martha to retire, urging the uselessness of her remaining
to look upon what was so grievous, when a baby might see at half a
glance that the poor gentleman could not tell friend from foe. But
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 367
Betty Parker knew little of the intensity of Martha's pertinacious
love for her unworthy parent, if she fancied that her very reasonable
remonstrance would produce any effect. Martha attempted not even
to answer it, but placing herself in a chair close beside the. bed,
remained nearly as motionless as the faintly breathing figure that lay
upon it.
Poor Michael knew not too well what he ought to do next. He
felt that he was useless there ; he knew that he should be stared at, as
a very incomprehensible intruder, if he descended to the offices. Yet
he remembered that his benefactress had bid him not to go, and he
could not have felt himself more strongly bound to remain, had the
crime of high treason been involved in his departure. Yet there was
something in the stupid puzzled look with which Betty Parker regarded
him, that vexed his spirit. He was conscious that he had no business
in that room, and therefore at such a moment he ought not to be there.
After a few moments of reflection he approached Martha, and making
so profound a reverence as to convince Betty, that let him be who he
would, he was a very well-behaved young gentleman, he said, " I
will now, Miss Martha, go to the inn for an hour or two, and then re-
turn to take your orders." A look of gratitude was all her reply, and
Michael departed.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when he entered the little inn,
where the postboy, who had driven him from Fairly in the morning,
was still waiting his orders. " I cannot tell you yet, my lad, when I
shall be ready to return," he replied, in answer to the boy's question-
ings.
" It's all one to me, master," said the driver. " In course I shall
be paid accordingly."
'" Certainly you will," returned Michael : and he was then left to
eat his solitary dinner with what appetite he might.
For three long melancholy hours he employed himself in pacing
backwards and forwards on the high-road before the little inn, and was
beginning to think that time enough had elapsed to justify his return-
ing to inquire how matters were going on at Dowling Lodge, when the
sound of a carriage approaching as it seemed from the park-gates,
caused him to stop abruptly to listen, and to look.
The equipage that drew near was a handsome travelling-carriage,
though its appearance was considerably disfigured by the prodigious
quantity of luggage, which was fastened by ropes and chains to every
part of it. The imperial only formed the foundation for a pyramid of
trunks and bandboxes, which were piled upon it. The servant's- seat
behind was loaded to its very utmost capacity with more trunks and
bandboxes, while, chained below it, was a massive coffer, that looked
very like a plate-chest, having suspended round its sides, bundles,
baskets, and bags innumerable. Nor was the interior by any means
reserved for live lumber alone, for although the rigid figures of Lady
Clarissa Dowling, and her waiting-woman, Saunderson, were visible in
the midst, it appeared to be crammed with every imaginable species of
property which such a conveyance could transport.
368 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
Michael watched the overloaded vehicle roll by with great satisfac-
tion. " Whatever happens," thought he, " Miss Martha must be
better without her." Relieved by knowing that he should not again
run the risk of encountering her delectable ladyship, Michael immedi-
ately took his way to the magnificent mansion she had forsaken, and
perceiving that the hail-doors stood wide open, preferred passing
through them to encountering again the motley throng that had taken
possession of the offices. But instead of finding this portion of the
house as quiet and forsaken as he had left it, he was startled by hear-
ing, as he mounted the steps of the stately portico, a multitude of
voices in violent altercation.
At first he felt disposed to turn away and seek another entrance,
but the vehemence of the sounds he heard excited his curiosity, and he
went on. Instead of one, half-a-dozen strangers might have entered
without running any risk of having their right there challenged ; so
great was the confusion that reigned ; and Michael might have passed
up the great stairs, and into the chamber which it was his purpose to
visit, without any difficulty. But he was prevented from taking im-
mediate advantage of this, by hearing words which excited new fears
for the unfortunate Martha ; and, ere he had listened many minutes, he
became aware that a new creditor had reached the lodge after he left
it, who had come, armed with proper authority, to arrest the knight,
dead or alive. Nor did the discussion of this event cause all the up-
roar ; for the agents of the parties who had previously sent in the ex-
ecution were threatening with all sorts of punishment, several of the
servants, whom they accused of having been bribed to assist Lady
Clarissa in the removal of many valuables which she had no right to
take. It was not this part of the tumult, however, that interested him ;
and, having obtained but too clearly the information that Sir Matthew-
was arrested, he once more sought for the unhappy Martha in the
dismal chamber where he had left her. And there he found her ; but
with such frightful adjuncts to her natural grief, that the state of quiet
decent sorrow in which he had left her, seemed a condition positively
enviable compared to that in which he found her now.
Sir Matthew had breathed his last, and the corpse was already ar-
ranged with decency upon its stately bed ; but, on each side of it stood
an officer, whose duty it was to violate by their presence the solemn
sanctity of that dismal chamber, and to prevent the body's being
carried to the grave, till the claims of their employer were satisfied.
In front of her father's corpse, with her troubled eyes (no longer
bathed in the healing dew of natural sorrow), turning from it to its
rude guardians, and back again to all that was left of the sinful being
she had so fondly, blindly loved, — stood the wretched daughter, so
sad a spectacle of woe, that it was evident the men themselves turned
their hard eyes studiously away, because they felt a pang of pity as
they looked upon her.
" Come with me, Miss Martha !" cried Michael, unceremoniously
seizing her arm. " You must not, you cannot remain here. You
can do no good, Miss Martha ; all is over now ! You must come
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 369
away, you must indeed." The only answer that poor Martha gave,
was forcibly shaking off the hand that held" her, and then pointing-,
first to her father's body, and afterwards to the two unseemly attend-
ants who stood beside it.
" It is no use, young man, to strive with her," said Betty, who was
still occupied in completing some of her lugubrious operations about
the bed : " I know her better than you do. She will stay here
watching him till she is as dead as he is, rather than go away, and
leave his body to be tended by such as those."
For a moment Michael really felt all the enervating effects of de-
spair, and stood perfectly incapable of even imagining any means of
help for the agony which it wrung his heart to witness. But, as the
old woman pursued her ghastly occupation, she went muttering on,
expatiating on the sinful and unchristian outrage that was thus com-
mitted. "And what will the rogue get by it?" she said. " Does he
mean to show the corpse for a farthing a head to his factory black-
guards ? Isn't he as big a fool as he is knave V*
" No, mistress, no, by no means," said the friendly defender of
Mr. Joseph Parsons: — for it was at his suit that the body of Sir
Matthew had been arrested. — " You may call the superintendent
rogue, or knave, or what you will of that kind, and I don't suppose
that there's many as would contradict you ; but, as to his being a fool,
especially as to the doing what he has done here, that he is not.
'Twas his only chance."
" And how much do you think he'll make of it?" demanded old
Betty with a sneer.
" Why, just the four hundred and sixty-seven pounds as is due to
him," replied the man.
To all this poor Martha appeared not to pay the slightest attention,
and, in truth, neither understood nor heard a word of it; but Michael
did, and with sudden animation stepped up to the man who had
spoken, and whispered in his ear, " Perhaps we may be able to settle
this business without any further difficulty. Step out of the room
with me, will you, for a moment : your companion can do all that is
necessary without you." — " Neither I nor my employer are people to
make difficulties," replied the man; " and I am quite ready to hear you,
young master, if you have got any thing to say upon the subject."
They accordingly retired together ; and in a wondrously short space of
time the uninitiated Michael was made to understand all the circum-
stances of the case, the most important of which was that if, as Mr.
Parsons hoped and expected, Miss Martha could find ready money
enough quietly to pay his little private account with the late Sir
Matthew, the arrest would be immediately withdrawn, and the body
left for her to dispose of it at her pleasure.
" And the sum," said Michael, " is — how much ?"
" Four hundred and sixty-seven pounds," replied the man, " with
some little matter, not exceeding four or five pounds more, for costs."
" Withdraw the arrest," said Michael, '« and the money shall be
instantly forthcoming."
2 B
370
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
f< Let us see the money forthcoming," replied the fellow, grinning,
" and the arrest shall be instantly withdrawn. "
*' Here is the money, sir," said Michael, taking out the pocket-book
containing Martha's generous donation, and drawing from it notes to
the amount demanded.
"Then the business will be soon settled, young gentleman. May
I take the liberty to ask your name V*
" My name is of no consequence whatever, sir," replied Michael.
"But lose no time in giving me the discharge. Only first enter that
chamber with me once again, withdraw your companion from his
frightful watch, and tell the poor young lady that it is over."
The man readily obeyed, and the mourning, but thankful Martha
was once more left with her old servant, to watch beside her father's
corpse.
CHAPTER XXXII.
MR. AUGUSTUS DOWLING GIVES HIS SISTER MARTHA NOTICE TO QUIT
THE PREMISES*, WHICH OCCASIONS MICHAEL TO APPEAR IN A NEW
CHARACTER A LONG JOURNEY TAKEN EY NOVICES*, BUT THEY
DO NOT LOSE THEIR WAY, AND ARRIVE AT THE RIGHT PLACE
AT LAST.
The circumstances which immediately followed are not of sufficient
consequence to detain us long. Our old acquaintaince, Mr. Augustus,
now Major Dowling of the — regiment, quartered at the distance of
a day's journey, was sent for to get through the melancholy business
going on in his paternal mansion, as well as he could ; to give orders
respecting the funeral, and to make himself as thoroughly acquainted
with the real state of his family affairs as circumstances would permit.
Michael, meanwhile, had taken leave of the weeping Martha without
having given her the slightest hint as to the means by which Sir
Matthew's body had been released. Had he not known that the Mr.
Augustus, whose kicks and pinches he so well remembered, was ex-
pected to arrive for the protection of his sister, and of whatever pro-
perty they might still call their own, he would hardly have made up
his mind to leave her, however conscious he might have been of the
doubtful propriety of offering such protection as he could give. But it
was evident that the poor girl thought he had better go, though it was
equally so that she parted from him with the greatest reluctance.
" You shall hear from me," she said, " my good Michael, and if
it should never be my good fortune to see you more, remember me
with the same forgiving kindness that you have shown through all the
dreadful scenes you have witnessed here. You have a good and ge-
nerous heart, Michael, and though I know you suffered much by being
V
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 371
present at them, you will always like to remember how greatly your
presence helped to support your early friend in her great affliction."
But it was not destined that these sad scenes should be the last in
which Michael and his early friend were to be thrown together. In
little more than a week after the death of Sir Matthew, and while
Michael was still anxiously waiting at Fairly for such tidings from her
as might put him at liberty to set off without further delay for Nice,
a packet reached him from Dowling Lodge, containing two letters.
One was from Martha, and contained these words :
" Dear Michael,
" My brother tells me that all of us, who are old enough, must
seek our own living, for that there is nothing left to support us. My-
self especially, he says, must, to use his own words, look about me
directly, as my behaviour to my family has never been such as to jus-
tify my looking to any of them for assistance. This amounts to my
being actually turned out of doors, an exigency which at this moment
leaves me no other resource than what is afforded by the enclosed let-
ter. Read it, Michael, and let me know if you are willing to give
me your assistance and protection in reaching the amiable writer of it.
I could never have accepted, even for a day, the hospitality she so ge-
nerously offers, could I not prove to her, by bringing you with me, that
the sad subject which interrupted our friendship some seven or eight
years ago, could never again be a source of pain to either of us.
" My dear father's last act towards me, which was, as I think I told
you, the placing a few hundred pounds in my hands for the express
purpose of my leaving the country, will enable me to undertake this
long journey without being a burden upon you, The green pocket-
book, Michael, so well known to Mr. Parsons and Lady Clarissa, as
the repository of my father's ready money, and so disgracefully struggled
for during his last moments, will prove of no value to its possessors be-
yond its morocco cover and its silken lining ; for the notes which he
took from it to give to me, were the last he ever placed in it. My
messenger has orders to wait for your reply. If it will suit you im-
mediately to accompany me to Nice — my first stage shall be to the
little inn at Fairly, which you mentioned to me. I fear you will find
me a weak and troublesome traveller ; but I think I have been im-
proving in health ever since I learnt that I had not your death to
answer for.
" Your grateful friend,
" Martha Dowling."
The other letter was from Miss Brotherton, and ran thus :
" Need I tell you, my dearest Martha, with what feelings I received
the news of your present painful position ? Your father's marriage with
Lady Clarissa was, for your sake, a source of great sorrow to me, for
I was certain that your domestic happiness would be destroyed by it ;
and this most unexpected event of your father's bankruptcy makes
2 b 2
372 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
me feel quite sure that you have no longer a comfortable home in
England. Come then to me, my dear Martha ! The painful estrange-
ment which grew between us, just when I was beginning to know and
value your excellent qualities, has long been a source of very painful
regret to me, because I am aware that I judged you unfairly, and
pronounced that judgment harshly. Be generous, then, and prove
that you can forgive this, by immediately giving me the pleasure of re-
ceiving you as my guest. When we are together, we will consult about
■what will be best for the future ; but at any rate I have the satisfac-
tion of knowing that the climate to which I am inviting you is likely
to be beneficial to your health during the approaching winter : come
to me, then, dear friend, without delay. On the other side you will
find the route sketched that I recommend you for your journey. My
quarters are roomy enough to accommodate either man or maid-
servant, or both, if it will suit you to be so accompanied.
" Ever, my dear Martha,
" Affectionately yours,
" Mary Brotpierton."
The consequence of this packet was another metamorphosis on the
part of Michael, " She shall not think," said he, addressing Mr. Bell,
"that my respect for her is lessened because her fortune has fallen.
I will wait upon her with faithful duty and most grateful affection :
but she was born in a palace, and I in a cabin ; and I will not, espe-
cially just now, obtrude myself upon her as a companion. As her
servant I hope I may be useful to her, and it is in that capacity that I
shall attend her."
There was so much good feeling shown in this project, that Mr. Bell
could not oppose it, whatever he might think of its necessity ; and
Michael, therefore, gave the astonished Martha the meeting at the
little inn she had named, in the character of a very neat and respect-
able-looking man-servant. Her faithful Betty Parker, who had con-
sented to be the companion of her journey, was in the room with her
•when Michael made his appearance at the door, to receive her orders.
The cautious manner in which he made her comprehend his purpose,
and the nature of the office he had assumed, suggested to her the
propriety of not discussing it in the presence of the well-contented
Betty, who was exceedingly comforted by discovering that the young
man whom her mistress had informed her would travel with them, was
to do so as her fellow-servant, as she by no means felt herself capable
of becoming " servant of all work" to a young lady travelling through
foreign countries, of which she had never even heard the names. But
having contrived to dismiss her female attendant on an errand, Martha
began to remonstrate with her faithful squire upon the great mistake
he had made in fancying that she had ever thought of travelling with
him in any other capacity than that of a friend. All she said, how-
ever, was in vain. Michael, though in a manner the most humbly-
respectful, persisted in his purpose ; and the almost destitute girl was
therefore constrained to set off upon her travels in a style which she
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 373
felt to be very unfitting to her situation. Her conscience, however,
could not reproach her for this, for most assuredly she could not help it.
Many were the letters,^ and various the mementos of affection,
intrusted by Mr. and Mrs. Bell to the care of Michael for their
dearly-beloved Mary Brotherton. Nor was there an individual of
whose welfare he thought it would please her to hear, whom he did
not visit to receive their loving blessings for the benefactress who, not-
withstanding her wide wanderings, had never failed to remember the
wants of all who had faithfully served her, or in any way become
dependent on her bounty.
These duties completed, and a farewell of most grateful affection ut-
tered to the amiable clergyman and his excellent wife, Michael set off
upon his long journey with feelings of hope, joy, confidence, fear, diffi-
dence, and trembling affection, — all so strongly mixed together in his
bosom that, had his life depended on it, he could not himself have told
which it was that most frequently preponderated. Yet, altogether, his
state of mind was very delightful: the novelty and excitement of jour-
neying, so pregnant of enjoyment to most of us, was most especially
captivating to him, whose education had been little more than the
unchecked development of imagination, and of that keen observation
of all surrounding objects which his shepherd life had taught him.
The first painful interruption to the state of felicity, arose from his
finding himself under the necessity of confessing to Martha that he
had no more money wherewith to pay their way. Aware that in the
performance of his self-appointed office Michael would have to pay
every thing, and keep a regular account of it ; and aware also that
the money he had received from her would enable him to do this,
without giving him the additional trouble of daily settlements with
her, she had merely said, a minute or two before they set off, " You
will be kind enough to be my banker, Michael, during the journey,
and we will settle accounts at the end of it."
For just one week from the day of their leaving Fairly, he was
able to do this ; but then the little remnant of his treasure failed him,
and great as was his repugnance to the measure, he was compelled by
dire necessity to confess that nearly the whole of her generous gift
had gone to — " to satisfy the rapacity of Mr. Parsons/'
It would be hardly possible for one human being to be more grate-
ful to another than poor Martha felt to her young attendant after this
disclosure. She remembered the agony which he had made to cease;
she remembered, too, her state of utter incapacity even to compre-
hend, and still less to avert the horrors that surrounded her ; and,
spite of all Michael's respectful efforts to induce her to perform her
allotted character properly, she never from the hour of this disclosure
treated him otherwise than as a dear and valued friend.
As their journey approached its termination, however (to which
period Michael had looked with peculiar anxiety, as that most im-
portant to the dignity of Martha), there was one argument, and one
only, by which he was able to coax her into letting him make his first
appearance before Miss Brotherton in the character of her servant;
374 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
and this was his very natural wish to ascertain whether Edward and
Fanny would recognise him.
It was therefore still in the dress, and with the demeanour of a
servant, that the poor factory-boy, now become a tall and very hand-
some young man, armed himself with courage to enter the presence of
his brother, and once more to draw near to the dear and gentle little
being whom he had so fondly loved during the miserable period
they had passed together at the Deep Valley, It had been previously
agreed between himself and Martha, that when she sent for him, it
should be for the purpose of giving him some long and particular
instructions respecting the luggage he was to get from the custom-
house, in order to give him time to look, and be looked at, before the
moment of discovery should arrive.
The young man trembled like an aspen-leaf as he laid his hand
upon the lock of the door, the opening of which would bring him
face to face with his brother. And perchance he might have indulged
in a longer interval of preparation, had not the voice of Martha dis-
tinctly pronounced the words " Come in !" Further delay was out
of the question ; he pushed forward the door, and entered.
The first figure that his eyes fell upon was that of a young lady —
small, and of very delicate proportions — whose head, which was hang-
ing over some employment as the door opened, was raised as he
entered, displaying to him a very lovely face, and a pair of eyes whose
dark brilliance almost made the beholder wink. Could that be Fanny
Fletcher? No. Yet that it should be Miss Brotherton seemed more
impossible still. Like all young people who have been separated from
some one considerably older than themselves, ever since the period
when this difference made one of them appear fully grown, while
the other was still a child, Michael fancied that in Miss Brotherton
he should see an elderly person, no more like a pretty girl, than he
was himself. But Mary Brotherton had not fully completed her
twenty-ninth year ; and happening, moreover, to be very peculiarly
young-looking both in face and figure, it was not very wonderful that
he should doubt of her identity ; for it was in truth Mary Brotherton,
and no other, whose bright and laughing loveliness made him turn his
admiring eyes away, in search of something dearer, though not more
beautiful.
At the end of the sofa-table, at which Miss Brotherton sat with
Martha Dowling beside her, was a young female figure which pre-
sented only a profile to his gaze — But that was enough — the delicate
oval face," the sweet regular small features, the glossy light brown
hair parted Madonna-like upon the ivory brow, and the long eyelash
that seemed to rest upon her cheek as she read, all proclaimed that
he looked upon the same gentle lovely creature whose soft voice had
whispered " patience !" when his spirit, but for her, had died within
him. At the sight of this sweet vision, that in shadowy and uncertain
outline had so often visited his reveries, Michael's manhood almost
forsook him, and large tears gathered in his eyes, which he was fain
to hide by turning round again and performing some blundering-
OF MICHAEL ARMSTRONG. 375
operation with the lock of the door. Martha played her part admira-
bly, appearing to be the most exceedingly particular young lady,
about boxes, bags, and desks, that ever travelled.
" Remember, I beg," she said, " that you see yourself to the
opening of every package. Don't let them touch a single article
that you do not watch the whole time ; and be sure that every thing
is locked again — and on no account forget the covers, or mismatch
them — and remember particularly — " et cater a, et ccstera, and so she
ran on at the imminent risk of being classed by her clever friend Mary
as the veriest fidget that ever arrived to bore a peaceable household ,
and all in order to give her poor companion time to recover himself,
and see distinctly what was before him.
But Michael could not recover himself, nor could he even find cou-
rage to look about him. It was a large saloon that Miss Brotherton
occupied, and the agitated young man rather felt that there was a
gentleman occupied with books and papers at a distant table, than
saw him. Yet to see him he was determined, if his life were to be
the forfeit ; and turning his head with an eye as troubled as that of
Hamlet, when tremblingly following his father's spirit, he stood at
last with clasped hands, protruded head, and features almost con-
vulsed with emotion, when he had an uninterrupted view of his
brother's calm and beautiful countenance.
Edward was very busily employed, and unconsciously submitted
himself to this examination without raising his eyes, or moving in any
way ; but Miss Brotherton's ear caught something like a sob from the
silent object of all Martha's eloquence, and suddenly looking up
perceived Michael in the attitude described, but stealthily, and perhaps
unknowingly approaching Edward's table, while the tears he could no
longer check, roiled down his manly cheek.
There are some individuals of the human family gifted with such
quickness of perception, and rapidity of inference, that their faculties
act with the certainty of instinct, and the brilliancy of inspiration.
Miss Brotherton was one of those ; and after looking for a minute or
two at Michael, quite as earnestly as Michael looked at Edward, she
sprung from the sofa, pushed the table that stood before it with such
"violence from her as nearly to overset it, and rushing forward laid her
hand upon his arm, exclaiming, "For mercy's sake tell me young man,
who you are, and where you come from ?"
On hearing these words in a voice unusually loud and agitated,
Edward rose hastily from his seat, and approached Miss Brotherton
as if to protect her from some threatened danger ; but turning towards
him, she held up her hand as if to prevent his hostile approach, and
said, " Stay Edward, stay ! Look at him ! Good Heaven ! Look at
him, dearest Edward, and tell me who he is like !"
Thus addressed, Edward did look at his brother, and for a moment
with a countenance that seemed to say Miss Brotherton had lost her
wits — but suddenly Michael smiled at him as he caught his puzzled
eye, and then he started, and almost gasped for breath — ind his
376 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES
distracted eyes fixed themselves on the agitated face before him as if
they would read in it the history of years.
" Edward! — Teddy!" cried Michael, opening his arms, and making
a step in advance.
In the next instant the brothers were locked in each other's arms,
and Miss Brotherton drew back, and gazed upon them from a distance
as if the very ground that sustained hearts under the influence of
such feelings was holy — while Fanny Fletcher, rose and sat down,
and rose again, checking the feeling that would have sent her to
stretch forth a hand of welcome to her old friend, by telling herself
that no hand, no voice but Edward's could be cared for then. And
perhaps she was right ; for it is certain that for several minutes, neither
Edward nor Michael were fully conscious where they were, nor who
they might be that were near them. Once and again each beating heart
was strained against the brother heart, and then, their right hands
clasped, and the left placed, each on the other's shoulder,
" They fell to such perusal of the face,"
that now, after eight cruel years of absence, was once more beaming
with love and sympathy before their eyes, that it must have been a
very heartless and soulless being who should have come between them.
Though such a history as Michael's might well have occupied more
than one long summer's day in the telling* to ears so greedy of every
circumstance connected with it as were those of Edward, yet it is won-
derful how very short a time sufficed to point out the keystone of the
arch, upon which the whole wonderful fabric hung, and then it was that
Fanny Fletcher's voice w r as heard exclaiming in a burst of uncontrol-
lable emotion,
" Then it was I that caused it all ! Oh ! Miss Brotherton, it was I
who kept him in that horrid place for years ! Had I not told you he
was dead, it would have been he who would have been the happy ob-
ject of your bounty, instead of me ! Oh ! how can he ever forgive
me?"
This was uttered with such agitated rapidity, that though there was
more than one present, who would have been ready enough to contra-
dict the self-accusing statement, she gave them no time for it. But
it sufficed to draw Michael from the side of his brother, and to place
him at hers ; and though this terrible thought drew a shower of tears
from Fanny's eyes, notwithstanding the exceeding happiness which
was at the very same moment throbbing at her heart ; it may be that
there could not have been found a more effectual mode of at once
bringing back the long-parted friends to the same tone of familiar in-
tercourse in which they had parted, as this sincere self-recrimination
on one part, and the warm pleading against its injustice, on the other.
For some minutes this lasted without being interrupted by a word
from any one ; for both Mary and Edward found, sufficient occupation
in looking at them both, and then exchanging expressive glances of
thanksgiving and happiness with each other. But at length, upon
Fanny's saying with a fresh burst of tears,
i
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