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51133), t

~1RSTA TOIS.BY

C HA RLE S

DIGCKE -NS*

INtW
IXDl APPLETO~N
II49 5 4V ~

PREFACE.

TuE narrow space within which it was necessary to confine these Christmas Storioei
lion they were originally published, rendered their construction a matter of some diffiiAty, and almost necessitated what is peculiar in their machinery. I never attempted
teat elaboration of detail in the working out of character within such limits, believing
rat it could not succeed. My purpose was, in a whimsical kind of masque which the.od humor of the season justified, to awaken some loving and forbearing thoughts,
ever out of season in a Christian land.

149866

CONTENTS,

PA(

A CHRISTMAS CAROL,.
TE CHIMES,
E CRICKET ON THE HEARTH,.
THE BATTLE OF LIFE,.
THE HAUNTED MAN,.

e
1..
0....
0... 0 1t,,.

*wn~f.*WAT.....,

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
BEING A GHOST STORY OF CHRISTMAS.

STAVE ONE.
MARLEY'S GHOST.
MARIEY was dead, to begin with. There is
no doubt whatever about that. The register of
his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk,
the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge
signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon
'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.
d Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind I I don't mean to say that I know, of
own knowledge, what there is particularly
Ead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the
-fsdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my
SAlhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the
Country's done for. You will therefore permit
me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as
dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did.: in,,&lt; could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he
'ere partners for I don't know how many years.
Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee,
his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even
Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad
event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the vry day of the funeral, and solemnised it within undoubted bargain.
a he mention of Marley's funeral brings me.'i..i: to the point I started from. There is no
Ibubt that Marley was dead. This must be iisinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can. me of the story I am going to rclate. If
- e were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's
j ather died before the play began, there would
be nothing more remarkable in his taking a sroll
t night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-,ged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a
breezy spot-say Saint Paul's Church-yard for
nstance-literally to astonish his son's weak
- mind.
Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name.

There it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was
known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge,
and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both
names. It was all the same to him.
Oh I But he was a tight-fisted hand at the
grindstone, Scrooge I a squeezing, wrenching,
grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner Hard and sharp as flint, from which no
steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret,
and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
cold within him froze his old features, nipped his
pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his
gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and
spoke out shrewdlyin his grating voice. Afrosty
rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and
his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office n
the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at
Christmas.
External heat and cold had little influence on
Scrooge. No warmth could warm no wintry
weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent
upon its purpose, no pelting rain less op.ento
entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to
have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and bail,
and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him
in only one respect. They often "came down"
handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say,
with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are
you? When will you come to see me?" No:
beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked hifwhst it was o'clock, no man or
woman ever once in all his life inquired the way
to such and scsh a place, of Scrooge. Even the
blindmen's dogs appeared to know him; and
when they saw him coming on, would tug their
owners into doorways and up courts; and then
would wag their tails as though they said, "no
eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!"
But what did Scrooge care It was the very
thing he liked. To edge his way along th

2A~

CHIRISTIAS BOOKS.

crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy 'to keep its distance, was what the knowing
ones called " nuts " to Scrooge.
Once upon a time-of all the good days in the
year, on Christmas Eve-old Scrooge sat busy in
his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting
weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down,
beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm
them. The city clocks had only just gone three,
but it was quite dark already-it had not been
light all day-and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighboring offices, like ruddy smears
upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so
dense without, that although the court was of the
narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping
down, obscuring everything, one might have
thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.
The door of Scrooge's counting-house was
open, that he might keep his eye upon his clerk,
who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank,
was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small
fire, but the clerk'-s fire was so very much smaller
that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his
own room; and so surely as the clerk came in
with the shovel, the master predicted that it would
be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the
tcerk put on his white comforter, and tried to
Warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not
betig a man of strong imagination, he failed.
"A merry Christmas, uncle I God save you!"
tried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of
Ociooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly
that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
Bah 1" said Scrooge, "Humbug!"
He had so heated himself with ralpid walking
in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge's,
that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and
bhadsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath
amoked again.
"Christmas a humbug, uncle! " said Scrooge's
a thew. "You don't mean that, I am sure?"
"I do," said Scrooge, " Merry Christmas I
What right have you to be merry? What reason
btae you to be merry? You're poor enough."
"Come then," returned the nephew gaily.
4Wh0at right have you to be dismal? What
toeso have you to be morose? You're rich
Scrooge having no better answer ready on the
ar of the moment, said, "Bah I" again; and followed Itup with " Humbug I"
"Don't be cross, uncle!" said the nephew.
"What else can I be," returned the uncle,
w I live in such a world of fools as this?
X 'Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas I
t' Christmas time to you but a time for paying bits without money; a time for finding your

self a year older, and not an hour richer; a time
for balancing your books and having every item in
'em through a round dozen of months presented
dead against y)u? If I could work my will," said
Scrooge indignantly, " every idiot who goes about
with 'Merry Christmas,' on his lips, should be
boiled with his own pudding, and buried with
a stake of holly run through his heart. Iie
should!"
"Uncle! " pleaded the nephew.
"Nephew I" returned the uncle, sternly,
"keep Christmas in your own way, and let me
keep it in mine."
"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But
you don't keep it."
"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge.
"Much good may it do you I Much good it has
ever done you I "
"There are many things from which I might
have derived good, by which I have not profited,
I dare say," returned the nephew, "Christmas
among the rest. But I am sure I have always
thought of Christmas time, when it has come
round-apart from the veneration due to its sacred
name and origin, if anything belonging to it can
be apart from that-as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I
know of, in the long calendar of the year. when
men and women seem by one consent to open
their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people
below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore,
uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or
silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me
good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless
it!"
The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded.
Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last
frail spark for ever.
"Let me hear another sound from you," said
Scrooge, "and you'll keep your Christmas by
losing your situation; you're quite a powerful
speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew.
"I wonder you don't go into Parliament."
"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with
us to-morrow."
Scrooge said that he would see him-yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the
expression, and said that he would see him in
that extremity first.
" But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew.
"Why?"
" Why did you get married?" said Scrooge.
" Because I fell in love."
" Because you fell in love 1" growled Scrooge,
as if that were the only one thing in the world
more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Good
afternoon 1"
" Nay, uncle, but you never came to see ma
before that happened. Why give it as a reason
for not coming now "
Good afternoon," said Scrooge.

A CRISTMSAS CAROL. }
"I want nothing from you; I asik nothin^of nish Christian cheer of mind or body to the muniton; why cannot we be friends? " tude," returned the gentleman, "a few of us are
"Good afternoon," said Scrooge. endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the Poor sonim
I am sorry, with all my heart, to find yo.so meat and drink, and' means of warmth. We
resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to choose this time, because it is a time, of all others,
which I have been a party. But I have made the when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices.
trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my What shall I put you down for?"
Christmas humor to the last. So A Merry Christ- " Nothing I" Scrooge replied.
nas, uncle!" "Yon wish to be anonymous?"
"lood afternoon!" said Scrooge. "I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge.
"And A Happy New Year 1 " "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that
"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge. is my answer. I don't make merry myself at
Ilis nephew left the room without an angry Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people
word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer merry. I help to support the establishments I
door to bestow the greetings of the season on the have mentioned-they cost enough: and those
clerk, who, cold as he. was, was warmer than who are badly off must go there."
Scrooge; for he returned them cordially "M any can't go there; and many would rather
"There's another fellow," muttered Scrooge; die."
who overheard him: " my clerk, with fifteen shil- "If they would rather die," said Scrooge,
lings a-week, and a wife and family, talking about " they had better do it, and decrease the surplus
a merry Christmas. I'll retireto Bedlam." population. Besides-excuse me-I don't know
This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, that."
had let two other people in. They were portly "But you might know it," observed the gcngentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, tleman.
with their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had " It's not my business," Scrooge returned.
books and papers in their hands, and bowed to " It's enough for a man to understand his own
him. business, and not to interfere with other people's.
"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon,
the gentlemen, referring to his list. " Have I the gentlemen "
pleasure of addressing AMr. Scrooge, or Mr. Mar- Seeing clearly that it would be useless to purley?" sue their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge
"Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years," resumed his labors with an improved opinion of
Scrooge replied. " He died seven years ago, this himself, and in a more facetious temper than was
very night." usual with him.
"' We have no doubt his liberality is well repre- Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so,
sented by his surviving partner," said the gentle- that people ran about with flaring links, profferino
man, presenting his credentials. their services to go before horses in carriages, and
It certainly was; for they had been two kin- conduct them on their way. The ancient tower
dred spirits. At the ominous word "liberality," of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peepScrOoge frowned, and shook his head, and handed ing slily down at Scrooge out of a gothic window
the credentials back. in the wall, became irnisible, and struck the hours
"At this festive season of the year, Mr. and quarters in the cTouds, with tremulous vibraScrooge," said the gentleman, taking up a pen, tions afterwards, as if its teeth were chattering in
"it is more than usually desirable that we should its frozen head up there. The cold became inmake some slight provision for the Poor and des- tense. In the main street, at the corner of the
titute, who suffer greatly at the 'present time. court, some laborers were repairing the gas-pipea,
Many thousands are in want of common necessa- and had lighted a great fire in a brazier, round
ries; hundreds of thousands are in want of com- vwhich a party of ragged men and boys were gathmon comforts, sir." ered: warming their hands and winking their
"Are there no prisons? " asked Scrooge. eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug
"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, lay- being left in solitude, its overflowings suddenly
Itg down the pen again. congealed, and turned to misanthropic ice. The I
"And the Union workhouses?" demanded brightness of the shops where holly sprigs and
Scrooge. "Are they still in operation?" berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows,
j "They are. Still," returned the gentleman, made pale faces ruddyas theypassed. Poulteres'
' 'I wish I could say they were not." and grocers' trades became a splendid joke; a
"The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full glorious pageant, with which it was next to imvigor, then? " said Scrooge. possible to believe that such dull principles ae
"Both very busy, sir." bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord
i Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, Mayor, in the stronghold of the lmighty Mansion
that something had occurred to stop them in their House, gave orders to his fifty cooks -and butlers
useful course," said Scrooge. I am very glad to t keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor's household
hear it." should; and even the little tailor, whom he bfi
"lnder the impression thathey scarcely far- fined ive shillings on the previous Monday i~ )

CIRISTMlAS BOOKS.

being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow's pudding in his garret, while
his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the
beef.
Foggier yet, and colder I Piercing, searching,
biting cold. If the good St. Dunstan had but
nipped the Evil Spirit's nose with a touch of such
weather as that, instead of using his familiar
weapons, then indeed he would have roared to
lusty purpose. The owner of one scant young
nose, gnawed and mumbled by the hungry cold as
-bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at
Scrooge's key-hole to regale him with a Christmas
carol; but at the first sound of
" God bless you merry gentleman,
May nothing you dismay I"
Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action, that the singer fled in terror, leaving the
key-hole to the fog, and even more congenial frost.
At length the hour of shutting up the countinghouse arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to
the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly
enufied his candle out, and put on his hat.
" You'll want all-day to-morrow, I suppose?"
said Scrooge.
"If quite convenient, sir."
"It's not convenient," said Scrooge, and it's
not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd
think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?"
The clerk smiled faintly.
"And yet," said Scrooge, "you don't think me
ill-used, when I pay a day's wages for no work."
The clerk observed that it was only once a
year.
"A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket
every twenty-fifth of December I" said Scrooge,
buttoning his great-coat to the chin. " But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all
the earlier next morning."
The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge
walked out with a growl. The office was closed
in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends
of his white comforter dangling below his waist
(for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide
on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty
times, in honor of its being Christmas-eve, and
then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he
could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.
Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his
usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the
newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening
with his banker's-book, went home to bed. He
lived in chambers which had once belonged to his
deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of
rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard,
where it had so little business to be, that one
could scarcely help fancying it must have run
there when it was a young house, playing at hideand-seek with other houses, and have forgotten
the way out again. It was old enough now, and
dreary enough; for nobody lived in itbut Scrooge,
the other oons being al let out as offices. The
yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew

its every stone, was fain to grope with his nands.
The fog and frost so hung about the black old
gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation
on the threshold.
Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all
particular about the knocker on the door, except
that it was very large. It is also a fact, that
Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during
his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge
had as little of what is called fancy about him
as any man in the City of London, even including
-which is a bold word-the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind,
that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on
Marley since his last mention of his seven-years'
dead partner that afternoon. And then let any
man explain to me, if he can, how it happened
that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the
door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing
any intermediate process of change-not a
knocker, but Marley's face.
Marley's face. It was not in impenetrablo
shadow, as the other objects in the yard were, but
had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a
dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious,,but
looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with
ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by
breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide
open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and
its livid color, made it horrible; but its horror
seemed to be in spite of the face, and beyond its
control, rather than a part of its own expression.
As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon,
it was a knocker again.
To say that he was not startled, or that his
blood was not conscious of a terrible sensaticn to
which it had been a stranger from infancy, would
be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he
had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in,
and lighted his candle.
He did pause, with a moment's irresolution,
before he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half-expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking
out into the hall. But there was nothing on the
back of the door, except the screws and nuts that
held the knocker on, so he said, " Pooh, pooh I'
and closed it with a bang.
The sound resounded through the house like
thunder. Every room above, and every cask'in
the wine-merchant's cellars below, appeared to
have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge
was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He
fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and
up the stairs; slowly too; trimming his candle
as he went.
You may talk vaguely about driving a coachand-six up a good old flight of stairs, or through a
bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say
you might have got a hearse up that staircase, and
taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards
the wall and te door towards the balustrades;

A CHIRISTMAS CAROL.

end done It easy. There was plenty of width for
that, and room to spare; which is perhaps the
reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive
hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half a
dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn't have
lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose
that it was pretty dark with Scrooge's dip.
Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that.
Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But
before he shut his heavy door, he walked through
his rooms to see that all was right. He had just
enough recollection of the face to desire to do
that.
Sitting-room, bed-room, lumber-room. All as
they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody
under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon
and basin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel
(Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon the hob.
Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet;
nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall.
Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes,
two fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs,
and a poker.
Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked
himself in; double-locked himself in, which was
not his custom. Thus secured against surprise,
he took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown
and slippers, and his night-cap; and sat down
before the fire to take his gruel.
It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such
a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it,
and brood over it, before he could extract the
least sensation of warmth from such a handful of
fuel. The fireplace was an old one, built by some
Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round
with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the
Scriptures. There were Cains and Abels, Pharaoh's daughters, Queens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like
feather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles
putting off to sea in butter-boats, hundreds of
figures to attract his thoughts; and yet that face
of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient
Prophet's rod, and swallowed up the whole. If
each smooth tile had been a blank at first, with
power to shape some picture on its surface from
the disjointed fragments of his thoughts, there
would have been a copy of old Marley's head on
every one.
"Humbug I" said Scrooge; and walked across
the room.
After several turns, he sat down again. As he
threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that
hung in the room, and communicated for some
purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the
highest story of the building. It was with great
astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable
dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset
that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang
fut loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
This might have lasted half a minute, or a

minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased
as they had begun, together. They M ere succeed
ed by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if
some person were dragging a heavy chain over
the casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. Scrooge
then remembered to have heard that ghosts in
haunted houses were described as dragging
chains.
The cellar-door flew open with a booming
sound, and then he heard the noise muchjouder,
on the floors below; then coming up the stairs;
then coming straight towards his door.
"It's humbug still " said Scrooge. "I won't
believe it."
His color changed though, when, without a
pause, it came on through the heavy door, and
passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its
coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though
it cried " I know him! Marley's ghost I" and fell
again.
The same face: the very same. Marley in his
pig-tail, usual waistcoat, tights, and boots; the
tassels on the latter bristling, like his pig-tail,
and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head.
The chain he drew was clasped about his middle.
It was long and wound about him like a tail; and
it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of
cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and
heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two
buttons on his coat behind.
Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley
had no bowels, but he had never believed it untid
now.
No, nor did he believe it even now. Thoug.
he looked the phantom through and through, and
saw it standing before him; though he felt the
chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and
marked the very texture of the folded kerchief
bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he
had not observed before; he was still incredulous,
and fought against his senses.
"How now I" said Scrooge, caustic and cold
as ever. " What do you want with me?"
" Much "-Marley's voice, no doubt about it.
" Who are you? "
"Ask me who I was."
" Who were you then? " said Scrooge, raising
his voice. "You're particular, for a shade." He
was going to say" to a shade," but substituted
this, as more appropriate.
"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley."
"Can you-can you sit down?" asked Scrooge,
looking doubtfully at him.
"I can."
"Do it, then."
Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't
know whether a ghost so transparent might ind
himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt
that in the event of its being impossible, it might
involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite
side of the fireplace, as if h reee quite used to it.

CHRIST'fAS BOOKS.

"Yon don't believe in me," observed the
Ghost.
"I don't," said Scrooge.
"What evidence would you have of my reality
oeyond that of your ownfsenses?"
"I don't know," said Scrooge.
"Why do you doubt your senses?"
"Because," said Scrooge, " a little thing affects
them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes
them cheats. You maybe an undigested bit of
beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of
gravy than of grave about you, whatever you
are I"
Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking
jokes, nor did he feel in his heart, by any means
waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be
smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his
bones.
To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in
silence for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt,
the very deuce with him. There was something
very awful, too, in the spectre's being provided
with an infernal atmosphere of his own. Scrooge
could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the
case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels, were still
agitated as by the hot vapor from an oven.
"You see this toothpick?" said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just
assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a
second, to divert the vision's stony gaze from
himself.
" I do," replied the Ghost.
"You are not looking at it," said Scrooge.
"But I see it," said the Ghost, "notwithstanding."
'"WellI" returned Scrooge, "I have but to
swallow this, and be for the rest of my days pertecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you; humbug!"
At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and
shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling
noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to
save himself from falling in a swoon. But how
much greater was his horror, when the phantom
taking off the bandage round his head, as if it
were too warm to wear in-doors, its lower jaw
dropped down upon its breast I
Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his
hands before his face.
"Mercy " he said. " Dreadful apparition, why
do you trouble me?"
" Man of the worldly mind I " replied the Ghost,
"do you believe in me or not? "
"I do," sad Scrooge. "I must. But whydo
spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to
mce?"
"It is required of every man," the Ghost returned, " that the spirit within him should walk
abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and
wide; and if that goes notforth in life, it is

condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to
wander through the world - oh, woe is me!and witness what it cannot share, but might hayv
shared on earth, and turned to happiness! "
Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its
chain and wrung its shadowy hands.
"You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling.
"Tell me why?"
" I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the
Ghost. " I made it link by link, and yard by yard;
I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own
free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to
you?"l
Scrooge trembled more and more.
"Or would you know," pursued the Ghost,
"the weight and length of the strong coil you
bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long
as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You ha e labored on it since. It is a ponderous chain I"
Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the
expectation of finding himself surrounded by
some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable; but he
could see nothing.
"Jacob," he said imploringly. "Old Jacob
Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob!"
"I have none to give," the Ghost replied. "It
comes from other regions, Ehenezer Scrooge, and
is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of
men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very
little more, is all permitted to me. I cannot rest,
I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My
spirit never walked beyond our counting-housemark me I-in life my spirit never roved beyond
the narrow limits of our money-changing hole;
and weary journeys lie before me!"
It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches'
pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said,
he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or
getting off his knees.
"You must have been very slow about it, Jacob," Scrooge observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
"Slow I " the Ghost repeated.
"Seven years dead," mused Scrooge. "And
travelling all the time? "
"The whole time." said the Ghost. "No rest
no peace. Incessant torture of remorse."
"You travel fast?" said Scrooge.
"On the wings of the wind," replied the
Ghost.
"You might have got over a great quantity of
ground in seven years," said Scrooge.
The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry,
and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would hav6becn
justified in indicting it for a nuisance.
"0 captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried
the phantom, "not to know that ages ofinFt ssnt
labor, by immortal creatures, for this earth must
pass into eternity before the good of whichtes
susceptible is all developed. Not to know that
ny any Ch stan pirit workinr k indly ts ttle

A CIII2ISTfAS CAROL.

sphere, whatever It may be, will find its mortal
life too short for its vast means of usefulness.
Not to know that no space of regret can make
amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet
such was II Oh! such was I!"
"But you were always a good man of business,
Jacob," faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its
hands again. "Mankind was my business. The
common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my
business. The dealings of my trade were but a
drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my
business I"
It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that
were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and
flung it heavily upon the ground again.
"At this time of the rolling year," the spectre
said, "I suffer most. Why did I walk through
crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned
down, and never raise them to that blessed Star
which led the Wise Men to a poor abode I Were
there no poor homes to which its light would have
conducted me!"
Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the
spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake
exceedingly.
" Hear me! " cried the Ghost. "My time is
nearly gone I "
"I will," said Scrooge. " But don't be hard
upon me I Don't be flowery, Jacob I Pray I"
"How it is that I appear before you in a shape
that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day."
It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost. "I am here to-night to warn
you,,that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer."
"You were always a good friend to me," said
Scrooge. " Thank'ee "
"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost,
"by Three Spirits."
Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the
CGhost's had done.
"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned,
Jacob? " he demanded, in a faltering voice.
"It is."
"I-I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge.
"Without their visits," said the Ghost,' " you
cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the
first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One."
"Couldn't I take 'en all at once, and have it
over, Jacob?" hinted Scrooge.
"Expect the second on the next night at the
same hour. The third, upon the next night when
the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate.
Look to see me no more; and look that, for your
own sake, you remember what has passed between
al 1 "
When it had said these words, the spectre took

its wrapper from the table, and bound it rouna its
head, as before. Scrooge knew this by the smart
sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought
together by the bandage. Ie ventured to raise
his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor
confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain
wound over and about its arm.
The apparition walked backward from him;
and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it,
it was wide open. It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within
two paces of each other, Marley's Ghost held up
its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge
stopped.
Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and
fear; for on the raising of the hand he became
sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent
sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The
spectre, after listening a moment, joined in the
mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak,
dark night.
Scrooge followed to the window; desperate in
his curiosity. He looked out.
The air was filled with phantoms, wandering
hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning
as they went. Every one of them wore chains
like Marley's ghost; some few (they might be
guilty governments) were linked together; none
were free. Many had been personally known to
Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar
with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a
monstrous iron safe attached to its ancle, who
cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched
woman with an infant, whom it saw below upon
a door-step. The misery with them all, was,
clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in
human matters, and had lost the power for ever.
Whether these creatures faded into mist, or
mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But
they and their spirit voices faded together; and
the night became as it had been when he walked
home.
Scrooge closed the window, and examined the
door by which the Ghost had entered. It was
double-locked, as he had locked it with his own
hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. Ite tried
to say " Humbug " but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of
the Invisible World, or the dull conversation of
the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in
need of repose, went straight to bed without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.
STAVE II.
THI FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
WHEN Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that,
looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish
the transparent window'from the opaque wallt of
his chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce tho

CIHRISTMAS BOOKS

darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of
a neighboring church struck the four quarters.
So he listened for the hour.
To his great astonishment the heavy bell went
on from six to seven, and from seven to eight,
and regularly up to twelve: then stopped.
Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed.
The clock was wrong. An icicle must have got
ito the works. Twelve l
He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little
pulse beat twelve, and stopped.
"Why, it isn't possible," said Scrooge, "that
I can have slept through a whole day and far into
another night. It isn't possible that any thing
has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at
noon!"
The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled
out of bed, and groped his way to the window.
He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve
of his dressing-gown, before he could see any
thing; and could see very little then. All he
could make out was, that it was still very foggy
and extremely cold, and that there was no noise
of people running to and fro, and making a great
stir, as there unquestionably would have been if
night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world. This was a great relief, because
"Three days after sight of this First of Exchange
pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order," and
so forth, would have become a mere United
States' security if there were no days to count
by.
Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and
thought, and thought it over and over, and could
make nothing of it. The more he thought, the
more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought.
Marley's Ghost bothered him exceedingly.
Every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was alr a dream, his mind
flew back again, like a strong spring released, to
its first position, and presented the same problem
to be worked all through, "Was it a dream or
not?"
Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had
gone three quarters more, when he remembered,
on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a
visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved
to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than
go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.
The quarter was so long, that he was more
than once convinced he must have sunk in'o a
doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At
ength it broke upon his listening car.
"Ding, dong!"
"A quarter past," said Scrooge, counting.
"Ding,dong I"
" Half-past I" said Scrooge.
"Ding, dong i"
"A qrter to it," said Scrooge.
"'!hng, dong t"

"' The hour itself," said Scrooge, triumphantly;
" and nothing else I"
He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which
it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy
ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.
The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I
tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet,
nor the curtains at his back, but those to which
his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed
were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into
a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to
face with the unearthly visitor who drew them:
as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.
It was a strange figure-like a child: yet not
so like a child as like an oid man, viewed through
some supernatural medium. which gave him the
appearance of having receded from the view, and
being diminished to a child's proportions. Its
hair, wn-cn hung about its neck and down its
back, was white as if with age; and yet the face
had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom
was on the skin. The arms were very long and
muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were
of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most
delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white;
and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt,
the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a
branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in.
singular contradiction of that wintry emblem,
had its dress trimmed with summer flowers
But the strangest thing about it was, that from
the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear
jet of light, by which all this was visible; and
which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in
its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap,
which it now held under its arm.
Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it
with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest
quality. For as its belt sparkled and glittered
now in one part and now in another, and what
was light one instant, at another time was dark,
so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness:
being now a thing with one arm, now with one
leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs
without a head, now a head without a body: of
which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away.
And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself
again; distinct and clear as ever.
"Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was
foretold to me?" asked Scrooge.
"I am!"
The voice was soft and-gentle. Singularly
low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it
were at a distance.
" Who, and what are you? " Scrooge demanded.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"Long Past?" inq-uired Scrooge; observart
of its dwarfish stature.
"No. Your past."

A CHfRIS TIMAS CAROL.

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody
why, if anybody could have asked him; but he
had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap;
and begged him to be covered.
i "What I" exclaimed the Ghost, "would you
I so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I
give? Is it not enough that you are one of those
i whose passions made this cap, and force me
through whole trains of years to wear it low upon
my brow! "
Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to
offend or any knowledge of having wilfully "bonneted" the Spirit at any period of his life. He
then made bold to inquire what business brought
him there.
"Your welfare I" said the Ghost.
Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but
could not help thinking that a night of unbroken
rest would have been more conducive to that end.
The Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it
said immediately:
"Your reclamation, then. Take heed! "
It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and
clasped him gently by the arm.
" Rise I and walk with me I"
It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead
that the weather and the hour were not adapted
to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and
the thermometer a long way below freezing; that
he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressinggown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon
him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a
woman's hand, was not to be resisted. He rose:
but finding that the Spirit made towards the window, clasped its robe in supplication.
"I am a mortal," Scrooge remonstrated, " and
liable to fall."
"Bear but a touch of my hand there," said the
Spirit, laying it upon his heart, " and you shall be
upheld in more than this!"
As the words were spoken, they passed
through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had
entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be
seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished
with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with
enow upon the ground.
"Good Heaven! " said Scrooge, clasping his
hands together. as he looked about him. " I was
bred in this place. I was a boy here I"
The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle
touch, though it had been light and instantaneous,
appeared still present to the old man's sense of
feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors
floating in the air, each one connected with a
thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares
ong, long forgotten I
"Your lip is trembling," said the Ghost.
" And what is that upon your cheek? "
Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in
his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the
Glhost to lead him where he would.
"You recollect the way?" inquired the Spirit.

"Remember it I" cried Scrooge with fervor;
"I could walk it blindfold."
"Strange to have forgotten it for so many
years I" observed the Ghost. "Let us go on."
They walked along the road. Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little
market-town appeared in the distance, with its
bridge, its church, and winding river. Some
shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards
them with boys upon their backs, who called to
other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by
farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and
shouted to each other, until the broad fields were
so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed
to hear it.
"These are but shadows of the things that
have been," said the Ghost. "They have no
consciousness of us."
The jocund travellers came on; and as they
came, Scrooge knew and named them every one.
Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see
them! Why did his cold eye glisten, and his
heart leap up as they went past I Why was he
filled with gladness when he heard them give each
other Merry Christmas, as they parted at crossroads and bye-ways, for their several homes I
What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Oat
upon merry Christmas 1 What good had it ever
done to him?
"The school is not quite deserted," said the
Ghost. " A solitary child, neglected by his friends,
is left there still."
Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.
They left the high-road, by a well-remembered
lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red
brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was
a large house, but one of broken fortunes; for the
spacious offices were little used, their walls were
damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their
gates decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the
stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were
overrun with grass. Nor was it more retentive
of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary
hall, and glancing through the open doors of many
rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold,
and vast. There was an earthy savor in the air, a
chilly bareness in the place, which associated it.
self somehow with too much getting up by candlelight, and not too much to eat.
They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the
hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened
before them, and disclosed along, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deaa
forms and desks. At one of these a lonely boyj
was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat
down upon a form, and wept to see his poor for,
gotten self as he had used to be.
Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeal
and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling
not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in tli
dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless
boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idl4
swinging of an empty storehouse door, n. no t -

CIR2ISTAIAS BOOiKS.

clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of
Scrooge with softening influence, and gave a freer
passage to his tears.
The Spirit touched him on the aim, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading.
Suddenly a man in foreign garments: wonderfully
real' and distinct to look at: stood outside the
window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.
"Why, it's Ali Baba!" Scrooge exclaimed in
ecstasy. "It's dear old honest Ali Babal Yes,
yes, I know. One Christmas time, when yonder
solitary child was left here all alone, he did come,
for the first time, just like that. Poor boy I And
Valentine," said Scrooge, " and his wild brother,
Orson; there they go I And what's his name,
who was put down in his drawers, asleep, at the
gate of Damascus; don't you see him 1 And the
Sultan's Groom turned upside down by the Genii:
there he is upon his head I Serve him right. I'm
glad of it. What business had he to be married
to the Princess I"
To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness
of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to
see his heightened and excited face; would have
been a surprise to his business friends in the city,
indeed.
" There's the Parrot I" cried Scrooge. " Green
body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce
growing out of the top of his head; there he is!
Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came
home again after sailing round the island. ' Poor
Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe? ' The man thought he was dreaming, but
he wasn't. It was the Parrot, you know. There,goes Friday, running for his life to the little creek I
Halloa I Hoop Halloo I"
Then, with a rapidity of transition, very fore!gn to his usual character, he said, in pity for his
former self, " Poor boy I" and cried again.
" I wish," Scrooge muttered, putting his hand
In his pocket, and looking about him, after drying
his eyes with his cuff: " but it's too late now."
"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit.
Nothing," said Scrooge. "Nothing. There
was a boy singing a Christmas Carol at my door
last night. I should like to have given him something: that's all."
The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its
band: saying as he did so, "Let us see another
ti ristmas 1"
Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words,
and the room became a little darker and more
dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked;
fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the
naked laths were shown instead; but how all this
was brought about, Scrooge knew no more than
you do. He nly knew that it was quite correct:
that everytin,^ had happened so; that there he
was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone
bo;e for the jolly holidays., He was not reading now, but walking up and
&amp; wn dspairingly. Scrooge looked at the Ghost,

and with a mournfi. shaking of his head, glanced
anxiously towards the door.
It opened; and a little girl, much younger than
the boy, came darting in, and putting her arms
about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed
him as her "Dear, dear brother."
11 I have come to bring you home, dear broth
er I" said the child, clapping her tiny hands, ana
bending down to laugh. " To bring you home,
home, home!"
"Home, little Fan? " returned the boy.
"Yes! " said the child, brimful of glee.
" Home, for good and all. Iome, for ever and
ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to
be, that home's like Heaven! Ie spoke so gently
to me one dear night when I was going to bed,
that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you
might come home; and he said Yes, you should;
and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you're
to be a man! " said the child, opening her eyes;
"and are never to come back here; but first,
we're to be together all the Christmas long, and
have the merriest time in all the world."
"You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy.
She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried
to touch his head; but being too little, laughed
again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then
she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness,
towards the door; 'and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.
A terrible voice in the hall cried, " Bring down
Master Scrooge's box, there I" and in the hall
appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on
Master Scrooee with a ferocious condescension,
and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by
shaking hands with him. l-e then conveyed him
and his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering best-parlor that ever was seen, where the
maps upon the wall, and the celestial and terrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold.
Here he produced a decanter of curiously light
wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and
administered instalments of those dainties to the
young people: at the same time, sending out a mea
gre servant to offer a glass of " something," to the
postboy, who answered that he thanked the gentle
man, but if it was the same tap as he had tasted
before, he had rather not. Master Scrooge's trunk
being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise,
the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right
willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily down
the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the
hoar-frost and snow fiom off the dark leaves cf
the evergreens like spray.
"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath
might have withered," said the Ghost. "But
she had a large heart I"
"So she had," cried Scrooge. " You're right.
I will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid "
"She died a woman," said the Ghost, "and
had, as I think, children."
"One child," Scrooge returned.
"True" said thy Ghost. "Your nephew! "

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

ird'

Scrooge seemed uneasy In his mind; and answered riefly, "Yes."
Although they had but that moment left the
school behind them, they were now in the busy
thoroughfares of a city where shadowy passengers
passed and repassed; where shadowy carts and
coaches battled for the way, and all the strife and
tumult of a real city were. It was made plain
Lnough, by the dressing of the shops, that here f)o
It was Christmas time again; but it was evening,
and the streets were lighted up.
The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse
door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.
" Know it I" said Scrooge. "Was I apprenticed here I"
They went in. At sight of an old gentleman
in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk,
that if he had been two inches taller he must have
knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge
cried in great excitement:
" Why, it's old Fezziwig I Bless his heart; it's
Pezziwig alive again I"
Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked
up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of
seven. Ile rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from
his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called
out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:
"Yo ho, there I Ebenezer I Dick I"
Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man,
came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-'prcntice.
"Dick Wilkins, to be sure I" said Scrooge to
the Ghost. "Bless me, yes. There he is. le
was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor
Dick! Dear, dear "
"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. " No
more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick.
Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters
up," cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his
han ds, " before a man can say Jack Robinson! "
You wouldn't believe how these two fellows
went at it! They chartged into the street with the
shutters-one, two, three-had 'cm up in their
places-four, five, six-barred 'em and pinned' cm
â seven, eight, nine-and came back before you
could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
' Hili-ho! " cried old Fezziwig, skipping down
from the high desk, with wonderful agility.; Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room,here Hilli-ho, Dick 1 Chirrup, EbenezerI"
Clear away I There was nothing they wouldn't
' havc cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away,
with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a
minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it
were dismissed from public life for evermore; the
floor was swept and watered, the lamps were
trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the
warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and
bright a ball-room, as you wo. d desire to see
upon a winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went
np to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it,
and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs.

Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came
the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and loveable.
In ca/ne the six young followers whose hearts
they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the
housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came
the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the
milkman. In came the boy from over the way,
who was suspected of not having board enough
from his master; trying to hide himself behind
the girl from next door but one, who was proved
to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In
they all came, one after another; some shyly,
some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly,
some pushing, some pulling; in they all came,
anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went,
twenty couple at once; hands half round and
back again the other way; down the middle and
up again; round and round in various stages of
affectionate grouping; old top couple always
turning up in the wrong place; new top couple
starting off again, as soon as they got there; all
top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help
them! When this result was brought about, old
Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance,
cried out, "Well done 1" and the fiddler plunged
his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest upon
his reappearance, he instantly began again, though
there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler
had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter,
and he were a bran-new man resolved to heat him
out of sight, or perish.
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and
there was negus, and there was a great piece of
Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold
Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of
beer. But the great effect of the evening came
after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an
artful dog, mind I The sort of man who knew his
business better than you or I could have told it
him 1) struck up " Sir Roger de Coverley." Then
old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too: with a good stiff piece of
work cut out for them; three or four and twenty
pair of partners: people who were not to be trifled
with; people who wotrld dance, and had no notion
of walking.
But if they had been twice as many-ah, four
times-old Fezziwig would have been a match for
them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her,
she was worthy to be his partner in every sense
of the term. If that's not high praise, tell me
higher, and I'll use it. A positive light appeared
to issue from Fezziwia's calves. They shone in
every part of the dance like moons. You couldn't
have predicted, at any given time, what would
become of them next. And when old Fezziwig
and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance;:
advance and retire, both hands to your partner,
bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle,
and back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut"cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink wivth hit

CtRISTMiAS BOOK.

legs, and came upon his feet again without a
stagger.
When the clock struck eleven, this domestic
ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their
stations, one on either side-the door, and shaking
hands with every person individually as he or she
went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas.
When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the
cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left
to their beds; which were under a counter in the
back-shop.
During the whole of this time, Scrooge had
acted like a man out of his wits. IIis heart and
soul were in the scene, and with his former self.
He. corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the
strangest agitation. It was not until now, when
the bright faces of his former self and Dick were
turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost,
and became conscious that it was looking full
upon him, while the light upon its head burnt
very clear.
' A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make
these silly folks so full of gratitude."
" Small I" echoed Scrooge.
The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two
apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in
praise of Fezziwig; and when he had done so
said,
"Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few
pounds of your mortal money: three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this
praise?"
"It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the
remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter self. "It isn't that, Spirit.
He has the power to render us happy or unhappy;
to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words
and looks; in things so slight and insignificant
that it is impossible to add and count 'em up:
what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as
great as if it cost a fortune."
He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
"What is the matter? " asked the Ghost.
"Nothing particular," said Scrooge.
"Something, I think? " the Ghost insisted.
"No," said Scrooge, "no. I should like to be
able to say a word or two to my clerk just now.
That's all."
His former self turned down the lamps as he
rave utterance to the wish; and Scrooge and the
Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.
"My time grows short," observed the Spirit.
'Quick I"
This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any
one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He
was older now; a man in the prime of life. His
face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later
years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care
and avarice. There was an.eager, greedy, restess motion ini the eye, which showed the passion

that had taken root, and where the shadow of tht
growing tree would fall.
He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fai.
young girl in a mourning-dress* in whose eyet
there were tears, which se arkled in the. light tha
shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you
very little. Another idol has displaced me; ant
if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come
as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause
to grieve."
"What Idol has displaced you? " he rejoined
"A golden one."
"This is the even-handed dealing of the
world " he said. " There is nothing on which i
is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it pro
fesses to condemn with such severity as the pur
suit of wealth I "
"You fear the world too much," she answered
gently. " All your other hopes have merged int(
the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordi
reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirationf
fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain
engrosses you. Have I not?"
"What then? " he retorted. "Even if I have
grown so much wiser, what then? I am no;
changed towards you."
She shook her head.
"Am I?"
"Our contract is an old one. It was made
when we were both poor and content to be so,
until, in good season, we could improve oui
worldly fortune by our patient industry. You
are changed. When it was made, you were an
other man."'
"I was a boy," he said impatiently.
" Your own feeling tells you that you were not
what you are," she returned. "I am. That
which promised happiness when we were one in
heart, is fraught with misery now that we arc
two. How often and how keenly I have thought
of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have
thought of it, and can release you."
" Have I ever sought release?"
"In words. No. Never."
" In what, then? "
" In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in
another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its
great end. In everything that made my love of
any worth or value in your sight. If this had
never been between us," said the girl, looking
mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; " tell me,
would you seek me out and try to win me now?
Ah, no!"
He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said, with a
struggle, " You think not."
"I would gladly think otherwise if I could,"
she answered, "Heaven knows! When I have
learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and
irresistible it must be. But if you were free today, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe
that you would choose a dowerless girl-you who,
in your very confidence with her, weigh every

A CHIRISTMTfAS CAI OL.

thing by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment
you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and
I release you. With a full heart, for the loveof
him you once were."
Hle was about to speak; but with her head
turned from him, she resumed.
"You may-the memory of what is past half
makes me hope you will-have pain in this. A
very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the
recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream,
from which it happened well that you awoke.
May you be happy in the life you have chosen I"
She left him and they parted.
"Spirit I" said Scrooge, " show me no more
Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?"
" One shadow more I" exclaimed the Ghost.
"No more!" cried Scrooge. "No more. I
don't wish to see it. Show me no more!"
But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both
his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.
They were in another scene and place; a room,
not very large or handsome, but full of comfort.
Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl,
so like that last that Scrooge believed it was the
same, until he saw her, now a comely matron,
sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this
room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were
more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated
state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every
child was conducting itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no
one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother
and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very
much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in
the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands
most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to
be one of them I Though I never could have been
so rude, no, no I I wouldn't for the wealth of all
the world have crushed that braided hair, and
torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I
wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul I
to save' my life. As to measuring her waist in
sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn't
have done it; I should have expected my arm to
have grown round it for a punishment, and never
come straight again. And yet I should have dearly
liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have
questioned her, that she might have opened them;
to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast
eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose
waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I shduld have liked,
I do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a
child, and yet to have beei man enough to know
its value.
But now a knocking at the door was heard, and
such a rush immediately ensued that she with
laughing face aimA plundered dress was borne

towards it in the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who
came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and
the struggling, and the onslaught that was made
on the defenceless porter I The scaling him, with
chairs for ladders, to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by
his cravat, hug him round the neck, pommel his
back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection
The shouts of wonder and delight with which the
development of every package was received I The i
terrible announcement that the baby had been,
taken in the act of putting a doll's frying-pan
into his mouth, and was more than suspected
of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued
on a wooden platter The immense relief of i
finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy I They are all indescribable
alike. It is enough that, by degrees, the children
and their emotions got out of the parlor, and, by
one stair at a time, up to the top of the house, i
where they went to bed, and so subsided.
And now Scrooge looked on more attentively:
than ever, when the master of the house, having?!
his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down
with her and her mother at his own fireside;
and when he thought that such another creature,
quite as graceful and as full of promise, might l|jf
have called him father, and been a spring-time in i|
the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very di
dim indeed.
"Belle," said the husband, turning to his wife ~ i
with a smile, " I saw an old friend of yours this
afternoon."
"Who was it? "
" Guess "
"How can I? Tut, don't I know? " she added,
in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. "Mr.
Scrooge."
" Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office win-.
dow; and as it was not shut up, and he had a
candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him.
His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear;
and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world,
I do believe."
"Spirit l" said Scrooge, in a broken voice,
"remove me from this place."
"I told you these were shadows of the things
that have been," said the Ghost. "That they are
what they are, do not blame me I"
"Remove me I" Scrooge exclaimed. "I cannot bear it" I
He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it
looked upon him with a face, in which in some
strange way there were fragments of all the faces
it had shown him. wrestled with it.
"Leave me Take me back. Haunt me no
longer!"
In the struggle-if that can be called a struggle
in which the Ghost, with no visible resistance on
its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its
adversary-Scrooge ioserved that its light was
burning high and bright; and dimly connecting

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

'hat with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it
down upon its head.
The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but though
Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he
could not hide the light, which streamed from
under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.
He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further,
of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap
a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed;
and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank
into a heavy sleep.
STAVE III.
THE SECOND OF THE TIREE SPIRITS.
AwAKING in the middle of a prcdigiously tough
snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts
together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that
the bell was again upon the stroke of One. lie
felt that he was restored to consciousness in the
right nick of time, for the especial purpose of
holding a conference with the second messenger
despatched to him through Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his
curtains this new spectre would draw back, he
put them every one aside with his own hands,
and lying down again, established a sharp lookout all roulnd the bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance,
and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made
nervous.
Gentlemen of the free and easy sort, who plume
themselves on being acquainted with a move or
two, and being usually equal to the time-of-day,
express the wide range of their capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, there
lies a tolerably wide and comprehensive range of
subjects. Without venturing for Scrooge quite
as hardily as this, I don't mind calling on you to
believe that he was ready for a good broad field
of strange appearances, and that nothing between
a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished him
very much.
Now, being prepared for almost anything, he
was not. by any means prepared for nothing; and,
consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no
shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit
of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All
his time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and
centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed
upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and
which, being only light, was more alarming than
i dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out
what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes aprehen.ive that he might be at that very

moment an interesting case of spontaneous comn
bustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think-as
you or I would have thought at first; for it is
always the person not in the predicament who
knows what ought to have been done in it, and
would unquestionably have done it too-at last, I
say, he began to think that the source and secret
of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining
room, from whence, on further tracing it, it
seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in
his slippers to the door.
The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock,
a strange voice called him by his name, and bade
him enter. IHe obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt
about that. But it had undergone a surprising
transformation. The walls and ceiling were so
hung with living green, that it looked a perfect
grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming
berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly,
mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if
so many little mirrors had been scattered there;
and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the
chimney, as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had
never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for
many and many a winter season gone. IHeaped
up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were
turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints
of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages,
mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters,
red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy
oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes,
and seething. bowls of punch, that made the
chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy
state upon this couch there sat a jolly Giant,
glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in
shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up,
high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as le came
peeping round the door.
"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come
in! and know me better, man I "
Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head
before this Spirit. IHe was not the dogged Scrooge
he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were
clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said
the Spirit. " Look upon me I"
Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in
one simple deep green robe, or mantle, bordered
with white fur. This garment hung so loosely
on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare,
as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any
artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample
folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its
head it wore no other covering than a hollj
wreath, set herb and there with shining icicles.
Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as
its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand,
its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanor,
and its joyftiul air. Girded round its middle war
anil antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and
the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

' You have never seen the like of me before!"
x(laimnel the Spirit.
' Never," Scrooge made answer to it.
"Have never walked forth with the younger
ner.bers of my family; meaning (for I am very
oung) my elder brothers born in these later
ears? " pursued the Phantom.
"I don't think I have," said Scrooge. " I am
fraid I have not. Iave you had many brothers,
pirit?"
" More than eighteen hundred," said the
4host.
"A tremendous family to provide for," mutered Scrooge.
The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
"Spirit," said Scrooge submissively, "conuct me where you will. I went forth last night
n compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is
rorking now. To-night, if you have aught to
each me, let me profit by it."
"Touch my robe!"
Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.
Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys,
eese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages,
ysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all
anished instantly. So did the room, the fire,
he ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood
a the city streets on Christmas morning, where
'or the weather was severe) the people made a
Hugh, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of munic, in scraping the snow from the pavement in
-ont of their dwellings, and from the tops of their
ouses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to
ee it come plumping down into the road below,
nd splitting into artificial little snow-storms.
The house fronts looked black enough, and the
Windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth
7hite sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the
irtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit
ad been ploughed up in deep furrows by the.eavy 'wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that
rossed and recrossed each other hundreds of
imes where the great streets branched off; and
sade intricate channels, hard to trace, in the thick
ellow'mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy,
nd the shortest streets were choked up with a
ingy mist, half thawedl, half frozen, whose heavier
articles descended in a shower of sooty atoms,
s if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one
onsent, caught fire, and were blazing away to
leir dear hearts' content. There was nothing
ery cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet
azs there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the
learest summer air and brightest summer sun
iight have endeavored to diffuse in vain.
For, the people who were shovelling away on
le housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling
Jut to one another from the parapets, and now
nd then exchanging a facetious snowball âbt-;,r-natured missile far than many a wordy jestEughing heartily if it went right, and not less
earthly if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops
'ere still half open, and the fruiterers' shops were
idlatit In their glory. There were great round,

pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the
waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen. lolling at the
doors, and tumbling out into the street in their
apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brownfaced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shfting in
the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars.
and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness
at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely
at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and
apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids;
there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous
hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as
they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy
and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient
walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings
ankle-deep through withered leaves; there were
Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off the
yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the
great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently
entreating and beseeching to be carried home in
paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold
and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits
in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnantblooded race, appeared to know that there was
something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and
passionless excitement.
The Grocers' I oh the Grocers' I nearly closed,
with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but
through those gaps such glimpses I It was not
alone that the scales descending on the counter
made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller
parted company so briskly, or that the canisters
were rattled up and down like juggling tricks. or
even that the blended scents of tea and coffee
were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so
extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long
and straight, the other spices so delicious, the
candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten
sugar as to make the coldest lookers on feel faint
and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the
figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French
plums blushed in modest tartness from their
highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was,
good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the
customers were all so hurried and so eager in the
hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up
against each other at the door, crashing their
wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases
upon the counter, and came running back to fetch
them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humor, possible; while the
Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh
that the polished hearts with which they fastened
their aprons behind might have been their own,
worn outside for general inspection, and foi
Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.
But soon the steeples called good people all, to
church and chapel, and away they came, flocking
through the streets in their best clothes, and with
their gayest faces. And at the same time ther
emerged from scores of by-streets, anesd, ad.1.

CHWRISTMAS BOOKS.

nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying
their dinners to the bakers' shops. The sight
of these poor revellers appeared to interest the
Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker's doorway, and taking off the
covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense
on their dinners from his torch. And it was a
very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice
when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a
few drops of water on them from it, and their good
humor was restored directly. For they said, it
was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day.
And so it was I God love it, so it was I
In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were
shut up; and yet their was a genial shadowing
forth of all these dinners and the progress of their
cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each
baker's oven; where the pavement smoked as if
its stones were cooking too.
" Is there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle
from your torch?" asked Scrooge.
"There is. My own."
Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this
day?" asked Scrooge.
"To any kindly given. To a poor one most."
"Why to a poor one most?" asked Scrooge.
"Because it needs it most."
"Spirit," said Scrooge, after a moment's
thought. "I wonder you, of all the beings in
the many worlds about us, should desire to
cramp these people's opportunies of innocent
enjoyment."
"I I" cried the Spirit.
"You would deprive them of their means of
dining every seventh day, often the only day on
which they can be said to dine at all," said
Scrooge; " wouldn't you?"
"II" cried the Spirit.
"You seek to close these places on the Seventh
Day?" said Scrooge. "And it comes to the same
thing."
"Iseek I" exclaimed the Spirit.
"Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done
In your name, or at least in that of your family,"
said Scrooge.
"There are some upon this earth of yours,"
returned the Spirit, "who lay claim to know us,
and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will,
hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name,
who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin,
as if they had never lived. Remember that, and
Charge their doings on themselves, not us."
Scrooge promised that he would; and they
went on, invisible, as they had been before, into
the suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable
quality of the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed
at the baker's), that notwithstanding his gigantic
size, he could accommodate himself to any place
with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof
quite as gracefully and like a supernatural crea
ture as it was possible he could have done in any
lofty hall.
Ar.d perhaps it was the pleasure the good

Spirit had in showing off this power of his, &lt;
else it was his own kind, generous, hearty n:
ture, and his sympathy with all poor men, tht
led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there 1
went, and took Scrooge with him, nolding to h
robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spir
smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwel
ing with the sprinklings of his torch. Think (
that! Bob had but fifteen "Bob" a-week hin
self; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copi&lt;
of his Christian name; and yet the ghost c
Christmas Present blessed his four-roome
house
Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wif,
dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gowi
but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and mal
a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid tl
cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of h(
daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Mast(
Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepa
of potatoes, and getting the corners of his mot
strous shirt-collar (Bob's private property, coi
ferred upon his son and heir in honor of the da,
into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so ga
lantly attired, and yearned to show his linen i
the fashionable Parks. And now two small(
Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screan
ing that outside the baker's they had smelt tb
goose, and known it for their own; and baskin
in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, theE
young Cratchits danced about the table, and e)
alted Master Peter Cratchit to the the skies, whi5
he (not proud, although his collars near choke
him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bul
bling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid t
be let out and peeled.
"What has ever got your precious fathe
then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And your brothe:
Tiny Tim And Martha warn't as late laS
Christmas Day by half-an-our! "
"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl appeal
ing as she spoke.
"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the tw
young Cratchits. "Hurrah There's scih
goose, Martha!"
"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, ho'
late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her
dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bor
net for her with officious zeal.
"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night,'
replied the girl, "and had to clear away thi
morning, mother I"
"Well I never mind so long as you are come,
said Mrs. Cratchit. " Sit ye down before the fir(
my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"
"No no! There's father coming," cried th
two young Cratchits, who were everywhere a
once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"
So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bol
the father, with at least three feet of comforte
exclusive of the fringe hanging down before him
and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushec
to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon hi
shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a litti

A CIHRISTMAS CAROL.

nhtch, and had his limbs supported by an iron.ame
"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Crathit, looking round.
"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.
'Not coming I " said Bob, with a sudden deiension in his high spirits; for he had been Tim's
mlood horse all the way from church, and had
ome home rampant. *' Not coming upon Christaas Dsy "
Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if
t were only a joke; so she came out prematurely
rom behind the closet door, and ran into his
rms, while the two young Cratchits hustled
'iny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house,
hat he might hear the pudding singing in the;opper.
"And how did little Tim behave?" asked
Oirs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his
redulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to
is heart's content.
"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better.;omehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself
o much, and thinks the strangest things you.ver heard. He told me, coming home, that he
loped the people saw him in the church, because
ie was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them
o remember upon Christmas Day, who made
ame beggars walk and blind men see."
Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them
his, and trembled more when he said that Tiny
rim was growing strong and hearty.
His active little crutch was heard upon the
loor, and back came Tiny Tim before another
vord was spoken, escorted by his brother and
sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob,.urning up his cuffs-as if, poor fellow, they were.apable of being made more shabby-compoundud some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons,
ind stirred it round and round and put it on the
iob to simmer; Master Peter and the two ubiluitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose,
with which they soon returned in high procession.
Such a bustle ensued that you might have
thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered
phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter
)f course-and in truth it was something very
ike it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the
gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
hissing hot; Master Peler mashed the potatoes
with incredible vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened
ap the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates;
Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at
the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for
i verybody, not forgetting themselves, and mountIng guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into
their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose
before their turn came to be helped. At last the
i tishes were set on, and grace was said. It was
succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit,,ooking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she
rdid, and when the longsexpected gush of stuffing
Iesed forth, one murmur of delight arose all

round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by
the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with
the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!
There never was such a goose. Bob said he
didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked.
Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness,
were the themes of universal admiration. Eked
out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a
sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as
Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying
one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they
hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had
enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular,
were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows I
But now the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone-too nervous
to bear witnesses-to take the pudding up, and
bring it in.
Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose
somebody should have got over the wall of the
backyard, and stolen it, while they were merry
with the goose-a supposition at which the two
young Cratchits became livid I All sorts of horrors were supposed.
Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding
was out of the copper. A smell like a washingday I That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each
other, with a laundress's next door to that! That
was the pudding I In half a minute Mrs. Cratehit
entered-flushed, but smiling proudly-with the
pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and
firm, blazing in half of half-a-quarter of ignited
brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck
into the top.
Oh, a wonderful pudding. Bob Cratchit said
and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest
success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their
marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the
weight was off her mind, she would confess she
had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
Everybody had something to say about it, but no.
body said or thought it was at all a small pudding
for a large family. It would have been fiat heresy
to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to
hint at such a thing.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was
cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up.
The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon
the table, and a shovel full of chestnuts on the
fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the
hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle,
meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow
stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers
and a custard-cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however,
as well as golden goblets would have done; and
Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the
chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.
Then Bob proposed:
"A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. Go
bless us."

- rharlIX A 1 5 oh U EKA

Which all the family re-echoed.
" God bless us every one! " said Tiny Tim, the
last of all.
He sat very close to his father's side, upon his
little stool, Bob held his withered little hand in
his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep
him by his side, and dreaded that he might be
taken from him.
"Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest he
had never felt before, " tell me if Tiny Tim will
live."
"I see a vacant seat," replied the Ghost, "in
the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an
owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will
die."
"No, no," said Scrooge. "Oh, no, kind
Spirit I say he will be spared."
"If these shadows remain unaltered by the
Future, none other of my race," returned the
Ghost, "will find him here. What then? If he
be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease
the surplus population."
Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words
quoted by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.
"Man," said the Ghost, "if man you be in
heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until
you have discovered What the surplus is, and
Where it is. Will you decide what men shall
live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the
sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less
fit to live than millions like this poor man's child.
Oh God I to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust I"
Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and
trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he
raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.
" Mr. Scrooge I " said Bob; " I'I1 give you, Mr.
Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast I"
"The Founder of the Feast indeedI" cried
Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. "I wished I had him
here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast
upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for
it."
"iMy dear," said Bob, " the children! Christmas Day."
"It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,"
said she, " on which one drinks the health of such
an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr.
Scrooge. You know he is, RobertI Nobody
knows it better than you do, poor fellow? "
" My dear," was Bob's mild answer. "Christmas Day."
"I'll drink his health for your sake and the
Day's," said Mrs. Cratchit, "not for his. Long
life to him I A merry Christmasand a happy new
year! He'll be very merry and very happy, I have
no doubt!"
'The children drank the toast after her. It was
the first of their proceedings which had no heartines init. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he!fa' t care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre
X ~.,444

of the family. The mention of his name cast
dark shadow on the party, which was not di
pelled for full five minutes.
After it had passed away, they were ten tim(
merrier than before, from the mere relief c
Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cra
chit told them how he had a situation in his e)
for Master Peter, which would bring in, if ol
tained, full five-and-sixpence weekly. The tv
young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the id(
of Peter's being a man of business; and Pet(
himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from b,
tween his collars, as if he were deliberating wht
particular investments he should favor when I
came into the receipt of that bewildering income
Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a millil
er's, then told them what kind of work she had t
do, and how many hours she worked at a stretcl
and how she meant to lie a-bed to-morrow mor
ing for a good long rest; to-morrow being a hol
day she passed at home. Also how she had see
a countess and a lord some days before; and ho'
the lord " was much about as tall as Peter;" ~
which Peter pulled up his collars so high that yo
couldn't have seen his head if you had been then
All this time the chestnuts and the jug went roun
and round; and bye and bye they had a sonabout a lost child travelling in the snow, froI
Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, an
sang it very well indeed.
There was nothing of high mark in this. The
were not a handsome family; they were not we
dressed; their shoes were far from being wate
proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter migl:
have known, and very likely did, the inside of
pawnbroker's. But, they were happy, gratefu
pleased with one another, and contented with th
time; and when they faded, and looked happie
yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's tore
at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, an,
especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.
By this time it was getting dark and snowin
pretty heavily; and as Scrooge and the Spiri
went along the streets, the brightness of the roai
ing fires in kitchens, parlors, and all sorts o:
rooms, was wonderful. Here the flickering of th
blaze showed preparations for a cosy dinner, wit:
hot plates baking through and through before th,
fire, and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn ti
shut out cold and darkness. There, all the chil
dren of the house were running out into the snov
to meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins
uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet them
Here, again, were shadows on the window-blindt
of guests assembling; and there a group of hand
some girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and al
chattering at once; tripped lightly off to somt
near neighbor's house; where, wo upon the sin
gle man who saw them enter-artful witches, wel
they knew it-in a glow I
But, if you had judged from the numbers o1
people on their way to friendly gatherings, yoi
might have thought that no one was at home t(o
give them welcome when they gut there, instead

every house expecting company, and piling up
3 ires half-chimney high. Blessings on it, how
e Ghost exulted I How it bared its breadth of
'east, and opened its capacious palm, and floated
i, outpouring, with a generous hand, its bright
Id harmless mirth on everything within its,ach! The very lamplighter, who ran on before,
tting the dusky street with specks of light, and
ho was dressed to spend the evening somehere, laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed,
tough little kenned the lamplighter that he had
ly company but Christmas I
And now, without a word of warning from the
host, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor,
here monstrous masses of rude stone were cast
)out, as though it were the burial-place of giants;
id water spread itself wheresoever it listed; or
ould have done so, but for the frost that held it
risoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze,
ad coarse, rank grass. Down in the west the,tting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which
tared upon the desolation for an instant, like a
illen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet,,as lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.
"What place is this?" asked Scrooge.
"A place where Miners live who labor in the
owels of the earth," returned the Spirit. "But
iey know me. See I"
A light shone from the window of a hut, and
x-iftly they advanced towards it. Passing through
ie wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerfu.
)mpany assembled round a glowing fire. An old,
Id man and:woman, with their children and their
lildren's children, and another generation beond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday
Ltire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose
bove the howling of the wind upon the barren
~aste, was singing them a Christmas song; it
ad been a very old song when he was a boy; and
'om time to time they all joined in the chorus.
o surely as they raised their voices, the old man
ot quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they;opped, his vigor sank again.
The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge
old his robe, and passing on above the moor,
ped whither? Not to sea? To sea. To Scrooge's
orror, looking back, he saw the last of the
md, a frightful range of rocks, behind them;
ad his ears were deafened by the thundering of
'ater, as it rolled, and roared, and raged among
le dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried
&gt; undermine the earth.
Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some
agnue or so from shore, on which the waters
hafed and dashed, the wild year through, there
r tood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps of seaT reed clung to its base, and storm-birds-born of
h e wind one might suppose, as sea-weed of the
tater-rose and fell about it, like the waves they
kimmed.
But even here, two men who watched the light::ad made a fire, that through the loophole in the
hick stone wall shed out a ray of brightness on
he alwul sea. J.3oning their horny hands over

the rough table at which they sat, they wished
each other Merry Christmas in their can of grog;
and one of them: the elder too, with his face all
damaged and scarred with hard weather, as the
figure-head of an old ship might be: struck up a
sturdy song that was like a gale in itself.
Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and
heaving sea-on, on-until, being far away, as he
told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a
ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the
wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who
had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed
a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or
spoke below his breath to his companion of some
by-gone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes
belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder
word for one another on that day than on any day
in the year; and had shared to some extent in its
festivities; and had remembered those he cared
for at a distance, and had known that they de
lighted to remember him.
It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listeaing to the moaning of the wind, and thinking
what a solemn thing it was to move on through
the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss,
whose depths were secrets as profound as Death:
it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much
greater surprise to Scrooge to recognise it as his
own nephew's, and to find himself in a bright,
dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing
smiling by his side, and looking at that same
nephew with approving affability I
"Ha I ha I" laughed Scrooge's nephew. " Ha,
ha, ha I"
If you should happen, by any unlikely chance,
to know a man more blest in a laugh than
Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like
to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll
cultivate his acquaintance.
It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of
things, that while there is infection in disease and
sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor.
When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way:
holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting
his face into the most extravagant contortions:
Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily
as he. And-their assembled friends being not a
bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
" Ha, ha I Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I
live!" crid Scrooge's nephew. "He believed it
too!"
"t More shame for him, Fred I" said Scrooce's
niece, indignantly. Bless those women t they
never do anything by halves. They are always
in earnest.
She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty.
With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face;
a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to be kissed
-as no doubt it was; all kinds of ood litt!e dots

UCIIANIl'MiAY- fBUUi5.

about her chin, that melted into one another
when she laughed: and the sunniest pair of eyes
you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh,
perfectly satisfactory.
"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's
nephew, "that's the truth; and not so pleasant
as he might be. However, his offences carry their
own punishment, and I have nothing to say
against him."
"I'm sure he is very rich, Fred," hinted
Scrooge's niece. " At least you always tell me so."
"What of that, my dear I" said Scrooge's
nephew. "His wealth is of no use to him. He
don't do any good with it. He don't make himself comfortable with it. He hasn't the satisfaction of thinking-ha, ha, ha!-that he is ever
going to benefit Us with it."
"I have no patience with him," observed
Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's niece's sisters, and
all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.
"Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I
am sorry for him; I couldn't be angry with him
if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims I Himself, always. Here, he takes it into his head to
dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us.
What's the consequence? He don't lose much
of a dinner."
"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody
else said the same, and they must be allowed to
have been competent judges, because they had
just had dinner; and with the dessert upon the
table, were clustered round the fire, by lamplight.
"Well! I am very glad to hear it," said
Scrooge's nephew, " because I haven't any great
faith in these young housekeepers. What do you
say, Topper?"
Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of
Scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a
batchelor was a wretched outcast, who had no
right to express an opinion on the subject.
Whereat Scrooge's niece's sister-the plump one
with the lace tucker: not the one with the roses
-blushed.
"Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. " He never finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow 1"
Scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh,
and as it was impossible to keep the infection off;
though the plump sister tried hard to do it with
aromatic vinegar; his example was unanimously
followed.
" I was only going to say," saidfScrooge's
nephew, "that the consequence of his taking a
dislike to us, and not making merry with us,
Is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am
sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can
Ind in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy
old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean to give
line the same chance every year, whether he likes
It or ot, for I pity him. He may rail at Christ

mas till he dies, but he can't help thinking bett
of it-I defy him-if he finds me Eoing there,
good temper, year after year, and saying, 'Unc
Scrooge, how are you?' If it only puts him
the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, thae
something; and 1 think I shook him yesterday.
It was their turn to laugh now, at the notic
of his shaking Scrooge. But being thorough
good-natured, and not much caring what th(
laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, I
encouraged them in in their merriment, ar
passed the bottle, joyously.
After tea, they had some music. For th(
were a musical family, and knew what they weabout, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I ca
assure you; especially Topper, who could groi
away in the bass like a good one, and never swc
the large veins in his forehead, or get red in tl
face over it. Scrooge's niece played well upc
the harp; and played among other tunes a simp
little air (a mere nothing: you might learn i
whistle it in two minutes), which had been f
miliar to the child who fetched Scrooge from tl
boarding-school, as he had been reminded by tl
Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain f
music sounded, all the things that Ghost hi
shown him, came upon his mind; he soften(
more and more: and thought that if he could hai
listened to it often, years ago, he might have ci
tivated the kindness of his life for his own happ
ness with his own hands, without resorting 1
the sexton's spade that buried Jacob Marley.
But they didn't devote the whole evening 1
music. After awhile they played at forfeits; f
it Is good to be children sometimes, and nev,
better than at Christmas, when its mighty Fount
er was a child himself. Stop I! There was first
game at blind-man's buff. Of course there wa
And I no more believe Topper was really blir
than I believe he had eyes in his boots. My opih
ion is, that it was a done thing between him ar
Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Chris
mas Present knew it. The way he went aft(
that plump sister in the lace tucker, was an ou
rage on the credulity of human nature. Knoc)
ing down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chair
bumping up against the piano, smothering hin
self amongst the curtains, wherever she wen
there went he I He always knew where the plum
sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody else. 3
you had fallen up against him (as some of the:
did) on purpose, he would have made a feint c
endeavoring to seize you, which would have bec
an affront to your understanding, and would ih
stantly have sidled off in the direction of tl
plump sister. She often cried out that it wasn
fair; and it really was not. But when at last, I
caught her; when, in spite of all her silken ru
tlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he g&lt;
her into a corner whence there was no escape
then his conduct was the most execrable. F(
his pretending not to know her; his pretendin
that it was necessary to touch her head-dress, an
further to assure himself of her identity by prer:

i c L. I -

ig a certain ring upon her finger, and a certain
hain about her neck; was vile, monstrous I No
oubt she told him her opinion of it, when, anther blind-man being in office, they were so very
3nfidential together, behind the curtains.
Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-man's
uff party, but was made comfortable with a
Lrge chair and a footstool, in a snug corner where
ie Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But
ae joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to
imiration with all the letters of the alphabet.
likewise at the game of How, When, and Where,
he was very great, and, to the secret joy of
crooge's nephew, beat her sisters hollow: though
aey were sharp girls too, as Topper could have
)ld you. There might have been twenty people
lere, young and old, but they all played, and so
id Scrooge; for, wholly forgetting in the interest
e had in what was going on, that his voice made
o sound in their ears, he sometimes came out,ith his guess quite loud, and very often guessed
ight, too; for the sharpest needle, best Whitehapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not
harper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his
ead to be.
The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in
his mood, and looked upon him with such favor,
hat he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay.ntil the guests departed. But this the Spirit
aid could not be done.
"Here is a new game," said Scrooge. "One
ialf hour, Spirit, only one I "
It was a game called Yes and No, where
'crooge's nephew had to think of something, and
he rest must find out what; he only answering
o their questions yes or no, as the case was.
Che brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of,n animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable
nimal, a savage animal, an animal that growled.nd grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes,
md lived in London, and walked about the streets,
ind wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by
rnybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was
lever killed in a market, and was not a horse, or
tn ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or
1 pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh ques"ion that was put to him, this nephew burst into
afresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly
tclkled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa
ind stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into
l similar state, cried out:
" I have found it out I I know what it is, Fred I
A know what it is I"
"What is it?" cried Fred.
" It's your uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge I"
Which it certainly was. Admiration was the
universal sentiment, though some objected that
the reply to " Is it a bear 9 " ought to have been
" Yes; " nasmuch as an answer in the negative:was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts
from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever had
any tendency that way,
"e has given us plenty of merriment, I am
-: 1 ' 1 ' * '!'!,.

sure," said Fred, " and it would be ungrateful not
to drink his health. Here is a glass of mulled
wine ready to our hand at the moment; and I say,
' Uncle Scrooge I' "
" Well I Uncle Scrooge I" they cried.
"A Merry Christmas and a happy New Year
to the old man, whatever he is I " said Scrooge's
nephew. " He wouldn't take it from me, but may
he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge I "
Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so
gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged
the unconscious company in return, and thanked
them in an inaudible speech if the Ghost had
given him time. But the whole scene passed off
in the breath of the last word spoken by his
nephew; and he and the Spirit were again upon
their travels.
Much they saw, and far they went, and many
homes they visited, but always with a happy end.
The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they were
cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at
home; by struggling men, and they were patient
in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich.
In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every
refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority
had not made fast the door, and barred the Spirit
out, he left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his
precepts.
It was a long night; if it were only a night;
but Scrooge had his doubts of this, because the
Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed
into the space of time they passed together. It
was strange, too, that while Scrooge remained
unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew
older, clearly older. Scrooge had observed this
change, but never spoke of it, until they left a
children's Twelfth Night party, when, looking at
the Spirit as they stood together in an open place,
he noticed that his hair was gray.
"Are spirits' lives so short?" asked Scrooge.
" My life upon this globe is very brief," replied
the Ghost. "It ends to-night."
"To-night I" cried Scrooge.
"To-night at midnight. Hark I The time is
drawing near."
The chimes were ringing the three quarters
past eleven at that moment.
" Forgive me if I am not justified in what 1
ask," said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's
robe, " but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts.
Is it a foot or a claw?"
"It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon
it," wasthe Spirit's sorrowful reply. "Look
here."
From the foldings of its robe, it brought two
children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous,
miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clang
upon the outside of its garment.
"Oh, Man look here. Look, look, down
here I" exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagr
ratged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, tooi l
their humility. Where graceful youth shoud

vixlIl[LAzu. t0 aUVAYi.

have filled their features out, and touched themi
with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand,
like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them,
and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might
have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out
menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the
mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half
so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them
shown to him in this way, he tried to say they
were fifne children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such
enormous magnitude.
"Spirit! are they yours? " Scrooge could say
no more.
" They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking
down upon them. "And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware of them both,
and all of their degree, but most of all beware this
boy, for on his brow I see that written which is
Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it I"
cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards
the city. " Slander those who tell it ye! Admit
it for your factious purposes, and make it worse I
And bide the end I"
"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried
Scrooge.
"Are there no prisons 1" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words.
"Are there no work-houses?"
The bell struck twelve.
Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and
saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate,
he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn
Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a
mist along the ground towards him.
STAVE FOUR.
THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS.
THE Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent
down upon his knee; for in the very air through
which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom
and mystery.
It was shrouded in a deep black garment,
which concealed its head, its face, its form, and
left nothing of it visible, save one outstretched
anud. But for this it would have been difficult
to detach its figure from the night, and separate
It from the darkness by which it *Was sur-.rounded.
He felt that it iwas tall and stately when it.*ne beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew
no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.
"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christnas Yet To Come? " said Sqrooe.
The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward
wt Ms bhand.

"You are about to show me shadows of th
things that have not happened, but will happen i
the time before us," Scrooge pursued. "Is tha
so, Spirit?"
The upper portion of the garment was con
tracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spiri
bad inclined its head. That was the only answe
he received.
Although well used to ghostly company by thi
time, Scrooge feared the silent shape so mucl
that his legs trembled beneath him, and he founm
that he could hardly stand when he prepared t&lt;
follow it. The Spirit paused a moment, as ob
serving his condition, and giving him time to re
cover.
But Scrooge was all the worse for this. I
thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, t(
know that behind the dusky shroud, there wen
ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he
though he stretched his own to the utmost, coul
see nothing but a spectral hand and one great
heap of black.
"Ghost of the Future I" he exclaimed, "]
fear you more than any spectre I have seen. Bul
as I know your purpose is to do me good, and af
I hope to live to be another man from what I was
I am prepared to bear you company, and do is
with a thankful heart. Will you not speak t(
me?"
It gave him no reply. The hand was pointec
straight before them.
"Lead on! " said Scrooge. "Lead on! ThM
night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me
I know. Lead on, Spirit! "
The Phantom moved away as it had come tow
ards him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its
dress, which bore him up, he thought, and car
ried him along.
They scarcely seemed to enter the city; foi
the city rather seemed to spring up about them.
and encompass them of its own act. But thern
they were in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst
the merchants; who hurried up and down, and
chinked the money in their pockets, and con.
versed in groups, and looked at their watches
and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold
seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them
often.
The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of
business men. Observing that the hand was
pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to
their talk.
" No," said a great fat man with a monstrous
chin, "I don't know much about it either way. I
only know he's dead."
"When did he die?" inquired another.
"Last night, I believe."
"Why, what was the matter with him?"
asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out
of a very large snuff-box. "I thought he'd never
die."
"God knows," said the first with a yawn.
"What has he done with his money?" asked
a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous exetes

I;Lt:

cence on the end of his nose, that shook like the
gills of a turkey-cock.
"I haven't heard," said the man with a large
chin, yawning again. "Left it to his company,
perhaps. He hasn't left it to me. That's all I
know."
This pleasantry was received with a general
liugih.
" It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said
the same speaker: "for upon my life I don't
know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make
up a party and volunteer?"
"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided,"
observed the gentleman with the excrescence on
his nose. "But I must be fed, if I make one."
Another laugh.
"Well, I am the most disinterested among
you, after all," said the first speaker, " for I never
wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But
I'll offer to go, if anybody else will. When I
come to think of it, I'm not at all sure that I
wasn't his most particular friend; for we used to
stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye I"
Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed
with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and
looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.
The Phantom glided on into a street. Its
finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge
listened again, thinking that the explanation
might lie here.
He knew these men, also, perfectly. They
were men of business: very wealthy, and of great
importance. He had made a point always of
standing well in their esteem: in a business point
i of view, that is; strictly in a business point of
view.
" How are you?" said one.
"How are you? " returned the other.
"Well I" said the first. "Old Scratch has got
his own, at last, hey? "
" So I am told," returned the second. " Cold,
isn't it "
" Seasonable for Christmas time. You are not
a skater, I suppose?"
"No. No. Something else to think of. Good
morning I"
Not another word. That was their meeting,
their conversation, and their parting.
Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised
that the Spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose,
he set himself to consider what it was likely to
be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any
bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner,
for that was Past, and this Ghost's province was
the Future. Nor could he think of any one immediately connected with himself, to whom he
could apply them. But nothing doubting that to
whomsoever they applied they had some latent
moral for his own improvement, he resolved to: treasure up every word hemheard, and everything
he saw; and especially to observe the shadow of
himself when it appeared. For he had an expec

tation that the conduct of his future self would
give him the clue he missed, and would rendei
the solution of these riddles easy.
He looked about in that very place for his own
image; but another man stood in his accustomed
corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual
time of day for being there, he saw no likeness
of himself among the multitudes that poured in
through the Porch. It gave him little surprise,
however; for he had been revolving in his mind
a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw
his new-born resolutions carried out in this.
Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretched hand. When he roused
himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from
the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference
to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at
him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very
cold.
They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never
penetrated before, although he recognized its situ.
ation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and
narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people nalf-naked, drnnken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys
and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged
their offences of smell, and dirt, and life, upon the
straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked
with crime, with filth and misery.
Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a
low-browed, beetling-shop, below a pent house
roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and
greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within,
were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains,
hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of
all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scruti
nise were bred and hidden in mountains of un
seemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepul
chres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he
dealt in, by a charcoal stove, made of old bricks,
was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of
age; who had screened himself from the cold air
without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous
tatters hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in
all the luxury of calm retirement.
Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy
bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely
entered, when another woman, similarly laden,
came in too; and she was closely followed by a
man in faded black, who was no less startled by
the sight of them, than they had been upon the
recognition of each other. After a short period
of blank astonishment, in which the old man
with the pipe had joined them, they all three
burst into a laugh.
" Let the charwoman alone to be the firsi"
cried she who had entered first. "Let-the laundress alone to be the second; and let the under
taker's man alone to be the thirhd. Look here,
old Joe, here's a chance I If we haven:t all three
met here without meaning it!"
"You couldn't have met in a better plhwe,'"
said old Joe, removing his pipe from his mo6tth

CH]RISTMfAS BOOKS.

"Come into the parlor. You were made free of
it long ago, you know; and the other two an't
strangers. Stop till I ehut the door of the shop.
Ah! How it skreeks I There an't such a rusty
bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I'm sure there's no such old bones
here, as mine. Ha, hal We're all suitable to
our calling, we're well matched. Come into the
parlor. Come into the parlor I"
The parlor was the space behind the screen of
rags. The old man raked the fire together with
an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky
lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe,
put it into his mouth again.
While he did this, the woman who had already
spoken threw her bundle on the floor and sat
down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing
her elbows on her knees, and looring with a bold
defiance at the other two.
' What odds then I What odds, Mrs. Dilber?"
said the woman. " Every person has a right to
take care of themselves. IHe always did 1"
"That's true, indeed I" said the laundress.
"No man more so."
" Why then, don't stand staring as if you was
afraid, woman; who's the wiser? We're not
going to pick holes in each other's coats, I suppose? "
" No, indeed I" said Mrs. Dilber and the man
together. "We should hope not."
"Very well, then I "cried the woman. "That's
enough. Who's the worse for the loss of a few
things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose."
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dilber. laughing.
"If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead,
a wicked old screw," pursued the woman, "why
wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had been,
he'd have had somebody to look after him when
he was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself."
"It's the truest word that ever was spoke,"
said Mrs. Dilber. "It's a judgment on him."
" I wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied the woman; "and it should have been, you
may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands
on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe,
and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain.
I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for
them to see it. We knew pretty well that we
were helping ourselves, before we met here, I beleve. It's no sin. Open the bundle, Joe."
But the gallantry of her friends would not
allow of this; and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first, produced his plunder. It was
not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a
pair of sleeve buttons, and a brooch of no great
value, were all. They were severally examined
and appraied by old Joe, who chalked the sums
be was'disposed to give for each, upon the wall,
amd added them up into a total when he found
that there was nothing more to come.
"That's your account," said Joe, '"and I
ouldn't give another sixpence, if I was to be
04o not doing it. Who's next? "

Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a
little wearing apparel, two old-fashioned silver
teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots.
Her account was stated on the wall in the same
manner.
"I always give too much to ladies. It's a
weakness of mine, and that's the way I ruin myself," said old Joe. "That's your account. If
you asked me for another penny, and made it an
open question, I'd repent of being so liberal, and
knock off half-a-crown."
"And now undo my bundle, Joe," said the
first woman.
Joe went down on his knees for the greater
convenience of opening it, and having unfastened
a great many knots, dragged out a large heavy roll
of some dark stuff.
"What do you call this?" said Joe. " Bed
curtains I"
"Ahl" returned the woman, laughing and
leaning forward on her crossed arms. "Bed-curtains 1"
"You don't mean to say you took 'em down
rings and all, with him lying there? " said Joe.
"Yes I do," replied the woman. "Why
not?"
" You were born to make your fortune," said
Joe, " ani you'll certainly do it."
"I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can
get anything in it by reaching it out, for the sake
of such a man as He was, I promise you, Joe,"
returned the woman coolly. "Don't drop that
oil upon the blankets, now."
" His blankets?" asked Joe.
"Whose else's do you think?" replied the
woman. " He isn't likely to take cold without
'em, I dare say."
"I hope he didn't die of anything catching?
Eh?" said old Joe, stopping in his work, and
looking up.
"Don't you be afraid of that," returned the
woman. "I an't so fond of his company that I'd
loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah!
You may look through that shirt till your eyes
ache; but you won't find a hole in it, nor a
threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine
one too. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't
been for me."
" What do you call wasting of it?" asked old
Joe.
"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be
sure," replied the woman with a laugh. " Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off
again. If calico an't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good enough for anything. It's
quite as becoming to the body. He can't look
uglier than he did in that one."
Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror.
As they sat grouped about their spoil, in the
scanty light afforded by the old manys lamp, he
viewed them with a detestation and disgust,
which could hardly have been greater, thoug
they had been obscene demons, marketing the
corpse itself.

A CHRISTA
I "H a, ha I" laughed the same woman, when
ld Joe, producing a flannel bag with money in it,
told out their several gains upon the ground.
E "This is the end of it, you see? He frightened
i every one away from him when he was alive, to
4 profit us when he was dead IIa, ha, ha 1": "Spirit I" said Scrooge, shuddering from
i head to foot. "I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that
way, now. Merciful Heaven, what is this "
He recoiled in terror, for the scene had
changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a
h bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a
ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up,
which, though it was dumb, announced itself in
awful language.
The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced
round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious
to know what kind of room it was. A pale light
rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed:
and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its
steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover
was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's
part, would have disclosed the face. He thought
of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed
to do it; but had no more power to withdraw
the veil than to dismiss the spectreat his side.
Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up
thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors
as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy
dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honored head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy
dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It
is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down
when released; it is not that the heart and pulse
are still; but that the hand was open, generous,
and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender;
and the pulse a man's. Strike, Shadow, strike I
And see his good deeds springing from the
wound, to sow the world with life immortal!
No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's
ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon
the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised
up now, what would be his foremost thoughts?
Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares? They have
brought him to a rich end, truly I
He lay, in the dark, empty house, with not a
man, a woman, or a child, to say he was kind to
me in this or that, and for the memory of one
kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What they
wanted in the room of death, and why they were
so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to
think.
"Spirit " he said, "this is a fearful place.
In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me.
Letus go "
tll the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger
to the head.

~AS CAROL. 29
"I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and
I would do it if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power."
Again it seemed to look upon him.
" If there is any person in the town, who feels
emotion caused by this man's death," said
Scrooge, quite agonised, "show that person to
me, Spirit, I beseech you 1"
The Phantom spread its dark robe before him
for a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it,
revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and
her children were.
She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the
room; started at every sound; looked out from
the window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in
vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly
bear the voices of her children in their play.
At length the long-expected knock was heard.
She hurried to the door and met her husband; a
man whose face was care-worn and depressed,
though he was young. There was a remarkable
expression in it now; a kind of serious delight ot i
which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to i
repress.
He sat down to the dinner that had been
hoarding for him by the fire, and when she asked
him faintly what news (which was not until after
a long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to
answer.
"nIs it good," she said, "or bad?"-to help
him.
" Bad," he answered.
" We are quite ruined?"
"No. There is hope yet, Caroline."
"If he relents," she said, amazed, '"there is I
Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened."
"He is past relenting," said her husband.
"He is dead."
She was a mild and patient creature, if her face
spoke truth; but she was thankful in her soul to
hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands. She
prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was
sorry; but the first was the emotion of her
heart.
"What the half-drunken woman, whom I told
you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see
him and obtain a week's delay; and what I
thought was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns
out to have been quite true. He was not only
very ill, but dying, then."
"To whom will our debt be transferred?"
"I don't know. But before that time we shall
be ready with the money; and even though we
were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find
so merciless a creditor in his successor. We
may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline I"
Yes. Soften it as they would, their heart
were lighter. The children's faces, hushed and j
clustered round to hear what they so littl un
derstood, were brighter; and it wast a hapt
house, for this man's death! The only * e

CHRISTMAS BOOES. o

don that the Ghost could show him, caused by
the event, was one of pleasure.
"Let me see some tenderness connected with
a death," said Scrooge; "or that dark chamber,
Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever
present to me."
The Ghost conducted him through several
streets familiar to his feet; and as they went
along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house; the dwelling he
had visited before; and found the mother and
the children seated round the fire.
Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits
were as still as statues' in one corner, and sat
looking up at Peter, who had a book before
him. The mother and her daughters were
engaged in sewing. But surely they were very
quiet I
"' And he took a child, and set him in the
midst of them.'"
Where had Scrooge heard those words? He
had not dreamed them. The boy must have read
them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on?
The mother laid her work upon the table, and
put her hand up to her face.
' The color hurts my eyes," she said.
The color? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
"They're better now again," said Cratchit's
wife. "It makes them weak by candle-light;
and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father
when he comes home, for the world. It must be
near his time."
"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up
his book. "But I think he has walked a little
slower than he used, these few last evenings,
mother."
They were very quiet again. At last she said,
and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered
once:
"I have known him walk with-I have known
him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very
fast indeed."
"And so'have I," cried Peter. "Often."
"And so have I," exclaimed another. So had
"But he was very light to carry," she resumed,
Intent upon her work, "and his father loved him
go, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And there
Is your father at the door I"
She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in
his comforter-he had need of it, poor fellowcame in. Hills tea was ready for him on the hob,
and they all tried who should help him to it most.
Then the two young Cratchits got upon his kneae
and laid, each child, a little cheek, against his
race, as if they said "Don't mind it, father."
" Don't be grieved I"
Bob: was very cheerful with them, and spoke
pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the
ork uapon tlhe table, and praised the Industry
Oid nsed * Mrs Crathi and the girls. They
ulkdbe done long before Sunday, he said.
~e ~ i;.:., -,.,..~.- *,.. ^ i.,^...-.A,,... -... *

"Sunday I You went to day, then, Robett? n
said his wife.
"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wkih you
could have gone. It would have done you good to
see how green a place it is. But you'll see it of
ten. I promised him that I would walk there on
a Sunday. My little, little child!" cried Bob.
"My little child!"
He broke down all at once. He couldn't help
it. If he could have helped it, he and his child
would have been farther apart perhaps than they
were.
lIe left the room, and went up-stairs into the
room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and
hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close
beside the child and there were signs of some one
having been there, lately. Poor Bob sat down in
it, and when he had thought a little and composed
himself, he kissed the little face. Ite was recon
ciled to what had happened, and went down agaU
quite happy.
They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls
and mother working still. Bob told them of the
extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge's nephew,
whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who,
meeting him in the street that day, and seeing
that he looked a little-"just a little down you
know," said Bob, inquired what had happened to
distress him. " On which," said Bob, " for he is
the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you everheard,
I told him. 'I am heartily sorry for it, Mr.
Cratchit,' he said, 'and heartily sorry for your
good wife.' By the bye, how he ever knew that I
don't know."
" Knew what, my dear?"
"Why, that you were a good wife," replied
Bob.
"Everybody knows that I " said Peter.
"Very well observed, my boy I" cried Bob.
"I hope they do. 'Heartily sorry,' he said, ' for
your good wife. If I can be of service to you in
any way,' he said, giving me his card, 'that's
where I live. Pray come to me.' Now, it wasn't,"
cried Bob, "for the sake of anything he might be
able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that
this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if
he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with
us."
"I'm sure he's a good soul!" said "Mrs.
Cratchit.
"You would be sure of it, my dear," returned
Bob, " if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn't
be at all surprised-mark what I say!-if he got
Peter a better situation."
"Only hear that, Peter," said Mrs. Cratchit.
"And then," criedone of the girls, "Peter wifl
be keeping company with some one, and setting
up for himself." *
"Get along with you I" retorted Peter, grinning.
" It's jest as likely as not," said Bob, "- one of
these days; though there's plenty oftime fo that,
my dear. But however and whenever We Spat
from one another, I am sure we shall none of us

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

ci
tforget poor Tiny Tim-shall we-or this first partWing that there was among us?"
e! "Never, father! " cried they all.
ir "And I know," said Bob, " I know, my dears,
gthat when we recollect how patient and how mild
-he was; although he was a little, little child; we
9shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and fortget poor Tiny Tim in doing it."
"No, never, father!" they all cried again.
"I am very happy," said little Bob, "I am
hrery happy 1"
I Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed
'him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and
'Peterand himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny,Tim, thy childish essence was from God!
' "Spectre," said Scrooge, "something informs
Xne that our parting moment is at hand. I know
it, but I know not how. Tell me what mall that
vwas whom we saw lying dead? "
The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed
him, as before-though at a different time, he
thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these
latter visions, save that they were in the Futureinto the resorts of business men, but showed him
kot himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay for
anything, but went straight on, as to the end just
-aow desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry
'or a moment.! "This court," said Scrooge, "through which
We hurry now, is where my place of occupation is,
omd'has been for a length of time. I see the,Souse. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to
omne."
The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed
elsewhere.
"The house is yonder," Scrooge exclaimed.
' Why do you point away?"
The inexorable finger underwent no change.
Scrooge hastened to the window of his office,
nd looked in. It was an office still, but not his.
bhe furniture was not the same, and the figure in
the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed
is before.
He joined it once again, and wondering why
and whither he had gone, accompanied it until
they reached an iron gate. He paused to look
round before entering.
A churchyard. Here,-then, the wretched man
whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath
~h e ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in
ISy houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the; rowth of vegetation's death, not life; choked up
with too much burying; fat with repleted appe.
tte. A worthy place I
The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed
own to One. He advanced towards it trembling.
he Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he
t readed that he saw new meaning in its solemn
sh"ape.
"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which
you point," said Scrooge, "answer me one question., Are these the shadows of the things that
W il be, or are they shaoows of the things that
tay be, onl

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave
by which it stood.
"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends
to which, if persevered in, they must lead," said
Scrooge. " But if the courses be departed from,
the ends will change. Say it is thus with what
you show me!"
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he
went; and following the finger, read upon the
stone of the neglected grave his own name, EsENEZER SCROOGE.
"Am Ithat man who lay upon the bed?" he
cried, upon his knees.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and
back again.
" No, Spirit! Oh no, no!"
The finger still was there.
" Spirit I" he cried, tight clutching at its robe,
"hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not
be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope I"
For the first time the hand appeared to shake.
"Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the
ground he fell before it: " Your nature intercedes
for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may
change these shadows you have shown me, by an
altered life? "
The kind hand trembled.
"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try
to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the
Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three
shall strive within me. I will not shut out the
lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge
away the writing on this stone I"
In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It
sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet,
repulsed him.
Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have
his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the
Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed,
and dwindled down into a bedpost.
STAVE FIVE.
THE ENSD Ot IT.
YES I and the bedpost was his own. The bed
was his own, the room was his own. Best and
happiest of all, the Time before him was his own,
to make amends in I
"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the
Future I" Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out
of bed. "The Spirits of all, Three shall strive
within me. Oh Jacob Marley I Heaven, and the
Christmas Time be praised for this I I say iton
my knees, old Jacob; on my knees I"
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his
good intentions, that his broken volce wotd
scarcely answer to his call. He hd een stob
violently in his conflict with the Spit, and 4
face was wet with tears.:* * ** * - X ';.:

CHRISTXAS BOOKS.

" They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, " they are
not torn down, rings and all. They are here-I
am here-the shadows of the things that would
have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I
know they will I "
His hands were busy with his garments all
this time; turning them inside out, putting them
on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them,
making them parties to every kind of extravagance.
" I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge,
laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings. " I am as light as a feather, I am as happy
as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy. I am
as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas
to everybody l A happy New Year to all the
world I Hallo here I Whoop 1 Hallo!"
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was
now standing there: perfectly winded.
" There's the saucepan that the gruel was in I"
cried Scrooge, starting off again, and going round
the fire-place. " There's the door by which the
Ghost of Jacob Marley entered l There's the
corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat I
There's the window where I saw the wandering
Spirits It's all right, it's all true, it all happened.
Ha ha ha I"
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a
most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long
line of brilliant laughs I
"I don't know what day of the month it is,"
said Scrooge, " I don't know how long I have
been among the Spirits. I don't know anything.
I'm quite a baby. Never mind. I don't care.
I'd rather be a baby. Hallo Whoop! lHallo
here I"
He was checked in his transports by the
churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had
ever heard. Clash, clash, hammer; ding, dong,
bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clashl
Oh, glorious, glorious I
Running to the window, he opened it, and put
out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright,
jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood
to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky;
sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorous!
" What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling
downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhapshad loitered in to look about him.
" EH " returned the boy, with all his might of
wonder.
"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said
Scrooge.
" To-day " replied the boy. Why, CHRISTMAS DAY."
"It's Christmas Day I" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done
It all in-one night. They can do anything they
like. Of oErse they can. Of course they can.
Hallo, may fne fellow!"

" Hallo I" returned the boy.
"Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next
street but one, at the corner?" Scrooge inquired.
"I should hope I did," replied the lad.
"An intelligent boy 1" said Scrooge. "A re
markable boy! Do you know whether they'vt
sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there'
-Not the little prize Turkey: the big one? "
"What, the one as big as me?" returned tbh
boy.
"What a delightful boy! said Scrooge. " It'i
a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!"
"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.
"Is it? " said Scrooge. " Go and buy it."
"Walk-ER! " exclaimed the boy.
"No, no," said Scrooge, " Iam in earnest. G(
and buy it, and tell 'em to bring it here, that:
may give them the directions where to take it
Come back with the man, and I'll give you E
shilling. Come back with him in less than fiv(
minutes, and I'll give half-a-crown! "
The boy was off like a shot. He must hav(
had a steady hand at a trigger who could have gol
a shot off half so fast.
"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's," whisperec
Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with
laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's
twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never
made such a joke as sending it to Bob's wil
bel"
The hand in which he wrote the address wae
not a steady one; but write it he did, somehow.
and went down-stairs to open the street door.
ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. At
he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker
caught his eye.
"I shall love it as long as I live I" cried
Scrooge, patting it with his hand. "I scarcelb
ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face I It's a wonderful knocker I
-Here's the Turkey. Hallo I Whoop I How are
you I Merry Christmas 1"
It was a Turkey I He never could have stood
upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped
'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealingwax.
" Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said Scrooge. "You must have a
cab."
The chuckle with which he said this, and the
chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and
the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and
the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy,
were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with
which he sat down breathless in his chair again,
and chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand
continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance wile
you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his
nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking
plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.
He dressed himself "all in his best," aid at
last gout o nto the streets The people were

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with
tlfe Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking
with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded
every one with a delighted smile. He looked so
irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four
good-humored fellows said, Good morning, sir I
A merry Christmas to you " And Scrooge said
often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he
had ever heard, those were the blithest in his
~ars.
4[4e had not gone far, when coming on towards
tim he beheld the portly gentleman, who had
walked into his counting-house the day before,
and said " Scrooge and Marley's, I believe? " It
sent a pang across his heart to think how this old
gentleman would look upon him when they met;
aut he knew what path lay straight before him,
nd he took it.
" My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his
)ace, and taking the old gentleman by both his
ands. " How do you do? I hope you succeeded
yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry
ihristmas to you, sir "
"Mr. Scrooge?"
"Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name,
mnd I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow
ne to ask your pardon. And will you have the,oodness "-here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
"Lord bless me I " cried the gentleman, as if
lis breath were taken away. "My dear Mr.
Scrooge, are you serious?"
"If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farhing less. A great many back-payments are in-:luded in it, I assure. Will you do me that
avor?"
" My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands
vith him. "I don't know what to say to such
nunifi-"
" Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge.
'Come and see me. Will you come and see'
ne?"
" I will I" cried the old gentleman. And it was
'ear he meant to do it.
"Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much
~bliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless
'oll ": e went to church, and walked about the
treets, and watched the people hurrying to and
to, and patted the children on the head, and
luestioned beggars, and looked down into the:itchens of houses, and up to the windows; and
ound that everything could yield him pleasure.
Ie had never dreamed that any walk-that anyhintg-could give him so much happiness. In the
fternoon, he turned his steps towards his:ephew's house.
He passed the door a dozen times, before he had
he courage to go up and knock. But he made a
ash, and did it.
"Is your master at home, my dear?" said
'crooge to the girl. Nice girl Very.
"'Yes, sir."
Where is he, my love?" said Scrooge.
"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with

mistress. I'll show you up stairs, If you
please."
"Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge,
with his hand already on the dining-room lock.
"I'll go in here, my dear."
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in,
round the door. They were looking at the table
(which was spread out in great array); for these
young housekeepers are always nervous on such
points, and like to see that everything;s right.
"Fred! " said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage
started. Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment,
about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn't have done it, on any account.
" Why bless my soul 1" cried Fred. " Who's
that? "
"It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to
dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?"
Let him in 1 It d a mercy he didn't shake his
arm off. He was.aLJAome in five minutes.
Nothing could be heartier. HIs niece looked just
the same. So did Topper when he came. So did
the plump sister, when she came. So did every
one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wmarzfn ltnaul ity, won-der-ful happiness.
But he was early at the office next morning.
Oh he was early there. If he could only be there
first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late. That
was the thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes he did I The clock struck
nine. No Bob A quarter past. No Bob./ He
was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his
time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that
he might see him come into the Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door;
his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy;
driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to
overtake nine o'clock.
" Hallo I" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed
voice as near as he could feign it. "What do you
mean by coming here at this time of day?"
"I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. " I am behind
my time."
"You areI" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I
think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please."
"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. " It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry, yesterday, sir."
"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said
Scrooge. "I am not going to stand this sort of
thing any longer. And therefore," he continued,
leaping from his stool, and givink Bob such a dig
in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the
Tank again: "and therefore I am about to raise
your salary I"
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the
ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking
Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to
the people in the court for help and a strait-waist.
coat.
"A merry Christmas, Bob " said Srog

CHRISAT.S.SOOKS.

with an earnestness that could not be mistaken,
as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier
Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given
you for many a year! i 11 raise your salary, and
endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we
will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over
a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob!
Make up the fires and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, tob Cratchit I "
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it
all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who
did NOT die, he was a second father. He became
as good a friend, as good aFeaster, and as good a
man, as the good old city knew, or any other good
old cityown, r borough, in the good old world.
Some people laughed to see the alteration in him,

but he let them laugh, and little' heeded them
for he was wise enough to know that nothing ev(
happened on this globe, for good, at which som
people did not have their fill of laughter in the oun
set; and knowing that such as these would b
blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that the
should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have th
malady in less attractive forms. His own hea;
laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
lHe had no further intercourse with Spirit(
but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principh
ever afterwards; and it was always said of bin
that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if an
man alive possessed the knowledge. May that t
truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tin
Tim observed. God bless Us, Every One I

TH E C H IMES
OP SOME BELLS THAT' RANG AN OLD YEAR OUT AND A NEW
YEAR IN.

FIRST QUARTER.
TnnEa are not many people-and as it is
desirable that a story-teller and a story-reader
should establish a mutual understanding as soon
as possible, I beg it to be noticed that I confine
this observation neither to young people nor to
little people, but extend it to all conditions of
people: little and big, young and old: yet growing up, or already growing down again-there are
not, I say, many people who would care to sleep
in a church. I don't mean at sermon-time in
warm weather (when the thing has actually been
done, once or twice), but in the night, and alone.
A great multitude of persons will be violently
astonished, I know, by this position, in the broad
bold Day. But it applies to Night. It must be
argued by night. And I will undertake to mainlain it successfully on any gusty winter's night
appointed for the purpose, with any one opponent
chosen from the- rest, who will meet me singly in
an old churchyard, before an old church-door; and
will previously empower me to lock him in, if
needful to his satisfaction, until morning.
For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round a building of that sort,
and moaning as it goes; and of trying with its
unseen hand, the windows and the doors; and
seeking out some crevices by which to enter. And
when it has 'got in; as one not finding what it
aeeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls
to issue forth again; and not content with stalking through the aisles, and gliding round and round
the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, soars up
to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters: then
flings itself despairingly upon the stones below,
and passes, muttering, into the vaults. Anon, it
comes up stealthily, and creeps along the walls,
seeming to read, in whispers, the Inscriptions
sacred to the Dead. At some of these, it breaks
out shrilly, as with laughter; and at others, moans
and cries as if it were lamenting. It has a ghostly
sound too, lingering within the altar; where it
seems to chaunt In its wild way, of Wrong and
Murder 'done, and false Gods worshipped, in

defiance of the Tables of the Law, which look
so fair and smooth, but are so flawed and broken.
Ugh I eaven preserve us, sitting snuglyround
the fire! It has an awful voice, that Wind at
Midnight, singing in a church!
But, high up in the steeple I There the foul x
blast roars and whistles I High up in the steeple,
where it is free to come and go through many an
airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine
itself about the giddy stair, and twirl the groaning
weathercock, and make the very tower shake and
shiver I High up in the steeple, where the belfry
is, and iron rails are ragged with rust, and sheets
of lead and copper, shrivelled by the changing
weather, crackle and heave beneath the unaccustomed tread; and birds stuff shabby nests into
corners of dtd oaken joists and beams; and dust
grows old ARd grey; and speckled spiders, indolent and fat with long security, swing idly to
and fro in the vibration of the bells, and never
loose their hold upon their thread-spun castles in
the air, or climb up sailor-like in quick alarm, or
drop upon the ground and ply a score of nimble
legs to save one's life I High up in the steeple of
an old church, far above the light and murmur of
the town and far below the flying clouds that
shadow it, is the wild and dreary place at night:
and high up in the steeple of an old church, dwelt
the Chimes I tell of.
They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries
ago, these Bells had been baptised by bishops: so
many centuries ago, that the register of their
baptism was lost long, long before the memory of
man, and no one knew their names. They had
had their Godfathers and Godmothers, these Bells
(for my own part, by the way, I would rather
incur the responsibility of being Godfatherto a
Bell than a Boy), and had had their silver mugs
no doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down -
their sponsors, and Henry the Eighth hd melted
down their mugs; and they now hung, fra eless
and muglesx, in the church tower.
Not speechless, though. Far from it. They
had clear, loud, lusty, sounding voices, had these
Bells; and far and wide they might be heard upon

CHRIsTkAS ]OOKst

the wind. Much too sturdy Chimes were they, to
be dependei' on the pleasure of the wind, moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when it
took an adverse whim, they would pour their
cheerful notes into a listening ear right royally;
and bent on being heard, on stormy nights, by
some poor mother watching a sick child, or some
lone wife whose husband was at sea, they had
heen sometimes known to beat a blustering Nor'
Wester; aye, " all to fits," as Toby Veck said;for though they chose to call him Trotty Veck, his
name was Toby, and nobody could make it anything else either (except Tobias) without a special
act of parliament; he having been as lawfully
christened in his day as the Bells had been in
theirs, though with not quite so much of solemnity or public rejoicing.
For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's
belief, for I am sure he had opportunities enough
of forming a correct one. And whatever Toby
Veck said, I say. And I take my stand by Toby
Veck, although he did stand all day long (and
weary work it was) just outside the church-door.
In fact, he was a ticket-porter, Toby Veck, and
waited there for jobs.
And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, redeyed, stony-toed, tooth-chattering place it was, to
wait in, in the winter-time, as Toby Veck well
knew.' The wind came tearing round the corner
-especially the east wind-as if it had sallied
forth, express, from the confines of the earth, to
have a blow at Toby. And oftentimes it seemed
to come upon him sooner than it had expected,
for bouncing round the corner, and passing Toby,
it would suddenly wheel round again, as if it
cried " Why, here he is " Incontinently his little white apron would be caught up over his head
like a naughty boy's garments, and his feeble little
cane would be seen to wrestle and struggle unavailingly in his hand, and his legs would undergo
tremendous agitation, and Toby himself all aslant,
and facing now in this direction, now in that,
would be so banged and buffeted, and touzled, and
worried, and hustled, and lifted off his feet, as to
render it a state of things but one degree removed
from a positive miracle, that he wasn't carried up
bodily into the air as a colony of frogs or snails or
other very portable creatures sometimes are, and
rained down again, to the great astonishment
of the natives, on some strange comer of the
world where ticket-porters are unknown.
But, Windy weather, in spite of its using him
so roughly, was, after all, a sort of holiday for Toby. That's the fact. He didn't seem to wait so
long fora sixpence in the wind, as at other times;
the having to fight with that boisterous element
took off his attention, and quite freshened him
Up, when he was getting hungry and low spirited.
A bard frost too, or a fall of snow, was an Event;
and t seemed to do him good, somehow or other
-It would have been hard to say in what respect
thog,. Toby! So wind and frost and snow, and
erap a goodiff stif orm of hail, were Toby;,Xl ~ i0w. 0 0,:: X

Wet weatner was the wors;,, the cold, damp
clammy wet, that wrapped him up like a moist
great-coat-the only kind of great-coat Toby
owned, or could have added to his comfort by
dispensing with. Wet days, when the rain came
slowly, thickly, obstinately down; when the
street's throat, like his own, was choked with
mist; when smoking umbrellas passed and repassed, spinning round and round like so many
teetotums, as they knocked against each other on
the crowded footway, throwing off a little whirlpool of uncomfortable sprinklings; when gutters
brawled and water-spouts were full and noisy;
when the wet from the projecting stones and
ledges of the church fell drip, drip, drip, on Toby,
making the wisp of straw on which he stood mere
mud in no time; those were the days that tried
him. Then, indeed, you might see Toby looking
anxiously out from his shelter in an angle of the
church wall-such a meagre shelter that in summer time it never cast a shadow thicker than a
good-sized walking-stick upon the sunny pavement-with a disconsolate and lengthened face.
But coming out a minute afterwards, to warm
himself by exercise, and trotting up and down
some dozen times, he would brighten even then,
and go back more brightly to his niche.
They called him Trotdy from his pace, which
meant speed if it didn't make it. He could have
Walked faster perhaps; most likely; but rob him
of his trot, and Toby would have taken to his bed
and died. It bespattered him with mud in dirty
weather; it cost him a world of trouble; he could
have walked with infinitely greater ease; but that
was one reason for his clinging to it so tenaciously. A weak, small, spare old man, he was a very
Hercules, this Toby, in his good intentions. Iie
loved to earn his money. He delighted to believe
-Toby was very poor, and couldn't well afford to
part with a delight-that he was worth his salt.
With a shilling or an eighteen-penny message or
small parcel in hand, his courage, always high,
rose higher. As he trotted on, he would call out
to fast Postmen ahead of him, to get out of the
way; devoutly believing that in the natural course
of things he must inevitably overtake and run
them down; and he had perfect faith-not often
tested-in his being able to carry anything that
man could lift.
Thus even when he came out of his nook to
warm himself on a wet day, Toby trotted. Making, with his leaky shoes, a crooked line of slushy
footprints in the mire; and blowirg on his chilly
hands and rubbing them against each other,
poorly defended from the searching cold by threadbare mufflers of grey worsted, with a private apartment only for the thumb, and a common room or
tap for the rest of the fingers; Toby, with his
knees bent and his cane beneath his arm, stil
trotted. Falling out into the road to look up at the
belfry when the Chimes resounded, oby trotted
still.
He made this last excursion several times a
day, for they were company to hi,; and tie

_11-77-77
TIM CRIMES.

l if

ieard their voices, he had an interest in glancing
ft their lodging-place, and thinking how they
vere moved, and what hammers beat upon them.
'erhaps he was the more curious about these
Tells, because there were points of resemblance,etween themselves and him. They hung there,
n all weathers, with the wind and rain driving in
pon them; facing only the outsides of all those
ouses; never getting any nearer to the blazing
res that gleamed and shone upon the windows,
r came puffing out of the chimney tops; and inapable of participation in any of the good things
liat were constantly being handed, through the
treet doors and area railings, to prodigious cooks.
'aces came and went at many windows: somemes pretty faces, youthful faces, pleasant faces:
ametimes the reverse: but Toby knew no more
hough he often speculated on these trifles, standig idle in the streets) whence they came, or where
ley went, or whether, when the lips moved, one
ind word was said of him in all the year, than
id the Chimes themselves.
Toby was not a casuist-that he knew of, at.ast-and I don't mean to say that when he bein to take to the Bells, and to knit up his first
)ugh acquaintance with them into something of
closer and more delicate woof, he passed through
iese considerations one by one, or held any fortal review or great field-day in his thoughts. But
hat I mean to say, and do say is, that as the
mnctions of Toby's body, his digestive organs for
sample, did of their own cunning, and by a great
tany operations of which he was altogether igorant, and the knowledge of which would have
stonished him very much, arrive at a certain end;
his mental faculties, without his privity or conirrence, set all these wheels and springs in moon, With a thousand others, when they worked
h bring about his liking for the Bells.
And though I had said his love, I would not
eve recalled the word, though it would scarcely
wve expressed his complicated feeling. For beig but a simple man, he invested them with a
Grange and solemn character. They were so
ysterious, often heard and never seen; so high
). so far off, so full of such deep strong melody,:at he regarded them with a species of awe; and
)metimes when he looked up at the dark arched
indows in the tower, he half expected to be
"ckoned to by something whidh was not a Bell,
id yet what he heard so often sounding in the
fhimes. For all this, Toby scouted with indigstion a certain flying rumor that the Chimes
ere haunted, as implying the possibility of their
Aing connected with any Evil thing. In short,; ey were very often in his ears, and very often in
As thoughts, but always in his good opinion; and
i very often got such a crick in his neck by star-;g with his mouth wide open, at the steeple
ihere they hung, that he was fain to take an ex|a trot or two afterwards, to cure it.
i The very thing he was in the act of doing one
ld day, when the last drowsy sound of Twelve
tlock, jiust struck, was humming like a melodi

ous monster of a Bee, and not by any means a
busy Bee, all through the steeple I
"Dinner-time, eh I" said Toby, trotting up
and down before the church. " Ah I"
Toby's nose was very red, and his eyelids were
very red, and he winked very much, and his
shoulders were very near his ears, and his legs
were very stiff, and altogether he was evidently a
long way upon the frosty side of cool.
"Dinner-time, eh I" repeated Toby, using
his right hand muffler like an infantine boxingglove, and punishing his chest for being cold.
"Ah-h-h-h I "
HIe took a silent trot, after that, for a minute
or two.
"There's nothing," said Toby, breaking forth
afresh,-but here he stopped short in his trot, and
with a face of great interest and some alarm, felt
his nose carefully all the way up. It was but a
little way (not being much of a nose) and he had
soon finished.
" I thought it was gone," said Toby, trotting
off again. "It's all right, however. I am sure I
couldn't blame it if it was to go. It has a precious hard service of it in the bitter weather, and
precious little to look forward to: for I don't take
snuff myself. It's a good deal tried, poor creetur,
at the best of times; for when it does get hold of
a pleasant whiff or so (which ain't too often), it's
generally from somebody else's dinner, a coming
home from the baker's."
The reflection reminded him of that other reflection, which he had left unfinished.
"There's nothing," said Toby, "more regular
in its coming round than dinner-time, and nothing
less regular in its coming round than dinner.
That's the great difference between 'em. It's took
me a long time to find it out. I wonder whether it
would be worth any gentleman's while now, to buf
that obserwation for the Papers; or the Parliament I"
Toby was only joking, for he gravely shook his
head in self-depreciation.
"Why I Lord 1" said Toby. "The Papers is
full of obserwations as it is; and so's the Parliament. Here's last week's paper, now; " taking
a very dirty one from his pocket, and holding it
from him at arm's length; " full of obserwations!
Full of obserwations I I like to know the news
as well as any man," said Toby, slowly; folding
it a little smaller, and putting it in his pocket
again: " but it almost goes aginst the grain with
me to read a paper now. It frightens me almost.
I don't know what we poor people are coming to.
Lord send we may be coming to something better
in the New Year nigh upon us "
"Why, father, father I "I said a pleasant voice,
hard by.
But,Toby, not hearing it, continued to trot
backwards and forwards: musing as he went, and
talking to himself.
"It seems as if we can't go right, or do right
or be righted," said Toby. "I hadn't much
schooling, myself, when I was young; and I cant4

CHRISTMAS SOS,

make out whether we have any business on the
face of the earth, or -not. Sometimes I think we
must have-a little; and sometimes I think we
must be intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes
that I am not even able to make up my mind
whether there is any good at all in us, or whether
we are born bad. We seem to do dreadful things;
we seem to give a deal of trouble; we are always
being complained of and guarded against. One
way or another, we fill the papers. Talk of a New
Year I" said Toby, mournfully. "I can bear up
as well as another man at most times: better
than a good many, for I am as strong as a lion,
and all men an't; but supposing it should really
be that we have no right to a New Year-supposing we really are intruding-"
"Why, father, father!" said the pleasant
voice again.
Toby heard it this time; started; stopped;
and shortening his sight, which had been directed
a long way off as seeking for enlightenment in
the very heart of the approaching year, found himself face to face with his own child, and looking
close into her eyes.
Bright eyes they were. Eyes that would bear
a world of looking in, before their depth was
fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the eyes
which searched them; not flashingly, or at the
owner's will, but with a clear, calm, honest, patient radiance, claiming kindred with that light
which Heaven called into being. Eyes that were
beautiful and true, and beaming with Hope. With
Hope so young and fresh; with Hope so buoyant, vigorous and bright, despite the twenty years
of work and poverty on which they had looked;
that they became a voice to Trotty Veck, and
said: "I think we have some business here-a
little "
Trotty kissed the lips belonging to the eyes,
and squeezed the blooming face between his
hands.
"Why Pet," said Trotty. "What's to do? I
didn't expect you to-day, Meg."
"Neither did I expect to come, father," cried
the girl, nodding her head and smiling as she
spoke. "But here I am! And not alone; not
alone I"
"Why you don't mean to say," observed
Trotty, looking curiously at a covered basket
which she carried in her hand, " that you-"
"Smell it, father dear," said Meg. "Only
snell it "
Trotty was going to lift up the cover at once, in
a great hurry, when she gaily interposed her
hand.
"No, no, no," said Meg, with the glee of a
child. "Lengthen it out a little. Let me just
lift up the corner, just the lit-tle ti-ny cor-ner, you
know," said Meg, suiting the action to the word
ith the utmost gentleness, and speaking very
softly, as if she were afraid of being overheard by
mnethitg inside the basket; there. Now.
W t th i at! ie
"doby took the -shaortert posible sniff at the

edge of the basket, and cried 3ut in a rp
ture:
"Why, it's hot "
"It's burning hot I" cried Meg. " Ha, ha, ha
It's scalding hot I"
"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Tcby, with a sort oJ
Jkick. "It's scalding hot!"
" But what is it, father? " said Meg. " Come
You haven't guessed what it is. And you mus
guess what it is. I can't think of taking it out
till you guess what it is. Don't be in such a hurry
Wait a minute I A little bit more of the covel
Now guess!"
Meg was in a perfect fright lest he should gues
right too soon; shrinking away, as she held th
basket towards him; curling up her pretty shou]
ders; stopping her ear with her hand, as if by s
doing she could keep the right word out of Toby'
lips; and laughing softly the whole time.
Meanwhile Toby, putting a hand on each knec
bent down his nose to the basket, and took a lon,
inspiration at the lid; the grin upon his withere.
face expanding in the process, as if he were ir
haling laughing gas.
"Ah1 I t's very nice," said Toby. "It an'tI suppose it an't Polonies? "
" No, no, no I" cried Meg, delighted. " Nott
ing like Polonies 1"
"No," said Toby, after another sniff. "It'sit's mellower than Polonies. It's very nice. 3
improves every moment. It's too decided fc
Trotters. An't it "
M:eg was in an ecstasy. He could not hav
gone wider of the mark than Trottcrs-excel
Polonies.
"Liver?" said Toby, communing with bin
self. " No. There's a mildness about it that don
answer to liver. Pettitoes?- No. It an't fair
enough for pettitoes. It wants the stringiness c
Cocks' heads. And I know it an't sausages. I'I
tell you what it is. It's chitterlings I"
"No, it an't I" cried Meg, in a burst of deligh
" No, it an't I"
"Why, what am I a thinking ofl" said Tob'
suddenly recovering a position as near the pe
pendicular as it was possible for him to assume
"I shall forget my own name, next. It'
tripe I"
Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, proteste
he should say, in half a minute more, it was tb
best tripe ever stewed.
" And so," said Meg, busying herself exultingi
with her basket; "I'll lay the cloth at once
father; for I have brought the tripe in a bashi
and tied the basin up in a pocket-handkerchiej
and if I like to be proud for once, and spread the
for a cloth, and call it a cloth, there's no law t
prevent me; is there, father?"
"Not that I know of, my dear," said Tobt
"But they're always a bringing up some new la
or other."
And according to what I was reading you i
the paper the other day, fther; what tie Ju
eald, you know; we poor people are ioe
i:

TlE CfIA S.

ilhtiw them all. Ha ha! What a mistake My
goodness me, how clever they think us 1"
"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty "and they'd
lbe very fond of any one of us that did know 'eni!all. He'd grow fat upon the work he fl get, that
man, and be popular with the gentlefolks in his
neighborhood. Very much so I"
" He'd eat his dinner withan appetite, whoever
he was, if it smelt like this," said Meg, cheerfully.
" Make haste, for there's a hot potato besides, and
half a pint of fresh-drawn beer in a bottle. Where
will you dine, father? On the Post, or on the
Steps? Dear, dear, how grand we are. Two
places to choose from "
"The steps to-day, my Pet," said Trotty.
"Steps in dry weather. Post in wet. There's a
greater conveniency in the steps at all times, because of the sitting down; but they're rheumatic
in the damp."
"Then here," said Meg, clapping her hands,
after a moment's bustle; "here it is, all ready I
And beautiful it looks! Come, father. Come "
Since his discovery of the contents of the basket,
Trotty had been standing looking at her-and had
been speaking too-in an abstracted manner,which
showed that though she was the object of his
thoughts and eyes, to the exclusion even of tripe,
he neither saw nor thought about her as she was
at that moment, but had before him some imaginary rough sketch or drama of her future life.
Roused, now, by her cheerful summons, he shook
off a melancholy shake of the head which was just
coming upon him, and trotted to her side. As he
was stooping to sit down, the Chimes rang.
"Amen I" said Trotty, pulling off his hat and
looking up towards them.
" Amen to the Bells, father?" cried Meg.
"They broke in like a grace, my dear," said
Trotty, taking his seat. "They'd say a good one,
I am sure, if they could. Many's the kind
thing they say to me."
"The Bells dp, father I" laughed Meg, as she
set the basin, and a knife and fork before him.
"Well I "
" Seem to, my Pet," said Trotty, falling tovith
great vigor. "And where's the difference? If I
hear 'em, what does it matter whether they speak
it or not? Why bless you, my dear," said Toby,
pointing at the tower with his fork, and becoming
more animated under the influence of dinner,
"I how often have I heard them bells say, 'Toby
Vsck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart, Toby!
Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart, Toby!
A million times? More I"
"Well, I never " cried Meg.
She had, though-over and over again. For it
twas Toby's constant topic.
"When things is very bad;" said Trotty;
" very bad indeed, I mean; almost at the worst
then it's 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming
soon, Toby Toby Veck, Toby Veck, jobcoming
soon, Toby I ' That way."
"And it comes ât last; father," sald Meg,
with a touch of sadness in her pleasant voice.

"Always," answered the unconseouns Toby, i
" Never fails."
While this discourse was holding, Trotty made
no pause in his attack upon the savory meat before him, but cut and ate, and cut and drank, and
cut and chewed, and dodged about, from tripe to
hot potato, and from hot potato back again to
tripe, with an unctuous and unflagging relish.
But happening now to look all round the streetin case anybody should be beckoning from any
door or window, for a porter-his eyes, in coming
back again, encountered Meg: sitting opposite to
him, with her arms folded: and only busy in
watching his progress with a smile of happiness.
"Why, Lord forgive me I" said Trotty, dropping his knife and fork. " My dove I Meg! why
didn't you tell me what a beast,was?"
''Father?"
"Sitting here," said Trotty, in penitent explanation, "cramming, and stuffing, and gorging
myself; and you before me there, never so much
as breaking your precious fast, nor.wanting to,
when-"
"But I have broken it, father," interposed his
daughter, laughing, "all to bits. I have had my
dinner."
"Nonsense," said Trotty. "Two dinners in
one day I It ain't possible! You might as well
tell me that two New Year's Days will come together, or that I have had a gold head all my life,
and never changed it."
"I have had my dinner, father, for all that,"
said Meg, coming nearer to him. " And if you'll
go on with yours, I'll tell you how and where;
and how your dinner came to be brought; andand something else besides."
Toby still appeared incredulous; but she
looked into his face with her clear eyes, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, motioned him to
go on while the meat Evts hot. So Trotty took up
his knife and fork again, and went to work. But
much more slowly than before, and shaking his
head, as if he were not all pleased with himself.
"I had my dinner, father," said Meg, after a
little hesitation, "With-with Richard. His dinner-time was early; and as he brought his dinner
with him when he came to see me, we-we had it
together, father."
Trotty took a little beer, and smacked his lips.
Then he said, " Oh 1 "-because she waited.
" And Richard says, father-" Meg resumed.
Then stopped.
"What does Richard say, Meg?" asked Toby.
"Richard says, father-" Another stoppage.
" ichard's a long time saying it," said Toby.
"He says then, father," Meg continued, lifting
up her eyes at last, and speaking in a tremble,
but quite plainly; " another year is nearly gone,
and where is the use of waiting on from year to
year, when it iS so unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are poor
now, father, and we shall be poor then, but:re
are young now, and years ill make us ol:: before we knowit. He sas that if we wat: peop

CHRISTfAS T BSOOKS.

in our condition: until we see our way quite
clearly, the way will be a narrow one indeed-the
common way-the Grave, father."
A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs
have drawn upon his boldness -argely, to deny it.
Trotty held his peace.
"And how hard, father, to grow old and die,
and think we might have cheered and helped
each other! How hard in all our lives to love
each other; and to grieve, apart, to see each other
working, changing, growing old and grey. Even
if I got the better of it, and forgot him (which I
never could), oh father dear, how hard to have a
heart so full as mine is now, and live to have it
slowly drained out every drop, without the recollection of one happy moment of a woman's life,
to stay behind and comfort me, and make me
better I"
Trotty sat quite still. Meg dried her eyes,
and said more gaily: that is to say, with here a
laugh, and there a sob, and here a laugh and sob
together:
"So Richard says, father; as his work was
yesterday made certain for some time to come,
and as I love him and have loved him full three
years-ah! longer than that, if he knew it I-will
Imarry him on New Year's Day; the best and
happiest day, he says, in the whole year, and one
that is almost sure to bring good fortune with it.
It's a short notice, father-isn't it? âut I haven't
my fortune to be settled, or my wedding dresses
to be made, like the great ladies, father, have I?
And he said so much, and said it in his way; so
strong and earnest, and all the time so kind and
gentle; that I said I'd come and talk to you,
father. And as they paid the money for that
work of mine this morning (unexpectedly, I am
sure I), and as you have fared very poorly for a
whole week, and as I couldn't help wishing there
should be something to make this day a sort of
holiday to you as well as a dear and happy day to
me, father, I made a little treat and brought it to
surprise you."
"And see how he leaves it cooling on the
step I " said another voice.
It was the voice of the same Richard, who had
tome upon them unobserved, and stood before
the father and daughter; looking down upon
them with a face as glowing as the iron on whioh
his stout sledge-hammer daily rung. A handSo e, well-made, powerful youngster he was;
with eyes that sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a furnace fire; black hair that curled
about his swarthy temples rarely; and a smile-a
smile that bore out Meg's eulogium on his style
of onversation.
"See how he leaves it cooling on the step!"
aid Richard. " Meg don't know what he likes.
ot she "
Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, in-mediately
rea:hed up his hand to Richard, and was going to
St: t phim in a geat hurry, when the house-:, ed without any warning, and a footman, s uthis foot Im tripe. t

" Out of the vays here, will you I You must
always go and be a-settin' on our steps, must
you I You can't go and give a turn to none of
the neighbors never, can't you I NWll you cleat
the road, or won't you? "
Strictly speaking, the last question was irrelevant, as they had already done it.
"1What's the matter, what's the matter!
said the gentleman for whom the door was
opened; coming out of the house at that k:nd
of light-heavy pace-that peculiar compromise
between a walk and a jog-trot-with which a
gentleman upon the smooth down-hill of life
wearing creaking boots, a watch-chain, and clean
linen, may come out of his house: not only without any abatement of his dignity, but with an
expression of having important and wealthy
engagements elsewhere. " What's the matter!
What's the matter! "
"You're always a-being begged, and prayed,
upon your bended knees, you are," said the footman with great emphasis to Trotty Veck, " to let
our door-steps be. Why don't you let 'em be?
CAN'T you let 'em be? "
" There! That'll do, that'll do!" said the
gentleman. "Halloa there I Porter I" beckoning
with his head to Trotty Veck. " Come here.
What's that? Your dinner?"
"Yes, sir," said Trotty, leaving it behind him
in a corner.
"Don't leave it there," exclaimed the gentleman. "Bring it here, bring it here. So! This
is your dinner, is it?"
"Yes, sir," repeated Trotty, looking with a
fixed eye and a watery mouth, at the piece of
tripe he bad reserved for a last delicious tit-bit;
which the gentleman was now turning over and
over on the end of the fork.
Two other gentlemen had come out with him.
One was a low-spirited gentleman of middle age,
of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who
kept his hands continually in the pockets of his
scanty pepper-and-salt trousers, very large and
dog's-eared from that custom; and was not particiuarly well brushed or washed. The other, a
full-sized, sleek, well-conditioned gentleman, it
a blue coat with bright buttons, and a white
cravat. This gentleman had a very red face, as
if an undue proportion of the blood in his body
were squeezed up into his head; which perhaps
accounted for his having also the appearance of
being rather cold about the heart.
He who had Toby's meat upon the fork, called
tp the first one by the name of Filer; and they
both drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly short-sighted, was obliged to go so close to
the remnant of Toby's dinner before he could
make out what it was, that Toby's heart leaped
up into his mouth. But Mr. Filer didn't eat'it
"This is a description of animal food, Alder
man," said Filer, making little punches in it, with
a pencil-case, "commonly known to the laboring
population of this county, by the name of
tript."

ToE CMtlES.

k The Alderman laughed, and winked; for he
fas a merry fellow, Alderman Cute. Oh, and a
y fellow too I A knowing fellow. Up to everying. Not to be imposed upon. Deep in the
Ieople's heart He knew them, Cute did. I beleve you!
" But who eats tripe? " said Mr. Filer, looking
pund. " Tripe is without an exception the least
* onomical, and the most wasteful article of conamption that the markets of this country can by
pssibility produce. The loss upon a pound of
iipe has been found to be, in the boiling, sevengghths of a fifth more than the loss upon a pound,.any other animal substance whatever. Tripe
more expensive, properly understood, than the
othouse pine-apple. Taking into account the
tmber of animals slanghtered yearly within the
ills of mortality alone; and forming a low estiate of the quantity of tripe which the carcases
'those animals, reasonably well butchered, would
leld; I find that the waste on that amount of
ipe, if boiled, would victual a garrison of five
indred men for five months of thirty-one days
ich, and a February over. The Waste, the
Taste I"
' Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under
im. He seemed to have starved a garrison of five
indred men with his own hand.
"Who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, warmly.
Who eats tripe?"
Trotty made a miserable bow.
"You do, do you? " said Mr. Filer. " Then
11 tell you something. You snatch your tripe,
y friend, out of the mouths of widows and
'phans."
"I hope not, sir," said Trotty faintly. "I'd
)oner die of want I "
"Divide the amount of tripe before-mentioned,
lderman," said Mr. Filer, "by the estimated
imber of existing widows and orphans, and the
suit will be one pennyweight of tripe to each.
ot a grain is left for that man. Consequently,
is a robber."
Trotty was so shocked, that it gave him no,ncern to see the Alderman finish the tripe himlf. It was a relief to get rid of it, anyhow.
"And what do you say? " asked the Alderman,
cosely, of the red-faced gentleman in the blue
Yat, "You have heard friend Filer. What do
su say?"
"What's it possible to say?" returned the
mtleman. "What is to be said? Who can take
ly interest in a fellow like this," meaning
-otty; "in such degenerate times as these.;ok at him! What an object! The good old
ines, the grand old times, the great old times 1
Aose were the times for a bold peasantry, and all
'at sort of thing. Those were the times for every
Art of thing, in fact. There's nothing now-a-days.
h!" sighed the red-faced gentleman. "The!od old times, the good old times I"
The gentleman didn't specify what particular
nies he alluded to; nor did he say whether he
tectod to the present times, from a disinterested

consciousness that they had done nothing very
remarkable in producing himself.
" The good old times, the good old times," repeated the gentleman. "What times they were I
They were the only times. It's of no use talking
about any other times, or discussing what the
people are in these times. You don't call these,
times, do you? I don't. Look into Strutt's Costumes, and see what a Porter used to be, in any of
the good old English reigns."
"He hadn't, in his very best circumstances, a
shirt to his back, or a stocking to his foot; and
there was scarcely a vegetable in all England for
him to put into his mouth," said Mr. Filer. " I
can prove it, by tables."
But still the red-faced gentleman extolled the
good old times, the grand old times, the great old
times. No matter what anybody else said, he still
went turning round and round in one set form of
words concerning them; as a poor squirrel turns
and turns in its revolving cage; touching the
mechanism, and trick of which, it has probably
quite as distinct perceptions, as ever this red-faced
gentleman had of his deceased Millennium.
It is possible that poor Trotty's faith in these
very vague Old Times was not entirely destroyed,
for he felt vague enough, at that moment. One
thing, however, was plain to him, in the midst of
his distress; to wit, that however these gentlemen might aiffer in details, his misgivings of that
morning, and of many othfr mornings, were well
founded. "No, no. Wo can't go right or do
right," thought Trotty in despair. " There is no
good in us. We are born bad I "
But Trotty had a father's heart within him;
which had somehow got into his breast in spite
of this decree; and he could not bear that Meg, in
the blush of her deep joy, should have her fortune
read by these wise gent lemen. " God help her,"
thought poor Trotty. "She will know it soon
enough."
He anxiously signed, therefore, to the young
smith, to take her away. But he was so busy,
talking to her softly at a little distance, that he
only became conscious of this desire simultaneously with Alderman Cute. Now, the Alderman
had not yet had his say, but he was a philosopher,
too-practical, though I Oh, very practical-and,
as he had no idea of losing any portion of his audi
ence, be cried " Stop I "
" Now, you know," said the Alderman address
ing his two friends, with a self-complacent smile
upon his face, which was habitual to him, "I am
a plain man, and a practical man; and I go to
work in a plain practical way. That's my way.
There is not the least mystery or difficulty in
dealing with this sort of people if you only understand 'em, and can talk to 'em in their own manner. Now, you Porter I Don't you ever tell me,
or anybody else, my friend, that you haven't always enough to eat, and of the best; becaase I
know better. I have tasted your tripe, you know,
and you can't.'chaff' me. You anderstand what
'chaff' means, eh? That's the right', W i'

CHRISTMAS SOOES.

It? Ha, ha, ha! Lord bless you," said the
Alderman, turning to his friends again, " it's the
easiest thing on earth to deal with this sort of
people, if you only understand 'em."
Famous man for the common people, Alderman
Cute I Never out of temper with them I Easy,
affable, joking, knowing gentleman!
'" You see, my friend," pursued the Alderman,
"there's a great deal of nonsense talked about
Want-' hard up,' you know: that's the phrase,
isn't it? ha ha ha!-and I intend to Put it
Down.: There's a certain amount of cant in vogue
about Starvation, and I mean to Put it Down.
That's all I Lord bless you," said the Alderman,
turning to his friends again, " you may Put Down
anything among this sort of people, if you only
know the way to set about it 1"
Trotty took Meg's hand and drew it through
his arm. He didn't seem to know what he was
doing though.
"Your daughter, ch?" said the Alderman,
chucking her familiarly under the chin.
Always affable with the working classes, Alderman Cute I Knew what pleased them I Not a bit
of pride I
"Where's her mother?" asked that worthy
gentleman.
"Dead," said Toby. " Her mother got up
linen; and was called to Heaven when She was
born."
"lot to get up linen there, I suppose," remarked the Alderman pleasantly.
Toby might or might not have been able to
separate his wife in Heaven from her old pursuits.
But query: If Mrs. Alderman Cute had gone to
Heaven, would Mr. Alderman Cute have pictured
her as holding any state or station there?
" And you're making love to her, are you?"
said Cute to the young smith.
"Yes," retured Richard quickly, for he was
nettled by the question. "And we are going to
be married on New Year's Day."
"What do you mean!" cried Filer sharply.
"Married!"
"Why, yes, we're thinking of it, Master," said
Richard. " We're rather in a hurry you see, in
case it should be Put Down first."
" Ah I" cried Filer, with a groan. " Put that
down indeed, Alderman, and you'll do something.
Married l Married I I The ignorance of the first
principles of political economy on the part of these
pople; their improvidence; their wickedness;
Is, by Heavens I enough to-Now look at that
couple, will you I"
Welll They were worth looking at. And
marriage seemed as reasonable and fair a deed as
they need have in contemplation.
"A man may live to be as old as Methusaleh,"
said Mr. Iler, "and may labor all his life for the
beneit of such people as those; and may heap up
V t on jfgtOes, facts on figures, facts on figures,. niae30 high and dry; and he can no more
tO rsade 'era that tht ey have no right or
ea t be married, than he can. hope to per

suade 'em that they have no earthly right or busd
ness to be born. And that we know they haven't
We reduced it to a mathematical certainty lon!
ago!"
Alderman Cute was mightily diverted, an(
laid his right forefinger on the side of his nose, a
much as to say to both his friends, " Observe me
will you? Keep your eye on the practical man I'
and called Meg to him.
" Come here, my girl! " said Alderman Cute.
The young blood of her lover had been mouni
ing, wrathfully, within the last few minutes; an,
he was indisposed to let her come. But, settin
a constraint upon himself, he came forward wit
a stride as Meg approached, and stood beside hei
Trotty kept her hand within his arm still, bu
looked from face to face as wildly as a sleeper i
a dream.
" Now, I'm going to give you a word or two c
good advice, my girl," said the Alderman, in hi
nice easy way. "It's my place to give advice
you know, because I'm a Justice. You know I'I
a Justice, don't you? "
Meg timidly said, "Yes." But everybod
knew Alderman Cute was a Justice I Oh dear, s
active a Justice always! Who such a mote
brightness in the public eye, as Cute!
"You are going to be married, you say," pu
fued the Alderman. "Very unbecoming an
indelicate in one of your sex! But never min
that. After you are married, you'll quarrel wit
your husband, and come to be a distressed wife
You may think not; but you will, because I te
you so. Now, I give you fair warning, that
have made up my mind to Put distressed wiv(
Down. So, don't be brought before me. You'
have children-boys. Those boys will grow u
bad, of course, and run wild in the streets, witi
out shoes and stockings. Mind, my young frienc
I'll convict 'em summarily, every one, for I a:
determined to Put boys without shoes and stoel
ings Down. Perhaps your husband will d
young (most likely) and leave you with a bab;
Then you'll be turned out of doors, and wand,
up and down the streets. Now, don't waund
near me, my dear, for I am resolved to Put E
wandering mothers Down. All young mother
of all sorts and kinds, it's my determination i
Put Down. Don't think to plead illness as a
excuse with me; or babies as an excuse with m(
for all sick persons and young children (I hot
you know the church-service, but I'm afraid no
I am determined to Put Down. And if you a
tempt, desperately, and ungratefiully, and ir
piously, and fraudulently attempt, to drow
yourself, or hang yourself, I'll have no pity c
you, for I have made up my mind to Put all su
cide Down! If there is one thing," said tl
Alderman, with his self-satisfied smile," on whit
I can be said to have made up my mind more tht
on another, it is to Put suicide Down. So dor
try it on. That's the phrase, isn't it I Ha, h.
now we Understand each other."
Toby knew not whetheie to be agonised

TOPv,rrfirfr

id, to see that Meg had turned a deadly white,
j dropped her lover's hand.
"As for you, you dull dog," said the Alderin, turning with even increased cheerfulness
'1 urbanity to the young smith, " what are you
inking of being married for? What do you!nt to be married for, you silly fellow I If I
~s a fine, young, strapping chap like you, I
)uld be ashamed of being milksop enough to
i myself to a woman's apron-strings Why,
'11 be an old woman before you're a middlegd man I And a pretty figure you'll cut then,
th a draggle-tailed wife and a crowd of squallchildren crying after you wherever you go!"
"0, he knew how to banter the common people,
lerman Cute I
" There! Go along with you," said the Alder-:n, "and repent. Don't make such a fool of
lrself as to get married on New Year's Day.
~u'll think very differently of it, long before
at New Year's Day: a trim young fellow like
a, with all the girls looking after you. There I
along with you "
They went along. Not arm in arm, or hand in
hd, or interchanging bright glances; but, she in
irs; he gloomy and down-looking. Were these
3 hearts that had so lately made old Toby's
p up from its faintness? No, no. The Aldern (a blessing on his head ) had Put them Down.
"As you happen to be here," said the Aldern to Toby, "you shall carry a letter for me.
n you be quick? You're an old man."
Toby, who had been looking after Meg, quite
ipidly, made shift to murmur out that he was
7r quick, and very strong.
"How old are you?" inquired the Alderman.
" I am over sixty, sir," said Toby.
"01 This man's a good 'eal past the average
3, you know," cried Mr. Filer, breaking in as if
patience would bear some trying, but this was
flly carrying matters a little too far.
"I feel I'm intruding, sir," said Toby. "Iaisdoubted it this morning. Oh dear me "
The Alderman cut him short by giving him the
ter from his pocket. Toby would have got a
illing too; but Mr. Filer clearly showing that
that case he would rob a certain given number
persons of ninepence-half-penny a-piece, he
ly got sixpence; and thought himself very well
to get that.
Then the Alderman gave an arm to each of his
ends, and walked off in high feather; but, he
mediately came hurrying back alone, as if he
d forgotten something.
"Porter I" said the Alderman.
"Sir," said Toby.
"Take care of that daughter of yours. She's
ehb too handsome."; "En her good looks are stolen from somey or other I suppose, though Toby, looking
ithe sixpence in his hand, and thinking of the
n:e. "She's been and robbed five hundred
es of bloom a-pece I shouldn't wonder. It's
y dreadfud!-,,,v,,.rv

"She's much too handsome, my man," repeated the Alderman. "The chances are, that
she'll come to no good, I clearly see. Observe
what I say. Take care of her 1" With which,
he hurried off again.
"Wrong every way. Wrong every way!"
said Trotty, clasping his hands. "Born bad. No
business here I"
The Chimes came clashing in upon him as he
said the words. Full, loud, and sounding-but
with no encouragement. No, not a drop.
" The tune's changed," cried the old man, as
he listened. "There's not a word of all that
fancy in it. Why should there be? I have no
business with the New Year nor with the old one
neither. Let me die 1"
Still the Bells, pealing forth their changes,
made the very air spin. Put 'em down, Put 'em
down I Good old Times, Good old Times! Facts
and Figures, Facts and Figures I Put 'em down.
Put 'em down! If they said anything they said
this, until the brain of Toby reeled.
He pressed his bewildered head between his
hands as if to keep it from splitting asunder. A
well-timed action, as it happened; for finding the
letter in one of them, and being by that means
reminded of his charge, he fell, mechanically, into
his usual trot, and trotted off.
SECOND QUARTER.
THE letter Toby had received from Alderman
Cute, was addressed to a great man in the great
district of the town. The greatest district of the
town. It must have been the greatest district of
the town, because it was commonly called "the
world " by its inhabitants.
The letter positively seemed heavier in Toby's
hand, than another letter. Not because the alderman had sealed it with a very large coat of arma
and no end of wax, but because of the weighty
name on the superscription, and the ponderous
amount of gold and silver with which it was associated.
" How different from us " thought Toby, in all
simplicity and earnestness, as he looked at the
direction. "Divide the lively turtles in the bills
of mortality, by the number of gentlefolks able to
buy 'em; and whose share does he take but his
ownI As to snatching tripe from anybody'!
mouth-he'd scorn it" "
With the involuntary homage due to such an
exalted character, Toby interposed a corer of his
apron between the letter and his fingers.
"His children," said Trotty, and a mist rose
before his eyes; "his daughters-Gentlemen may
win their hearts and marry them; they may be
happy wives and mothers; they may be handsome like my darling M ---"
Ie couldn't finish her name. The final lette
swelled in his throat, to the size of the whole
alphabet.
"Never mind," thoght- Trotty. "1 know
what I mean. That's morethan enough fr me."

CE RISTXAS BOOKS.

And with this consolatory rumination, trotted
on.
It was a hard frost, that day. The air was
bracing, crisp, and clear. The wintry sun, though
powerless for warmth, looked brightly down upon
the ice it was too weak to melt. and set a radiant
glory there. At other times, Trotty might have
learned a poor man's lesson from the wintry sun;
but, he was past that, now.
The Year was Old, that day. The patient
Year had lived through the reproaches and misuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed its
work. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had
labored through the destined round, and now laid
down its weary head to die. Shut out from hope,
high impulse, active happiness, itself, but messenger of many joys to others, it made appeal in
its decline to have its toiling days and patient
hours remembered, and to die in peace. Trotty
might have read a poor man's allegory in the fadlng year; but he was past that, now.
And only he? Or has the like appeal been
ever made, by seventy years at once upon an
English laborer's head, and made in vain!
The streets were full of motion, and the shops
were decked out gaily. The New Year, like an
Infant Heir to the whole world, was waited for,
with welcomes, presents, and rejoicings. There
were books and toys for the New Year, glittering
trinkets for the New Year, dresses for the New
Year, schemes of fortune for the New Year; new
inventions to beguile it. Its life was parcelled
out in almanacks and pocket-books; the coming
of its moons, and stars, and tides, was known beforehand to the moment: all the workings of its
seasons in their days and nights, were calculated
with as much precision as Mr. Filer could work
sums in men and women.
The New Year, the New Year. Everywhere
the New Year! The Old Year was already looked
upon as dead; and its effects were selling cheap,
like some drowned mariner's aboardship. Its
patterns were Last Year's, and going at a sacrifice, before its breath was gone. Its treasures
were mere dirt, beside the riches of its unborn
euccessor I
Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the
New Year or the Old.
"Put 'em down, Put 'em down! Facts and
Figures, Facts and Figures Good old Times,
Good old Times Put 'em down, Put 'em down!"
-his trot went to that measure, and would fit
itself to nothing else.
Bat, even that one, melancholy as it was,
brought him, in due time, to the end of hisjourney. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley,
Member of Parliament. -
The door was opened by a Porter. Such a
Porter! Not of Toby's order. Quite another
thing. s place was the ticket though; not
Toby's&amp;
hnis Porter underwent some hard panting bewe he could speak; having breathed himself by
t autil ousout of his chair, without first.S.y; r

taking time to think about it and compose
mind. When he had found his voice-whici
took him some time to do, for it was a long N
off, and hidden under a load of meat-he said i
whisper,
"Who's it from?"
Toby told him.
" You're to take it in, yourself,"said the I
ter, pointing to a room at the end of a long t
sage, opening from the hall. "Everything g
straight in, on this day of the year. You're-n
bit too soon; for, the carriage is at the door n&lt;
and they have only come to town for a couple
hours, a' purpose."
Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry
ready) with great care, and took the way poin
out to him; observing as he went that it was
awfully grand house, but hushed and covered
as if the family were in the country. Knock
at the room door, he was told to enter from win; and doing so found himself in a spaci!
library, where, at a table strewn with files
papers, were a stately lady in a bonnet; and a:
very stately gentleman in black who wrote fr
her dictation; while another, and an older, an
much statelier gentleman, whose hat and ci
were on the table, walked up and down, with (
hand in his breast, and looked complacer
from time to time at his own picture-a
length; a very full length-hanging over the f
place.
"What is this?" said the last-named gen
man. " Mr. Fish, will you have the goodness
attend?"
Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the let
from Toby, handed it, with great respect.
"From Alderman Cute, Sir Joseph."
"Is this all? Have you nothing else, Porter
inquired Sir Joseph.
Toby replied in the negative.
"You have no bill or demand upon mename is Bowley, Sir Joseph Bowley-of any k
from anybody, have you? " said Sir Joseph. '
you have, present it. There is a cheque-book
the side of Mr. Fish. I allow nothing to be c
ried into the New Year. Every description
account is settled in this house at the close of
old one. So that if death was to-to-"
"To cut," suggested Mr. Fish.
"To sever, sir," returned Sir Joseph, wi
great asperity, " the cord of existence-my affa
would be found, I hope, in a state of prepa
tion."
"My dear Sir Joseph!" said the lady, w
was greatly younger than the gentleman. " H
shocking I"
"My lady Bowley," returned Sir JoseI
floundering now and then, as in the great del
of his observations, "at this season of the year'
should think of-of-ourselves. We should lo
into our-our accounts. We should feel tf
every return of so eventful a period in hum
transactions, involves matter of deep moment I
tween a man and hiand his banker,"

TH1E C TIMES.

E Sir Joseph delivered these words as if he felt
as full morality of what he was 'saying; and de~ed that even Trotty should have an opportunity
6 being improved by such discourse. Possibly
i had this end before him in still forbearing to
teak the seal of the letter, and in telling Trotty
wait where he was a minute.
)"You were desiring Mr. Fish to say, my
dSy-" observed Sir Joseph.
"Mr. Fish has said that, I believe," returned
lady, glancing at the letter. "But, upon my
3rd, Sir Joseph, I don't think I can let it go
cer all. It is so very dear."
i" What is, dear? " inquired Sir Joseph.
" That Charity, my love. They only allow two
tes for a subscription of five pounds. Really:bnstrous I"
t" My lady Bowley," returned Sir Joseph,:ou surprise me. Is the luxury of feeling in
vportion to the number of votes; or is it, to a
chtly-constituted mind, in proportion to the
mber of applicants, and the wholesome state
mind to which their canvassing reduces them I:there no excitement of the purest kind in havtwo votes to dispose of among fifty people? "
i"Not to me, I acknowledge," returned the
y. "It bores one. Besides, one can't oblige
3's acquaintance. But you are the Poor Man's
iend, you know, Sir Joseph. You think otherse."
" I am the Poor Man's Friend," observed Sir
seph, glancing at the poor man present. "As:h I may be taunted. As such I have been
nted. But I ask no other title."
"Bless him for a noble gentleman 1" thought
Wtty.
I don't agree with Cute here, for instance,"
i Sir Joseph, holding out the letter. " I don't
ee with the Filer party. I don't agree with
r party. My friend the Poor Man, hasno busis with anything of that sort, and nothing of
t sort has any business with him. My friend
Poor Man, in my district, is my business. No
1 or body of men has any right to inter3 between my friend and me. That is the
und I take. I assume a-a paternal character
tards my friend. I say, 'My good fellow, I
1 treat you paternally.' "
roby listened with great gravity, and began to
more comfortable.
'Your only business, my good fellow," purd Sir Joseph, looking abstractedly at Toby;
l&gt;r only business in life is with me. You
ldn't trouble yourself to think about anything. I
think for you; I know what is good for you; I
your perpetual parent. Such is the dispensaof an all-wise Providence I Now, the design
our creation is-not that you should swill,
guzzle, and associate your enjoyments, brur, with food;" Toby thought remorsefully of
tripe; ' but that you should feel the Dignity
abor. Go forth erect into the cheerful mornlar, and-and stop there. Live hard and temitly, be respectful, exercise your self-denial,

bring up your family on next to nothing, pay your
rent as regularly as the clock strikes, be punctual
in your dealings (I set you a good example; you
will find Mr. Fish, my confidential secretary, with
a cash-box before him at all times); and you may
trust to me to be your Friend and Father."
"Nice children, indeed, Sir Joseph I" said the
lady, with a shudder. " Rheumatisms, and fevers,
and crooked legs, and asthmas, and all kinds of
horrors I"
"My lady," returned Sir Joseph, with solemnity, " not the less am I the Poor Man's Friend
and Father. Not the less shall he receive encouragement at my hands. Every quarter-day he will
be put in communication with Mr. Fish. Every
New-Year's Day, myself and friends will drink
his health. Once every year, myself and friends
will address him with the deepest feeling. Once
in his life, he may even perhaps receive; in public, in the presence of the gentry; a Trifle from a
Friend. And when, upheld no more by these
stimulants, and the Dignity of Labor, he sinks
into his comfortable grave, then my lady "-here
Sir Joseph blew his nose-" I will be a Friend
and Father-on the same terms-to his children."
Toby was greatly moved.
"0! You have a thankful family, Sir Joseph I" cried his wife.
" My lady," said Sir Joseph, quite majestically,
"Ingratitude is known to be the sin of that class.
I expect no other return."
" Ah Born bad I" thought Toby. "Nothing
melts us."
" What man can do, Ido," pursued Sir Joseph.
"I do my duty as the Poor Man's Friend and
Father; and I endeavor to educate his mind, by
inculcating on all occasions the one great moral
lesson which that class requires. That is, entire
Dependence on myself. They have no business
whatever with-with themselves. If wicked and
designing persons tell them otherwise, and they
become impatient and discontented, and are
guilty of insubordinate conduct and black-hearted
ingratitude; which is undoubtedly the case; I
am their Friend and Father still. It is so Ordained.
It is in the nature of things."
With that great sentiment, he opened the Alderman's letter; and read it.
"Very polite and attentive, 1 am sure 1" ex
claimed Sir Joseph. " My lady, the Alderman is
so obliging as to remind me that he has had ' the
distinguished honor '-he is very good-of meeting me at the house of our mutual friend Deedles,
the banker; and he does me the favor to inquire
whether it will be agreeable to me to have Will
Fern put down."
"Mfost agreeable I" replied my lady Bowley.
"The worst man among them I He has been
committing a robbery, I hope?"
"Why, no," said Sir Joseph, referring to the
letter. "Not quite. Very near. Not quite. ie
came up to London, it seems, to look for mployment (trying to better himself-that's his story
and being found at night asleep It a shed, w
*~ ~. u J: '-.

IjaUIiA3t14is #v0t) A

taken into custody, and carried next morning before the Alderman. The Alderman observes (very
properly) that he is determined to put this sort of
thing down; and that if it will be agreeable to me
to ]ave Will Fern put down, he will be happy
to begin with him."
"Let him be made an example of, by all
means," returned the lady. "Last winter, when
I introduced pinking and eyelet-holing among the
men and boys in the village, as a nice evening employment, and had the lines,
0 let us love our occupations,
Bless the squire and his relations,
Live upon our daily rations,
And always know our proper stations,
set to music on the new system, for them to sing
the while; this very Fern-I see him nowtouched that hat of his, and said, 'I humbly ask
your pardon, my lady, but an't I something different from a great girl?' I expected it, of course;
who can expect anything but insolence and ingratitude from that class of people? That is not
to the purpose, however, Sir Joseph! Make an
example of him I"
'* Hem I" coughed Sir Joseph. " Mr. Fish, if
you'll have the goodness to attend-"
Mr. Fish immediately seized his pen, and wrote
from Sir Joseph's dictation.
"Private. My dear Sir. I am very much indebted to you for your courtesy in the matter of
the man William Fern, of whom, I regret to add,
I can say nothing favorable. I have uniformly
considered myself in the light of his Friend and
Father, but have been repaid (a common case T
grieve to say) with ingratitude, and constant opposition to my plans. He is a turbulent and
rebellious spirit. His character will not bear
investigation. Nothing will persuade him to be
happy when he might. Under these circumstances, it appears 'to me, I own, that when he
comes before you again (as you informed me he
promised to do to-morrow, pending your inquiries,
and I think he may be so far relied upon), his
committal for some short term as a Vagabond,
would be a service to society, and would be a
salutary example in a country where-for the sake
of those who are, through good and evil report,
the Friends and Fathers of the Poor, as well as
with a view to that, generally speaking, misguided class themselves-examples are greatly
keeded. And I am," and so forth.
"It appears," remarked Sir Joseph when he
had signed this letter, and Mr. Fish was sealing
it, "as if this were Ordained: really. At the
close of the year, I wind up my account and
strike my balance, even with William Fern!"
Trotty, who had long ago relapsed, and was
very low-spirited, stepped forward with a rueful
ace to take the letter.
-"With my compliments and thanks," said Sir
Joseph. " Stop I" I
" Stop I" echoed Mr. Fish.
"o' o have heard, perhaps," said. Si Joseph,

oracularly, " certain remarks into which I ha
been.ed respecting the solemn period of time
which we have arrived, and the duty impos
upon us of settling our affairs, and being prepari
You have observed that I don't shelter myself 1
hind my superior standing in society, but tl
Mr. Fish-that gentleman-has a cheque-book
his elbow, and is in fact here, to enable me
turn over a perfectly new leaf, and enter on I
epoch before us with a clean account. Now,:
friend, can you lay your hand upon your her
and say, that you also have made preparation
a New Year?"
"I am afraid, sir," stammered Trotty, look
meekly at him, "that I am a-a-little behil
hand with the world."
"Behind-hand with the world " repeal
Sir Joseph Bowley, in a tone of terrible distir
ness.
" I am afraid, sir," faltered Trotty, " that thei
a matter of ten or twelve shillings owing to 1l
Chickenstalker."
"To Mrs. Chickenstalker!" repeated
Joseph, in the same tone as before.
"A shop, sir," exclaimed Toby, "in the g
eral line. Also a-a little money on account
rent. A very little, sir. It oughtn't to be owi
I know, but we have been hard put to
indeed!"
Sir Joseph looked at his lady, and at Mr. Fi
and at Trotty, one after another, twice all rou
He then made a despondent gesture with b
hands at once, as if he gave the thing up a
gether.
"How a man, even among this improvid
and impracticable race; an old man; aman grc
grey; can look a New Year in the face, with
affairs in this condition; how he can lie down
his bed at night, and get up again in the morni
and-There 1" he said, turning his back
Trotty. "Take the letter. Take the letterl'
" I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir," f
Trotty, anxious to excuse himself. "We h
been tried very hard."
Sir Joseph still repeating "Take the let
take the letter " and Mr. Fish not only sa3
the same thing, but giving additional force to
request by motioning the bearer to the door
had nothing for it but to make his bow and le
the house. And in the street, poor Trotty pu
his worn old hat down on his head, to hide
grief he felt at getting no hold on the New Y
anywhere.
He didn't even lift his hat to look up at
Bell tower when he came to the old church on
return. He halted there a moment, from ha
and knew that it was growing dark, and that
steeple rose above him, indistinct and faint, in
murkyair. Be knew, too, that the Chimes we
ring immediately; and that they sounded to
fancy, at such a time, like voices in the clos
But he only made the more haste to deliver
Alderman's letter, and get out of the way be
they began; -for h dreaded to hear them tagg

THE.IM'IES'.

Friends and Fathers, Friends and Fathers," to
e burden they had rung out last.
Toby discharged himself of his commission,
erefore, with all possible speed, and set off trotig homeward. But what with his pace, which
is at best an awkward one in the street; and
iat with his hat, which didn't improve it; he
)tted against somebody in less than no time,
d was sent staggering out into the road.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Trotty,
lling up his hat in great confusion, and between
3 hat and the torn lining, fixing his head into a
ad of bee-hive. "I hope I haven't hurt
u."
As to hurting anybody, Toby was not such an
solute Samson, but that he was much more
ely to be hurt himself: and indeed, he had flown
t into the road, like a shuttlecock. He had
3h an opinion of his own strength, however,
it he was in real concern for the other party:
d said again,
" I hope I haven't hurt you?"
The man against whom he had run; a sun)wned, sinewy, country-looking man, with griz'd hair, and a rough chin; stared at him for a,ment, as if he suspected him to be in jest. But,
isfied of his good faith, he answered:
"No, friend. You have not hurt me."
"Nor the child, I hope? " said Trotty.
"Nor the child," returned the man. "I thank
i kindly."
As he said so, he glanced at a little girl he
ried in his arms, asleep: and shading her face;h the long end of the poor handkerchief he
re about his throat, went slowly on.
The tone in which he said " I thank you kindly,"
lctrated Trotty's heart. He was so jaded and
t-sore, and so soiled with travel, and looked
ut him so forlorn and strange, that it was a
nfort to him to be able to thank any one: no
tter for how little. Toby stood gazing after
1 as he plodded wearily away, with the child's
i clinging round his neck.
At the figure in the worn shoes-now the very
de and ghost of shoes-rough leather leggings,
amon frock, and broad slouched hat, Trotty
ad gazing, blind to the whole street. And at
child's arm, clinging round its neck.
Before he merged into the darkness the traveller
oped; and looking round, and seeing Trotty
iding there yet, seemed undecided whether to
Irn or go on. After doing first the one and
a the other, he came back, and Trotty went
way to meet him.
~' You can tell me, perhaps," said the man with
int smile, " and if you can I am sure you will,
I'd rather ask you than another-where Alman Cute lives."
'Close at hand," replied Toby.' I'll show
his house with pleasure."
r' I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-mor-," said the man, accompanying Toby, "but I'm
dasy under suspicion, and want to clear myself,
to e free to go and seek my bread-I don't

know where. So, maybe he'll forgive my going
to his house to-night."
"It's impossible," cried Toby with a start
"that your name's Fern "
"Eh!" cried the other, turning on him in astonishment.
'Fern I Will Fern!" said Trotty.
"That's my name," replied the other.
"Why, then," cried Trotty, seizing him by
the arm, and looking cautiously round, "for Heaven's sake don't go to him I Don't go to himt
He'll put you down as sure as ever you were born.
Here I come up this alley, and I'll tell you what I
mean. Don't go to him."
His new acquaintance looked as if he thought
him mad; but he bore him company nevertheless.
When they were shrouded from observation,
Trotty told him what he knew, and what character
he had received, and all about it.
The subject of his history listened to it with a
calmness that surprised him. He did not contradict or interrupt it, once. He nodded.his head
now and then-more in corroboration of an old
and worn-out story, it appeared, than in refutation
of it; and once or twice threw back his hat, arid
passed his freckled hand over a brow, where
every furrow he had ploughed seemed to have set
its image in little. But he did no more.
"It's true enough in the main," he said,
"master, I could sift grain from husk here and
there, but let it be as 'tis. What odds? I have
gone against his plans; to my misfortun'. I can't
help it; I should do the like to-morrow. As to
character, them gentlefolks will search and search,
and pry and pry, and have it as free from spot or
speck in us, afore they'll help us to a dry good
word I-Well I I hope they don't lose good opinion
as easy as we do, or their lives is strict indeed,
and hardly worth the keeping. For myself, master, I never took with that hand"-holding it before him-" what wasn't my own; and never held
it back from work, however hard, or poorly paid.
Whoever can deny it, let him chop it off But
when work won't maintain me like a human
creetur; when my living is so bad, that I am
Hungry, out of doors and in; when I see a whole
working life begin that way, go on that way, and
end that way, without a chance or change; then
I say to the gentlefolks 'Keep away from me!
Let my cottage be. My doors is dark enough
without your darkening of 'em more. Don't look
for me to come up into the Park to help the show
when there's a Birthday, or a fine Speechmaking,
or what not. Act your Plays and Games without
me, and be welcome to 'em and enjoy 'em. We've
nowt to do with one another. I'm best let alone I'"
Seeing that the child in his arms had opened
her eyes, and was looking about her in wonder,
he checked himself to say a word or two of foolish prattle in her ear, and stand her on the ground
beside him. Then slowly wninding one of-her
long tresses round and round his rough forefinger
like a ring, while she hung about his dusty leg, be
said to Trotty,

CHRISTXfAS BOOKS.

"I'm not a cross-grained man by natur', I
believe; and easy satisfied, I'm sure. I bear no
ill will against none of 'em. I only want to live
like one of the Almighty's creeturs. I can't
-I don't-and so there's a pit dug between me
and them that can and do. There's others like
me. You might tell 'em off by hundreds and by
thousands, sooner than by ones."
Trotty knew he spoke the truth in this, and
shook his head to signify as much.
" I've got a bad name this way," said Fern;
"and I'm not likely, I'm afeared, to get a better.
'Tan't lawful to be out of sorts, and I AM out of
sorts, though God knows, I'd sooner bear a cheerful spirit if I could. Well I I don't know as if
this Alderman could hurt me much by sending
me to gaol; but without a friend to speak
a word for me, he might do it; and you
see-I " pointing downward with his finger, at
the child.
"She has a beautiful face," said Trotty.
Why, yes I" replied the other in a low voice,
as he gently turned it up with both his hands
towards his own, and looked upon it steadfastly.
" I've thought so many times. I've thought so,
when my hearth was very cold, and cupboard
very bare. I thought so t'other night, when we
were taken like two thieves. But they-they
shouldn't try the little face too often, should they
Lilian? That's hardly fair upon a man "
H He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon her
with an air so stern and strange, that Toby, to
divert the current of his thoughts, inquired if his
wife were living.
"I never had one," he returned, shaking his
head. "She's my brother's child: a orphan.
Nine year old, though you'd hardly think it; but
she's tired and worn out now. They'd have
taken care on her, the Union-eight and twenty
mile away from where we live-between four
walls (as they took care of my old father when he
couldn't work no more, though he didn't trouble
'em long); but I took her instead, and she's lived
with me ever since. Her mother had a friend
once, in London hefe. We are trying to find her,
and to find work too; but it's a large place.
Never mind. More room for us to walk about in,
Lilly I "
Meeting the child's eyes with a smile which
melted Toby more than tears, he shook him by
the hand.
"I don't so much as know your name," he
said, "but I've opened my heart free to you, for
I'm thankful to you; with good reason. I'll take
your advice and keep clear of this-"
"Justice," suggested Toby.
"lAhl" he said. "If that's the name they:lve him. This justice. And t-morrow will try
whether there's better fortun' to be met with,
somewheresnear London. Goodnight. A Happy
New Year "
"Stay I" cried Trotty, catching at his bad.: he elaxed his grip. "Stay I The New Year
aeY:r be happy to me, if we part like this.

The New Year can never be happy to me, if I s,
the child and you, go wandering away, you don
know where, without a shelter for your head
Come home with me I I'm a poor man, living
a poor place; but I can give you lodging for eo
night and never miss it. Come home with ni
IIere I I'll take her I" cried Trotty, lifting np t1
child. "A pretty one 1 I'd carry twenty tim
her weight, and never know I'd got it. Tell r
if I go too quick for you. I'm very fast. I
ways was! " Trotty said this, taking about s
of his trotting paces to one stride of his fatigur
companion; and with his thin legs quiverib
again, beneath the load he bore.
"Why she's as light," said Trotty, trotting
his speech as well as in his gait; for he couldi
bear to be thanked, and dreaded a momen'
pause; "as light as a feather. Lighter than
Peacock's feather-a great deal lighter. Here i
are, and here we go I Round this first turning
the right, Uncle Will, and past the pump, al
sharp off up the passage to the left, right opposi
the public house. Here we are, and here we g
Cross over, Uncle Will, and mind the kidney p:
man at the corner I Here we are and here we g
Down the Mews here, Uncle Will, and stop at t
back door, with ' T. Veck, Ticket Porter,' wr(
upon a board; and here we are, and here we f
and here we are indeed, my precious Meg, s5
prising you I"
With which words Trotty, in a breathl(
state, set the child down before his daughter
the middle of the floor. The little visitor lool
once at Meg; and doubting nothing in that fa
but trusting everything she saw there; ran ii
her arms.
" Here we are, and here we go I " cried Trot
running round the room and choking audit
"Here, Uncle Will, here's a fire you know I V
don't you come to the fire? Oh here we are E
here we go! Meg, my precious darling, wher
the kettle? Here it is and here it goes, and i
bile in no time I"
Trotty really had picked up the kettle soi
where or other in the course of his wild care
and now put it on the fire: while Meg, seat
the child in a warm corner, knelt down on
ground before her, and pulled off her shoes,
dried her wet feet on a cloth. Ay, and she laug'
at Trotty too-so pleasantly, so cheerfully, t
Trotty could have blessed her where she kneel
for he had seen that, when they entered, she '
sitting by the fire in tears.
"Why, father " said Meg. "You're crazy
night, I think. I don't know what the B
would say to tiat. i'oor.ittle feet. ii,w:
they are "
"Oh they're warmer now " exclaimed
child. " They're quite warm now I"
" No, no, no," said Meg. "We haven't rub
'em half enough. We're so busy. So bu
And when they're done, we'll brush out
damp hair; and when that's done, we'll b;
some color to the poor pale face with fresh

THE CHIMES.;; and when that's done we'll be so gay, and
isk, and happy-"
The child, in a burst of sobbing, clasped her
and the neck; caressed her fair cheek with its
nd: and said, " Oh Meg! oh dear Meg! "
Toby's blessing could have done no more.
ho could do more I
"Why father I" cried Meg, after a pause.
"Here I am, and here I go, my dear!" said
'otty.
"Good Gracious me! " cried Meg. "IIe's
izy HIe's put the dear child's bonnet on the
ttle, and hung the lid behind the door I"
" didn't go to do it, my love," said Trotty,
stily repairing this mistake. "M eg, my
ar?"
Meg looked towards him and saw that he had
iborately stationed himself behind the chair of
air male visitor, where with many mysterious
stures he was holding up the sixpence he had
med.
"I see, my dear," said Trotty, "as I was conmg in, half an ounce of tea lying somewhere on
3 stairs; and I'm pretty sure there was a bit of
con too. As I don't remember where it was,
actly, I'll go myself and try to find 'em."
With this inscrutable artifice, Toby withdrew
purchase the viands he had spoken of, for
ady money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker's; and prestly came back, pretending that he had not
en able to find them, at first, in the dark.
"But here they are at last," said Trotty, setig out the tea-things, "all correct I I was
etty sure it was tea and a rasher. So it is.
3g my pet, if you'll just make the tea, while
ur unworthy father toasts the bacon, we shall
ready immediate. It's a curious circumstance,"
td Trotty, proceeding in his cookery, with the
sistance of the toasting-fork, "curious, but
1ll known to my friends, that I never care, my'f, for rashers, nor for tea. I like to see other
ople enjoy 'em," said Trotty, speaking very
ad to impress the fact upon his guest, "but to
a, as food, they are disagreeable."
Yet Trotty sniffed the savor of the hissing ha-,n-ah I-as if he liked it; and when he poured
e boiling water in the tea-pot, looked lovingly,wn into the depths of that snug caldron, and
ffered the fragrant steam to curl about his nose,.d wreathe his head and face in a thick cloud.
owever, for all this, he neither ate nor drank,:cept at the very beginning, a mere morsel for
rm's sake, which he appeared to eat with inaite relish, but declared was perfectly uninterting to him.
No, Trotty's occupation was to see Will Fern
id Lilian eat and drink; and so was Meg's.
nd never did spectators at a city dinner or court
nquet find such high delight in seeing others
ast: although it were a monarch or a pope: as
ose two did, in looking on that night. Meg
ailed at Trotty, Trotty laughed at Meg. Meg
took her head and made belief to clap her hands,
)plauding Trotty; Trotty conveyed in dumb

show, unintelligible narratives of how and when
and where be had found their visitors, to Meg;
and they were happy. Very happy.
"Although," thought Trotty, sorrowfully, as
he watched Meg's face: "that match is broken
off, I see!"
"Now, I'll tell you what," said Trotty after
tea. "The little one she sleeps with Meg, I
know."
"With good Meg!" cried the child, caressing
her. " With Meg."
"That's right," said Trotty. " And I shouldn't
wonder if she'd kiss Meg's father, won't she. I'm
Meg's father."
Mightily delighted Trotty was, when the child
went timidly towards him, and having kissed him,
fell hack upon Meg again.
"She's as sensible as Solomon," said Trotty.
" Here we come, and here we-no, we don't-I
don't mean that-I-What was I saying, Meg, my
precious?"
Meg' looked towards their guest, who leaned
upon her chair, and with his face turned from her,
fondled the child's head, half hidden in her lap.
" To be sure," said Toby. "To be sure I I
don't know what I am rambling on about, tonight. My wits are wool-gathering, I think.
Will Fern, you come along with me. You're
tired to death, and broken down for want of rest.
You come along with me,"
The man still played with the child's curls,
still leaned upon Meg's chair, still turned away
his face. He didn't speak; but in his rough,
coarse fingers, clenching and expanding in the
fair hair of the child, there was an eloquence that
said enough.
"Yes, yes," said Trotty, answering unconsciously what he saw expressed in his daughter's
face. "Take her with you, Meg. Get her to-bed.
There! Now, Will, I'll show you where you lie.
It's not much of a place: only a loft: but. having
a loft, I always say, is one of the great conveniences of living in a mews; and till this coachhouse and stable gets a better let, we live here
cheap. There's plenty of sweet hay up there, belonging to a neighbor: and it's as clean as hands
and Meg can make it. Cheer up Don't give
*way. A new heart for a New Year, always I"
The hand released from the child's hair,
had fallen, trembling, into Trotty's hand. So
Trotty, talking without intermission, led him out
as tenderly and easily as if he had been a child
himself.
Returning before Meg, he listened for an instant at the door of her little chamber; an adjoining room. The child was murmuring a simple
prayer before lying down to Iseep; and when she
had remembered Meg's name, "Dearly, Dearly,"
-so her words ran-Trotty heard her stop aind
ask for his.
It was some short time before the foolish little
old fellow could compose himself to mend the fire,
and draw his chair to the warm hearth. But
when he had done so, and had trimmed the light,

o50

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

he took the newspaper from his pocket, and began to read. Carelessly at first, and skimming up
and down the columns; but with an earnest and
sad attention, very soon.
For this same dreaded paper re-directed Trotty's thoughts into the channel they had taken all
that day, and which the day's events had so
marked out and shaped. His interest in the two
wanderers had set him on another course of thinking, and a happier one, for the time; but being
alone again, and reading of the crimes and violences of the people, he relapsed into his former train.
In this mood he came to an account (and it
was not the first he had ever read) of a woman
who had laid her desperate hands, not only on
her own life, but on that of her young child. A
crime so terrible and so revolting to his soul, dilated with the love of Meg, that he let the journal
drop, and fell back in his chair, appalled!
"Unnatural and cruel!" Toby cried. "Unnatural and cruel I None but people who were
bad at heart, born bad, who had no business on
the earth, could do such deeds. It's too true, all
I've heard to-day; too just, too full of proof.
We're Bad I"
The chimes took up the words so suddenlyburst out so loud, and clear, and sonorous-that
the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.
And what was that, they said?
"Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you
Toby I Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you
Toby I Come and see us, come and see us, Drag
him to us. drag him to us, Haunt and hunt him,
haunt and hunt him, Break his slumbers, break
his slumbers I Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door
open wide, Toby, Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door
open wide, Toby-" then fiercely back to their
impetuous strain again, and ringing in the very
bricks and plaster on the walls.
Toby listened. Fancy, fancy I His remorse
for having run away from them that afternoon!
No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again, and
yet a dozen times again. " Haunt and hunt him,
haunt and hunt him, Drag him to us, drag him to
us!" Deafening the whole town I
"Meg," said Trotty, softly; tapping at her
door. " Do you hear anything?"
"I hear the Bells, father. Surely they're very
loud to-night."
"ts she asleep?" said Toby, making an exCuse for peeping in.
"So peacefully and happily! I can't leave her
yet though, father. Look how she holds my
hand!"
"Meg!" whispered Trotty. "Listen to the
Bells I"
She listened with her face towards him all the
ilme. But it underwent no change. She didn't
tnderstand them.
Trotty withdrew, resumed his seat by the fire,
Emd once more listened by himself. He remained.ee a little time.
It a imposBbl to bear it; ithir energy was
It wasdi. ~s po b

" If the tower-door is really open," said Tot
hastily laying aside his apron, bat never thinki:
of his hat, " what's to hinder me from going up
the steeple, and satisfying myself? If it's sht
I don't want any other satisfaction. Thai
enough."
He was pretty certain as he slipped out quiet
into the street that he should find it shut a]
locked, for he knew the door well, and had
rarely seen it open, that he couldn't reckon abo
three times in all. It was a low arched port:
outside the church, in a dark nook behind a c,
umn; and had such great iron hinges, and suct
monstrous lock, that there was more hinge ai
lock than door.
But what was his astonishment when, comb
bare-headed to the church, and putting his ha
into this dark nook, with a certain misgiving th
it might be unexpectedly seized, and a shiverh
propensity to draw it back again, he found th
the door, which opened outwards, actually stoe
ajar I
He thought, on the first surprise, of goil
back; or of getting a light, or a companion; b
his courage aided him immediately, and he det(
mined to ascend alone.
"What have I to fear?" said Trotty. " It's
church I Besides the ringers may be there, al
have forgotten to shut the door."
So he went in, feeling his way as he went, li
a blind man; for it was very dark. And ve
quiet, for the chimes were silent.
The dust from the street had blown into the i
cess; and, lying there, heaped up, made it so s(
and velvet-like to the foot, that there was soD:
thing startling even in that. The narrow sBt
was so close to the door, too, that he stumbled
the very first; and shutting the door upon hil
self, by striking it with his foot, and causing it
rebound back heavily, he couldn't open it agair
This was another reason, however, for goi
on. Trotty groped his way, and went on. U
up, up, and round and round; and up, up, I
higher, higher, higher up I
It was a disagreeable staircase for that gropic
work; so low and narrow, that his groping hat
was always touching something; and it often f
so like a man or ghostly figure standing up ere
and making room for him to pass without di
covery, that he would rub the smooth wall n
ward searching for its face, and downward seare
ing for its feet, while a chill tingling crept i
over him. Twice or thrice, a door or niche brol
the monotonous surface.; and then it seemed
gap as wide as the whole church; and-he felt
the brink of an abyss, and going to tumble hea
long down, until he found the wall again.
Still up, up, up; and round and round; al
up, up, up; higher, higher, higher up I
At length the dull and Stifling atmosphere b
gan to freshen: presently to feel quite Windpresently it blew so strong, that he could hard
keep his legs. Bht he got to an arched windc
in the towei, breast high, aMid holdiag tigt

THE CtIMES.

ked down upon the house-tops, on the smokchimneys, on the blurr and blotch of lights
wards the place where Meg was wondering
ere he was, and calling to him perhaps), all
saded up together in a leaven of mint and dark%S.
This was the belfry, where the ringers came.
had caught hold of one of the frayed ropes
ich hung down through apertures in the;en roof. At first he started, thinking it was
r; then trembled at the very thought of wakthe deep Bell. The Bells themselves were
her. Higher, Trotty, in his fascination, or in
rking out the spell upon him, groped his way.
ladders new and toilsomely, for it was steep,
I not too certain holding for the feet.
Up, up, up; and climb and clamber; up, up,; higher, higher, higher up I
Until, ascending through the floor, and pausing
h his head just raised above its beams,,he
le among the Bells. It was barely possible to
ke out their great shapes in the gloom; but
re they were. Shadowy, and dark, and
nb.
A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell initly upon him, as he climbed into this airy nest.tone and metal. His head went round and
nd. He listened and then raised a wild
alloa 1"
Flalloa! was mournfully protracted by the
oes.
3iddy, confused, and out of breath, and frightd, Toby looked about him vacantly, and sunk
vn in a swoon.
--â _-_ â_
THIRD QUARTER..3LACK are the brooding clouds and troubled
deep waters, when the Sea of Thought, first
ving from a calm, gives up its Dead. Mons uncouth and wild, arise in premature, imnfect resurrection; the several parts and shapes
different things are joined and mixed by
nce; and when, and how, and by what won'ul degrees, each separates from each, and
ry sense and object of the mind resumes its
al form and lives again, no man-though every
i is every day the casket of this type of the
at Mystery-can tell.
3o, when and how the darkness of the nightsk steeple changed to shining light; when and
r the solitary tower was peopled with a myriad
res; when and how the whispered "1Haunt. hunt him," breathing monotonously through
sleep or swoon, became a voice exclaiming in
waking ears of Trotty, t Break his slum3;" when and how he ceased to have a slugand confused idea that such things were,
tpanioning a host of others that were not;
-e are no dates or means to tell. Blit, awake,
standing on his feet upon the boards where
id lately lain, he saw this Goblin Sight.
e saw the tower, whiter his charmed foot

steps had brought him, swarming with dwalr
phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the Bells.
Ile saw them leaping, flying, dropping, pouring
from the Bells without a pause. Hie saw them,
round him on the ground; above him in the air,
clambering from him, by the ropes below; looking down upon him, from the massive iron-girded
beams; peeping in upon him, through the chinks
and loopholes in the walls; spreading away and
away from him in enlarging circles, as the water
ripples give place to a huge stone that suddenly
comes plashing in among them. He saw them, of
all aspects and all shapes. He saw them ugly,
handsome, crippled, exquisitely formed. He saw
them young, he saw them old, he saw them kind,
he saw them cruel, he saw them merry, he saw
them grin; he saw them dance, and heard them
sing; he saw them tear their hair, and heard
them howl. He saw the air thick with them. He
saw them come and go, incessantly. He saw
them riding downward, soaring upward, sailing
off afar, perching near at hand, all restless and all
violently active. Stone, and brick, and slate, and
tile, became transparent to him as to them. He
saw them in the houses, busy at the sleepers'
beds. He saw them soothing people in their
dreams; he saw them beating them with knotted
whips; he saw them yelling in their ears; he saw
them playing softest music on their pillows; he
saw them cheering some with the songs of birds
and the perfume of flowers; he saw them flashing awful faces on the troubled rest of others,
from enchanted mirrors which they carried in
their hands.
He saw these creatures, not only among sleeping men but waking also, active in pursuits irreconcileable with one another, and possessing or
assuming natures the most opposite. He saw one
buckling on innumerable wings to increase his
speed; another loading himself with chains and
weights, to retard his. He saw some putting the
hands of clocks forward, some putting the hands
of clocks backward, some endeavoring to stop
the clock entirely. He saw them representing,
here a marriage ceremony, there a funeral; in
this chamber an election, in that a ball; he saw,
everywhere, restless and untiring motion.
Bewildered by the host of shifting and extraordinary figures, as well as by the uproar of the
Bells, which all this while were ringing, Trotty
clung to a wooden pillar for support, and turned
his white face here and there, in mute and stunned
astonishment.
As he gazed, the Chimnes stopped. Instantaneous change I The whole swarm fainted; their
forms collapsed, their speed deserted them; they
sought to fly, but in the act of falling died and
melted into air. No fresh supply succeeded
them. One straggler leaped down pretty brisky
from the surface of the Great Bell, and alighted
on his feet, but he was dead And gone before he
could turn round. Some few of the late company
who had gambolled in the ower, remained ther,
spinning over and over a little longer; but thee

CfRISTXAS BOOS,.

became at every turn more faint, and few, and
feeble, and soon went the way of the rest. The
last of all was one small hunchback, who had got
into an echoing corner, where he twirled and
twirled, and floated by himself a long time; showing such perseverance, that at last he dwindled to
a leg and even to a foot, before he finally retired;
but he vanished in the end, and then the tower
was silent.
Then and not before, did Trotty see in every
Bell a bearded figure of the bulk and stature of
the Bell-incomprehensibly, a figure and the Bell
Itself. Gigantic, grave, and darkly watchful of
him as he stood rooted to the ground.
Mysterious and awful figures I Resting on
nothing: poised in the night air of the tower,
with their draped and hooded heads merged in the
dim roof; motionless and shadowy. Shadowy
and dark, although he saw them by some light belonging to themselves-none else was thereeach with its muffled hand upon its goblin
mouth.
He could not plunge down wildly through the
opening in the floor; for, all power of motion had
deserted him. Otherwise he would have done so
-ay, would have thrown himself, head-foremost,
from the steeple-top, rather than have seen them
watching him with eyes that would have waked
and watched although the pupils had been taken
out.
Again, again, the dread and terror of the lonely
place, and of the wild and fearful night that
reigned there, touched him like a spectral hand.
His distance from all help; the long, dark, winding, ghost-beleaguered way that lay between him
and the earth on which men lived; his being
high, high, high, up there, where it had made
him dizzy to see the birds fly in the day; cut off
from all good people, who at such an hour weref
safe at home and sleeping in their beds: all this
struck coldly through him, not as a reflection
but a bodily sensation. Meantime his eyes and
thoughts and fears, were fixed upon the watchful
figures: which, rendered unlike any figures of
this world by the deep gloom and shade enwrapping and enfolding them, as well as by their looks
and forms and supernatural hovering above the
floor, were nevertheless as plainly to be seen as
were the stalwart oaken frames, cross-pieces, bars
and beams, set up there to support the Bells.
These hemmed them, in a very forest of hewn
timber; from the entanglements, intricacies, and
depths of which, as from among the boughs of a
dead wood blighted for their Phantom use, they
kept their darksome and unwinking watch.
A blast of air-how cold and shrill!-came
moaning through the tower. As it died away, the
Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell,
spoke.
-"What visitor is this?" it said. The voice
was low and deep, and Trotty fancied that it
ounded in the other figures as well.
"I thought my name was called by the
Cai-a" said Trotty, raising his hands in an

attitude of supplication. "I hardly know wh:
am here, or how I came. I have listened to
Chimes these many years. They have chee:
me often."
"And you have thanked them? " said the B
"A thousand times I" cried Trotty.
"How?"
"I am a poor man," faltered Trotty, "t
could only thank them in words."
" And always so? " inquired the Goblin of
Bell. "Have you never done us wrong
words?"
" No I " cried Trotty eagerly.
"Never done us foul, and false, and wic?
wrong, in words?" pursued the Goblin of
Bell.
Trotty was about to answer, "Neverl " 3
he stopped, and was confused.
"The voice of Time," said the Phant(
"cries to man, Advance I Time is for his
vancement and improvement; for his gres
worth, his greater happiness, his better life;
progress onward to that goal within its knowle&lt;
and its view, and set there, in the period wl
Time and He began. Ages of Darkness, wicli
ness, and violence, have come and gone-milli
uncountable, have suffered, lived, and diedpoint the way before him. Who seeks to t
him back, or stay him on his course, arrest
mighty engine which will strike the med(
dead; and be the fiercer and the wilder, ever,
its momentary check I"
"I never did so to my knowledge, sir," f
Trotty. "It was quite by accident if I did
wouldn't go to do it, I'm sure."
"Who puts into the mouth of Time, or of
servants," said the Goblin of the Bell, "a cru
lamentation for days which have had their t
and their failure, and have left deep traces c
which the blind may see-a cry that only sei
the present time, by showing men how mucl
needs their help when any ears can listen to
grets for such a past-who does this, doe
wrong. And you have done that wrong to
the Chimes."
Trotty's first excess of fear was gone. Bul
had felt tenderly and gratefully towards the Be
as you have seen; and when he heard himself
raigned as one who had offended them so well
ily, his heart was touched with penitence
grief.
"If you knew," said. Trotty, clasping
hands earnestly-" or perhaps you do know.
you know how often you have kept me compa
how often you have cheered me up when I've t
low; how you were quite the plaything of
little daughter Meg (almost the only one she i
had) when first her mother died, and she and
were left alone; you won't bear malice for a h;
word I"
"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note
speaking disregard, or stern regard, of any he
or joy, or pain, or sorrow, of the many-sorro
throng; who hears us make response toaycii

TTfE CGIMIES.

at ganges human passions and affections, as it
uges the amount of miserable food on which
inanity may pine and wither; does us wrong.
iat wrong you have done us!" said the Bell.
"I have! " said Trotty. "Oh forgive me I"
N"Who hears us echo the dull vermin of the
rth: the Putters Down of crushed and broken
tures, formed to be raised up higher than such
tggots of the time can crawl or can conceive,"
rsued the Goblin of the Bell; "who does so,
es us wrong. And you have done us wrong I"
"Not meaning it," said Trotty. "In my igrance. Not meaning it I"
"Lastly, and most of all," pursued the Bell.
Vho turns his back upon the fallen and disared of his kind; abandons them as vile; and;s not trace and track with pitying eyes the unced precipice by which they fell from goodasping in their fall some tufts and shreds of that
t soil, and clinging to them still when bruised
I dying in the gulf below; does wrong to
aven and man, to time and to eternity. And
i have done that wrong I "
"Spare me," cried Trotty, falling on his knees;
)r Mercy's sake I"
"Listen " said the Shadow.
"Listen!" cried the other Shadows.
"Listen!" said a clear and child-like voice,
ich Trotty thought he recognised as having
ird before.
The organ sounded faintly in the church below.
elling by degrees, the melody ascended to the
f, and filled the choir and nave. Expanding
re and more, it rose up, up; up, up; higher,
her, higher up; awakening agitated hearts
bin the burly piles of oak, the hollow bells,
iron-bound doors, the stairs of solid stone;
il the tower walls were insufficient to contain
ind it soared into the sky.
No wonder that an old man's breast could not
tain a sound so vast and mighty. It broke
n the weak prison in a rush of tears; and
&gt;tty put his hands before his face.
' Listen " said the Shadow:
' Listen " said the other Shadows.
' Listen I" said the child's voice.
&amp;A solemn strain of blended voices, rose into
4 tower.
it was a very low and mournful strain-a Dirge
nd as he listened, Trotty heard his child among
singers.: ' She is dead I" exclaimed the old man. "Meg
ead I Her Spirit calls to me. I hear it!"
",' The Spirit of your child bewails the dead,
i mingles with the dead-dead hopes, dead
pies, dead imaginings of youth," returned the
I |, " but she is living. Learn from her life, a
g truth. Learn from the creatures dearest to. r heart, how bad the bad are born. See every
and leaf plucked one by one from off the
eU stem, and know how bare and wretched it
beE Follow her. To desperation I"
ach of the shadowy figures stretched its right
forth, and pointel downward.

" The Spirit of the Chimes is yourcompanion,"
said the figure. "Go I It stands behind you I"
Trotty turned, and saw-the child? The child
Will Fern had carried in the street; the child
whom Meg had watched, but now, asleep I
"I carried her myself, to-night," said Trotty.
"In these arms I "
"Show him what he calls himself," said the
dark figures, one and all.
The tower opened at his feet. He looked
down, and beheld his own form, lying at the bottom, on the outside; crushed and motionless.
"No more a living man I" cried Trotty.
"Dead I"
"Dead " said the figures all together.
" Gracious Heaven I And the New Year-"
"Past," said the figures.
"What I" he cried shuddering. " I missed my
way, and coming on the outside of this tower in
the dark, fell down-a year ago?"
"Nine years ago I" replied the figures.
As they gave the answer, they recalled their
outstretched hands; and where their figures had
been, there the Bells were.
And they rung; their time being come again.
And once again, vast multitudes of phantoms
sprung into existence; once again, were incoherently engaged, as they had been before; once
again, faded on the stopping of the Chimes; and
dwindled into nothing.
" What are these? " he asked his guide. "If
I am not mad, what are these?"
" Spirits of the Bells. Their sound upon the
air," returned the child. " They take such shapes
and occupations as the hopes and thoughts of
mortals, and the recollections they have stored
up, give them."
"And you," said Trotty wildly. "What are
you?
"Hush, hush " returned the child. " Look
here "
In a poor, mean room; working at the same
kind of embroidery, which he had often, often,
seen before her; Meg, his own dear daughter,
was presented to his view. He made no effort to
imprint his kisses on her face; he did not strive
to clasp her to his loving heart; he knew that
such endearments were, for him, no more. But,
he held his trembling breath, and brushed away
the blinding tears, that he might look upon her;
that he might only see her.
Ah Changed. Changed. The light of the
clear eye, how dimmed. The bloom, how faded
from the cheek. Beautiful she was, as she had
ever been, but Hope, Hope, Hope, oh where was
the fresh Hope that had spoken to him like a
voice I
She looked up from her work, at a companion.
Following her eyes, the old man started back.
In the woman grown, he recognised her at a
glance. In the long silken hair, he saw the selfsame curls; around the lips, the child's expression
lingering still. See! In the eyes, now turned inquiringly on Meg, there shone the very look that

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

scanned those features when he brought her
home I
Then what was this, beside hlm I
Looking with awe into its face, he saw a something reigning there: a lofty something, undefined
and indistinct, which made it hardly more than a
remembrance of that child-as yonder figure might
be-yet it was the same: the same: and wore the
dress.
Hark. They were speaking.
"Meg," said Lilian, hesitating. " How often
you raise your head from your work to look at me!"
" Are my looks so altered that they frighten
you?" asked Meg.
"Nay, dear I But you smile at that yourself!
Why not smile when you look at me, Meg?"
"I do so. Do I not?" she answered: smiling
on her.
"Now you do," said Lilian, "but not usually.
When you think I'm busy, and don't see you, you
look so anxious and so doubtful, that I hardly like
to raise my eyes. There is little cause for smiling
in this hard and toilsome life, but you were once
so cheerful."
"Am I not now!" cried Meg, speaking in a
tone of strange alarm, and rising to embrace her.
"Do I make our weary life more weary to you,
Lilian I"
"You have been the only thing that made it
life," said Lilian, fervently kissiig her; " sometimes the only thing that made me care to live so,
Meg. Such work, such work So many hours,
so many days, so many long, long nights of hopeless, cheerless, never-ending work-not to heap up
riches, not to live grandly or gaily, not to live
upon enouh, however coarse; but to earn bare
bread; to scrape together just enough to toil
upon, and want upon, and keep alive in us the
consciousness of our hard fate I Oh Meg, Meg! "
she raised her voice and twined her arms about
her as she spoke, like one in pain. "How can
the cruel world go round, and bear to look upon
such lives I"
"Lily I " said Meg, soothing her, and putting
back her hair from her wet face. " Why Lilly!
Youn So pretty and so young I"
"Oh Megl " she interrupted, holding her at
arm's-length, and looking in her face imploringly.
"The worst of all, the worst of all I Strike me
old, Meg Wither me and shrivel me, and free
me from the dreadful thoughts that tempt me in
my youth!"
Trotty turned to look upon his gide. But, the
Spirit of the child had taken flight. Was gone.
Neither did he himself remain in the same
place; for Sir Joseph Bowley, Friend and Father
of the Poor, held a great'festivity at Bowley Hall,
in honor of the natal day of Lady Bowley' And as
Lady Bowleyhad been born on New Year's Day
(which the local newspapers considered an especial pointing of the finger of Providence to number
One, as Lady Bowley's destined figure in Creatiot), t was on a New Year's Day that this feststy tk place

Bowley Hall was full of visitors. The red-fa,
gentleman was there. Mr. Filer was there,
great Alderman Cute was there-Alderman C
had a sympathetic feeling with great people, t
had considerably improved his acquaintance w
Sir Joseph Bowley on the strength of his attent
letter: indeed had become quite a friend of
family since then-and many guests were th(
Trotty's ghost was there, wandering about, p
phantonm, drearily; and looking for its guide.
There was to be a great dinner in the Gi
Hall. At which Sir Joseph Bowley, in his
brated character of Friend and Father of
Poor, was to make his'great speech. Cer'
plum puddings were to be eaten by his Frie:
and Children in another Hall first; and at a gi'
signal, Friends and Children flocking in aml
their Friends and Fathers, were to form a fan
assemblage, with not one manly eye therein
moistened by emotion.
But there was more than this to happ
Even more than this. Sir Joseph Bowley, Be
net and Member of Parliament, was to pla
match at skittles-real skittles-with his t
ants
"Which quite reminds one," said Aldern
Cute, "of the days of old King Hal, stout K
Hal, bluff King Hal. Ah. Fine Character "
" Very," said Mr. Filer, drily. " For marry
women and Murdering 'em. Considerably m
than the average number of wives bye the bye.
"You'll marry the beautiful ladies, and
murder 'em, eh?" said Alderman Cute to
heir of Bowley, aged twelve. " Sweet boy I
shall have this little gentleman in Parliam
now," said the Aldernan, holding him by
shoulders, and looking as reflective as he co,
"before we know where we are. We shall t
of his successes at the poll; his speeches in
house; his overtures from Governments;
brilliant achievements of all kinds; ah I we s'
make our little orations about him in the comr
council, I'll be bound; before we have time
look about us I "
"Oh, the difference of shoes and stockingt
Trotty thought. But his heart yearned tows
the child, for the love of those same shoeless
stockingless boys, predestined (by the Alderm
to turn out bad, who might have been the child
of poor Meg.
"Richard," moaned Trotty, roaming amn
the company to and fro; "where is he? I ct
find Richard! Where is Richard?"
Not likely to be there, if still alive I But T
ty's grief and solitude confused him; and he i
went wandering among the gallant company, lo
ing for his guide, and saying, " Where is Richa
Show me Richard! "
He was wandering thus, when he encounte
Mr. Fish, the confidential Secretary: in great
tation.
" Bless my heart and soul I" cried Xr. 1F"'
"Wheres Alderman Cute? Has anybody s|
the Alderman?"

TZT CffIIMES.

Seen the Alderman? Oh dear Who could
er help seeing the Alderman? He was so conlerate, so affable, he bore so much in mind the
turalidesire of folks to see him, that if he had a
lit, it was the being constantly On View. And
lerever the great people were, there, to be sure,:racted by the kindred sympathy between great
uls, was Cute.
Several voices cried that he was in the circle
and Sir Joseph. Mr. Fish made way there;
mnd him; and took him secretly into a window
ar at hand. Trotty joined them. Not of his
'n accord. He felt that his steps were led in
it direction.
"My dear Alderman Cute," said Mr. Fish. "A
tle more this way. The most dreadful circum-,nce has occurred. I have this moment received; intelligence. I think it will be best not to acaint Sir Joseph with it till the day is over.
mu understand Sir Joseph, and will give me
ar opinion. The most frightful and deplorable
3nt!"
"Fish!" returned the Alderman. " Fish!
r good fellow, what is the matter? Nothing
-olutionary, I hope I No-no attempted inter'ence with the magistrates?"
" Deedles, the banker," gasped the Secretary.
)eedles Brothers-who was to have been here
day-high in office in the Goldsmith's Compa"Not stopped I" exclaimed the Alderman. " It
't be!"
" Shot himself."
"Good God!"
"Put a double-barrelled pistol to his mouth, in
own counting-house," said Mr. Fish, "and
w his brains out. No motive. Princely cirastances I"
"Circumstances! " exclaimed the Alderman.
t man of noble fortune. One of the most rectable of men. Suicide, MIr. Fish! By his own
"This very morning," returned Mr. Fish.
"Oh the brain, the brain!" exclaimed the
us Alderman, lifting up his hands. "Oh the
yves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine
led Man! Oh the little that unhinges it: poor
matures that we are! Perhaps a dinner, Mr.
h. Perhaps the conduct of his son, who, I have;ird, ran very wild, and was in the habit of drawbills upon him without the least authority I
&gt;most respectable man. One of the most rectable men I ever knew I A lamentable innce, Mr. Fish. A public calamity! I shall
|ke a point of wearing the deepest mourning.
nost respectable man t But there is One above.
| must submit, Mr. Fish. We must submit "?What, Alderman I No word of Putting Down?
tember, Justice, your high moral boast and
de. Come, AldermanI Balance those scales.
row me into this, the empty one, no dinner,
It ature's founts in some poor woman, dried
starving miser and rendered obdurate to
itas for which her ofspring as authority in
I; of '. * *-: 18 -

holy mother Eve. Weigh me the two, you Daniel,
going to judgment, when your day shall come I
Weigh them, in the eyes of suffering thousands,
audience (not unmindful) of the grim farce you
play. Or supposing that you strayed from yourfive wits-it's not so far to go, but that it might
be-and laid hands upon that throat of yours,
warning your fellows (if you have a fellow) how
they croak their comfortable wickedness to raving
heads and stricken hearts. What then?
The words rose up in Trotty's breast, as if
they had been spoken by some other voice within
him. Alderman Cute pledged himself to Mr. Fish
that he would assist him in breaking the melancholy catastrophe to Sir Joseph, when the day
was over. Then, before theyparted, wringing MIr.
Fish's hand in bitterness of soul, he said, "The
most respectable of men! " And added that he
hardly knew (not even he) why such afflictions
were allowed on earth.
"It's almost enough to make one think, if one
didn't know better," said Alderman Cute, " that at
times some motion of a capsizing nature was going on in things, which affected the general econonay of the social fabric. Deedles, Brothers! "
The skittle playing came off with immense success. Sir Joseph knocked the pins about quite
skilfully; Master Bowley took an innings at a
shorter distance also; and everybody said that
now, when a Baronet and the Son of a Baronet
played at skittles, the country was coming round
again, as fast as it could come.
At its proper time, the Banquet was served up.
Trotty involuntarily repaired to the Hall with the
rest, for he felt himself conducted thither by some
stronger impulse than his own free will. The
sight was gay in the extrcnm the ladies were
very handsome; the visitors delighted, cheerful,
and good-tempered. When the lower doors were
opened, and the people flocked in, in their rustic
dresses, the beauty of the spectacle was at its
height; but Trotty only murmured more and
more. " Where is Richard! HI e should help and
comfort her! I can't see Richard I"
There had been some speeches made; and Lady
Bowley's health had been proposed; and Sir Joseph Bowley had returned thanks, and had made
his great speech, showing by various pieces of evidence that he was the born Friend and Father, and
so forth; and had given as a Toast, his Friends
and Children, and the Dignity of Labor; when a
slight disturbance at the bottom of the hall attracted Toby's notice. After some confusion.
noise, and opposition, one man broke through the
rest, and stood forward by himself.
Not Richard! No. But one wlhpm he had
thought of, and had looked for, many times. In a
scantier supply of light, he might have doubted
the identity of that worn man, so old, and grey,
and bent; but with a blaze of lanps upon his
gnarled and knotted head, he knew Will Fern as
soon as he stepped forth.
"What is this " exclaimed Sir Joseph, rising,
"Who gave this man admittance This isa ertaa

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

lnal firom prison I Mr. Fish, sir, will you have the
goodness-"
"A minute!" said Will Fern. "A minute I
My Lady, you was born on this day along with
a New Year. Get me a minute's leave to
speak."
She made some intercession for him. Sir Joseph took his seat again, with native dignity.
The ragged visitor-for he was miserably
dressed-looked round upon the company, and
made his homage to them with a humble bow.
" Gentlefolks 1" he said. "You've drunk the
Laborer. Look at me!"
"Just come from jail," said iMr. Fish.
"Just come from jail," said Will. " And neither for the first time, nor the second, nor the
third, nor yet the fourth."
Mr. Filer was heard to remark testily, that
four times was over the average; and he ought
to be ashamed of himself.
"Gentlefolks 1" repeated Will Fern. "Look
at me I You see I'm at the worst. Beyond all
hurt or harm; beyond your help; for the time
when your kind words or kind actions could have
done ME good,"-he struck his hand upon his
breast, and shook his head, "is gone with the
scent of last year's beans or clover on the air.
Let me say a word for these," pointing to the laboring people in the hall; " and when you're met
together, hear the real Truth spoke out for
once."
"There's not a man here," said the host, " who
Would have him for a spokesman."
" Like enough, Sir Joseph. I believe it. Not
the less true, perhaps, is what I say. Perhaps
that's a proof on it. Gentlefolks, I've lived many
a year in this place. You may see the cottage
from the sunk fence over yonder. I've seen the
ladies draw it in their books, a hundred times. It
looks well in a picter, I've heerd say; but there
an't weather in picters, and maybe 'tis fitter for
that than for a place to live in. Well! I lived
there. How hard-how bitter hard, I lived there,
I won't say. Any day in the year, and every day,
you can judge for your own selves."
He spoke as he had spoken on the night when
Trotty found him in the street. His voice was
deeper and more husky, and had a trembling in it
now and then; but he never raised it, passionately, and seldom lifted it above the firm stern level
of the homely facts he stated.
"'Tis harder than you think for, gentlefolks,
to grow up decent, commonly decent, in such a
place. That I growed up a man and not a brute,
says something for me-as I was then. As I am
now, there's nothing can be said for me or done
for me. I'mpast it."
"'I am glad this man has entered," observed
Sir Joseph, looking round serenely, "Don't disturb him. It appears to be Ordained. He is an
example: a living example. I hope and trust,
ad confidently expect, that it will not be lost.'pon my Friends here."
"I draggefl on," said Fern, after a moment's

silence, " somehow. Neither me nor any ott
man knows how; but so heavy, that I couldi
put a cheerful face upon it, or make believe t1
I was anything but what I was. Now, gentlem
-you gentlemen that sits at Sessions-when y
see a man with discontent writ on his face, y
says to one another, 'he's suspicious. I has i
doubts,' says you, ' about Will Fern. Watch tl
fellow ' I don't say, gentlemen, it ain't qu
nat'ral, but I say 'tis so; and from that hoi
whatever Will Fern does, or lets alone-all one
it goes against him."
Alderman Cute stuck his thumbs in his wai
coat-pockets, and leaning back in his chair, a
smiling, winked at a neighboring chandelier.
much as to say, " Of course! I told you so. T
common cry! Lord bless you, we are up to
this sort of thing-myself and human nature."
"Now, gentlemen," said Will Fern, holdi
out his hands, and flushing for an instant in I
haggard face. " See how your laws are made
trap and hunt us when we're brought to this.
tries to live elsewhere. And I'm a vagaboi
To jail with him I comes back here. I goe:
nutting in your woods, and breaks-who don'
-a limber branch or two. To jail with hi,
One of your keepers sees me in the broad d
near my own patch of garden, with a gun.
jail with him I has a nat'ral angry word w
that man, when I'm free again. To jail with hi
I cut a stick. To jail with him I I eats a rot
apple or a turnip. To jail with him 1 It's twei
mile away; and coming back I begs a trifle
the road. To jail with him 1 At last the c
stable, the keeper-anybody-finds me anywhc
a doing anything. To jail with him, for ie'i
vagrant, and a jail-bird known; and jail's
only home he's got."
The Alderman nodded sagaciously, as v.
should say, " A very good home too I"
"Do I say this to serve MY cause?" cr
Fern. " Who can give me back my liberty, v
can give me back my good name, who can g
me back my innocent niece? Not all the Lo
and Ladies in wide England.. But gentlemn
gentlemen, dealing with other men like me, be
at the right end. Give us, in mercy, better hoi
when we're a lying in our cradles; give us bet
food when we're a working for our lives; give
kinder laws to bring us back when we're a go
wrong; and don't set Jail, Jail, Jail, afore
everywhere we turn. There an't a condescens
you can show the Laborer then, that he wc
take, as ready and as grateful as a man can
for, he has a patient, peaceful, willing he;
But you must put his rightful spirit in him fir
for, whether he's a wreck and ruin such as me.
is like one of them that stand here now, his sp
is divided from you at this time. Bring it ba
gentlefolks, bring it back I Bring it back, ai
the day comes when even his Bible changes
his altered mind, and the words seem to bhin
read, as they have sometimes read ln my o
eyes-in Jail, Whither thou goest, I can Not

tffE CHIMES.

where thou lodgest, I do Not lodge; thy people
are Not my people; Nor thy God my God I"
A sudden stir and agitation took place in the
Hall. Trotty thought at first, that several had
risen to eject the man; and hence this change in
its appearance. But, another moment showed
timn that the room and all the company had vanished from his sight, and that his daughter was
igain before him, seated at her work. But in a
poorer, meaner garret than before; and with no
Uiiian by her side.
The frame at which she had worked was put
away upon a shelf and covered up. The chair in
which she had sat was turned against the wall.
A history was written in these little things, and
in Meg's grief-worn face. Oh! who could fail to
read it I
Meg strained her eyes upon her work until it
wastoo dark to see the threads; and when the
night closed in, she lighted her feeble candle and
worked on. Still her old father was invisible
about her; looking down upon her; loving herhow dearly loving her I-and talking to her in a
tender voice about the old times, and the Bells.
Though he knew, poor Trotty, though he knew
she could not hear him.
A great part of the evening had worn away,
when a knock came at her door. She opened it.
A man was on the threshold. A slouching,
moody, drunken sloven, wasted by intemperance
and vice, and with his matted hair and unshorn
beard in wild disorder; but, with some traces on
him, too, of having been a man of good propor-!tion and good features in his youth.
He stopped until he had her leave to enter;
and she, retiring a pace or two from the open
door, silently and sorrowfully looked upon him,
Trotty had his wish. He saw Richard.
"May I come in, Margaret? "
"Yes I Come in. Come in I "
It was well that Trotty knew him before he
spoke; for with any doubt remaining on his
mind, the harsh discordant voice would have persuaded him that it was iot Richard but some
"other man.
There were but two chairs in the room. She,gave hers, and stood at some short distance from:him, waiting to hear what he had to say.
He sat, however, staring vacantly at the floor;
'with a lustreless and stupid smile. A spectacle:of such deep degradation, of such abject hopelessn qess, of such a miserable downfall, that she put!her hands before her face and turned away, lest
he should see how much it moved her.
Ri oused by the rustling of her dress, or some
t Funch trifling sound, he lifted his head, and began
to speak as if there had- been no pause since he
sntered.
"Still at work, Margaret? You work late."
"I generally do."
"And early?"
"And early."
"o she said. She said you never tired; or
ufnever owned that you t:red. Not all the time you

lived together. Not even when you fainted, between work and fasting. But I told you that, the
last time I came."
"You did," she answered. "And I implored
you to tell me nothing more; and you made me
a solemn promise, Richard, that you never
would."
"A solemn promise," he repeated, with a
drivelling laugh and vacant stare. "A solemn
promise. To be sure. A solemn promise!"
Awakening, as it were, after a time, in the same
manner as before; he said with sudden animation,
" How can I help it, Margaret? What am I to
do? She has been to me again! "
"Again I" cried Meg, clasping her hands.
"Oh, does she think of me so often! Has she
been again? "
"Twenty times again," said Richard. "Margaret, she haunts me. She comes behind me in
the street, and thrusts it in my hand. I hear her
foot upon the ashes when I'm at my work (ha,
ha I that an't often), and before I can turn my
head, her voice is in my ear, saying, 'Richard,
don't look round. For heaven's love, give her
this! ' She brings it where I live; she sends it
in letters; she taps at the window and lays it on
the sill. What can I do? Look at it I"
He held out in his hand a little purse, and
chinked the money it enclosed.
"Hide it," said Meg. "Hide it! When she
comes again, tell her, Richard, that I love her in
my soul. That I never lie down to sleep, but I
bless her, and pray for her. That in my solitary
work, I never cease to have her In my thoughts.
That she is with me, night and day. That If I
died to-morrow, I would remember her with my
last breath. But, that I cannot look upon it I"
He slowly recalled his hand, and crushing the
purse together, said with a kind of drowsy
thoughtfulness:
" I told her so. I told her so, as plain as words
could speak. I've taken this gift back and left it
at her door, a dozen times since then. But when
she came at last, and stood before me, face to face,
what could I do?"
" You saw her I" exclaimed Meg. " You saw
her Oh; Lilian, my sweet girll Oh, Lilian,
Lilian I"
"I saiv her," he went on to say, not answer
ing, but engaged in the same slow pursuit of his
own thoughts. "There she stood: trembling!
'How does she look, Richard? Does she ever
speak of me? Is she thinner? My old place at
the table: what's in my old place? And the
frame she taught me our old work on-has she
burnt it, Richard?' There she was. I hear her
say it."
Meg checked her sobs, and with the tears
streaming from her eyes, bent over him to listen.
Not to lose a breath.
With his arms resting on his knees; and
stooping forward in his chair, as if what he said
were written on the ground in some half legible

UliBuilsTZ s 1tVK(oas.

character, which it was his occupation to decipher
and connect; he went on.
" 'Richard, I have fallen very low; and you
may guess how much I have suffered in having
this sent back, when I can bear to bring it in my
hand to you. But you loved her once, even in my
memory, dearly. Others stepped in between
you; fears, and jealousies, and doubts, and vanities, estranged you from her; hut you did love
her, even in my memory I ' I suppose I did," he
said, interrupting himself for a moment. " I did I
That's neither here nor there. 'O Richard, if
you ever did; if you have any memory for what
is gone and lost, take 't to her once more. Once
more I Tell her how I begged and prayed. Tell
her how I laid my head upon your shoulder,
where her own head might have lain, and was so
humble to you, Richard. Tell her that you looked
into my face, and saw the beauty which she used
to praise, all gone: all gone: and in its place, a
poor, wan, hollow cheek, that she would weep to
see. Tell her everything, and take it back, and
she will not refuse again. She will not have the
heart I '"
So he sat musing, and repeating the last words,
until he woke again, and rose.
" You won't take it, Margaret?"
She shook her head, and motioned an entreaty
to him to leave her.
"Good night, Margaret."
"Good night!"
He turned to look upon her; struck by her
sorrw, and perhaps by the pity for himself which
trembled in her voice. It was a quick and rapid
action; and for the moment some flash of his old
bearing kindled in his form. In the next he went
as he had come. Nor did this glimmer of a
quenched fire seem to light him to a quicker
sense of his debasement.
In any mood, in any grief, in any torture of
the mind or body, Meg's work must be done.
She sat down to her task, and plied it. Night,
midnight. Still she worked.
She had a meagre fire, the night being very
cold; and rose at intervals to mend it. The
Chimes-rang half-past twelve while she was thus
engaged; and when they ceased she heard a gentle knocking at the door. Before she could so
much as wonder who was there, at that unusual
hour, it opened.
O Youth and Beauty, happy as ye should be,
look at thisl O Youth and Beauty, blest and
blessing all within your reach, and working out
the ends of your Beneficent Creator, look at
this!
She saw the entering figure; screamed its
name; cried "Lilian I"
It was swift, and fell upon its knees before
her: clinging to her dress.
"Up, dear! Up! Lilian I My own dearest!" '
"Never more, Meg; never more! Here I
S!e re Close to you, holding to you, feeling your
ar brieah upon my face "

"SweetLilian! Darling LilianI Child of m
heart-no mother's love can be more tender-lay
your head upon my breast I"
"Never more, Meg. Never morel When
I first looked into your face, you knelt before
me. On my knees before you, let me die. Let il
be here I"
"You have come back. My Treasure! We
will live together, work together, hope together
die together 1"
"Ah! Kiss my lips, Meg; fold your arms
about me; press me to your bosom; look kindle
on me; but don't raise me. Let it be here.
Let me see the last of your dear face upon m3
knees I"
O Youth and Beauty, happy as ye should be,
look at this I O Youth and Beauty, working out
the ends of your Beneficent Creator, look a:
this I
"Forgive me, Meg! So dear, so dear I For
give me I Iknow you do, I see you do, but sat
so, leg!"
She said so, witll her lips on Lilian's cheek
And with her acrns twined round-she knew i
now-a broken heart.
"His blessing on you, dearest love. Kiss m:
once more He suffered her to sit beside Hit
feet, and dry them with her hair. O Meg, wha
Mercy and Compassion 1"
As she died, the Spirit of the child returning
innocent and radiant, touched the old man witl
its hand, and beckoned him away.
-4 â
FOURTH QUARTER.
Soos new remembrance of the ghostly figures
in the Bells; some faint impression of the ring
ing of the Chimes; some giddy consciousness ol
having seen the swarm of phantoms reproduced
and reproduced until the recollection of them lo,
itself in the confusion of their numbers; somi
hurried knowledge, how conveyed to him h,
knew not, that more years had passed; an(
Trotty, with the Spirit of the child attending him
stood looking on at mortal company.
Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, coin
fortable company. They were but two, but the:
were red enough for ten. They sat before L
bright fire, with a small low table between them
and unless the fragrance of hot tea and muff ln
lingered longer in that room than in most others
the table had seen service very lately. But al
the cups and saucers being clean, and in tlhei
proper places in the corer cupboard; and th(
brass toasting-fork hanging in its usualnook, an(
spreading its four idle fingers out, as if it wantec
to be measured for a glove; there remained nr
other visible tokens of the meal just finished
than such as purred and washed their whiskers
in the person of the basking cat, and glistened ir
the gracious, not to say the greasy, faces of hei
patrons.
This cosy couple (mar;led, evidently) had mad(

t fair division of the fire between them, and sat
ooking at the glowing sparks that dropped into;he grate; now nodding off into a doze; now
waking up again when some hot fragment, larger;han the rest, came rattling down, as if the fire
H;ere coming with it.
It was in no danger of sudden extinction, how-,ver; for it gleamed not only in the little room,
ad. on the panes of window-glass in the door,
and on the curtain half drawn across them,
)ut in the little shop beyond. A little shop,
luite crammed and choked with the abunlance of its stock; a perfectly voracious little
shop, with a maw as accommodating and full,s any shark's. Cheese, butter, firewood, soap,
)ickles, matches, bacon, table-beer, peg-tops,;weetmeats, boys' kites, bird-seed, cold ham,
)irch brooms, hearth-stones, salt, vinegar, blackug, red-herrings, stationery, lard, mushroomcetchup, staylaces, loaves of bread, shuttle-,ocks, eggs, and slate-pencil; everything was fish
hat came to the net of this greedy little shop, and:11 articles were in its net. How many other
dinds of petty merchandise were there, it would
)e difficult to say; but balls of packthread, ropes
ff onions, pounds of candles, cabbage-nets, and
rushes, hung in bunches from the ceiling, like
ixtraordinary fruit; while various odd canisters
-mitting aromatic smells, established the veracity
Of the inscription over the outer door, which inormed the public that the keeper of this little
hop was a licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco,,epper, and snuff.
Glancing at such of these items as were visible
a the shining of the blaze, and the less cheerful
adiance of two smoky lamps which burnt but
-inly in the shop itself, as though its plethora
at heavy on their lungs; and glancing, then, at
ne of the two faces by the parlor-fire; Trotty.ad small difficulty in recognising in the stout
id lady, Mrs. Chickenstalker: always inclined to
orpulency, even in the days when he had known
er as established in the general line, and having
small balance against him in her books.
The features of her companion were less easy
o him. The great broad chin, with creases in it
arge enough to hide a finger in; the astonished
yes, that seemed to expostulate with themselves
or sinking deeper and deeper into the yielding
at of the soft face; the nose afflicted with that
isordered action of its functions which is genrally termed The Snuffles; the short thick
aroat and laboring chest, with other beauties of
he like description; though calculated to imress the memory, Trptty could at first allot to
| obody he had ever known: and yet he had
I ome recollection of them too. At length, in
X irs. Chickenstalker's partner in the general line,, ud in the crooked and eccentric line of life, he
ecognised the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowlsy; an apoplectic innocent, who had connected
imself in Trotty's mind with Mrs. Chickentalker years ago, by giving him admission to the
apgi!on where he hlad confessed his obligations

to that lady, and drawn on his unlucky head such
grave reproach.
Trotty had little interest in a change like this,
after the changes he had seen; but association is
very strong sometimes; and he looked involuntarily behind the parlor-door, where the accounts
of credit customers were usually kept in chalk.
There was no record of his name. Some names
were there, but they were strange to him, and infinitely fewer than of old; from which he argued
that the porter was an advocate of ready money
transactions, and on coming into the business had
looked pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker defaulters.
So desolate was Trotty, and so mournful for
the youth and promise of his plighted child, that
it was a sorrow to him, even to have no place in
MIrs. Chickenstalker's ledger.
" What sort of a night is it, Anne? " inquired
the former porter of Sir Joseph Bowley, stretching out his legs before the fire, and rubbing as
much of them as his short arms could reach; with
an air that added, "Here I am if it's bad, and I
don't want to go out if it's good."
" Blowing and sleeting hard," returned his
wife; "and threateningl snow. Dark. And very
cold."
"I'm glad to think we had muffins," said the
former porter, in a tone of one who had set his
conscience at rest. " It's a sort of night that's
meant for muffins. Likewise crumpets. Also
Sally Lunns."
The former porter mentioned each successive
kind of eatable, as if he were musingly summing
up his good actions. After which, he rubbed his
fat legs as before, and jerking them at the knees
to get the fire upon the yet unroasted parts,
laughed as if somebody had tickled him.
"You're in spirits, Tugby, my dear," observed
his wife.
The firm was Tugby, late Chickenstalker.
"No," said Tugby. "No. Not particular.
I'm a little elewated. The muffins came so pat I"
With that he chuckled until he was black in
the face; and had so much ado to become any
other color, that his fat legs took the strangest
excursions into the air. Nor were' they reduced
to anything like decorum until Mrs. Tugby had
thumped him violently on the back, and shaken
him as if he were a great bottle.
" Good gracious, goodness, lord-a-mercy bless
and save the man I" cried Mrs. Tugby, in great
terrror. "What's he doing? "
Mr. Tugby wiped his eyes, and faintly repeated
that he found himself a little elewated.
"Then don't be so again, that's a dear good
soul," said Mrs. Tugby, "if you don't want to
frighten me to death, with your struggling and
fighting I"
Mr. Tugby said he wouldn't; but, his whoio
existence was a fight, in which, if any judgment
might be founded on the constantly-Increasing
shortness of his breath and the deepening purle
of his face, he was always getting the worstd fL

CIIRISZTHAS BOOiS.

"So it's blowing, and sleeting, and threatenIng snow; and it's dark, and very cold, is it, my
dear?" said Mr. Tugby, looking at the fire, and
reverting to the cream and marrow of his temporary elevation.
"Hard weather indeed," returned his wife,
shaking her head.
"Aye, aye Years," said Mr. Tugby, "are
like Christians in that respect. Some of 'em die
hard; some of 'em die easy. This one hasn't
many days to run, and is making a fight for it. I
like him all the better. There's a customer, my
love! "
Attentive to the rattling door, Mrs. Tugby
had already risen.
"Now then! " said that lady, passing out into
the little shop. " What's wanted? Oh! I beg
your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't think it was
you."
She made this apology to a gentleman in black,
who, with his wristbands tucked up, and his hat
cocked loungingly on one side, and his hands in
his pockets, sat down astride on the table-beer
barrel, and nodded in return.
"This is a bad business up-stairs, Mrs.
Tugby," said the gentleman. "The man can't
live."
"Not the back-attic can't!" cried Tugby, coming out into the shop to join the conference.
" The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman, "is coming down-stairs fast, and will be below the basement very soon."
Looking by turns at Tugby and his wife, he
sounded the barrel with his knuckles for the
depth of beer, and having found it, played a tune
upon the empty part.
"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said th gentleman: Tugby having stood in silent consternation for some time, " is Going."
"Then," said Tugby, turning to his wife, " he
must go, you know, before he's Gone."
"I don't think you can move him," said the
gentleman, shaking his head. "I wouldn't take
the responsibility of saying it could be done, myself. You had better leave him where he is. He
can't live long."
"It's the only subject," said Tugby, bringing
the butter-scale down upon the counter with a
crash, by weighing his fist on it, " that we've ever
had a word upon; she and me; and look what it
comes to! I Ie's going to die here, after all. Golvg to die upon the premises. Going to die in our
house I"
"And where should he have died, Tugby "
cried his wife.
"In the workhouse," he returned. "What are
sVorkhouses made for?"
"Not for that," said Mrs. Tugby, with great
energy. "Not for that I Neither did I marry you
for that. Don't think it, Tugby. I won't have it.
I won't allow it. I'd be separated first, and never
see your face again. When my widow's name
ood over that door, as it did for many many
y.ars: this house being known as Mrs. Chicken

stalker's far and wide, and never known but to li
honest credit and its good report: when m
widow's name stood over that door, Tugby,
knew him as a handsome, steady, manly, ind(
pendent youth; I knew her as the sweetest-lool
ing, sweetest-tempered girl, eyes ever saw;
knew her father (poor old creetur, he fell dow
from the steeple walking in his sleep, and kille
himself), for the simplest, hardest-working, chilc
est-hearted man, that ever drew the breath o
life; and when I turn them out of house an
home, may angels turn me out of Heaven. A
they would! And serve me right 1"
Her old face, which had been a plump an
dimpled one before the changes which had com
to pass, seemed to shine out of her as she sai
these words; and when she dried her eyes, an
shook her head and her handkerchief at Tugb3
with an expression of firmness which it was quit
clear was not to be easily resisted, Trotty saic
" Bless her I Bless her I"
Then he listened, with a panting heart, fc
what should follow. Inowing nothing yet, bt
that they spoke of Meg.
If Tugby had been a little elevated in the pa
lor, he more than balanced that account by bein
not a little depressed in the shop, where he nom
stood staring at his wife, without attempting
reply; secretly conveying, however-either i
a fit of abstraction or as a precautionary measum
-all the money from the till into his own pocket:
as he looked at her.
The gentleman upon the table-beer cask, wh
appeared to be some authorised medical atten(
ant upon the poor, was far too well accustomei
evidently, to little differences of opinion betwee
man and wife, to interpose any remark in this il
stance. He sat softly whistling, and turning litt
drops of beer out of the tap upon the ground, ant
there was a perfect calm: when he raised h
head, and said to Mrs. Tugby, late Chickenstalkei
"There's something interesting about the w.
man, even now. How did she come to man
him?"
"Why that," said Mrs. Tugby, taking a se:
near him, " is not the least cruel part of her stor
sir. You see they kept company, she and Ricl
ard, many years ago. When they were a your
and beautiful couple, everything was settled, aI
they were to have been married on a New Year
Day. But, somehow, Richard got it into h
head, through what the gentleman told him, th:
he might do better, and that he'd soon repent i
and that she wasn't good enough for him, and thi
a young man of spirit had no business to be ma
ried. And the gentleman frightened her, as
made her melancholy, and timid of his desertir
her, and of her children coming to the gallow
and of its being wicked to be man and wife, ar
a good deal more of it. And in short, they li
gered and lingered, and tbeir trust in one anoth(
was broken, and so at last was the match. Bi
the fault was his. She would have married hit
sir, joyfully. re seen her heart swell, mat

TSE CaHIMZS.

t times afterwards, when he passed her in a proud
' and careless way; and never did a woman grieve
more truly for a man, than she or Richard when
' he first went wrong."
" Oh t he went wrong, did he? " said the gentleman, pulling out the vent-peg of the table beer,
and trying to peep down into the barrel through
the hole.
" Well, sir, I don't know that he rightly understood himself, you see. I think his mind was
troubled by their having broke with one another;
and that but for being ashamed before the gentle'men, and perhaps for being uncertain too, how
she might take it, he'd have gone through any
suffering or trial to have had Meg's promise, and
Meg's hand again. That's my belief. Hte never
said so; more's the pity I He took to drinking,
idling, bad companions: all the fine resources that
were to be so much better for him than the
Home he might have had. He lost his looks, his
character, his health. his strength, his friends, his
work: everything I"
"I-e didn't lose everything, Mrs. Tugby," returned the gentleman, "because he gained a
wife; and I want to know how he gained
her."
"I'm coming to it, sir, in a moment. This
went on for years and years; he sinking lower
and lower; she enduring, poor thing, miseries
enough to wear her life away. At last he was so
cast down, and cast out, that no one would employ or notice him; and doors were shut upon
him, go where he would. Applying from place to
place, and door to door; and coming for the hundredth time to one gentleman who had often and
often tried him (he was a good workman to the
very end); that gentleman, who knew his history, said, 'I believe you are incorrigible; there is
only one person in the world who has a chance of
reclaiming you; ask me to trust you no more, until she tries to do it.' Something like that, in his
anger and vexation."
"Ah l" said the gentleman. "Well?"
"Well sir, he went to her, and knebled to her;
aid it was so; said it ever had been so; and made
a prayer to her to save him."
"And she?-Don't distress yourself, Mrs.
Tugby."
" She came to me that night to ask me about
living here. ' What he was once to me,' she said,
' is buried in a grave, side by slde with what I was
to him. But I have thought of this; and I will
make the trial. In the hope of saving him; for
the love of the light-hearted girl (you remember
her) who was to have been married on a New
Year's Day: and for the love of her Richard.'
And she said he had come to her from Lilian, and
Lilian had trusted to him, and she never could
forget that. So they were married; and when
they came home here, and I saw them, I hoped that
such prophecies as parted them when they were
young, may not often fulfil themselves as they did
in this case, or I wouldn't be the makers of them
for a Mine of Gold'"

The gentleman got off the cask, and stretched
himself, observing:
"I suppose he used her ill, as soon as they
were married? "
"I don't think he ever did that," said Mrs.
Tugby, shaking her head and wiping her eyes.
'He went on better for a short time; but, his
habits were too old and strong to be got rid of;
he soon fell back a little; and was falling fast
back, when his illness came so strong upon him.
I think he has always felt for her. I am sure he
has. I've seen him, in his crying fits and tremblings, try to kiss her hand; and I have heard him
call her 'lMeg,' and say it was her nineteenth birthday. There he has been lying, now, these weeks
and months. Between him and her baby, she has
not been able to do her old work; and by not being able to be regular, she has lost it, even if she
could have done it. How they have lived, I hardly
know!"
"I know," muttered Mr. Tugby: looking af
the till, and round the shop, and at his wife; andi
rolling his head with immense intelligence.,
"Like Fighting Cocks I"
lie was interrupted by a cry-a sound of lamentation-from the upper story of the house. The
gentleman moved hurriedly to the door.
"My friend," he said, looking back, "you
needn't discuss whether he shall be removed or.
not. He has spared you that trouble, I believe."
Saying so, he ran up-stairs, followed by Mrs.
Tugby; while Mr. Tugby panted and grumbled
after them at leisure: being rendered more than
commonly short-winded by the weight of the till,
in which there had been an inconvenient quantity
of copper. Trotty, with the child beside him,
floated up the staircase like mere air.
"Follow her Follow her Follow her!"
He heard the ghostly voices in the Bells repeat
their words as he ascended. " Learn it, from the
creature dearest to your heart 1"
It was over. It was over. And this was she,
her father's pride and joy! This haggard wretched
woman, weeping by the bed, if it deserved that
name, and pressing to her breast, and hanging
down her head upon, an infant? Who can tell
how spare, how sickly, and how poor an infant?
Who can tell how dear I
"Thank God I" cried Trotty, holding up his
folded hands. "0, God be thankedl She loves
her child 1"
The gentleman, not otherwise hard-hearted or
indifferent to such scenes, than that he saw them
every day, and knew that they were figures of no
moment in the Filer sums-mere scratches in the
working of those calculations-laid his handupon
the heart that beat no more, and listened for the
breath, and said, "His pain is over. It's better =
as it is I " Mrs. Tugby tried to comfort her with
kindness. Mr. Tugby tried philosophy.
"Come, come I" he said, with his hands in his
pockets, "you mustn't give way, you know.
That won't do. You must fight up. Whatwould I
have become of me if I had given' way when I was

porter, and we had as many as six runaway carriage-doubles at our door in one night I But, I
fell back upon my strength of mind, and didn't
open it!"
Again Trotty heard the voices, saying, " Fol-.ow her " He turned towards his guide, and
saw it rising from him, passing through the air.
" Follow her I" it said. And vanished.
He hovered round her; sat down at her feet;
looked up into her face for one trace of her old
self; listened for one note of her old pleasant
voice. Ile flitted round the child: so wan, so
prematurely old, so dreadful in its gravity, so
plaintive in its feeble, mournful, miserable wail.
He almost worshipped it. He clung to it as her
only safeguard; as the last unbroken link that
bound her to endurance. He set his father's hope
and trust on the frail baby; watched her every
look upon it as she held it in her arms; and cried: thousand times, "She loves it I God be thanked,
he loves it!"
1 He saw the woman tend her in the night;
return to her when her grudging husband was
asleep, and all was still; encourage her, shed
tears with her, set nourishment before her. lie
saw the day come, and the night again; the day,
the night; the time go by; the house of death relieved of death; the room left to herself and to the
child; he heard it moan and cry; he saw it harass
her, and tire her out, and when she slumbered in
exhaustion, drag her back to consciousness, and
hold her with its little hands upon the rack; but
she-was constant tb it, gentle with it, patient
with it. Patient I Was its loving mother in her
Inmost heart and soul, and had its Being knitted
up with hers as when she carried it unborn.
All this time she was in want: languishing
away, in dire and pining want. With the baby in
her arms, she wandered here and there in quest
of occupation; and with its thin face lying in her
lap, and looking up in hers, did any work for any
wretched sum: a day and night of labor for as
many farthings as there were figures on the dial.
If she had quarrelled with it; if she had neglected
It; if she had looked upon it with a moment's
hate; if, in the frenzy of an instant, she had
struck it! No. His comfort was, She loved it
always.
She told no one of her extremity, and wandered
abroad in the day lest she should be questioned
by her only friend: for any help she received from
her hands, occasioned fresh disputes between the
good woman and her husband; and it was new
bitterness to be the daily cause of strife and discord, where she owed so much.
She loved it still. She loved it more and more.
But a change fell on the aspect of her love. One
night,
She was singing faintly to it in its sleep, and
walking to and fro to hush it, when her door was
softly opened, and a man looked in.
":ior the last time," he said.
"William Fern i"
'For the last time."

He listened like a man pursued: and spoke m
whispers.
" Margaret, my race is nearly run. I couldn't
finish it, without a parting word with you. Without one grateful word."
" What have you done?" she asked: regarding
him with terror.
He looked at her, but gave no answer.
After a short silence, he made a gesture with
his hand, as if he set her question by; as if he
brushed it aside; and said:
"It's long ago, Margaret, now; but that night
is as fresh in my memory as ever 'twas. We little
thought then," he added, looking round, "that
we should ever meet like this. Your child, Margaret? Let me have it in my arms. Let me
ho-d your child."
He put his hat upon the floor, and took it.
And he trembled as he took it, from head to foot.
"Is it a girl?"
"Yes."
He put his hand before its little face.
" See how weak I'm grown, Margaret, when I
want the courage to look at it I Let her be a moment. I won't hurt her. It's long ago-butWVhat's her name?"
"Margaret," she answered quickly.
"I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad of
that I"
Hie seemed to breathe more freely; and after
pausing for an instant, took away his hand, and
looked upon the infant's face. But covered it
again immediately.
" Margaret!" he said; and gave her back the
child. "It's Lilian's."
" Lilian's!"
" I held the same face in my arms when Lilian's
mother died and left her.'
"When Lilian's mother died and left her!"
she repeated, wildly.
" How shrill you speak I Why do you fix your
eyes upon me so? Margaret I "
She sank down in a chair, and pressed the infant to her breast, and wept over it. Sometimes
she released it from her embrace, to look anxiously in its face: then strained it to her bosom again.
At those times, when she gazed upon it, then it
was that something fierce and terrible began to
mingle with her love. Then it was, that her old
father quailed.
" Follow her I" was sounded through the
house. " Learn it, from the creature dearest to
your heart!"
"Margaret," said Fern, bending over her, and
kissing her upon the brow: " I thank you for the
last time. Good night. Good bye I Put your
hand in mine, and tell me you'll forget me from
this hour, and try to think the end of me was
here."
'" What have you done?" she asked again.
"There'll be a Fire to-night," he said, removing from her. "There'll be Fires this winter
time, to light the dark nights, East, West, North,
and South. When uon see the distant sky red.

Ts1a' -1r/aus.,hey'll be blazing. When you see the distant sky
'ed, think of me no more; or, if you do, rememjer what a Hell was lighted up inside of me, and,hink you see its flames reflected in the clouds..jood night. Good bye!".
She called to him; but he was gone. She sat
lown stupefied, until her infant roused her to a
'ense of hunger, cold, and darkness. She paced;le room with it the livelong night, hushing it
ind soothing it. She said at intervals, "Like
illian, when her mother died and left her l"
Why was her step so quick, her eyes so wild, her
ove so fierce and terrible, whenever she repeated
hose words?
"But, it is Love," said Trotty. "It is Love.
she'll never cease to love it. My poor Meg "
She dressed the child next morning with unisual care-ah vain expenditure of care upon
&gt;uch squalid robes I-and once more tried to find
'omne means of life. It was the last day of the
)ld Year. She tried till night, and never broke
ler fast. She tried in vain.
She mingled with an abject crowd, who tarried
n the snow, until it pleased some officer appoint-,d to dispense the public charity (the lawful.harity; not that, once preached upon a Mount),
o call them in, and question them, and say to
his one, "go to such a place," to that one,
'comenext week;" to make a football of another wretch, and pass him here and there, from
land to hand, from house to house, until he
wearied and lay down to die; or started up and
obbed, and so became a higher sort of criminal,
vhose claims allowed of no delay. THere, too, she
ailed.
She loved her child, and wished to have it
ying on her breast. And that was quite enough.
It was night: a bleak, dark, cutting nighlt:
vhen, pressing the child close to her for warmth,
he arrived outside the house she called her home.
)he was so faint and giddy, that she saw no one
landing in the doorway until she was close upon
t, and about to enter. Then, she recognized the
naster of the house, who had so disposed himself
-with his person it was not difficult-as to fill
sp the whole entry.
"0.!" he said softly. "You have come
arck?"
She looked at the child, and shook her head.
"Don't you think you have lived here long
Enough without paying any rent? Don't you
hink that, without any money, you've been a
)rstty constant customer at this shop, now?"
laid Mr. Tugby.
She repeated the same mnte appeal.
"Suppose you try and deal somewhere else,":e said. "And suppose you provide yourself
y vith another lodging. Come Don't you think
f 'ou could manage it?":; She said, in a low voice, that it was very late.
P. o-morrow.
"Now I see what you want," said Tugby;
'and what you mean, You know there are two
parties in this house about you, and you delight

in setting 'em by the ears. I don't want any
quarrels; I'm speaking softly to avoid a quarrel;
but if you don't go away, I'll speak out loud, and
you shall cause words high enough to please you.
But you shan't come in. That I am determined."
She put her hair back with her hand, and
looked in a sudden manner at the sky, and the
dark lowering distance.
" This is the last night of an Old Year, and I
won't carry ill-blood and quarrellings and disturbances into a New One, to please you nor anybody else," said Tugby, who was quite a retail
Friend and Father. " I wonder you an't ashamed
of yourself, to carry such practices into a New
Year. If you haven't any business in the world,
but to be always giving way, and always making
disturbances between man and wife, you'd be
better out of it. Go along with you!"
"Follow her I To desperation "
Again the old man heard the voices. Looking
up, he saw the figures hovering in the air, and
pointing where she went, down the dark street.
" She loves it 1" he exclaimed, in agonised
entreaty for her. "Chimes I she loves it still "
" Follow her I " The shadows swept upon the
track she had taken, like a cloud.
IIe joined in the ptrsuit; he kept close to her;
he looked into her face. He saw the same fierce
and terrible expression mingling with her love,
and kindling in her eyes. He heard her say
" Like Lilian I To be changed like Lilian 1" and
her speed redoubled.
0, for something to awaken her I For any
sight, or sound, or scent, to call up tender recollections in a brain on fireI For any gentle
image of the Past, to rise before her 1
"I was her father t I was her father I" cried
the old man, stretching out his hands to the dark
shadows flying on above. " Have mercy on her,
and on me I Where does she go? Turn her back I
I was her father "
But, they only pointed to her, as she hurried
on; and said, "To desperation I Learn it from
the creature dearest to your heart I"
A hundred voices echoed it. The air was made
of breath expended in those words. He seemed
to take them in, at every gasp he dreW. They
were everywhere, and not to be escaped. And
still she hurried on; the same light in her eyes,
the same words in her mouth: " Like Lilian! To
be changed like Lilian I"
All at once she stopped.
" Now, turn her back " exclaimed the old
man, tearing his white hair. " My child I Meg I
Turn her backI Great Father, turn her back!"
In her own scanty shawl, she wrapped the
baby warm. With her fevered hands, she
smoothed its limbs, composed its.face, arranged
its mean attire. In herwasted arms she flded t,
as though she never would resign it more. ind
with her dry lips, kissed it in a final pang, ad
last long agony of Love.
Putting its tiny hand up to her neck, and holding it there, within her dress, next to her dtt

CHRISTTfAS B OOS,

ed heart, she set its sleeping face against her:
closely, steadily, against her: and sped 6nward to
the river.
To the rolling River, swift and dim, where
Whiter Night sat brooding like the last dark
thoughts of many who had sought a refuge there
before her. Where scattered lights upon the banks
gleamed sullen, red and dull, as torches that were
burning there, to show the way to Death. Where
no abode of living people cast its shadow, on the
deep, impenetrable, melancholy shade.
To the River! To that portal of Eternity, her
desperate footsteps tended with the swiftness of
its rapid waters running to the sea. He tried to
touch her as she passed him, going down to its
dark level; but, the wild distempered form, the
fierce and terrible love, the desperation that had
left all human check or hold behind, swept by
him like the wind.
He followed her. She paused a moment on
the brink, before the dreadful plunge. He fell
down on his knees, and in a shriek addressed the
figures in the Bells now hovering above them.
"I have learnt it!" cried the old man.
"From the creature dearest to my heart I Oh,
save her, save her I "
He could wind his fingers in her dress; could
hold it I As the words escaped his lips he felt his
sense of touch return, and knew that he detained
her.
The figures looked down steadfastly upon him.
"I have learnt it 1" cried the old man. "Oh,
have mercy on me in this hour, if, in my love for
her, so young and good, I slandered Nature in
the breasts of mothers rendered desperate. Pity
my presumption, wickedness, and ignorance, and
save her I"
He felt his hold relaxing. They were silent
still.
" Have mercy on her I" he exclaimed, "as one
in whom this dreadful crime has sprung from
Love perverted; from the strongest, deepest Love
we fallen creatures know I Think, what her misery must have been, when such seed bears such,ruit. Heaven meant her to be good. There is
no loving mother on the earth who might not
come to this, if such a life had gone before. 0,
have mercy on my child, who, even at this pass,
means mercy to her own, and dies herself, and
perils her immortal soul, to save it!"
'She was in his arms. lie held her now. His
strength was like a giant's.
"I see the spirit of the Chimes among you "
tried the old man, singling out the child, and
epeaking in some inspiration, which their looks
conveyed to him. "I know that our inheritance
Is held in store for us by Time. I know there is
a sea of Time to rise one day, before which all
who wrong us or oppress us will be swept away
like leaves. I see i t, on the flow I know that we
must trust and hope, and neither doubt ourselves,
nordoubt the good in one another. I have learnt,t from the creature dearest to my heart. I clasp
ter in my arms again. O Spirits, merciful and

good, I take your lesson to my breast along wit
her! O Spirits, merciful and good, I am grate
ffl 1"
He might have said more; but, the Bells, tl
old familiar Bells, his own dear, constant, stead
friends, the Chimes, began to ring the joy-pea
for a New Year; so lustily, so merrily, so happil:
so gaily, that he leapt upon his feet, and brol
the spell that bound him.
"And whatever you do, father," said Me;
"don't eat tripe again, without asking some docte
whether it's likely to agree with you; for how yc
have been going on, Good gracious I"
She was working with her needle, at the litt
table by the fire; dressing her simple gown wi:
ribbons for her wedding. So quietly happy, f
blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful proi
ise, that he uttered a great cry as if it were i
Angel in his house; then flew to clasp her
his arms.
But, he caught his feet in the newspaper, whir
had fallen on the hearth; and somebody can
rlnshing in between them.
" No I " cried the voice of this same somebod:
a generous and jolly voice it was! "Not eve
you. Not even you. The first kiss of reg in tl
New Year is mine. fMine I I have been waitis
outside the house, this hour, to hear the Bells ai
claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a happy yea
A life of happy years, my darling wife "
And Richard smothered her with kisses.
You never in all your life saw anything liI
Trotty after this. I don't care where you halived or what you have seen; you never in.
your life saw anything at all approaching bin
He sat down in his chair and beat his knees ai
cried; he sat down in his chair and beat his kne
and laughed; he sat down in his chair and be
his knees and laughed and cried together; he g
out of his chair and hugged Meg; he got out
his chair and hugged Richard; he got out of 1
chair and hugged them both at once; he ke
running up to Meg, and squeezing her fresh fa
between his hands and kissing it, going from h
backwards not to lose sight of it, and running
again like a figure in a magic lantern; and whi
ever he did, he was constantly sitting hihnsc
down in this chair, and never stopping in it i
one single moment; being-that's the truth
beside himself with joy.
"And to-morrow's your wedding-day, n
pet " cried Trotty. " Your real, happy weddin
day!"
"To-day " cried Richard, shaking hands wi
him. "To-day. The Chimes are ringing in t3
New Year. Hear them "
TheywEnEE ringing Bless their sturdy heart
they WERE ringing I Great Bells as they wer,
melodious, deep-mouthed, noble Bells; cast in i
common metal; made by no common foundc
when had they ever chimed like that, before I
"But, to-day, my pet," said Trotty. "Y(
and Richard had some words to-day."
"Because he's such a bad fellow, father," sa

THE CHIMES.

Meg. "An't you, Richard? Such a headstrong, Trotty said, "It's Mrs. Chickenstalker "
violent man I He'd have made no more of speak- And sat down and beat his knees again.
ing his mind to that great Alderman, and putting " Married, and not tell me, Meg!" cried the
hin down I don't know where, than he would good woman. "Never! I couldn't rest on the
of-". last night of the Old Year without coming to wish
"- Kissing Meg," suggested Richard. Doing you joy. I couldn't have done it, Meg. Not if I
it too I had been bed-ridden. So here I am; and as it's
"No. Not a oit more," said Meg. "But I New Year's Eve, and the Eve of your wedding
wouldn't let him, father. Where would have been too, my dear, I had a little flip made, and brought
the use 1" it with me."
"Richard, my boyI" cried Trotty. "You Mrs. Chickenstalker's notion of a little flip,
was turned up Trumps originally; and Trumps did honor to her character. The pitcher steamed
you must be, till you die 1 But, you were crying and smoked and reeked like a volcano; and the
by the fire to-night, my pet, when I came home! man who had carried it, was faint.
Why did you cry by the fire? " " rs. Tugby " said Trotty, who had been
"I was thinking of the years we've passed going roupd and round her, in an ecstasy.-""I
together, father. Only that. And thinking you should say, Chickenstalker-Bless your heart and
might miss me, and be lonely." soul 1 A happy New Year, and many of 'em I
Trotty was backing off to that extraordinary Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty when he had saluted
chair again, when the child, who had been awak- her;-"I should say, Chickenstalker-This is
ened by the noise, came running in half-dressed. William Fern and Lilian."
" Why, here she is I" cried Trotty, catching The worthy dame, to his surprise, turned very
her up. "Here's little Lilian I Ha, ha, ha! Here pale and very red.
we are and here we go I Oh, here we are and here "Not Lilian Fern whose mother died in Dor
we go again I And here we are and here we go I setshire " said she.
And Uncle Will too I" Stopping in his trot to Her uncle answered, " Yes," and meeting has
greet him heartily. " Oh, Uncle Will, the vision tily, they exchanged some hurried words together;
that I've had to-night, through lodging you I Oh, of which the upshot was, that Mrs. Chickenstalker
Uncle Will, the obligations that you've laid me shook him by both hands; saluted Trotty on his
under, by your coming, my good friend " cheek again of her own free will; and took the
Before Will Fern could make the least reply, child to her capacious breast.
a band of music burst into the room, attended by "Will Fernl" said Trotty, pulling on his
a flock of neighbors, screaming, "A Happy New right-hand muffler. "Not the friend that you
Year, MegI" "A Happy Wedding I" "Many was hoping to find?"
of 'em " and other fragmentary good wishes of "Ay! " returned Will, putting a hand on each
that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty's shoulders. " And like to prove a'most
of Trotty's) then stepped forward, and said: as good a friend, if that can be, as one I found."
" Trotty Veck, my boy I It's got about, that " Oh I" said Trotty. "Please to play up there,
your daughter is going to be married to-morrow. Will you.have the goodness!"
There ain't a soul that knows you that don't wish To the music of the band, the bells, the maryou well, or that knows her and don't wish her row-bones and cleavers, all at once; and while
well. Or that knows you both, and don't wish The Chimes were yet in lusty operation out of
you both all the happiness the New Year can doors; Trotty making Meg and Richard second
bring. And here we are, to play it in and dance couple, led off Mrs. Chickenstalker down the
it in, accordingly." dance, and danced it in a step unknown before or
Which was received with a general shout. since; founded on his own peculiar trot.
The Drum was rather drunk, by the bye; but, IIad Trotty dreamed? Or, are his joys and
never mind. sorrows, and the actors in them, but a dream;
"What a happiness it is, I'm sure," said Trot- himself a dream; the teller of this tale a dreamer,
ty, "to be so esteemed 1 How kind and neigh- waking but now? If it be so, O listener, dear
borly you are I It's all along of my dear daughter. to him in all his visions, try to bear in mind the
She deserves it I" stern realities from which these shadows come;
They were ready for a dance in half a second and in your sphere-none is too wide, and none
(Meg and Richard at the top); and the Drum was too limited for such an end-endeavor to correct,
on the very brink of leathering away with all his improve, and soften them. So may the NewYear
power; when a combination of prodigious sounds be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose
was heard outside, and a good-humored comely happiness depends on you I So may each year be
woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts, happier than the last, and not the meanest of our:ame running in, attended by a man bearing a brethren or sisterhood debarred their rightful
stone pitcher of terrific size, and closely followed share, in what our Great Creator formed them to
by the marrow-bones and cleavers, and the bells; enjoy.
not the Bells, but a portable Collection, on a frame.

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.
1 t 'q Zlul o "Pto v,.

CHIRP THE FIRST.
TiE kettle began it! Don't tell me what IMrs.
Peerybingle said. I know better. iMrs. Peerybingle may leave it on record to the end of time
that she couldn't say which of them began it;
but, I say the kettle did. I ought to know, I
hope? The kettle began it, full five minutes by
the little waxy-faced Dutch clock in the corner,
before the Cricket uttered a chirp.
As if the clock hadn't finished striking, and the
convulsive little Haymaker at the top of it, jerking away right and left with a scythe in front of a
Moorish Palace, hadn't mowed down half an acre
of imaginary grass before the Cricket joined in
it all
Why, I am not naturally positive. Everyone
knows that.- I wouldn't set my own opinion
against the opinion of Mrs. Peerybingle, unless I
were quite sure, on any account whatever. Nothing should induce me. But, this is a question of
fact. And the fact is, that the kettle began it, at
least five minutes before the Cricket gave any sign
of being in existence. Contradict me, and I'll say
ten.
Let me narrate exactly how it happened. I
shold have proceeded to do so, in my very first
word, but for this plain consideration-if I am to
tell a story I must begin at the beginning; and
how is it possible to begin at the beginning without beginning at the kettle?
It appeared as if there were a sort of match, or
lial of skill, you must understand, between the
pettle and the Cricket. And this is what led to
It, and how it came about.
Mrs. Peerybingle, going out into the raw twilight, and clicking over the wet stones in a pair
of pattens that worked innumerable rough impresions Of the first proposition in Euclid all about
the yardl-Mr. Peerybingle filled the kettle at the
IWter butt. Presently returning, less the pattens
(ad:B ood deal less, for they were tall and Mrs.
Perybngle was but short), she set the kettle on
the fir. In doing which she lost her temper, or
mislaid It for an instant; for, the water being
nofortably cold, and m that slippy, slushy,

sleety sort of state wherein it seems to penetrate
through every kind of substance, patten rings included-had laid hold of Mrs. Peerybingle's toes,
and even splashed her legs. And when we rather
plume ourselves (with reason too) upon ourtegs,
and keep ourselves particularly neat in point of
stockings, we find this, for the moment, hard to
bear.
Besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate. It wouldn't allow itself tobe adjusted on
the top bar; it wouldn't hear of accommodating
itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it would lean
forward with a drunken air, and dribble, a very
Idiot of a kettle, on the hearth. It was quarrelsome, and hissed and spluttered morosely at the
fire. To sum up all, the lid, resisting Mrs. Peerybingle's fingers, fist of all turned topsy-turvy,
and then with an ingenious pertinacity deserving
of a better cause, dived sideways in-down to the
very bottom of the kettle. And the hull of the
Royal George has never made half the monstrous
resistance to coming out of the water, which the
lid of that kettle employed against Mrs. Peerybingle, before she got it up again.
It looked sullen andpig-headed enough, even
then; carrying its handle with an air of defiance,
and cocking its spout pertly and mockingly at
Mrs. Peerybingle, as if it said, "I won't boil.
Nothing shall induce me "
But, Mrs. Peerybingle, with restored good humor, dusted her chubby little hands against each
other, and sat down before the kettle, laughing.
Meantime, the jolly blaze uprose and fell, flashing
and gleaming on the little Haymaker at the top
of the Dutch clock, until one might have thought
he stood stock still before the Moorish Palace, and
nothing was in motion but the flame.
He was rn the move, however; and had his
spasms, two to the second, all right and regular.
But, his sufferings when the clock was going to
strike, were frightful to behold; and when a
Cuckoo looked out of a trap-door in the Palace,
and gave note six times, it shook him, each time,
like a spectral voice-or like a something wiry,
plucking at his legs.
FIt was not until a violent commotion and a

THE CRICKET O THE HEAITH.

6-l

whirring noise among the weights and ropes be-.low him had quite subsided, that this terrified
Iaymaker became himself again. Nor was he
startled without reason; for, these rattling, bony
skeletons of clocks are very disconcerting in their
operation, and I wonder very much how any set
of men, but most of all how Datnenlel, can have
had a liking to invent them. There is a popular
belief that Dutchmen love broad cases and much
clothing for their own lower selves; and they
might know better than to leave their clocks so
very lank and unprotected, surely.
Now it was, you observe, that the kettle began
to spend the evening. Now it was, that the kettle,
growing mellow and musical, betgan to have irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in
short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud,
as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet, to be
good company. Now it was, that after two or
three such vain attempts to stifle its convivial
sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream of song so cosy and
hilarious, as never maudlin nightingale yet formed
the least idea of.
So plain too I Bless you, you might have nnderstood it like a book-better than some books
you and I could name, perhaps. With its warm
breath gushing forth in a light cloud which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung
about the chimney-corner as its own domestic
Ileaven, it trolled its song with that strong energy
of cheerfulness, that its iron body hummed and
stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the recent
rebellious lid-such is the influence of a bright example-performed a sort of jig, and clattered like
a deaf and dumb young cymbal that had never
known the use of its twin brother.
That this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and welcome to somebody out of doors:
to somebody at that moment coming on, towards
the snug small home and the crisp fire: there is
no doubt whatever. Mrs. Peerybingle knew it,
perfectly, as she sat musing before the hearth.
It's a dark night, sang the kettle, and the rotten
leaves are lying by the way; and, above, all is
mist and darkness, and, below, all is mire and
clay; and there's only one relief in all the sad and
murlky air; and I don't know that it is one, for
it's nothing but a glare; of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and wind together; set a
brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such
weather; and the widest open country is a long
dull streak of black; and there's hoar-frost on the
finger-post, and thaw upon the track; and the ice
X it isn't water, and the water isn't free; and you
couldn't say that anything is what it ought to be;
but he's cin coming, coming g --
And here, if you like, the Cricket Dnn chime
tn I with a Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup, of such
m agnoitde, by way of chorus; with a voice, so
astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the kettle (size I you couldn't see it I),
that if it had then and there burst itself like an
over-charge gun, if it had fallen a victim on the

spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces
it would have seemed a natural and inevitable
consequence, for which it had expressly labored.
The kettle had had the last of its solo perform.
ance. It persevered with undiminished ardor
but the Cricket took first fiddle and kept it. Good
hecaven, how it chirped! Its shrill, sharp, pier
cing voice resounded through the house, and
seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a
star. There was an indescribable little trill and
tremble in it at its loudest, which suggested its
being carried off its legs, and made toleap again,
by its own intense enthusiasm. Yet they went
very well together the Cricket and the kettle.
The 'burden of the song was still the same; and
louder, louder, louder still, they sang it in their
emulation.
The fair little listener-for fair she was, and,
young: though something of what is called the
dumpling shape; but I don't myself object to that j
-lighted a candle, glanced at the Haymaker on
the top of the clock, who was getting in a pretty t
average crop of minutes: and looked out of the i
window, where she saw nothing, owing to the
darkness, but her own face imaged in the glass.
And my opinion is (and so would yours have
been), that she might have looked a long way and
seen nothing half so agreeable. When she came
back, and sat down in her former seat, the Cricket
and the kettle were still keeping it up, with a perfect fury of competition. The kettle's weak sideclearly being, that he didn't know when he was
beat.
There was all the excitement of a race about
it. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket a mile ahead.
Hum, hum, hum-m-m I Kettle making play in
the distance, like a great top. Chirp, chirp, chirp
Cricket round the corner. Hlum, hum, hum,
â m-m I Kettle sticking to him in his own
way: no idea of giving in. Chirp,- chirp, chirp I
Cricket fresher than ever. Hlum, hum, hum âm
-m! Kettle slow and steady. Chirp, chirp,
chirp! Cricket going in to finish him. Hum,
hum, hum âm-m- I Kettle not to be finished.
Until at last, they got so jumbled together, in the
hurry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the match, that
whether the kettle chirped and the Cricket
hummed, or the Cricket chirped and the kettle
hummed, or they both chirped and both hummed,
it would have taken a clearer head than yours or
mine to have decided with anything like certainty. But, of this, there is no doubt: that, the
kettle and the Cricket, at one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation
best known to themselves, sent, each, his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of
the candle that shone out through the window,
and a long way down the lane. And this light,
bursting on a certain person who, on the i:n
stant, approached towards it through the glooAl
expressed the whole thing to him, literay In a
twinkling, and cried, "Welcome home, old fellow I Welcomi home, m boy i
This end attained, the kettle, being dead blt5t
low Wecm hoe my boy!",X0ff

C1,RISTJfAS BOOKS.

boiled over, and was taken off the fire. Mrs
Peerybingle then went running to the door, where
what with the wheels of a cart, the tramp of E
horse, the voice of a man, the tearing in and out o
an excited dog, and the surprising and mysterious
appearance of a baby, there was soon the vcry
What's-his-name to pay.
Where the baby came from, or how Mrs.
Peerybingle got hold of it in that flash of time. j
don't know. But a live baby there was, in Mrs.
Peerybingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable amount
of pride she seemed to have in it, when she was
drawn gently to the fire, by a sturdy figure of a
man, much taller and much older than herself, who
had to stoop a long way down to kiss her. But
she was worth the trouble. Six foot six, with
the lumbago, might have done it.
" Oh goodness, John I" said Mrs. P. " What
a state you're in with the weather I "
lHe was something the worse for it undeniably.
The thick mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes
like candied thaw; and, between the fog and fire
together, there were rainbows in his very whiskers.
"Why, you see, Dot," John made answer,
slowly, as he unrolled a shawl from about his
throat; and warmed his hands; "it-it an't exactly summer weather. So, no wonder."
"I wish you wouldn't call me Dot, John. I
don't like it," said Mrs. Peerybingle: pouting in a
way that clearly showed she did like it, very much.
"Why what else are yoitr" returned John,
looking down upon her with a smile, and giving
her waist as light a squeeze as his huge hand and
arm could give. " A dot and "-here he glanced
at the baby-" a dot and carry-I won't say it, for
fear I should spoil it; but I was very near a joke.
I don'tknow as ever I was nearer.", He was often near to something or other very
clever, by his own account: this lumbering, slow,
honest John; this John so heavy, but so light of
spirit; so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at
the core; so dull without, so quick within; so
stolid, but so good! Oh Mother Nature, give thy
children the true poetry of heart that hid itself in
this poor Carrier's breast-he was but a Carrier
by the way-and we can bear to have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose; and bear
to bless thee for their company I
It was pleasant to see Dot, with her little figare and her baby in her arms: a very doll of a
baby: glancing with a coquettish thoughtfulness at
the fire, and inclining her delicate little head just
enough on one side to let it rest in an odd, halfnatural, 'half-affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, on the great rugged figure of the Carrier. It was pleasant to see him, with his tender
awkwardness, endeavoring to adapt his rude support to her slight need, and make his burly middleage a leaning-staff not inappropriate to her blooming youth. It was pleasant to observe how Tilly
Slowboy, waiting in the background for the baby,
took specia cognizance (though in her earliest
tees&gt; of this grouping; and stood with hermouth
aadees wide opei, and her head thrust forward,. taking it in as if it were air. Nor was it less, agreeable to observe how John the Carrier, refera ence being made by Dot to the aforesaid baby.
f checked his hand when on the point of touching
s the infant, as if he thought he might crack it; and
bending down. surveyed it from a safe distance,
with a kind of puzzled pride, such as an amiable
mastiff might be supposed to show, if he found
himself, one day, the father of a young canary.
"An't he beautiful, John? Don't he tokk
L precious in his sleep?"
I " Very precious," said John. "Very much so.
l He generally is asleep, an't he?"
Lor, John! Good gracious no!"
"Oh," said John, pondering. " I.thought hie
eyes was generally shut. Halloa I"
"Goodness, John, how you startle one I"
"It an't right for him to turn 'emn up in that
way! " said the astonished Carrier, "is it? See
how he's winking with both of 'em at once I and
look at his mouth! Why he's gasping like a gold
and silver fish!"
" You don't deserve to he a father, you don't,"
said Dot, with all the dignity of an experienced
matron. " But how should you know what little
complaints children are troubled with, John!
You wouldn't so much as know their names,
you stupid fellow." And when she had turned
the baby over on her left arm, and had slapped its
back as a restorative, she pinched her husband's
ear, laughing.
" No," said John, pulling off his outer coat.
"It's very true, Dot. I don't know much about
it. I only know that I've been fighting pretty
stiffly with the wind to-night. It's been blowing
north-east, straight into the cart, the whole way
home."
" Poor old man, so it has!" cried Mrs. Peerybingle, instantly becoming very active. " Here i
take the precious darling, Tilly, while I make myself of some use. Bless it, I could smother it with
kissing it, I could I Hie then, good dog I Hie
Boxer, boy! Only let me make the tea first,
John; and then I'll help you with the parcels,
like a busy bee. 'How doth the little '-and all
the rest of it, you know, John. Did you ever
learn 'how doth the little,' when you went to
school, John?"
"Not to quite know it," John returned. "I
was very near it once. But I should only have
spoilt it, I dare say."
" Ha, ha," laughed Dot. She had the blithest
little laugh you ever heard. "What a dear old
darling of a dunce you are, John, to be sure I"
Not at all disputing this position, John went
out to see that the boy with the lantern, which
had been dancing to and fro before the door and
window, like a Will of the Wisp, took due care of
the horse; who was fatter than you would quite
believe, if 1 gave you his measure, and so old that
his blrttday was lost in the mists of antiquity.
Boxer, fling that his attentions were due to the
family i: general, and must be impartially dis
trbuttie, dashed in and out with bewildering in

THIE CIRCKET ON THIE HEARTf.

constancy, now, describing a circle of short
i barks round the horse, where he was being rubbed
i down at the stable-door; now, feigning to make
t savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiously
bringing himself to sudden stops; now, eliciting
a shriek from Tilly Slowboy, in the low nursingI chair near the fire, by the unexpected application
of his moist nose to her countenance; now, exhibiting an obtrusive interest in the baby; now,
golu. round and round upon the hearth, and lying
down as if he had established himself for the
night; now, getting up again, and taking that
nothing of a fag-end of a tail of his, out into the
weather, as if he had just remembered an appointment, and was off, at a round trot, to keep
&gt; it.: "There There's the tea-pot, ready on the; hob 1" said Dot; as briskly busy as a child at
play at keeping house. "And there's the cold
knuckle of ham; and there's the butter; and
there's the crusty loaf, and all I Here's a clothes' basket for the small parcels, John, if you've got
any there-where are you, John? Don't let the: dear child fail under the grate, Tilly, whatever
you do "
It may be noted of Miss Slowboy, in spite of
her rejecting the caution with some vivacity, that
she had a rare and surprising talent for getting;his baby into difficulties: and had several times
mperilled its short life, in a quiet way peculiarly
aer own. She was of a spare and straight shape,
his young lady, insomuch that her garments appeared to be in constant danger of sliding off those
sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they were
nosely hung. Her costume was remarkable for the
) artial development, on all possible occasions, of
some flannel vestment of a singular structure; also
br affording glimpses, in the region of the back,.f a corset, or pair of stays, in color a dead-green.
DBing always in a state of gaping admiration at
everything, and absorbed, besides, in the perpetual contemplation of her mistress's perfections
and the baby's, Miss Slowboy, in her little errors
ofjudigment may be said to have done equal honor tb her head and to her heart; and though these
did less honor to the baby's head, which they
were the occasional means of bringing into contact with deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bedposts,
and other foreign substances, still they were the
i honest results of Tilly Slowboy's constant astonishment at finding herself so kindly treated, and
Installed in such a comfortable home. For, the
maternal and paternal Slowboy were alike unknown to Fame, and Tilly had been bred by public
I charity a foundling; which word, though only
differing from fondling by one vowel's length, is
very different in meaning, and expresses quite
I another thing.
To have seen little Mirs. Perrybingle come back
with her husband, tugging at the clothes-basket,
and making the most strenuous exertions to do
nothing at all (for he carried it); would have
amiused you, almost as much' as it amused him.
t may have entertained the Cricket too, for any1. * o.

thing I know;- hut, certainly, it now began to
zhirp again, vehemently.
"i eydey!" said John, in his slow way. " It's
merrier than ever to-night, I think."
"And it's sure to bring us good fortune, John'
It always has done so. To have a Cricket on the
Hearth is the luckiest thing in the world "
John looked at her as if he had very nearly got
the thought into his head, that she was his Cricket
in chief, and he quite agreed with her. But, it
was probably one of his narrow escapes, for he
said nothing.
" The first time I heard its cheerful little note,
John, was on that night when you brought me
home-when you brought me to my new home i
here; its little mistress. Nearly a year ago. Yo,'
recollect, John?"
O yes. John remembered. I should think
so!
"Its chirp was such a welcome to met It i
seemed so full of promise and encouragement.
It seemed to say, you would be kind and gentle
with me, and would not expect (I had a fear of
that, John, then) to find an old head on the shoulders of your foolish little wife."
John thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders,
and then the head, as though he would have said
No, no; he had had no such expectation; he had
been quite content to take them as they were.
And really he had reason. They were very
comely.
"It spoke the truth, John, when it seemed to I
say so: for you have ever been, I am sure, the i
best, the most considerate, the most affectionate
of husbands to me. This has been a happy home,
John; and I love the Cricket for its sake I "
" Why so do I then," said the Carrier. " So do
I, Dot."
"I love it for the many timcs I have heard it,
and the many thoughts its harmless music has
given me. Sometimes, in the twilight, when I
have felt a little solitary and down-hearted, John
-before baby was here, to keep me company and
make the house gay-when I have thought how
lonely you would be if I should die; how lonely I
should be, if I could know that you had lost me,
dear; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp upon the hearth,
has seemed to tell me of another little voice, so
sweet, so very dear to me, before whose coming
sound, my trouble vanished like a dream. And
when I used to fear-I did fear once, John, I was
very young you know-that ours might prove to
be an ill-assorted marriage, I being such a child,
and you more like my guardian than my husband;
and that you might not, however hard you tried,
be able to learn to love me, as you hoped and
prayed you might; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp, has
cheered me up again, and filled me with new trust
and.confidexce. I was thinking of these things
to-night, dear, when I sat expecting you; and I
love the Cricket for their sake I"
"And so do I," repeated John. "But Dot
I hope and pray that I might learn to love you
How you talk I. had learnt that, long befoe I
- ^. -,,

CHRISTJMAS BOOKS.

brought you here, to be the Cricket's little mis-.
tress, Dot 1"
She laid her hand, an instant, on his arm, and
looked up at him with an agitated face, as if she
would have told him something. Next moment,
she was down upon her knees before the basket;
speaking in a sprightly voice, and busy with the
parcels.
"There are not many of them to-nilght, John,
but I saw some goods behind the cart, just now;
and though they give more trouble, perhaps, still
they pay as well; so we have no reason to grumble, have we? Besides, you have been delivering,
I dare say, as you came along? "
"Oh yes," John said. "A good many."
"Why what's this round box? Heart alive,
John, it's a wedding-cake I"
" Leave a woman alone to find out that," said
John admiringly. " Now a man would never have
thought of it I Whereas, it's my belief that if
you was to pack a wedding-cake up in a tea-chest,
or a turn-up bedstead, or a pickled salmon keg,
or any unlikely thing, a woman would be sure to
find it out directly. Yes; I called for it at the
pastry-cook's."
"And it weighs I don't know what-whole
hundred-weights I" cried Dot, making a great
demonstration of trying to lift it. "Whose is it,
John? Where s it going?"
"Read the writing on the other side," said
John.
"Why, John I My Goodness, John 1"
"Ah I who'd have thought it " John returned.
"You never mean to say," pursued Dot, sitting
on the floor, and shaking her head at him, "that
it's Gruff and Tackleton the toymaker!"
John nodded.
Mrs. Peerybingle nodded also, fifty times at
least. Not in assent-in dumb and pitying amazement; screwing up her lips the while, with all
their little force (they were never made for screwing up; I am clear of that), and looking the good
Carrier through and through, in her abstraction.
Miss Slowboy, ih the mean time, who had a mechanical power of reproducing scraps of current
conversation for the delectation of the baby, with
fll the sense struck out of them, and all the nouns
changed into the plural number, inquired aloud
of that young creature, Was it Gruffs and Tackletons the toymakers then, and Would it call at
Pastry-cooks for wedding-cakes, and Did its
nothers know the boxes when its fathers brought
thei hone; and so on.
And that is really to come about " said Dt.
Wtiy, she and I Were girls at school together,
tohn."
He might have been thihking of her, or nearly
thinking of her, perhaps, as she was in that same:cloi time. Ie looked upon her with a thoughtIil piieasire, but he made no answer.:"And he's as old I As unlike her! âWhy, how
py yers older thal you, is Gruff and Tackle-; OW f manyi mObre cups of tea shall I drink to

night at one sitting, than Gruff and Tackleton
ever took in four, I wonder I" replied John, goodhumoredly, as he drew a chair to the round table,
and began at the cold ham. "As to eating, I eat
but little; but, that little I enjoy, Dot."
Even this, his usual sentiment at meal times,
one of his innocent delusions (for his appetite was
always obstinate and flatly contradicted him);
awoke no smile in the face of his little wife, who
stood among the parcels, pushing the cake-box
slowly from her with her foot, and never once
looked, though her eyes were cast down too, upon
the dainty shoe she generally was so mindful of.
Absorbed in thought, she stood there, heedless
alike of the tea and John (although he called to
her, and rapped the table with his knife to startle
her), until he rose and touched her on the arm;
when she looked at him for a moment, and hurried
to her place behind the tea-board, laughing at her
negligence. But, not as she had laughed before.
The manner and the music were quite changed.
The Cricket, too, had stopped. Somehow the
room was not so cheerful as it had been. Nolh
ing like it.
" So, these are all the parcels, are they, John?"
she said, breaking a long silence, which the honest
Carrier had devoted to the practical illustration
of one part of his favorite sentiment-certainly enjoying what he ate, if it couldn't be admitted that
he ate but little. " Po these are all the parcels;
are they, John?"
"That's all," said John. "Why-no-I-"
laying down his knife and fork, and taking a long
breath. " I-declare-I've clean forgotten the old
gentleman "
"The old gentleman?"
"In the cart," said John. "Ie was asleep
among the straw, the last time I saw hin. I've
very nearly remembered him, twice, since I came
in; but, he went out of my head again. Halloa!
Yahip there! Rouse up That's my hearty! '
John said these latter words outside the door,
whither he had hurried with the candle in his
hand.
Miss Slowboy, conscious of some mysterious
reference to The Old Gentleman, and connecting
in her mystified imagination certain associations
of a religious nature with the phrase, was so disturbed, that hastily rising from the low chair by
the fire to seek protection near the skirt of her
mistress, and coming into contact as she crossed
the doorway with an ancient Stranger, she instinctively made a charge or butt at him with the
only offensive instrument within her reach. This
instrument happening to be the baby, great commotion and alarm ensued, which the sagacity of
Boxer rather tended to increase; for, that good
dog, more thoughtful than the master, had, it
seemed, been watching the old gentleman in his
sleep, lest he should-walk off with a few young
poplar-trees that were tied up behind the cart;
and he still attended upon him very closey, worrying his giters in fact, and making dead sets at
he buttons.

TIE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

"tou're sach aL undeniable good sleeper,
ir," said John, when tranquillity was restored;
in the mean time the old gentleman had stood,
oareheaded and motionless, in the centre of the
room; " that I have half a mind to ask you where
the other six are-only that would be a joke, and
[ know I should spoil it. Very near though,"
ntlrmured the Carrier, with a chuckle; "very
near I"
The Stranger, who had long white hair, good
eatures, singularly bold and well defined for an
)ld man, and dark, bright, penetrating eyes,
ooked round with a smile, and saluted the
Jarrier's wife by gravely inclining his head.
His garb was very quaint and odd-along, long
xvay behind the time. Its hue was brown, all
)ver. In his hand he held a great brown club or
Ralking-stick; and striking this upon the floor,
t fell asunder, and became a chair. On which he
sat down, quite composedly.
"There!" said the Carrier, turning to his
vife. " That's the way I found him, sitting by;he roadside! Upright as a milestone. And alnost as deaf."
" Sitting in the open air, John!"
"In the open air," replied the Carrier, "just
It dusk. 'Carriage Paid,' he said; and gave me
fighteenpehce. Then he got in. And there he
5."
"He's going, John, I think "
Not at all. He was only going to speak.
"If you please, I was to be left till called for,"
iaid the Stranger, mildly. "Don't mind me."
With that, he took a pair of spectacles fron
me of his large pockets, and a book from another,
nd leisurely began to read. Making no more of
3oxer than if he had been a house lamb I
The Carrier and his wife exchanged a look of
)erplexity. The Stranger raised his head; and
lancing from the latter to the former, said,
"Your daughter, my good friend?"
"Wife," returned John.
" Niece? " said the Stranger.
"Wife," roared John.
"Indeed? " observed the Stranger. " Surely?
'ery young 1"
He quietly turned over, and resumed his readng. But, before he could have read two lines, he
igain interrupted himself, to say:
" Baby, yours? "
John gave him a gigantic nod: equivalent to
'n answer in the affirmative, delivered through a
peaking-trumpet.
"Girl?"
" Bo-o-oy 1" roared John.
"Also very young, eh,
rs. Peerybingle instantly struck in. "Two
adnths and three da-ays. Vaccinated just six
reeks ago-ol Took very fihe-ly I Considered,
y the doctor, a iemarkably beautifui chi-ild!?1qual to the general run of children at five mon ths,&gt;-ld Takes notice, in a Way quite won-der-ftil
fay seem impossible to you, but feels hir legs
I-ready "

Here, the breathless little mother, who had
been shrieking these short sentences into the old
man's ear, until her pretty face was crimsoned,
held up the Baby before him as a stubborn and
triumphant fact; while Tilly Slowboy, with a
melodious cry of "Ketcher, Ketcher" âwhich
sounded like some unknown words, adapted to a
popular Sneeze-performed some cow-like gambols around that all-unconscious Innocent.
"IHark! He's called for, sure enough," said
John. "Thee's somebody at the door. Open
it, Tilly."
Before she could reach it, however, it was
opened from without; being a primitive sort of
door, with a latch that any one could lift if he
choose-and a good many people did choose, for
all kinds of neighbors liked to have a cheerful
word or two with the Carrier, though he was no
great talker himself. Being opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre, thoughtful, dingyfhced man, who seemed to have made himself a
great-coat from the sack-cloth covering of some
old box; for, when he turned to shut the door,
and keep the weather out, he disclosed upon the
back of that garment the inscription G &amp; T in
large black capitals. Also the word GLASS in
bold characters.
" Good evening, John " said the little man.
"Good evening, Mum. Good evening, Tilly.
Good evening, Unbeknown? How's Baby Mum i
Boxer's pretty well I hope?"
"All thriving, Caleb," replied Dot. "I am
sure you need only look at the dear child, for one,
to know that."
"And I'm sure I need only look at you for
another," said Caleb.
He didn't look at her though; he had a wandering and thoughtful eye which seemed to be always projecting itself into some other time and
place, no matter what he said; a description which
will equally apply to his voice.
"Or at John for another," said Caleb. "Or
at Tilly, as Par as that goes. Or certainly at
Boxer."
"Busy just now, Caleb?" asked the Carrier.
"Why, pretty well, John," he returned, with
the distraught air of- a man who was casting
about for the Philosopher's stone, at least.
"Pretty much so. There's rathera run on Noah'S
Arks at present. I could have wished to improve
upon the Family, but I don't see how it's to be
done at the price. It would be a satisfaction to
one's mind, to make it clearer which was Shems
and Hams, and which was Wives. Flies an't on
that scale neither, as compared with elephants
you know Ah I well Have you got anything
in the parcel line for me, John?"
The Carrier put his hand into a pocket of the
coat he had taken off; and brought out, carefully
preserved in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot.
"There it is t" he said, adjusting it witlh ig
care. "Not so much as a leaf damaged. ful of
buds i"

CHRISTMAS BOOS.

Caleb's dull eye brightened, as he took it, and
thanked him.
"Dear, Caleb,"' said the Carrier. " Very dear
at this season."
" Never mind that. It would be cheap to me,
whatever it cost," returned the little man. "Aiything else, John?"
"A small box," replied the Carrier. "Here
you are!"
"'For Caleb Plummer,' " said the little man,
spelling out the direction. "'With Cash.'
With Cash, John? I don't think it's for me."
"With Care," returned the Carrier, looking
over his shoulder. "Where do you make out
cash "
"OhI To be sure!" said Caleb. "It's all
right. With care Yes, yes; that's mine. It
might have been with cash, indeed, if my dear
Boy in the Golden South Americas had lived,
John. You loved him like a son; didn't you?
You needn't say you did. I know, of course.
' Caleb Plummer. With care.' Yes, yes, it's all
right. It's a box of dolls' eyes for my daughter's
work. I wish it was her own sight in a box,
John."
" I wish it was, or could be! " cried the Carrier.
"Thankee," said the little man. " You speak
very hearty. To think that she should never see
the Dolls-and them a staring at her, so bold, all
day long I That's where it cuts. What's the
damage, John?"
"I'll damage you," said John, " if you inquire.
Dot Very near?"
"Well I it's like you to say so," observed the
little man. It's your kind way. Let me see. I
think that's all."
"I think not," said the Carrier. "Try
again."
"Something for our Governor, eh? " said Caleb, after pondering a little while. "To be sure.
That's what I came for; but my head's so running
on them Arks and things 1 le hasn't been here,
has he?"
"Not he," returned the Carrier. "He's too
basy, courting."
"He's coming round though," said Caleb';
"for he told me to keep on the near side of the
road going home, and it was ten to one he'd take
me up. I had better go, by the bye.-You
ouldn't have the goodness to let me pinch
Boxer's tail, Mum, for half a moment, could
rou?"
"Why, Caleb I what a question 1"
"Oh never mind, Mum," said the little man,
'ie mightn't like it perhaps. There's a small
order just come in, for barking dogs; and I
should wish to go as close to Natur' as I could for
sixpence. That's all. Never mind, Mum."
It happened opportunely, that Boxer, without
receiving the proposed stimulus, began to bark
with great zeal. But, as this implied the approach of some new visitor, Caleb, postponing
-his study frc the life to a more convenient sea

son, shouldered the round box, and took a hur
ried leave. He might have spared himself th(
trouble, for he met the visitor upon the threshold
"Oh You are here, are you? Wait a bit
I'll take you home. John Peerybingle, my ser
vice to you. More of my service to your prett2
wife. Handsomer every day! Better too, if pos
sible I And younger," mused the speaker in i
low voice, " that's the devil of it I"
" I should be astonished at your paying com
pliments, Mr. Tackleton," said Dot, not with the
best grace in the world; "but for your condi
tion."
" You know all about it, then?"
"I have got myself to believe it somehow,'
said Dot.
"After a hard struggle, I suppose?"
"Very."
Tackleton the Toy merchant, pretty generally
known as Gruff and Tackleton-for that was tlu
firm, though Gruff had been bought out long ago
only leaving his name, and as some said his na
ture, according to its Dictionary meaning, in thi
business-Tackleton the Toy merchant, was
man whose vocation had been quite misunder
stood by his Parents and Guardians. If they ha(
made him a Money Lender, or a sharp Attorney
or a Sheriff's Officer, or a Broker, he might have
sown his discontented oats in his youth, and
after having had the full-run of himself in ill
natured transactions, might have turned out ami
able, at last, for the sake of a little freshness ant
novelty. But, cramped and chafing in the peace
able pursuit of toy-making, he was a domestic
Ogre, who had been living on children all his life
and was their implacable enemy. He despised al
toys; wouldn't have bought one for the world
delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim expres
sions into the faces of brown paper farmers whi
drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertise(
lost lawyers' consciences, moveable old ladie
who darned stockings or carved pies; and othe
like samples of his stock in trade. -In appalling
masks; hideous, hairy, red-eyed Jacks in Boxes
Vampire Kites; demoniacal Tumblers who
wouldn't lie down, and were perpetually flying
foiward, to stare infants out of countenance; hi
soul perfectly revelled. They were his only reliet
and safety-valve. He was great in such inven
tions. Anything suggestive of a Pony nightmare
was delicious to him. He had even lost mone:
(and he took to that toy very kindly) by gettin:
up Goblin slides for magic lanterns, whereon th,
Powers of Darkness were depicted as a sort o:
supernatural shell-fish, with human faces. In in
tensifying the portraiture of Giants, he had sun]
quite a little capital; and, though no painter him
self, he could indicate, for the instruction of hi
artists, with a piece of chalk, a certain furtiv
leer for the countenances of those monsters
which was safe to destroy the peace of mind oi
any young gentleman between the ages of six am
eleven, for the whole Christmas or Midsumnle
Vacation.

THE URTlUCA&amp;r7u71i'.vZZ"inyAYAi'

What ne was in toys, he was (as most men are)
t other things. You may easily suppose, there)re, that within the great green cape, which
cached down to the calves of his legs, there was
attoned up to the chin an uncommonly pleasant
-llow; and that he was about as choice a spirit,
nd as agreeable a companion, as ever stood in a
air of bull-headed looking boots with mahoganyolored tops.
Still, Tackleton, the toy merchant, was going
) be married. In spite of all this, he was going
) be married. And to a young wife, too, a beauiful young wife.
He didn't look much like a Bridegroom, as he
tood in the Carrier's kitchen, with a twist in his
ry face, and a screw in his body, and his hat.rked over the bridge of his nose, and his hands
icked down into the bottoms of his pockets, and
is whole sarcastic ill-conditioned self peering
ut of one little corner of one little eye, like the
oncentrated essence of any number of ravens.
tut. a Bridegroom he designed to be.
"In three days' time. Next Thursday. The
ist day of the first month in the year. That's
ly wedding-day," said Tackleton.
Did I mention that he had always one eye
7ide open, and one eye nearly shut; and that the
ne eye nearly shut, was always the expressive
ye? I don't think I did.
"That's my wedding-day I" said Tackleton,
attling his money.
" Why, it's our wedding-day, too," exclaimed
he Carrier.
"Ha, ha " laughed Tackleton. "Odd
Lou're just such another couple. Just!"
The indignation of Dot at this presumptuous.ssertion is not to be described. What next?
-is imagination would compass the possibility of
just such another Baby, perhaps. The man was
nad.
" I say I A word with you," murmured Tacleton, nudging the Carrier with his elbow, and
aking him a little apart, "You'll come to the
vedding? We're in the same boat, you know."
"How in the same boat?" inquired the Carier.
"A little disparity, you know;" said Tacklem)n, with another nudge. " Come and spend an
irening with us beforehand."
"Why?" demanded John, astonished at this
di resing hospitality.
" Why?" returned the othe. "That's a new
way of receiving an invitation. Why, for pleasure
-sociability, you know, and all that?"
" I thought you were never sociable," said John,
In his plain way.
" Tchah I It's of no use to be anything but free
with you, I see," said Tackleton. "Why, then,
the truth is you have a-what tea-drinking people
call a sort of a comfortable appearance together,
/o and your wife. We know better, you know,
but-"
"No, we don't know better," interposed John.
What are you talking about?"
4

"WellI We don't know better then," said
Tackleton. " We'll agree that we doh't. As you
like; what does it matter? I was going to say,
as you have that sort of appearance, your company
will produce a favorable effect on Mrs. Tackleton
that will be. And, though I don't think your good
lady's very friendly to me, in this matter, still she
can't help herself from falling into my views, for
there's a compactness and cosiness of appearance
about her that always tells, even in an indifferent
case. You'll say you'll cone? "
"We have arranged to keep our Wedding-day
(as far as that goes) at home," said John. " We
have made the promise to ourselves these six
months. We think, you see, that home-"
"Bah! what's home?" cried Tackleton.
"Four walls and a ceiling! (why don't you kill
that Cricket; Iwould! I always do. I hate their
noise.) There are four walls and a ceiling at my
house. Come to me I"
"You kill your Crickets, eh?" said John.
"Scrunch 'em, sir," returned the other, setting
his heel heavily on the floor. " You'll say you'll
come? It's as much your interest as mine, you
know, that the women should persuade each other
that they're quiet and contented, and couldn't be
better off. I know their way. Whatever one woman says, another woman is determined to clinch,
always. There's that spirit of emulation among
'em, sir, that if your wife says to my wife, 'I'm
the happiest woman in the world, and mine's the
best husband in the world, and I dote on him,'
my wife will say the same to yours, or more, and
half believe it."
"Do you mean to say she don't, then?" asked
the Carrier.
'" Don't " cried Tackleton, with a short, sharp,
laugh. "Don't what?"
The Carrier had some faint idea of adding,
"dote upon you." But, happening to meet the
half-closed eye, as it twinkled upon him over the
turned-up collar of the cape, which was within an
ace of poking it out, he felt it such an unlikely
part and parcel of anything to be doted on, that
he substituted, " that she don't believe it?"
" Ah you dog! You're joking," said Tackleton.
But the Carrier, though slow to understand
the full drift of his meaning, eyed him in such a
serious manner, that he was obliged to be a littler
more explanatory.
"I have the humor," said Tackleton: holding
up the fingers of his left hand, and tapping his
forefinger, to imply ' there I am, Tackleton to wit:'
"I have the humor, sir, to marry a young wife,
and a pretty wife: " here he rapped his little finger, to express the Bride; not sparingly, but sharply; with a sense of power. " I'm able to gratify
that humor and I do. It's my whim. But-now
look there I"
He pointed to where Dot was sitting, thoughtfully, before the fire; leaning her dimpled chin
upon her hand, and watching the bright blaze.
The Carrier looked at her, and then at him; and
then at her, and then at him again.

UWAUIWTAIS BU0S0.

" She honors and obeys, no doubt, you. know,"
raid Tackleton; " and that, as I am not a man of
sentiment, is quite enough for me. But do you
think there's anything more in it?"
"I think," observed the Carrier, "that I should
chuck any man out of window, who said there
wasn't."
"Exactly so," returned the other with an unusual alacrity of assent. " To be sure! Doubtless you would. Of course. I'm certain of it.
Good night. Pleasant dreams!"
The Carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortable and uncertain, in spite of himself. He couldn't
help showing it, in his manner.
" Good night, my dear friend! " said Tackleton, compassionately. "I'm off. We're exactly
alike, in reality, I see. You won't give us tomorrow evening? Well I Next day you go out
visiting, I know. I'll meet you there, and bring
my wife that is to be. It'll do her good. You're
agreeable? Thankee. What's that I"
It was a loud cry from the Carrier's wife: a
loud, sharp, sudden cry, that made the room ring,
like a glass vessel. She had risen from her seat,
and stood like one transfixed by terror and surprise. The Stranger had advanced towards the
fire to warm himself, and stood within a short
stride of her chair. But quite still.
"Dot!" cried the Carrier I " Mary I Darling I
What's the matter?"
Theywere all about her in a moment. Caleb,
who had been dozing on the cake-box, in the first
Imperfect recovery of his suspended presence of
mind, seized Miss Slowboy by the hair of her
head, but immediately apologised.
"Mary!" exclaimed the Carrier, supporting
her in his arms. "Are you ill? What is it?
Tell me, dear I"
She only answered by beating her hands together, and falling into a wild fit of laughter.
Then, sinking from his grasp upon the ground,
she covered her face with her apron, and wept
bitterly. And then, she laughed again, and then
she cried again, and then she said how cold she
was, and suffered him to lead her to the fire,
where she sat down as before. The old man
standing, as before, quite still.
"I'm better, John," she said. "I'm quite:well now-I-["
"1 John I" But John was on the other side of
her. Why turn her face towards the strange old
gentleman, as if addressing him I Was her brain
wandering?
"Only a fancy, John dear-a kind of shock-a
something coming suddenly before my eyes-I
don't know what it was. It's quite gone, quite
gone."
"I'm glad it's gone," muttered Tackleton,
turning the expressive eye all round the room.
"t4 wonder where it's gone, and what it was.
jHumphl Caleb, come here! Who's that with
tie grey hair?"
*e don't kmowi sir," returned Caleb, in a
whisler. "Never see him fore, in all my life.

A beautiful figure for a nut-cracker; quite a nev
model. With a screw-jaw opening down into hi,
waistcoat, he'd be lovely."
"Not ugly enough," said Tackleton.
" Or for a fire-box, either," observed Caleb, ii
deep contemplation, "what a model I Unscrev
his head to put the matches in; turn him heel,
up'aivts for the light; and what a fire-box for,
gentleman's mantel-shelf, just as he stands I"
"Not half ugly enough," said Tackleton. " No
thing in him at all. Come I Bring that box I Al
right now, I hope?"
"Oh, quite gone I Quite gone!" said the littli
woman, waving him hurriedly away. "Goo(
night!"
"Good night," said Tackleton. "Good night
John Peerybingle! Take care how you carr.
that box, Caleb. Let it fall, and I'll murder you
Dark as pitch, and weather worse than ever, eh'
Good night!"
So, with another sharp look round the room
he went out at the door; followed by Caleb witl
the wedding-cake on his head.
The Carrier had been so much astounded b:
his little wife, and so busily engaged in soothint
and tending her, that he had scarcely been con
scious of the Stranger's presence, until now, whei
he again stood there, their only guest.
"He don't belong to them, you see," said John
"I must give him a hint to go."
"I beg your pardon, friend," said the olh
gentleman, advancing to him; " the more so, as
fear your wife has not been well; but the Attend
ant whom my infirmity," he touched his ears
and shook his head, "renders almost indispen
sable, not having arrived, I fear there must b&lt;
some mistake. The bad night which made th(
shelter of your comfortable cart (may I never hawv
a worse!) so acceptable, is still as bad as ever
Would you, in your kindness, suffer me to rent
bed here?"
"Yes, yes," cried Dot. "Yes!. Certainly I
"Oh!" said the Carrier, surprised by the rapid
ity of this consent. " Well I I don't object; but
still I'm not quite sure that-"
" Hush!" she interrupted. "Dear John!"
"Why, he's stone deaf," urged John.
"I know he is, but-Yes sir, certainly. Yes
certainly! I'll make him up a bed, directly
John."
As she hurriad off to do it, the flutter of hem
spirits, and the:gitation of her manner, were s(
strange, that the Carrier stood looking after her.
quite confounded.
"Did its mothers make it up a Beds then I '
cried Miss Slowboy to the Baby; "and did itf
hair grow brown and curly, when its caps waE
lifted off, and frighten it, a precious Pets, a sit
ting by the fires 1"
With that unaccountable attraction of the minc
to trifles, which is often incidental to a state o:
doubt and confusion, the Carrier, as he walked
slowly to and fro, found himself mentally repeat
ing even these absurd words, many times. So

TIE CRICKET ON THE iEAlTi.

many times, that he got them by heart, and was
still conning them over and over, like a lesson,
when Tilly, after administering as much friction
to the little bald head with her hand as she
thought wholesome (according to the practice of
nurses), had once more tied the Baby's cap on.
"And frighten it a precious Pets, a-sitting by
the fires. What frightened Dot, I wonder "
mused the Carrier, pacing to and fro.
Iie scouted, from his heart, the insinuations
of the Toy merchant, and yet they filled him with
a vague, indefinite uneasiness. For, Tackleton
was quick and sly; and he had that painful sense,
himself, of being a man of slow perception, that
a broken hint was always worrying to him. He
certainly had no intention in his mind of linking
anything that Tackleton had said, with the unusual conduct of his wife, but the two subjects
of reflection came into his mind together, and he
could not keep them asunder.
The bed was soon made ready; and the visitor, declining all refreshment but a cup of tea,
retired. Then, Dot-quite well again, she said,
quite well again-arranged the great chair in the
chimney corner for her husband; filled his pipe
and gave it him; and took her usual little stool
beside him on the hearth.
She always would sit on that little stool. I
think she must have had a kind of notion that it
was a coaxing, wheedling, little stool.
She was, out and out, the very best filler of a
pipe, I should say, in the four quarters of the
globe. To see her put that chubby little finger in
the bowl, and then blow down the pipe to clear
the tube, and, when she had done so, affect to
think that there was really something in the
tube, and blow a dozen times, and hold it to her
eye like a telescope, with a most provoking twist
in her capital little face, as she looked down it,
was quite a brilliant thing. As to the tobacco,
she was perfect mistress of the subject; and her
lighting of the pipe, with a wisp of paper, when
the Carrier had it in his mouth-going so very
near his nose, and yet not scorching it-was Art,
high Art.
And the Cricket and the Kettle, tuning up
again, acknowledged it! The bright fire, blazing
up again, acklowledged it I The little Mower on
the clock, in his unheeded work, acknowledged
it I The Carrier, in his smoothing forehead and
expanding face, acknowledged it, the readiest
of all.
And as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at
his old pipe, and as the Dutch clock ticked, and
as the red fire gleamed, and as the Cricket
chirped; that Genius of his Hearth and Home
(for such the Cricket was) came out, in fairy
shape, into the room, and summoned many forms
of Home about him. Dots of all ages, and all
sizes, filled the chamber. Dots who were merry
children, running on before him, gathering flowers, in the fields, coy Dots, half shrinking from,
half yielding to, the pleading of his own rough
Imge; Inewly married Dots, alighting at the door,

and taking wondering possession of the house.
hold keys; motherly little Dots, attended by fictitious Slowboys, bearing babies to be christened;
matronly Dots, still young and blooming, watch.
ing Dots of daughters, as they danced at rustle
balls; fat Dots, encircled and beset by troops of
rosy grand-children; withered Dots, who leaned
on sticks, and tottered as they crept along. Old
Carriers too, appeared, with blind old Boxers
lying at their feet; and newer carts with younger
drivers ("Peerybingle Brothers," on the tilt);
and sick old Carriers, tended by the gentlest
hands; and graves of dead and gone old Carriers,
green in the churchyard. And as the Cricket
showed him all these things-he saw them plainly, though his eyes were fixed upon the fire-the
Carrier's heart grew light and happy, and he
thanked his Household Gods with all his might,
and cared no more for Gruff and Tackleton than
you do.
But what was that young figure of a man,
which the same Fairy Cricket set so near Her
stool, and which remained there, singly and
alone? Why did it linger still, so near her,
with its arm upon the chimney-piece, ever repeating " Married I and not to me I"
O Dot I O failing Dot I There is no place for
it in all your husband's visions; why has its
shadow fallen on his hearth I
CHIRP THE SECOND.
CALEB PLUMMER and his Blind Daughter lived
all alone by themselves, as the Story-Books sayand my blessing, with yours to back it I hope, on
the Story-Books, for saying anything in this
workaday world I-Caleb Plummer and his Blind
Daughter lived all alone by themselves, in a little
cracked nutshell of a wooden house, which was,
in truth, no better than a pimple on the prominent
red-brick nose of Gruff and Tackleton. The premises of Gruff and Tackleton were the great
feature of the street; but you might have knocked
down Caleb Plummer's dwelling with a hammer
or two, and carried off the pieces in a cart.:
If any one had done the dwelling-housee o
Caleb Plummer the honor to miss it after such
inroad, it would have been, no doubt, to commen
its demolition as a vast improvement. It stuck
to the premises of Gruff and Tackleton, like a
barnacle to a ship's keel, or a snail to a door, or
a little bunch of toadstools to the stem of a tree.
But, it was the germ from which the fill-grdwn
trunk of Gruff and Tackleton had sprung; and
under its crazy roof, the Gruff before last, had, in
a small way, made toys for a generation of old
boys and girls, who had played with them, and
found them out, and broken them, and gone to
sleep.
I have said that Caleb and his poor Blind
Daughter lived here. I should have said that
Caleb lived here, and his poor Blind D0ghter
somewhere else-in an enchanted home- of

CHRISTMAS BOOKS

Caleb's furnishing, where scarcity and shabbiness were not, and trouble never entered. Caleb
was no sorcerer, but in the only magic art that
still remains to us, the magic of devoted, deathles slove, Nature had been the mistress of his
study: and from her teaching, all the wonder came.
The Blind Girl never knew that ceilings were
discolored, walls blotched and bare of plaster here
and there, high crevices unstopped and widening
every day, beams mouldering and tending downward. The Blind Girl never knew that iron was
rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; the size,
and shape, and true proportion of the dwelling,
withering away. The Blind Girl never knew that
ugly shapes of delf and earthenware were on the
board; that sorrow and faint-heartedness were in
the house; that Caleb's scanty hairs were turning
greyer and more grey, before her sightless face.
The Blind Girl never knew they had a master,
cold, exacting, and uninterested-never knew
that Tackleton was Tackleton in short; but
lived in the belief of an eccentric humorist
who loved to have his jest with them, and who,
while he was the Guardian Angel of their lives,
disdained to hear one word of thankfulness.
And all was Caleb's doing; all the doing of her
simple father I But he too had a Cricket on his
Hearth; and listening sadly to its music when
the motherless Blind Child was very young, that
Spirit had inspired him with the thought that
even her great deprivation might be almost
changed into a blessing, and the girl made happy
by these little means. For all the Cricket tribe are
potent Spirits, even though the people who hold
converse with them do not know it (which is
frequently the case) and there are not in the
unseen world, voices more gentle and more true,
that may be so implicitly relied on, or that are
so certain to give none but tenderest counsel,
as the Voices in which the Spirits of the Fireside and the Hearth address themselves to human kind.
Caleb and his daughter were at work together
in their usual working-room, which served them
tbr their ordinary living-room as well; and a
strange place it was. There were houses in it,
finished and unfinished, for Dolls of all stations
ha life. Suburban tenements for Dolls of moderate means; kitchens and single apartments for
Dolls of the lower classes; capital town residences for Dolls of high estate. Some of these
ettablishments were already furnished according
to estimate, with a view to the convenience of
tolle of limited income; others, could be fitted
on the most expensive scale, at a moment's
notice, from whole shelves of chairs and tables,
sofas, bedsteads, and upholstery. The nobility
and gentry and public in general, for whose accommodation these tenements were designed, lay,
here and there, in baskets, staring straight up
at the ceiling; but, in denoting their degrees in
soclet and confining them to their respective
stations (which experience shows to be lamentably 0cultin real life), the makers of theseDolls

had far improved on Nature, who is cfrn fro
ward and perverse; for, they, not resting o,
such arbitrary marks as satin, cotton-print, and
bits of rag, had superadded striking personal
differences which allowed of no mistake. Thus
the Doll-lady of distinction had wax limbs of
perfect symmetry; but only she and her compeers. The next grade in the social scale being
made of leather, and the next of coarse linen stuff.
As to the common-people, they had just so many
matches out of tinder-boxes, for their arms and
legs, and there they were-established in their
sphere at once, beyond the possibility of getting
out of it.
There were various other samples of his handicraft besides Dolls, in Caleb Plummer's room.
There were Noah's Arks, in which the Birds and
Beasts were an uncommonly tight fit, I assure
you; though they could be crammed in, anyhow,
at the roof, and rattled and shaken into the smallest compass. By a bold poetical licence, most of
these Noah's Arks had knockers on the doors;
inconsistent appendages perhaps, as suggestive
of morning callers and a I ostman, yet a pleasant
finish to the outside of the building. There were
scores of melancholy little carts, which, when the
wheels went round, performed most doleful music.
Many small fiddles, drums, and other instruments
of torture; no end of cannon, shields, swords,
spears, and guns. There were little tumblers in
red breeches, incessantly swarming up high obstacles of red-tape, and coming down, head first,
on the other side; and there were innumerable
old gentlemen of respectable, not to say venerable
appearance, insanely flying over horizontal pegs,
inserted, for the purpose, in their own street
doors. There were beasts of all sorts; horses, in
particular, of every breed, from the spotted barrel
on four pegs, with a small tippet for a mane, to
the thoroughbred rocker on his highest mettle.
As it would have been hard to count the dozens
upon dozens of grotesque figures that were ever
ready to commit all sorts of absurdities on the
turning of a handle, so it would have been no easy
task to mention any human folly, vice, or weakness, that had not its type, immediate or remote,
in Caleb Plummer's room. And not in an exaggerated form, for very little handles will move
men and women to as strange performances, as
any Toy was ever made to undertake.
In the midst oftll these objects, Caleb and his
daughter sat at work. The Blind Girl busy as
a Doll's dressmaker; Caleb painting and glazing
the four-pair front of a desirable family mansion.
The care imprinted in the lines of Caleb's face,
and his absorbed and dreamy manner, which would
have sat well on some alchemist or abstruse student, were at first sight an odd contrast to his
occupation, and the trivialities about him. But,
trivial things, invented and pursued for bread,
become very serious matters of fact; and, apart
from this consideration, I am not at all prepared
to say, myself, that if Caleb had been a Lord Chamberlain, or a Member of Parliament, or a lawyer

T't CRICKET Oi
or even a great speculator, he would have dealt in
toys one whit less whimsical, while I have, a very
great doubt whether they would have been as
harmless.
" So you were out in the rain last night, father,
in your beautiful new great-coat," said Caleb's
daughter.
"In my beautiful new great-coat," answered
Caleb, glancing towards a clothes-line in the room,
on which the sackcloth garment previously described, was carefully hung up to dry.
"' How glad I am you bought it, father I"
"And of such a tailor, too," said Caleb. "Quite
a fashionable tailor. It's too good for me."
The Blind Girl rested from her work, and laughed with delight. " Too good, father I What can
be too good for you? "
"I'm half-ashamed to wear it though," said
Caleb, watching the effect of what he said, upon
her brightening face, "upon my word I When I
hear the boys and people say behind me, ' Ial-loa I
Here's a swell I' I don't know which way to
look. And when the beggar wouldn't go away
last night; and, when I said I was a very common
man, said 'No, your Honor I Bless your Honor,
don't say that ' I was quite ashamed. I really
felt as if I hadn't a right to wear it."
Happy Blind Girl I How merry she was in her
exultation I
"I see you, father," she said, clasping her
hands, "as plainly, as if I had the eyes I never
want when you are with me. A blue coat-"
"Bright blue," said Caleb.
"Yes, yes I Bright blue I" exclaimed the girl,
turning up her radiant face; " the color I can just
remember in the blessed sky 1 You told me it
was blue before I A bright blue coat-"
"Made loose to the figure," suggested Caleb.
"Yes loose to the figure I" cried the Blind
Girl, laughing heartily; "and in it, you, dear
father, with your merry eye, your smiling face,
your free step, and your dark hair-looking so
young and handsome I "
"Halloa I Halloa I" said Caleb. "I shall be
vain, presently."
"I think you are, already," cried the Blind
Girl, pointing at him, in her glee. ' I know you,
father l Ha, ha, ha I I've found you out, you see I"
How different the picture in her mind, from
Caleb, as he sat observing her I She had spoken
of his free step. She was right in that. For years
and years, he had never once crossed that threshold at his own slow pace, but with a footfall
counterfeited for her ear;- and never had he, when
his heart was heaviest, forgotten the light tread
that was to render hers so cheerful and courageous!
Heaven knows But I think Caleb's vague
bewilderment of manner may have half originated
in his having confused himself about himself and
everything around him, for the love of his Blind
Daughter. How could the little man be otherwise
than bewildered, after laboring for so man7 years

y THE HEAR T.
to destroy his own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it!
"There we are," said Caleb, falling back a
pace or two to form the better judgment of his
work; " as near the real thing as sixpenn'orth of
halfpence is to sixpence. What a pity that the
whole front of the house opens at once I If there
was only a staircase in it, now, and regular doors
to the rooms to go in at I But that's the. worst of
my calling, I'm always deluding myself, and swindling myself."
"You are speaking quite softly. You are-not
tired, father?"
"Tired," echoed Caleb, with a great burst of
animation, " what should tire me, Bertha? Iwas
never tired. What does it mean? "
To give the greater force to his words, he
checked himself in an involuntary imitation of
two half-length stretching and yawning figures on
the mantel-shelf, who were represented as in one
eternal state of weariness from the waist upwards; and hummed a fragment of a song. It
was a Bacchanalian song, something about a
Sparkling Bowl. He sang it with an assumption
of a Devil-may-care voice, that made his face a
thousand times more meagre and more thoughtful
than ever.
"What I You're singing, are you?" said
Tackleton, putting his head in at the door. " Go
it I can't sing."
Nobody would have suspected him of it. Ho
hadn't what is generally termed a singing face,
by any means.
"I can't afford to sing," said Tackleton. " I'm
glad you can. I hope you can afford to work too,
Hardly time for both, I should think?"
"If you could only see him, Bertha, how he's
winking at me l" whispered Caleb. " Such aman
to joke I you'd think, if you didn't know him, he
was in earnest-wouldn't you now?"
The Blind Girl smiled and nodded.
"The bird that can sing and won't sing, must
be made to sing," grumbled Tackleton. "What
about the owl that can't sing, and oughtn't to sing,
and will sing; is there anything that he should be
made to do?"
" The extent to which he's winking at this moment I " whispered Caleb to his daughter. " 0, my
gracious I"
"Always merry and light-hearted with us j"
cried the smiling Bertha.
"O you're there, are you? 'ranswered Tackleton. "Poor Idiot I"
He really did believe she was an Idiot; and he
founded the belief, I can't say whether consciously or not, upon her being fond of him.
"Well I and being there,-how aie you? "said
Tackleton in his grudging way.
"Oh well; quite well. And as happy a
even you can wish me to be. As happy as you
would make the whole world, if you could!
"Ioor Idiot I" muttered Tackleton. "No
gleam of reason. Not a gleam 1"
The Blind Girl took his hand and kissed t

C~NRISTITAS BOOnKS.

held it for a moment in her own two hands; and
laid her c.bhek against it tenderly, before releasing it. There was such unspeakable affection and
such fervent gratitude in the act, that Tackleton
himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than
usual:
"What's the matter now? "
" I stood it close beside my pillow when I went
to sleep last night, and remembered it in my
dreams. And when the day broke, and the glorious red sun-the red sun, father? "
" Red in the mornings and the evenings, Bertha," said poor Caleb, with a woeful glance at his
employer.
" When it rose, and the bright light I almost
fear to strike myself against in walking, came
into the room, I turned the little tree towards it,
and blessed Heaven for making things so precious,
and blessed you for sending them to cheer
me I"
"Bedlam broke loose I" said Tackleton under
his breath. " We shall arrive at the strait waistcoat and mufflers soon. We're getting on! "
Caleb, with his hands hooked closely in each
other, stared vacantly before him while his daughter spoke, as if he really were uncertain (I believe
he was) whether Tackleton had done anything to
deserve her thanks, or not. If he could have been
a perfectly free agent, at that moment, required,
on pain of death, to kick the Toy merchant, or
fall at his feet, according to his merits, I believe it
would have been an even chance which course he
would have taken. Yet Caleb knew that with his
own hands he had brought the little rose-tree
home for her, so carefully, and that with his own
lips he had forged the innocent deception which
should help to keep her from suspecting how
much, how very much, he every day denied himself, that she might be the happier.
" Bertha I" said Tackleton, assuming, for the
nonce, a little cordiality. " Come here."
" Oh I I can come straight to you I You needn't
guide me " she rejoined.
"Shall I tell you a secret, Bertha? "
"If you will " she answered, eagerly.
How bright the darkened face I Iow adorned
with light the listening head I
" This is the day on which little what's-hername, the spoilt child, Peerybingle's wife, pays
her regular visit to you-makes her fantastic PicNic here, an't it?" said Tackleton, with a strong
expression of distaste for the whole concern.
" Yes," replied Bertha. "This is the day."
"I thought so," said Tackleton. "I"should.ke to join the party."
"Do you hear that, father?" cried the Blind
Girl, in an ecstasy.
"Yes, yes, I hear it," murmured Caleb, with
the fixed look of a sleep-walker; " but I don't believe it. It's one of my lies, I've no doubt."
"You see I-I want to bring the Peerybingles
I little more into company with May Fielding,"
'ad. Takleton. "I'm going to be married to
May.,: D.... *

"Married I" cried the Blind Girl, starting
from him.
"She's such a con-founded idiot," muttered
Tackleton, "that I was afraid she'd never comprehend me. Ah, Bertha I Married I Church,
parson, clerk, beadle, glass-coach, bells, breakfast,
bride-cake, favors, marrowbones, cleavers, and all
the rest of the tom-foolery. A wedding, you
know; a wedding. Don't you know what a wedding is?"
"I know," replied the Blind Girl, in a gentle
tone. "I understand! "
"Do you?" muttered Tackleton. "It's more
than I expected. Well I On that account I want
to join the party, and to bring MIay and her
mother. I'll send in a little something or other,
before the afternoon. A cold leg of mutton, or
some comfortable trile of that sort. You'll expect me?"
" Yes," she answered.
She had drooped her head, and turned away;
and so stood, with her hands crossed, musing.
" I don't think you will," muttered Tackleton,
looking at her; "for you seem to have forgotten
all about it, already. Caleb!"
" I may venture to say I'm here, I suppose,"
thought Caleb. "Sir!"
"Take care she don't forget what I've been
saying to her."
"She never forgets," returned Caleb. "It's
one of the few things she an't clever in."
"Every man thinks his own geese swans,"
observed the Toy merchant, with a shrug. " Poor
devil I"
Having delivered himself of which remark,
with infinite contempt, old Gruff and Tackleton
withdrew.
Bertha remained where he had left her, lost in
meditation. The gaiety had vanished from her
downcast face, and it was very sad. Three or
four times she shook her head, as if bewailing
some remembrance or some loss; but her sorrow.
ful reflections found no vent in words.
It was not until Caleb had been occupied,
some time, in yoking a team of horses to a wagon
by the summary process of nailing the harness to
the vital parts of their bodies, that she drew neal
to his working-stool, and sitting down beside him,
said:
"Father, I am lonely in the dark. I want my
eyes, my patient, willing eyes."
"Here they are," said Caleb. "Always ready.
They are more yours than mine, Bertha, any hour
in the four and twenty. What shall your eyes
do for you, dear?"
"Look round the room, father."
"All right," said Caleb. "No sooner said
than done, Bertha."
"Tell me about it."
"It's much the same as usual," saidalb.
"Homely, but very snug. The gay coiorson
the walls; the bright flowers on the plates
and dishes; the shining wood, were there
are beams or panels; the general cheerftlness

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. T
md neatness of the building; make it very pret- devotion to him I Would she do al f.iis, dear
y." father?"
Cheerful and neat it was, wherever Bertha's "No doubt of it," said Caleb.
lands could busy themselves. But nowhere else, " I love her, father; I can love her from my
ivere cheerfulness and neatness possible, in the soul " exclaimed the Blind Girl. And saying so,
a)d crazy shed which Caleb's fancy so trans- she laid her poor blind face on Caleb's shoulder,
brined. and so wept and wept, that he was almost sorry
"You have your working-dress on, and are to have brought that tearful happiness upon her.
lot so gallant as when you wear the handsome In the mean time, there had been a pretty,oat?" said Bertha, touching him. sharp commotion at John Peerybingle's, for, little
"Not quite so gallant," answered Caleb. Mrs. Peerybingle naturally couldn't think of go'Pretty brisk, though." ing anywhere without the Baby; and to get the
"Father," said the Blind Girl, drawing close Baby under weigh, took time. Not that there
o his side, and stealing one arm round his neck, was much of the Baby, speaking of it as a thing
'tell me something1 about May. She is very of weight and measure, but, there was a vast deal.air?" to do about and about it, and it all had to be done
"She is indeed," said Caleb. And she was by easy stages. For instance, when the Baby
ndeed. It was quite a rare thing to Caleb, not was got, by hook and by crook, to a certain point,o have to draw on his invention. of dressing, and you might have rationally sup"Her hair is dark." said Bertha, pensively, posed that another touch or two would finish him
'darker than mine. Her voice is sweet and mu- off.and turn him out a tip-top Baby challenging
ical, I know. I have often loved to hear it. Her the world, he was unexpectedly extinguished in
shape-" a flannel cap, and hustled off to bed; where he
" There's not a Doll's in all the room to equal simmered (so to speak) between two blankets for
t," said Caleb. "And her eyes!-" the best part of an hour. From this state ofinlie stopped; for Bertha had drawn closer action he was then recalled, shining very much:ound his neck, and, from the arm that clung and roaring violently, to partake of-well? I
sbout him, came a warning pressure which he would rather say, if you'll permit me to speak
rnderstood too well. generally-of a slight repast. After which, he
lie coughed a moment, hammered for a mo- went to sleep again. Mrs. Peerybingle took adnent, and then fell back upon the song about the vantage of this interval, to make herself as smart;parkling bowl, his infallible resource in all such in a small way as ever you saw anybody in all
lifficulties. your life; and, during the same short truce, Miss
"Our friend, father, our benefactor. I am Slowboy insinuated herself into a spencer of a
lever tired you know of hearing about him.- fashion so surprising and ingenious, that it had
alow, was I ever? " she said, hastily. no connection with herself, or anything else in
" Of course not," answered Caleb, "and with the universe, but was a shrunken, dog's-eared,
*eason." independent fact, pursuing its lonely course with"Ahl With how much reason I" cried the out the least regard to anybody. By this time,
Blind Girl. With such fervency, that Caleb, the Baby, being all alive again, was invested, by.hough his motives were so pure, could not en- the united efforts of Mrs. Peerybingle and Miss
lure to meet her face; but dropped his eyes, as if Slowboy, with a cream-colored mantle for its
lhe could have read in theln his innocent de body, and a sort of nankeen raised-pie for its,eit. head; and so in course of time they all three got
" Then tell me again about him, dear father," down to the door, where the old horse had al$aid Bertha. " Many times again! His face is ready taken more than the full value of his day's
benevolent, kind, and tender. Honest and true, toll out of the Turnpike Trust, by tearing up the
I am sure it is. The manly heart that tries to roads with his impatient autographs; and whence
aloak all favors with a show of roughness and un- Boxer might be dimly seen in the remote perWillingness, beats in its every look and glance." spective, standing looking back, and tempting
"And makes it noble," added Caleb, in his him to come on without orders.
qualet desperation. As to a chair, or anything of that kind for
"And makes it noble 1" cried the Blind Girl. helping Mrs. Peerybingle into the cart, you know
l He is older than May, father." very little of John, if you think that was necessary.
"Ye-es," said Caleb, reluctantly. "He's a Before you could have seen him lift her from the
ittle older than May. But that don't signify." ground, there she was in her place, fresh and rosy,
| "O h, father, yes I To be his patient compan- sa ling, "John I How can you I Think of Tily I",ion in infirmity and age; to be his gentle nurse If I might be allowed to mention a young
t in sickness, and his constant riend in suffering lady's legs, en any terms, I would observe of Mis
ind sorrow; to know no weariness in working Slowboy's that there was a fatality about them
for his sake; to watch him, tend him, sit beside which rendered them Sinularly liable to be
ahis bed and talk to him awake, and pray for him grazed; and that she never effected the smallest
asleep; w privileges these would be I What ascent or descent, without recording the ecicur
I oprttes for proving all her truth and her stance upon them with a notch, as RobinsO B0
1.:

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

soe marked the days upon his wooden calendar.
But as this might be considered ungenteel, I'll
think of.t.
"John? You've got the basket with the Veal
and Ham-Pie and things, and the bottles of Beer? "
said Dot. "If you haven't, you must turn round
again, this very minute."
"You're a nice little article," returned the
Carrier, "to be talking about turning round, after
keeping me a full quarter of an hour behind my
time."
"I am sorry for it, John," said Dot in a great
bustle, " but I really could not think of going to
Bertha's-I would not do it, John, on any account-without the Veal and Ham-Pie and things,
and the bottles of Beer. Way "
This monosyllable was addressed to the horse,
who didn't mind it at all.
" Oh do way, John I" said Mrs. Peerybingle.
"Please I"
"It'll be time enough to do that," returned
John, "when I begin to leave things behind me.
The basket's here safe enough."
"What a hard-hearted monster you must be,
John, not to have said so, at once, and save me
such a turn I I declare I wouldn't go to Bertha's
without the Veal and Ham-Pie and things, and
the bottles of Beer, for any money. Regularly once
a fortnight ever since we have been married, John,
have we made our little Pic-Nic there. If afiything was to go wrong with it, I should almost
think we were never to be lucky again."
"It was a kind thought in the first instance,"
said the Carrier; "and I honor you for it, little
woman."
"My dear John," replied Dot, turning very
red. "Don't talk about honoring me. Good Gracious I"
"By the bye-" observed the Carrier, "that
old gentleman,-"
Again so visibly and instantly embarrassed!
"He's an odd fish," said the Carrier, looking
straight along the road before them. "I can't make
him.out. I don't believe there's any harm in him."
"None at all. I'm-I'm sure there's none at
a.-."
"Yes," said the Carrier, with his eyes attracted to her face by the great earnestness of her
manner. " I am glad you feel so certain of it, because it's a confirmation to me. It's curious that
he should have taken it into his head to ask
leave to go on lodging with us; ain't it? Things
come about so strangely."
I"So very strangely," she rejoined, in a low
voice, scarcely audible.
"However, he's a good-natured old gentleman," said John, " and pays as a gentleman, and I
think his word is to be relied upon, like a gentleman's. I had quite a long talk with him this
morning: he can hear me better already, he says,
as he gets more used to my voice. He told me a
great deal about himself, and I told him a good
dealbout myself, and a rare lot of questions he
nked me. I gave him information about my hav

ing two beats, you know, in my business; one da:
to the right from our house and back again; anoth
er day to the left from one house and back agaih
(for he's a stranger and don't know the names o
places about here); and he seemed quite pleased
'Why, then I shall be returning home to-nigh
your way,' he says, 'when I thought you'd b&lt;
coming in an exactly opposite direction. That',
capital I I may trouble you for another lift, per
haps, but I'll engage not to fall so sound asleel
again.' He was sound asleep, sure-ly- -Dot
what are you thinking of?"
"Thinking of, John? I-I was listening t(
you."
"0 I That's all right " said the honest Car
rier. " I was afraid, from the look of your face
that I had gone rambling on so long, as to set yoe
thinking about something else. I was very neai
it, I'll be bound."
Dot making no reply, they jogged on, for some
little time, in silence. But, it was not easy t(
remain silent very long in John Peerybingle's
cart, for everybody on the road had something t(
say. Though it might only be "how are you!'
and indeed it was very often nothing else, still, t(
give that back again in the right spirit of cordi
ality, required, not merely a nod and a smile, bui
as wholesome an action of the lungs withal, as t
long-winded Parliamentary speech. Sometimes
passengers on foot, or horseback, plodded on E
little way beside the cart, for the express purpose
of having a chat; and then there was a great dea
to be said, on both sides.
/ Then, Boxer gave occasion to more good-na
tured recognitions of, and by, the Carrier, that
half a dozen Christians could have done I Every
body knew him, all along the road-especially th(
fowls and pigs, who whem they saw him ap
preaching with his body all on one side, and hit
ears pricked up inquisitively, and that nob of i
tail making the most of itself in the air, imme
diately withdrew into remote back settlements,
without waiting for the honor of a near acquaint
ance. He had business everywhere; going dowi
all the turnings, looking into all the wells, bolting
in and out of all the cottages, dashing into the
midst of all the Dame-Schools, fluttering all th(
pigeons, magnifying the fails of all the cats, and
trotting into the public-houses like a regular customer. Wherever he went, somebody or other
might have been heard to cry, " Hallo I Here'e
Boxer I" and out came that somebody forthwith,
accompanied by at least two or three other somebodies, to give John Peerybingle and his pretty
wife, Good Day.
The packages and parcels for the errand cart,
were numerous; and there were many stoppages
to take them in and give them out, which were not
by any means the worst parts of the journey.
Some people were so full of expectation about
their parcels, and other people were so full of
wonder about their parcels, and other people
were so fall of inexhaustible directions about
their parcels %nd John had such a lively lnteret

TIE CRICKET O THE SEARTIZ.

in all the parcels, that it was as good as a play.
Likewise, there were articles to carry, which rejuired to be considered and discussed, and in
reference to the adjustment and disposition of
which, councils had to be holden by the Carrier
ind the senders: at which Boxer usually assisted,
n short fits of the closest attention, and long fits
)f tearing round and round the assembled sages,
md barking himself hoarse. Of all these little in-;idents, Dot was the amused and opened-eyed
pectatress from her chair in the cart; and as she
nat there, looking on-a charming little portrait
ramed to admiration by the tilt-there was no
ack of nudgings and glancings and whisperings
und envyings among the younger men. And this
lelighted John the Carrier, beyond measure; for
ie was proud to have his little wife admired,
mowing that she didn't mind it-that, if anyhing, she rather liked it perhaps.
The trip was a little foggy to be sure, in the
anuary weather; and it was raw and cold. But
rho cared for such trifles? Not Dot, decidedly.
Tot Tilly Slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a
art, on any terms, to be the highest point of human joys; the crowning circumstance of earthly
opes. Not the Baby, I'll be sworn; for it's not in
laby nature to be warmer or more sound asleep,
liough its capacity is great in both respects,
aan that blessed young Peerybingle was, all the
may.
You couldn't see very far in the fog, of course;
ut you could see a great deal I It's astonishing
ow much you may see, in a thicker fog than that,
'you will only take the trouble to look for it.
Vhy, even to sit watching for the Fairy-rings in
ie fields, and for the patches of hoar-frost still
ngering in the shade, near hedges and by trees,
'as a pleasant occupation, to make no menion of the unexpected shapes in which the trees
jemselves came starting out of the mist, and
tided into it again. The edges were tangled and
ire, and waved a multitude of blighted garlands
t the wind; but, there was no discouragement
i this. It was agreeable to contemplate; for, it
made the fireside warmer in possession, and the
nmmer greener in expectancy. The river looked
iully; but it was in motion, and moving at a
ood pace-which was a great point. The canal
Alas rather slow and torpid; that must be admit-:;d. Never mind. It would freeze the sooner
- hen the frost set fairly in, and then there would
3 se.ting, and sliding; and the heavy old
mirges, frozen up somewhere near a wharf, would,noke their rusty iron chimney pipes all day,
a ~id have a lazy time of it.
1 In one place, there was a great mound of weeds? stubble burning; and they watched the fire, so
|hite in the day time, flaring through the fog,
ith only here and there a dash of red in it, until,
I consequence as she observed of the smoke
- getting up her nose," Miss Slowboy choked-?e could do anything of that sort, on the small-:t provocation âand woke the Baby, who
iouldn't go to sleep again. But, Boxer. who was

in advance some quarter of a mile or so, had
already passed the outposts of the town, and
gained the corner of the street where Caleb and
his daughter lived; and long before they had
reached the door, he and the Blind Girl were on
the pavement waiting to receive them.
Boxer, by the way, made certain delicate distinctions of his own, in his communication with
Bertha, which persuade me fully that he knew
her to be blind. He never sought to attract her
attention by looking at her, as he often did with
other people, but touched her invariably. What
experience he could ever have had with blind people or blind dogs I don't know. He had never
lived with a blind master; nor had Mr. Boxer the
elder, nor Mrs. Boxer, nor any of his respectable
family on either side, ever been visited with
blindness, that I am aware of. He may have
found it out for himself, perhaps, but he had got
hold of it somehow; and therefore he had hold of
Bertha too, by the skirt, and kept hold, until Mrs.
Peerybingle and the Baby, and Miss Slowboy, and
the basket, were all got safely within doors.
May Fielding was already come; and so was
her mother-a little querulous chip of an old lady
with a peevish face, who, in right of having preserved a waist like a bed-post, was supposed to
be a most transcendent figure; and who, in consequence of having once been better off, or of laborIng under an impression that she might have
been, if something had happened which never did
happen, and seemed to have never been particularly likely to come to pass âbut it's all the same
-was very genteel and patronising indeed. Gruff
and Tackleton was also there, doing the agreeable,
with the evident sensation as being as perfectly at
home, and as unquestionably in his own element,
as a fresh young salmon on the top of the Great
Pyramid.
" May I My dear old friend I" cried Dot, running up to meet her. "What a happiness to see
you!"
Her old friend was, to the full, as hearty and as
glad as she; and it really was, if you'll believe
me, quite a pleasant sight to see them embrace.
Tackleton wms a man of taste, beyond all question.
May was very pretty.
You know sometimes, when you are used to a
pretty face, how, when it comes into contact andu
comparison with another pretty face, it seems
for the moment to be homely and faded, and
hardly to deserve the high opinion you have had
of it. Now, this was not at all the case, either
with Dot or May; for May's face set off Dot's and
Dot's face set off May's, so naturally and agreeably, that, as John Peerybingle was very near saying when he came into the room, they ought to
have been born sisters-which was the only im.
provement you could have suggested.
Tackleton had brought his leg of mutton, and,
wonderful to relate, a tart besides-but we do"nt
mind a little dissipation when our brides are da
the case; we don't get married every day-and In
addition to these dainties, there were the eal

- CHRISTMfAS BOOKS.

and Ham-Pie, and "things," as Mrs. Peerybingle
called them; which were chiefly nuts and oranges,
and cakes, and such small beer. When the repast
was set forth on the board, flanked by Caleb's
contribution, which was a great wooden bowl of
smoking potatoes (he was prohibited, by solemn
compact, from producing any other viands),
Tackleton led his intended mother-in-law to the
post of honor. For the better gracing of this
place at the high festival, the majestic old soul
had adorned herself with a cap, calculated to inspire the thoughtless with sentiments of awe.
She also wore her gloves. But let us be genteel,
or die!
Caleb sat next his daughter; Dot and her old
schoolfellow were side by side; the good Carrier
took care of the bottom of the table. Miss Slowboy was isolated, for the time being, from every
article of furniture but the chair she sat on, that
she might have nothing else to knock the Baby's
head against.
As Tilly stared about her at the dolls and toys,
they stared at her and at the company. The venerable old gentlemen at the street doors (who
were all in full action) showed especial interest in
the party, pausing occasionally before leaping, as
if they were listening to the conversation, and
then plunging wildly over and over, a great many
times, without halting for breath-as in a frantic
state of delight with the whole proceedings.
Certainly, if these old gentlemen were inclined
to have a fiendish joy in the contemplation of
rackleton's discomfiture, they had good reason to
be satisfied. Tackleton couldn't get on at all;
and the more cheerful his intended bride became
in Dot's society, the less he liked it, though he
had brought them together for that purpose. For
he was a regular dog in the manger, was Tackleton; and when they laughed and he couldn't, he
took it into his head, immediately, that they must
be laughing at him.
"Ah May!" said Dot. "Dear dear, what
changes To talk of those merry school-days
makes one young again."
" Why, you an't particularly old, at any time;
are yo Y " said Tackleton.
"'Look at my sober, plodding husband there,"
returned Dot. "Hie adds twenty years to my age
at least. Don't you, John?"
"Forty," John replied.
"How many you'll add to May's, I am sure I
don't know," said Dot, laughing. "But she can't
be much less than a hundred years of age on her
next birthday."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Tackloton. Hollow as a
drum that laugh though. And he looked as if he
could have twisted Dot's neck, comfortably.
"Dear dear " said Dot. "Only to remember
how we used to talk, at school, about the husbands we would choose. I don't know how
young, and how handsome, and how gay, and how
ltvly, mine was not to be I And as to May's Ia dear! - I don't know whether to laugh or cry,: ren I think what silly girls we were."

May seemed to know which to do; for th
color flashed into her face, and tears stood in he
eyes.
"Even the very persons themselves-real liv
young men-we fixed on sometimes," said Do
" We little thought how things would come abonu
I never fixed on John, I'm sure; I never so muc
as thought of him. And if I had told you, you wet
ever to be married to Mr. Tackleton, why you'
have slapped me. Wouldn't you, May?"
Though May didn't say yes, she certainly didn
say no, or express no, by any means.
Tackleton laughed-quite shouted, he laughe
so loud. John Peerybingle laughed too, in h'
ordinary good-natured and contented manner; bi
his was a mere whisper of a laugh, to Tackleton'i
"You couldn't help yourselves, for all tha
You couldn't resist us, you see," said Tackletoi
"Here we are! Iere we are! Where are yoi
gay young bridegrooms now I"
"Some of them are dead," said Dot; "ar
some of them forgotten. Some of them, if th(
could stand among us at this moment, would na
believe we were the same creatures; would n,
believe that what they saw and heard was re;
and we could forget them so. No! they won
not believe one word of it! "
"Why, Dot I" exclaimed the Carrier. " Litt
woman I "
She had spoken with such earnestness ai
fire, that she stood in need of some recalling
herself, without doubt. Her husband's cheb
was very gentle, for he merely interfered, as
supposed, to shield old Tackleton; but it prove
effectual, for she stopped, and said no moi
There was an uncommon agitation, even in h
silence, which the wary Tackleton, who h:
brought his half-shut eye to bear upon her, not
closely, and remembered to some purpose too.
May uttered no word, good or bad, but E
quite still, with her eyes cast down, and made
sign of interest in what had passed. The go
lady her mother now interposed, observing,
the first instance, that girls were girls, and b3
gones byegones, and that so long as young peoi
were young and thoughtless, they would probal
conduct themselves like young and thoughtle
persons: with two or three other positions ol
no less sound and incontrovertible charactr
She then remarked, in a devout spirit, that s
thanked Heaven she had always found in I
daughter May, a dutiful and obedient child: J
which she took no credit to herself, though s
had every reason to believe it was entirely owl
to herself. With regard to Mr. Tackleton s
said, That he was in a moral point of view an t
deniable individual, and That he was in an eli
ble point of view a son-in-law to be desired,
one in their senses could doubt. (She was vc
emphatic here.) With regard to the family ir
which he was so soon about, after some solici
tion, to be admitted, she believed Mr. Tacklet
knew that, although reduced in purse, it b
some pretensions to gentility; and that If certt

TiTE CRICKET OX THE HEARTH.8

circumstances, not wholly unconnected, she would
go so far as to say, with the Indigo Trade, but to
which she would not more particularly refer, had
happened differently, it might perhaps have been
in possession of wealth. She then remarked that
she would not allude to the past, and would not
mention that her daughter had for sonm time rejected the suit of Mr. Tackleton; and that she
would not say a great many other things which
ehe did say, at great length. Finally, she delivered it as the general result of her observation
and experience, that those marriages in which
there was least of what was romantically and
cillily called love, were always the happiest; and
that she anticipated the greatest possible amount
of bliss-not rapturous bliss; but the solid, steadygoing article-from the approaching nuptials.
She concluded by informing the company that tomorrow was the day she had lived for expressly;
and that when it was over, she would desire nothing better than to be packed up and disposed of,
in any genteel place of burial.
As these remarks were quite unanswerablewhich is the happy property of all remarks that
are sufficiently wide of the purpose-they changed
the current of the conversation, and diverted the
general attention to the Veal and Ham-Pie, the
cold mutton, the potatoes, and the tart. In order
that the bottled beer might not be slighted, John
Peerybingle proposed To-morrow: the WeddingDay; and called upon them to drink a bumper to
it, before he proceeded on his journey.
For you ought to know that he only rested
there, and gave the old horse a bait. IHe had to
go some four or five miles farther on; and when
he returned in the evening, he called for Dot, and
took another rest on his way home. This was
the order of the day on all the Pic-Nic occasions,
and had been, ever since their institution.
There were two persons present, besides the
bride aad bridegroom elect, who did but indifferent honor to the toast. One of these was Dot, too
flushed and discomposed to adapt herself to any
small occurrence of the moment; the other, Bertha, who rose up hurriedly before the rest, and
left the table.
"Good bye I" said stout John Peerybingle,
pulling on his dreadnought coat. "I shall be
j back at the old time. Good bye all!"
" Good bye, John," returned Caleb.
He seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his
band in the same unconscious manner; for he
stood observing Bertha with an anxious wondering face, that never altered its expression.
it "Good bye, young shaver I" said the Jolly
i Carrier, bending down to kiss the child; which
Tilly Slowboy, now intent upon her knife and
fork, had deposited asleep (and strange to say,, without damage) in a little cot of Bertha's furi nishing; "good bye 1 Time will come, I suppose,
when you'll turn out into the cold, my little
friend, and leave your old father to enjoy his pipe
and his rheumatics in the chimney-corner; eh?
I Where's Dot?"

"I'm here, John I" she said, starting.
"Come, come!" returned the carrier, clapping
his sounding hands.
"Where's the pipe?"
"I quite forgot the pipe, John."
Forgot the pipe! Was such a wonder ever
heard of I She! Forgot the pipe I
I'll-I'll fill it directly. It's soon done."
But it was not so soon done, either. It lay in
the usual place-the Carrier's dreadnought pocket-with the Attle pouch, her own work, from
which she was used to fill it; but her hand shook
so, that she entangled it (and yet her hand was
small enough to have come out easily, I am sure),
and bungled terribly. The filling of the pipe and
lighting it, those little offices in which I have
commended her discretion, were vilely done from
first to last. During the whole process, Tackleton stood looking on maliciously with the halfclosed eye; which, whenever it met here-or
caught it, for it can hardly be said to have ever
met another eye: rather being a kind of trap to
snatch it up-augmented her confusion in a most
remarkable degree.
"Why, what a clumsy Dot you are, this afternoon!" said John. "I could have done it better myself, I verily believe 1"
With these good-natured words, he strode
away, and presently was heard, in company with
Boxer, and the old horse, and the cart, making
lively music down the road. What time the
dreamy Caleb still stood, watching his blind
daughter, with the same expression on his
face.
"Bertha!" said Caleb, softly. "What has
happened? Iow changed you are, my darling, in
a few hours-since this morning I You silent and
dull all day I What is it? Tell me "
"Oh father, father!" cried the Blind Girl,
bursting into tears. " Oh my hard, hard fate I"
Caleb drew his hand across his eyes before he
answered her.
"But think how cheerful and how happy you
have been, Bertha I How good, and how much i
loved, by many people."
" That strikes me to the heart, dear father
Always so mindful of me I Always so kind to
me I"
Caleb was very much perplexed to tnderstand
her.
"To be-to be blind, Bertha, my poor dear,'
he faltered, "is a great affliction; but-"
" I have never felt it I " cried the Blind Girl
"I have never felt it, in its fulness. Never 1 I
have sometimes wished that I could see you, or
could see him-only once, dear father, only for
one little minute-that I might know what t is I
treasure up," she laid her hands upon her breast,
"and hold here I That I might be sure I have it
right I And sometimes (but then I was a child) I
have wept, in my prayers at night, to think that
when your images ascended from my heart to
Heaven, they might not be the true resemblance
of yourselves. But I have never haia these feel

CTBRISTgAS BOOXS.

ings long. They have passed away, and left me
tranquil and contented."
" And they will again," said Caleb.
" But father I Oh my good gentle father, bear
with me, if I am wicked I" said the Blind Girl.
"This is not the sorrow that so weighs me
down!"
Her father could not choose but let his moist
eyes overflow; she was so earnest and pathetic.
But he did not understand her, yet.
"Bring her to me," said Bertha. "I cannot
hold it closed and shut within myself. Bring her
to me, father I"
She knew he hesitated, and said, " May.
Bring May I"
May heard the mention of her name, and coming quietly towards her, touched her on the arm.
The Blind Girl turned immediately, and held her
by both hands.
"Look into my face, Dear heart, Sweet
heart I" said Bertha. "Read it with your beautiful eyes, and tell me if the truth is written on
it."
" Dear Bertha, yes! "
The Blind Girl, still upturning the blank sightless face, down which the tears were coursing
fast, addressed her in these words:
"There is not, in my soul, a wish or thought
that is not for your good, bright May I There is
not, in my soul, a grateful recollection stronger
than the deep remembrance which is stored there,
of the many many times when, in the full pride
of sight and beauty, you have had consideration
for Blind Bertha, even when we two were children, or when Bertha was as much a child as ever
blindness can be I Every blessing on your head I
Light upon your happy course I Not the less, my
dear May;" and she drew towards her, in a closer
grasp; "not the less, my bird, because, to-day,
the knowledge that you are to be His wife has
wrung my heart almost to breaking! Father,
May, Mary! oh forgive me that it is so, for the
sake of all he has done to relieve the weariness of
my dark life: and for the sake of the belief you
have in me, when I call Heaven to witness that I
could not wish him married to a wife more worthy
of his goodness "
While speaking, she had released May FieldIng's hands, and clasped her garments in an attitude of mingled supplication and love. Sinking
lower and lower down, as she proceeded in her
strange confession, she dropped at last at the feet
of her friend, and hid her blind face in the folds
of her dress.
"Great Power!" exclaimed her father, smitaen at one blow with the truth, " have I deceived
her from her cradle, but to break her heart at
ast I"
It was well for all of them that Dot, that beaming, useful, busy little Dot-for such she was,
whatever faults she had, and however you may
learn to hate her, in good time-it was well for
ill of them, I say, that she was there: or where
Uis wou. d have ended,, it were hard to tell. But

Dot, recovering her self-possession, interposed,
before May could reply, or Caleb say another
word.
"Come come, dear Bertha I come away with
me I Give her your arm, May. So I How composed she is, you see, already; and how good it
is of her to mind us," said the cheery little woman, kissing her upon the forehead. "Come
away, dear Bertha. Come I and here's her good
father will come with her; won't you, Caleb? To
-be-sure!"
Well, well! she was a noble little Dot in such
things, and it must have been an obdurate nature
that could have withstood her influence. When
she had got poor Caleb and his Bertha away, that
they might comfort and console each other, as she
knew they only could, she presently came bounn
cing back,-the saying is, as fresh as any daisy; 1
say fresher-to mount guard over that bridling
little piece of consequence in the cap and gloves
and prevent the dear old creature from making
discoveries.
" So bring me the precious Baby, Tilly," said
she, drawing the chair to the fire; " and while I
have it in my lap, here's Mrs. Fielding, Tilly, will
tell me all about the management of Babies, and
put me right in twenty points where I'm as
wrong as can be. Won't you, Mrs. Fielding? "
Not even the Welsh Giant, who, according to
the popular expression, was so " slow" as to perform a fatal surgical operation upon himself, in
emulation of a juggling-trick achieved by his arch
enemy at breakfast-time; not even he fell half so
readily into the snare prepared for him, as the old
lady into this artful pitfall. The fact of Tackleton having walked out; and furthermore, of two
or three people having been talking together at a
distance, for two minutes, leaving her to her own
resources; was quite enough to have put her on
her dignity, and the bewailment of that mysterious convulsion in the Indigo trade, for four-andtwenty hours. But this becoming deference to
her experience, on the part of the young mother,
was so irresistible, that after a short affectation
of humility, she began to enlighten her with the
best grace in the world; and sitting bolt upright
before the wicked Dot, she did, in half an hour,
deliver more infallible domestic recipes and precepts, than would (if acted on) have utterly
destroyed and done up that Young Peerybingle,
though he had been an Infant Samson.
To change the theme, Dot did a little needlework-she carried the contents of a whole work
box in her pocket; however she contrived it, 1
don't know-then did a little nursing; then a little more needlework; then had a little whispering
chat with May, while the old lady dozed; and so
in little bits of bustle, which was quite her manner always, found it a very short afternoon.
Then, as it grew dark, and as it was a solemn
part of this Institution of the Pic-Nic that she
should perform all of Bertha's household tasks,
she trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and
set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, ana

THE CRICKET ON THE BEARTH.,ighted a candle. Then, she played an air or
iwo on a rude kind of harp, which Caleb had con|rived for Bertha, and played them very well; for
Nature had made her delicate little ear as choice
t one for music as it would have been for jewels,
*f she had had any to wear. By this time it was
*he established hour for having tea; and Tackle-!ion came back again, to share the meal, and!pend the evening.
Caleb and Bertha had returned some time beore, and Caleb had sat down to his afternoon's
york. But he couldn't settle to it, poor fellow,
eing anxious and remorseful for his daughter. It
'?as touching to see him sitting idle on his workng stool, regarding her so wistfully, and always
aying in his face, " Have I deceived her from her
radle, but to break her heart I"
When it was night, and tea was done, and Dot
tad nothing more to do in washing up the cups
tnd saucers; in a word-for I must come to it,
nd there is no use in putting it off-when the
lime drew nigh for expecting the Carrier's return
'a every sound of distant wheels, her manner
hanged again, her color came and went, and she
mas very restless. Not as good wivces are, when
stening for their husbands. No, no, no. It was
nother sort of restlessness from that.
Wheels heard. A horse's feet. The barking
'f a dog. The gradual approach of all the sounds.
'he scratching paw of Boxer at the door I; Whose step is that I" cried Bertha, starting
P.
" Whose step?" returned the Carrier, standig in the portal. with his brown face ruddy as a
Tinter berry from the keen night air. " Why,
line."
"The other step," said Bertha, "The man's:ead behind you I"
"She is not to be deceived," observed the
'arrier, laughing. " Come along, sir. You'll be
relcome, never fear 1"
He spoke in a loud tone; and as he spoke, the
eaf old gentleman entered.
"l e's not so much a stranger, that you
aven't seen him once, Caleb," said the Carrier.
You'll give him house-room till we go?"
" Oh surely, John, and take it as an honor."
"He's the best company on earth, to talk serets in," said John. "I have reasonable good
angs, but he tries 'em, I can tell you. Sit down,
If. All friends here, and glad to see you I"
When he had imparted this assurance, in a
oice that amply corroborated what he had said
bont his lungs, he added in his natural tone, " A
hair in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit quite
ilent and look pleasantly about him, is all he
ares for. He's easily pleased."
Bertha had been listening intently. She called
'aleb to her side, when he had set the chair, and:sked him, in a low voice, to describe their visitor.?%hen he had done so (truly now; with scrupulous
delity), she moved, for the first time since she
ad come in, and sighed, and seemed to have no
Airthr interest concerning him.

The Carrier was in high spirits, good fellow
that he was, and fonder of his little wife than
ever.
" A clumsy Dot she was, this afternoon I" he
said, encircling her with his rough arm, as she
stood, removed from the rest; "and yet I like her
somehow. See yonder, Dot I"
He pointed to the old man. She looked down
I think she trembled.
"He's-ha, ha, ha!-he's full of admiratior
for you I" said the Carrier. " Talked of nothing
else, the whole way here. Why, he's a brave old
boy. I like him for it I "
"I wish he had had a better subject, John;'
she said, with an uneasy glance about the room
At Tackleton especially.
"A better subject I" cried the jovial John,
"There's no such thing. Come off with th
great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with the
heavy wrappers I and a cosy half-hour by the fire I
My humble service, Mistress. A game at cribbage. you and I? That's hearty. The cards and
board, Dot. And a glass of beer here, if there's
any left, small wife I"
His challenge was addressed to the old lady,
who accepting it with gracious readiness, they
were soon engaged upon the game. At first, the
Carrier looked about him sometimes, with a
smile, or now and then called Dot to peep over
his shoulder at his hand, and advise him on some
knotty point. But his adversary being a rigid
disciplinarian, and subject to an occasional weakness in respect of pegging more than she was entitled to, required such vigilance on his part, as
left him neither eyes nor ears to spare. Thus, his
whole attention gradually became absorbed upon
the cards; and he thought of nothing else, until a
hand upon his shoulders restored him to a consciousness of Tackleton.
"I am sorry to disturb you-but a word drrectly."
"I'm going to deal," returned the Carrier.
"It's a crisis."
"It is," said Tackleton. " Come here, man!"
There was that in his pale face which made the
other rise immediately, and ask him, in a hurry,
what the matter was.
"Hush! John Peerybingle," said Tackleton.
"I am sorry for this. I am indeed. I have been
afraid of it. I have suspected it from the first." -
"What is it? "asked the Carrier, with a fightened aspect. 1
"Hush I I'll show you, if you'll come with
me."
The Carrier accompanied him, without another
word. They went across a yard, where the stars
were shining, and by a little side door, into Tackleton's own counting-house, where there was a
glass window, commanding the ware-room, which
was closed for the night. There was no light in
the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in
the long narrow ware-room; and consequently
the window was bright.
"A moment " said Tackleton. "Can yo,

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

oear to look through that window, do you
think "
"Why not?" returned the Carrier.
"A moment more," said Tackleton. ' Don't
commit any violence. It's of no use. It's dangerous too. You're a strong-made man; and you
might do murder before you know it."
The Carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled
a step as if he had been struck. In one stride he
was at the window, and he sawOh, Shadow on the Hearth! Oh truthful
Cricket Oh perfidious Wife!
He saw her with the old man-old no longer,
but erect and gallant-bealing in his hand the
false white hair that had won his way into
their desolate and miserable home. He saw her
listening to him, as he bent his head to whisper
in her car; and suffering him to clasp her round
the waist, as they moved slowly down the dim
wooden gallery towards the door by which they
had entered it. He saw them stop, and saw her
turn-to have the face, the face he loved so, so
presented to his view!-and saw her, with her
own hands, adjust the lie upon his head, laughing,
as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature!
IHe clenched his strong right hand at first, as
if it would have beaten down a lion. But opening it immediately again, he spread it out before
the eyes of Tackleton (for he was tender of her,
even then), and so, as they passed out, fell down
upon a desk, and was as weak as any infant.
He was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with
his horse and parcels, when she came into the
room, prepared for going home.
"Now, John, dear! Good night, May! Good
night, Bertha "
Could she kiss them! Could she be blithe and
cheerful in her parting? Could she venture to
reveal her face to them without a blush? Yes.
Tackleton observed her closely, and she did all
this.
Tilly was hushing the Baby, and she crossed
and re-crossed Tackleton a dozen times, repeating drowsily:
"Did the knowledge that it was to be its
wives, then, wring its heart almost to breaking:
and did its fathers deceive it from its cradle but
to break its hearts at last I"
"Now, Tilly, give me the Baby I Good night,
Mr. Tackleton. Where's John, for goodness
sake?"
"He's going to walk beside the horse's head,"
said Tackleton; who helped her to her seat.
"My dear John. Walk? To-night?"
The muffled figure of her husband made a
hasty sign in the affirmative; and the false
stranger and the little nurse being in their places,
the old horse moved off. Boxer, the unconscious
Boxer, running on before, running back, running
round and round the cart, and barking as triumphantly and merrily as ever.
When Tackleton had gone off likewise, escortt;g May and her mother home, poor Caleb sat
down ba the fire beside his daughter; anxious

and remorseful at the core; and still saying in hit
wistful contemplation of her, "Have I deceive(
her from her cradle, but to break her heart a
last!"
The toys that had been set in motion for the
Baby, had all stopped, and run down long ago
In the faint light and silence, the imperturbable
calm dolls, the agitated rocking-horses with dis
tended eyes and nostrils, the old gentlemen at th(
street doors, standing half doubled up upon thei
failing knees and ankles, the wry-faced nut
crackers, the very Beasts upon their way into the
Ark, in twos, 3ike a Boarding-School out walking
might have been imagined to be stricken motion
less with fantastic wonder, at Dot being false, o
Tackleton beloved, under any combination ol
circumstances.
CHIRP THE THIRD.
THE Dutch clock in the corner struck Ten
when the Carrier sat down by his fireside. S,
troubled and grief-worn, that he seemed to scar
the Cuckoo, who, having cut his ten melodiou
announcements as short as possible, plunged bac]
into the Moorish Palace again, and clapped hi
little door behind him, as if the unwonted spec
tacle were too much for his feelings.
If the little Haymaker had been armed with th
sharpest of scythes, and had cut at every strok
into the Carrier's heart, he never could hav
gashed and wounded it as Dot had done.
It was a heart so full of love for her; so bounn
up and held together by innumerable threads c
winning remembrance, spun from the daily worli
ing of her many qualities of endearment; it wa
a heart in which she had enshrined herself s
gently and so closely; a heart so single and s
earnest in its Truth, so strong in right, so weak i
wrong; that it could cherish neither passion no
revenge at first, and had only room to hold th
broken image of its Idol.
But, slowly, slowly, as the Carrier sat broodin
on his hearth, now cold and dark, other and fierce
thoughts began to rise within him, as an angr
wind comes rising in the night. The Strange
was beneath his outraged roof. Three steps woul,
take him to his chamber door. One blow woul,
beat it in. "You might do murder before yoi
know it," Tackleton had said. How could it'b
murder, if he gave the villain time to grapple wit,
him hand to hand I He was the younger man.
It was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dart
mood of his mind. It was an angry thought, goad
ing him to some avenging act, that should chang
the cheerful house into a haunted place whic!
lonely travellers would dread to pass by night
and where the timid would see shadows strngglin'
in the ruined windows when the moon was dim
and hear wild noises in the stormy weather.
He was the younger man I Yes, yes; some
lover who had won the heart that he 'd neve
touched. Some lover of her early choice, of whor

THE CRICgKE7 ON THlE' ILEAR TH.

she had thought and dreamed, for whom she had
Dined and pined, when he had fancied her so happy
oy his side. 0 agony to think of it I
She had been above stairs with the Baby, getting it to bed. As he sat brooding on the hearth,
she came close beside him, without his knowledge
-in the turning of the rack of his great misery,
he lost all other sounds-and put her little stool
at his feet. He only knew it, when he felt her
hand upon his own, and saw her looking up into
his face.
With wonder? No. It was his first impression, and he was fain to look at her again, to set
lit right. No, not with wonder. With an eager:and inquiring look; but not with wonder. At
'first it was alarmed and serious; then, it changed
"into a strange, wild, dreadful smile of recognition
of his thoughts; then, there was nothing but her
clasped hands on her brow, and her bent head,
rd falling hair.
Though the power of Omnipotence had been his
'to wield at that moment, he had too much of its
diviner property of Mercy in his breast, to have
tturned one feather's weight of it against her. But
he could not bear to see her crouching down upon
I the little seat where he had often looked on her,
lwith love and pride, so innocent and gay; and,
'when she rose and left him, sobbing as she went,;he felt it a relief to have the vacant place beside
' him rather than her so long-cherished presence.
This in itself was anguish keener than all, remindi ing him how desolate he was become, and how
the great bond of his life was rent asunder.
The more he felt this, and the more he knew,
he could have better borne to see her lying prematurely dead before him with her little child
i upon her breast, the higher and the stronger rose
his wrath against his enemy. lie looked about
h im for a weapon.
There was a gun, hanging on the wall. He; took it down, and moved a pace or two towards
the door of the perfidious Stranger's room. He
t knew the gun was loaded. Some shadowy idea
that it was just to shoot this man like awildbeast,
I seized him, and dilated in his mind until it grew
into a monstrous demon in complete possession
of him, casting out all milder thoughts and setting
} up its undivided empire.
That phrase is wrong. Not casting out his
I milder thoughts, but artfully transforming them.
Changing them into scourges to drive him on.: Turning water into blood, love into hate, gentle' Bees into blind ferocity. Her image, sorrowing,
humbled, but still pleading to his tenderness and
mercy with resistless power, never left his mind;
but, staying there, it urged him to the door;
5 raised the weapon to his shoulder; fitted and
I nerved his finger to the trigger; and cried "Kill
i him In his bed "
He reversed the gun to beat the stock upon
the door; he already held it lifted in the air;
- some indistinct design was in his thoughts of
calling out to him to fly, for God's sake, by the
window

When, suddenly, the struggling fire.luminated the whole chimney with a glow of light; and
the Cricket on the Hearth began to Chirp I
No sound he could have heard, no human
voice, not even hers, could so have moved and
softened him. The artless words in which she
had told him of her love for this same Cricket,
were once more freshly spoken; her trembling,
earnest manner at the moment, was again before
him; her pleasant voice-O what a voice it was,
for making household music at the fireside of an
honest man 1-thrilled through and through his
better nature, and awoke it into life and action.
Ie recoiled from the door, like a man walking
in his sleep, awakened from a frightful dream;
and put the gun aside. Clasping his hands before
his face, he then sat down again beside the fire,
and found relief in tears.
The Cricket on the Hearth came out into the
room, and stood in Fairy shape before him.
"'I love it,'" said the Fairy Voice, repeating
what he well remembered, "' for the many times
I have heard it, and the many thoughts its harmless music has given me.'"
"She said so I" cried the Carrier. " True I"
"' This has been a happy home, John; and I
love the Cricket for its sake I'"
"It has been, Heaven knows," returned the
Carrier. "She made it happy, always-until
now."
'"So gracefully sweet-tempered; so domestic,
joyful, busy, and light-hearted I" said the Voice.
"Otherwise I never could have loved her as I
did," returned the Carrier.
The Voice, correcting him, said " do."
The Carrier repeated "as I did." But not
firmly. His faltering tongue resisted his control,
and would speak in its own way for itself and
him.
The Figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised
its hand and said:
"Upon your own hearth-"
" The hearth she has blighted," interposed the
Carrier.
"The hearth she has-how often!-blessed
and brightened," said the Cricket; " the hearth
which, but for her, were only a few stones and
bricks and rusty bars, but which has been,
through her, the Altar of your Home; on which
you have nightly sacrificed some petty passion,
selfishness, or care, and offered up the homage of
a tranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an overflowing heart; so that the smoke from this poor
chimney has gone upward with a better fragrance
than the richest incense that is burnt before the
richest shrines in all the gaudy temples of this
world 1-Upon your own hearth; in its quiet
sanctuary; surrounded by its gentle influences
and associations; hear her! Hear met Hear
everything that speaks the language of your
hearth and home I"
"And pleads for her? " inquired the Crrier.
"All things that speak the language of you

Cf-LRISTffAS. 1OXiA.

hearth and home, must plead for her! " returned
the Cricket. "For they speak the truth."
And while the Carrier, with his head upgn his
hands, continued to sit meditating in his chair,
the Presence stood beside him, suggesting his
reflections by its power, and presenting them before him, as in a glass or picture. It was not a
solitary Presence. From the hearthstone, from
the chimney, from the clock, the pipe, the kettle,
and the cradle; from the floor, the walls, the
ceiling, and the stairs; from the cart without, and
the cupboard within, and the household implements; from everything and every place with
which she had ever been familiar, and with which
she had ever entwined one recollection of herself
in her unhappy husband's mind: Fairies came
trooping forth. Not to stand beside him as the
Cricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves.
To do all honor to her image. To pull him by the
skirts, and point to it when it appeared. To
cluster round it, and embrace it, and strew
flowers for it to tread on. To try to crown its
fair head with their tiny hands. To show that
they were fond of it, and loved it; and that there
was not one ugly, wicked, or accusatory creature
to claim knowledge of it-none but their playful
and approving selves.
His thoughts were constant to her image. It
was always there.
She sat plying her needle, before the fire, and
singing to herself. Such a blithe, thriving, steady
Aittle Dot I The fairy figures turned upon him all
at once, by one consent, with one prodigious concentrated stare, and seemed to say "Is this the
light wife you are mourning for I"
There were sounds of gaiety outside, musical
instruments, and noisy tongues and laughter. A
crowd of young merry-makers came pouring in,
among whom were May Fielding and a score of
pretty girls. Dot was the fairest of them all; as
young as any of them too. They came to summon
her to join their party. It was a dance. If ever
little foot were made for dancing, hers was, surely.
But she laughed, and sh ok her head, and pointed
to her cookery on the fire, and her table ready
spread; with an exulting defiance that rendered
her more charming than she was before. And so
she merrily dismissed them, nodding to her wouldbe partners, one by one, as they passed out, with
a comical indifference, enough to make them go
and drown themselves immediately if they were
Ler admirers-and they must have been so, more
or less; they couldn't help it. And yet indifference was not her character. Oh no I For presintly, there came a certain Carrier to the door;
And bless her what a welcome she bestowed upon
himl
Again the staring figures turned upon him all at
once, and seemed to say "Is this the wife who
has forsaken you I"
A shidow fell upon the mirror or the picture;
call itwhat you will. A great shadow of the Stranger, as he first stood underneath their roof; covertt slfae, aid blotting out all other objects,

But, the nimble Fairies worked like bees to clea:
it off again. And Dot again was there. Stil
bright and beautiful.
Rocking her little Baby in its cradle, singing t(
it softly, and resting her head upon a shoulder
which had its counterpart in the musing figure bh
which the Fairy Cricket stood.
The night-I mean the real night: not going b
Fairy clocks-was wearing now; and in this
stage of the Carrier's thoughts, the moon bursi
out, and shone brightly in the sky. Perhaps some
calm and quiet light had risen also in his mind;
and he could think more soberly of what had happened.
Although the shadow of the Stranger fell at intervals upon the glass-always distinct, and big,
and thoroughly defined-it never fell so darkly as
at first. Whenever it appeared, the Fairies uttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their
little arms and legs, with inconceivable activity,
to rub it out. And whenever they got at Dot
again, and showed her to him once more, bright
and beautiful, they cheered in the most inspiring
manner.
They never showed her otherwise than beautiful and bright, for they were Household Spirits to
whom falsehood is an annihilation; and being so,
what Dot was there for them, but the one active,
beaming, pleasant little creature who had been
the light and sun of the Carrier's Home I
The Fairies were prodigiously excited when
they showed her, with the Baby, gossiping among
a knot of sage old matrons, and affecting to be wondrous old and matronly herself, and leaning in a
staid demure old way upon her husband's arm, attempting-she I such a bud of a little woman-to
convey the idea of having abjured the vanities of
the world in general, and of being the sort of person to whom it was no novelty at all to be a mother; yet in the same breath, they showed her,
laughing at the Carrier for being awkward, and
pulling up his shirt-collar to make him smart, and
mincing merrily about that very room to teach him
how to dance 1
They turned, and stared immensely at him
when they showed her with the Blind Girl; for,
though she carried cheerfulness and animation
with her wheresoever she went, she bore those influences into Caleb Plummer's home, heaped up
and running over. The Blind Girl's love for her,
and trust in her, and gratitude to her; her own
good busy way of setting Bertha's thanks aside;
her dexterous little arts for filling up each moment
of the visit in doing something useful to the
house, and really working hard while feigning to
make holiday; her bountiful provision of those
standing delicacies, the Veal and Ham-Pie and the
bottles of Beer; her radiant little face arriving at
the door, and taking leave; the wonderful expression in her whole self, from her neatfoot to the
crown of her head, of being a part of the establishment-a something necessary to it, which it
couldn't be without; all this the Fairies revelled
in, and loved her for. And nece again they

TiE CRIOKET ON THE HEART.8

ooked upon him all at once, appealingly, and
c;emed to say, while some among them nestled in
ter dress and fondled her, " Is this the wife who
ias betrayed your confidence I "
More than once, or twice, or thrice, in the long
houghtful night, they showed her to him sitting,n her favorite seat, with her bent head, her
lands clasped on her brow, her falling hair. As
ie had seen her last. And when they found her
hus, they neither turned nor looked upon him,,ut gathered close round her, and comforted and;issed her, and pressed on one another, to show
ympathy and kindness to her, and forgot him alogether.
Thus the night passed. The moon went down;
he stars grew pale; the cold day broke; the sun
ose. The Carrier still sat, musing, in the chimey corner. He had sat there, with his head upon
is hands, all night. All night the faithful Cricket
ad been Chirp, Chirp, Chirping on the Hearth.
l11 night he had listened to its voice. All night,
he household Fairies had been busy with him.
11 night, she had been amiable and blameless in
ie glass, except when that one shadow fell upon
t.
He rose up when it was broad day, and washed
nd dressed himself. He couldn't go about his
ustomary cheerful avocations-he wanted spirit
)r them-but it mattered the less, that it was
'ackleton's wedding-day, and he had arranged
make his rounds by proxy. Ie had thought to
ave gone merrily to church with Dot. But such
lans were at an end. It was their own weddingay too. Ah I how little he had looked for such a
lose to such a year I
The Carrier expected that Tackleton would pay
im an early visit; and he was right. He had not
talked to and fro before his own door, many
linutes, when he saw the Toy Merchant coming
1 his chaise along the road. As the chaise drew
earer, he perceived that Tackleton was dressed
ut sprucely for his marriage, and that he had
ecorated his horse's head with flowers and
tvors.
The horse looked much more like a bridegroom
han Tackleton, whose half-closed eye was more
isagreeably expressive than ever. But the Carier took little heed of this. His thoughts had
ther occupation.
"John Peerybingle I " said Tackleton, with an
ir of condolence. "My good fellow, how do you.nd yourself this morning?"
"I have had but a poor night, Master Tackleon," returned the Carrier, shaking his head: "for
have been a good deal disturbed in my mind.
lilt it's over nowl Can you spare me half an
tour or so, for some private talk?"
"I came on purpose," returned Tackleton,,lighting. "Never mind the horse. He'll stand
t iet enough, with the reins over this post, if
'ou'll give him a mouthful of hay."
The Carrier having brought it from his stable,od set it before him, they turned into the
louse.

"You are not married before noon?" he said,
"I think?"
"No," answered Tackleton. "Plenty of time.
Plenty of time."
When they entered the kitchen, Tilly Slowboy
was rapping at the Stranger's door; which was
only removed from it by a few steps. One of her
very red eyes (for Tilly had been crying all night
long, because her mistress cried) was at the keyhole; and she was knocking very loud, and
seemed frightened.
"If you please I can't make nobody hear," said
Tilly, looking round. " I hope nobody an't gone
and been and died if you please I"
This philanthropic wish, Miss Slowboy emphasised with various new raps and kicks at the
door, which led to no result whatever.
"Shall I go?" said Tackleton. "It's curious."
The Carrier, who had turned his face from the
door, signed to him to go if he would.
So Tackleton went to Tilly Slowboy's relief;
and he too kicked and knocked; and he too failed
to get the least reply. But he thought of trying
the handle of the door: and as it opened easily,
he peeped in, looked in, went in, and soon came
running out again.
"John Peerybingle," said Tackleton, in his
ear. "I hope there has been nothing-nothing
rash in the night? "
The Carrier turned upon him quickly.
"Because he's gone I" said Tackleton; "and
the window's open. I don't see anymarks-to be
sure, it's almost on a level with the garden: but I
was afraid there might have been some-some
scuffle. Eh?"
He nearly shut up the expressive eye, altogether; he looked at him so hard. And he gave
his eye, and his face, and his whole person, a
sharp twist. As if he would have screwed the
truth out of him.
" Make yourself easy," said the Carrier. " He
went into that room last night, without harm in
word or deed from me, and no one has entered it
bince. He is away of his own free will. rd go
out gladly at that door, and beg my bread from
house to house, for life, if I could so change the
past that he had never come. But he has come
and gone. And I have done with him I"
"Oh I-Well, I think he has got off pretty
easy," said Tackleton, taking a chair.
The sneer was lost upon the Carrier, who sat
down too, and shaded his face with his hand, for
some little time, before proceeding.
"You showed me last night," he said at
length, "my wife; my wife that I love; secretly-"
"And tenderly," insinuated Tackleton.
"Conniving at that man's disguise, and giving him opportunities of meeting her alone. I
think there's no sight I wouldn't have rather
seen than that. I think there's no man in the
world I wouldn't have rather had to show it
me."

CHR IS TAS B OOKAS.

"I confess to having had my suspicions always," said Tackleton. "And that has made me
objectionable here, I know."
"But as you did show it me," pursued the
Carrier, not minding him; " and as you saw her,
my wife, my wife that I love "-his voice, and
ey3, and hand, grew steadier and firmer as he repeated these words: evidently in pursuance of a
steadfast purpose-'" as you saw her at this disadvantage, it is right and just that you should also
see with my eyes, and look into my breast, and
know what my mind is upon the subject. For it's
settled," said the Carrier, regarding him attentively. " And nothing can shake it now."
Tacldeton muttered a few general words of assent, about its being necessary to vindicate something or other; but he was overawed by the manner of his companion. Plain and unpolished as
it was, it had a something dignified and noble in
it, which nothing but the soul of generous honor
dwelling in the man could have imparted.
"I am a plain, rough man," pursued the Carrier, " with very little to recommend me. I am
not a clever man, as you very well know. I am
not a young man. I loved my little Dot, because
I had seen her grow up, from a child, in her father's
house; because I knew how precious she was; because she had been my life, for years and years.
There's many men I can't compare with, who never
could have loved my little Dot like me, I think I "
He paused, and softly beat the ground a short
time with his foot, before resuming:
"I often thought that though I wasn't good
enough for her, I should make her a kind husband, and perhaps know her value better than
another; and in this way I reconciled it to my
self, and came to think it might be possible that
we should be married. And in the end, it came
about, and we were married."
"Hah 1" said Tackleton, with a significant
shake of his head.
" I had studied myself; I had had experience
of myself; I knew how much I loved her, and
how happy I should be," pursued the Carrier.
" But I had not-I feel it now-sufficiently considered her."
"To be sure," said Tackleton. "Giddiness,
frivolity, fickleness, love of admiration I Not
considered I All left out of sight Hah "
"You had best not interrupt me," said the
Uarrier, with some sternness, "till youl understand me; and you're wide of doing so. If, yesterday, I'd have struck that man down at a blow,
who dared to breathe a word against her, to-day I'd
set my foot upon his face, if he was my brother! '"
The Toy Merchant gazed at him in astonishment. He went on in a softer tone:
"Did I consider," said the Carrier, "that I
took her-at her age, and with her beauty-from
her young companions, and the many scenes of
which she was the ornament; in which she was
the brightest little star that ever shone, to shut
her up from day to day in my dullhouse, and keep
y tedious company Did I consider how little,

suited I was to her sprightly humor, and how
wear'some a plodding man like me must be, to
one of her quick spirit? Did I consider that it
was no merit in me, or claim in me, that I loved
her, when everybody must, who knew her',
Never. I took advantage of her hopeful nature
and her cheerful disposition, and I married her.
I wish I never had For her sake; not for
mine I "
The Toy Merchant gazed at him, withou
winking. Even the half-shut eye was opei
now.
"Heaven bless her!" said the Carrier, "fc
the cheerful constancy with which she has tried tV
keep the knowledge of this from me! An(
Heaven help me, that, in my slow mind, I have no
found it out before Poor childI Poor Dot I
not to find it out, who have seen her eyes fill wit]
tears, when such a marriage as our own wa:
spoken ofl I, who have seen the secret trem
b!ing on her lips a hundred times, and never sus
pected it, till last night I Poor girl I That:
could ever hope she would be fond of me I Tha
I could ever believe she was I "
"She made a show of it," said Tackletor
"She made such a show of it, that to tell you th
truth it was the origin of my misgivings."
And here he asserted the superiority of Ma:
Fielding, who certainly made no sort of show o
being fond of him.
" She has tried," said the poor Carrier, wit
greater emotion than he had exhibited yet; "
only now begin to know how hard she has triei
to be my dutiful and zealous wife. How good sb
has been; how much she has done; how brav
and strong a heart she has; let the happiness
have known under this roof bear witness l
will be some help and comfort to me, when I ai
here alone."
"Here alone?" said Tackleton. "Oh The
you do mean to take some notice of this? "
" I meain," returned the Carrier, "to doher ti
greatest kindness, and make her the best 'repari
tion in my power. I can release her from tl
daily pain of an unequal marriage, and the strut
gle to conceal it. She shall be as free as I can re]
der her."
" Make her reparation!" exclaimed Taclletoi
twisting and turning his great ears with his hand.
"There must be something wrong here. Ye
didn't say that, of course."
The Carrier set his grip upon the collar of tL
Toy Merchant, and shook him like a reed.
"Listen to me V' he said. "And take cai
that you hear me right. Listen to me. Do
speak plainly? "
"Very plainly indeed," answered Tackleton.
"As if I meant it?"
"Very much as if you meant it."
"I sat upon that hearth, last night, all night,
exclaimed the Carrier; " On the spot where si
has so often sat beside me, with her sweet fa(
looking into mine. I called up her whole lift
day by day. I had her dear self, in its every pa

THE CtIOkET OF' TEE ZEARTH.

Ie, in review before me. And upon my soul. is innocent, if there is One to judge the ijnoit and guilty."
Staunch Cricket on the Hearth I Loyal houseId Fairies!
"Passion and distrust have left me I said the
rrier; " and nothing but my grief remains. In
unhappy moment some old lover, better suited
her tastes and years than I; forsaken, perhaps,
me, against her will; returned. In an unhapmoment, taken by surprise, and wanting time
think of what she did, she made herself a party
his treachery, by concealing it. Last night she
v him, in the interview we witnessed. It was
ong. But otherwise than this, she is innocent
here is truth on earth 1"
'If that is your opinion" - Tackleton be1.
"So let her go! " pursued the Carrier. " Go
th my blessing for the many happy hours she
5 given me, and my forgiveness for anyoang
has caused me. Let her go, and have the
ctee of mind I wish her! She'll never hate me.
e'll learn to like me better, when I'm not a,g upon her, and she wears the chain I have
eted more lightly. This is the day on which I
)k her, with so little thought for her enjoyment,
m her home. To-day she shall return to it, and
will trouble her no more. Her father and
)ther will be here to-day âwe had made a little.n for keeping it together-and they shall take: home. I can trust her, there, or anywhere.
e leaves me without blame, and she will live so,m sure. If I should die-I may perhaps while
is still young; I have lost some courage in a
7 hours-she'll find that I remembered her, and
ed her to the last I This is the end of what
x showed me. Now it's over I "
" Oh no, John, not over. Do not say it's over
Not quite yet. I have heard your noble
rds. I could not steal away, pretending to be
torant of what has affected me with such deep,titude. Do not say it's over, till the clock has
uck again I!"
She had entered shortly after Tackleton, and
l remained there. She never looked at Tac-ton, but fixed her eyes upon her husband. But
kept away from him, setting as wide a space
possible between them; and though she spoke
th most impassioned earnestness, she went no
%rer to him even then. How different in this
m her old self!
" No hand can make the clock which will strike
ain for me the hours that are gone," replied
3 Uarrier, with a faint smile. "But let it be so,
you will, my dear. It will strike soon. It's of
tle matter what we say. I'd try to please you
a harder case than that."
"Well l" muttered Tackleton. "I must be, for when the clock strikes again, it'll be nessary for me to be upon my way to church.,od morning, John Peerybilgle. I'm sorry to
deprived of the pleasure of your company.
try for the loss, and the occasion of it too I"

"I have spoken plainly?" said the Carrier, ac,
companying him to the door.
"Oh quite!"
"And you'll remember what I have said? "
"Why, if you compel me to make the' observation," said Tackleton; previously taking the
precaution of getting into his chaise; "I must
say that it was so very unexpected, that I'm far
from being likely to forget it."
" The better for us both," returned the Carrier. " Good bye. I give you joy I"
"I wish I could give it to you," said Tackleton. "As I can't; thank'ee. Between ourselves,
(as I told you before, eh?), I don't much think I
shall have the less joy in my married life, because
May hasn't been too officious about me, and too
demonstrative. Good bye I Take care of yourself."
The Carrier stood looking after him until he
was smaller in the distance than his horse's flowers and favors near at hand; and then, with a
deep sigh, went strolling like a restless, broken
man, among some neighboring elms; unwilling
to return until the clock was on the eve of striking.
IHis little wife, being left alone, sobbed piteously; but often dried her eyes, and checked herself, to say how good he was, how excellent he
was I and once or twice she laughed; so heartily,
triumphantly, and incoherently (still crying all the
time), that Tilly was quite horrified.
" Ow if you please don't! " said Tilly. "It's
enough to dead and bury the Baby, so it is if you
please."
"Will you bring him sometimes, to see his
father, Tilly," inquired her mistress, drying her
eyes; " when I can't live here, and have gone to
my old home? "
" Ow if you please don't I" cried Tilly, throwing back her head, and bursting out into a howl
-she looked at the moment uncommonly like
Boxer; "Ow if you please don't? Ow, what has
everybody gone and been and done with everybody, making everybody else so wretched?
Ow-w-w-w I
The soft-hearted Slowboy tailed off at this
juncture into such a deplorable howl, the more
tremendous from its long suppression, that she
must infallibly have awakened the Baby, and
frightened him into something serious (probably
convulsions), if her eyes had not encountered Caleb Plummer, leading in his daughter. This spectacle restoring her to a sense of the proprieties,
she stood for some few moments silent, with her
mouth wide open; and then, posting off to the
bed on which the Baby lay asleep, danced in a
weird, Saint Vitus manner on the floor, and at
the same time rummaged with her face and head
among the bedclothes, apparently deriving much
relief from those extraordinary operations.
"Mary " said Bertha. "Not at the mars
riage!"
"I told her you would not be there, mum,'
whispered Caleb. " I heard as much last night

CHtIISTfAS ROOKS.

But bless you," said the little man, taking her
tenderly by both hands, " I don't care for what
they say. I don't believe them. There an't much
of me, but that little should be torn to pieces
sfoner than I'd trust a word against you! "
He put his arms about her neck and hugged
ner, as a child might have hugged one of his own
dolls.
Bertha couldn't stay at home this morning,"
said Caleb. " She was afraid, I know, to hear the
bells ring, and couldn't trust herself to be so near
them on their wedding-day. So we started in
good time, and came here. I have have been
thinking of what I have done," said Caleb, after
a moment's pause; " I have been blaming myself
till I hardly know what to do or where to turn,
for the distress of mind I have caused her; and
I've' come to the conclusion that I'd better, if
you'll stay With me. mum, the while, tell her the
truth. You'll stay with me the while? " he inquired. trembling from head to foot. "I don't
know what effect it may have upon her; I don't
know what she'll think of me; I don't know
that she'll ever care for her poor father afterwards. But it's best for her that she should be
undeceived, and I must bear the consequences as
I deserve 1"
"Mary," said Bertha, "where is your hand!
Ah I Here it is; here it is I" pressing it to her
lips, with a smile, and drawing it through her
arm. " I heard them speaking softly among themselves last night, of some blame against you.
They were wrong."
The Carrier's Wife was silent. Caleb answered
for her.
" They were wrong," he said.
" I knew it I" cried Bertha, proudly. " I told
them so. I scorned to hear a word I Blame her,
with justice 1" she pressed the hand between her
own, and the soft cheek against her face. " No!
I am not so blind as that."
Her father went on one side of her, while Dot
remained upon the other: holding her hand.
"I know you all," said Bertha, "better than
you think. But none so well as her. Not even
you, father. There is nothing half so real and so
true about me, as she is. If I could be restored
to sight this instant, and not a word were spoken,
I could choose her from a crowd I My sister!"
"Bertha, my dear " said Caleb. "I have
something on my mind I want to tell you, while
we three are alone. Hear me kindly! I have a
confession to make to you, my darling."
"A confession, father?"
"I have wandered from the truth and lost myself, my child," said Caleb, with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face. "I have wandered
from the truth, intending to be kind to you, and
have been cruel."
She turned her wonder-stricken face towards
him, and repeated " Cruel I"
"He'll accuse himself too strongly, Bertha,"
aAid Dot. "You'll say so, piesently. You'll be
fi:lrst to tell him so."

"He cruel to me I" cried Bertha, with a en
of incredulity.
" Not meaning it, my child," said Caleb. "
I have been: though I never suspected it till 3
terday. My dear blind daughter, hear me
forgive me. The world you live in, heart of mi
doesn't exist as I have represented it. The e
you have trusted in have been false to you."
She turned her wonder-stricken face towa
him still; but drew back, and clung closer to
friend.
" Your road in life was rough, my poor on
said Caleb, " and I meant to smooth it for you.
have altered objects, changed the characters
people, invented many things that never h
been, to make you happier. I have had cone.
ments from you, put deceptions on you, God
give me! and surrounded you with fancies."
"But living people are not fancies? " she s
hurriedly, and turning very pale, and still retir
froi him. "You can't change them."
I have done so, Bertha," pleaded Cal
" There is one person that you know,
dove-"
" Oh father! why do you say, I know?"
answered, in a term of keen reproach. "W
and whom do I know I I who have no leader
so miserably blind "
In the anguish Qf her heart, she stretched
her hands, as if she were groping her way; t'
spread them, in a manner most forlorn and E
upon her face.
" The marriage that takes place to-day," s
Caleb, " is with a stern, sordid, grinding man.
hard master to you and me, my dear, for m:
years. Ugly in his looks, and in his nature. C
and callous always. Unlike what I have pain
him to you in everything, my child. In ev(
thing."
"Oh why," cried the Blind Girl, tortured, a
seemed, almost beyond endurance, "why did:
ever do this I Why did you ever fill my heart
full, and then come in like Death, and tear ax
the objects of my lqve I 0 Heaven, how blin
am I How helpless and alone "
Her afflicted father hung his head, and offe
no reply but in his penitence and sorrow.
She had been but a short time in this pass
of regret, when the Cricket on the Hearth,
heard by all but her, began to chirp. Not merr:
but in a low, faint, sorrowing way. It was
mournful, that her tears began to flow; and wl
the Presence which had been beside the Can
all night, appeared behind her, pointing to ]
father, they fell down like rain.
She heard the Cricket-voice more plainly so,
and was conscious, through her blindness, of I
Presence hovering about her father.
"Mary," said the Blind Girl, " tell me what i
home is. What it truly is."
" It is a poor place, Bertha; very poor and bi
indeed. The hpuse will scarcely keep out wi
and rain another winter. It is as roughly shielc
from the weather, Bertha," Dot continued ir

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTR.

7, clear voice, " as your poor father in his
'kcloth coat."
The Blind Girl, greatly agitated, rose, and led
Carrier's little wife aside.
"Those presents that I took such care of;
it came almost at my wish, and were so dearly
lcome to me," she said, trembling; "where
they come from? Did you send them?"
"No."
"Who then?"
Dot saw she knew, already, and was silent.
e Blind Girl spread her hands before her face
in. But in quite another manner now.
"Dear Mary, a moment. Onemoment. More
3way. Speak softly to me. You are true,
Know. You'd not deceive me now; would
I?"
"No, Bertha, indeed!"
" No, I am sure you would not. You have too
ch pity for me. Mary, look across the room to
ere we were just now-to where my father isfather, so compassionate and loving to meI tell me what you see."
" I see," said Dot, who understood her well,
n old man sitting in a chair, and leaning sorvfully on the back, with his face resting on
hand. As if his child should comfort him,?tha."
" Yes, yes. She will. Go on."
"He is an old man, worn with care and work.
is a spare, dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired
a. I see him now, despondent and bowed
en, and striving against nothing. But, Bertha,
eve seen him many times before, and striving
d in many ways for one great sacred object.
1 I honor his grey head, and bless him!"
The Blind Girl broke away from her; and
)wing herself upon her knees before him, took
grey head to her breast.
t It is my sight restored. It is my sight " she
d. "I have been blind, and now my eyes are
n. I never knew him I To think I might have
i, and never truly seen the father who has been
oving to me I "
Phere were no words or Caleb's emotion.
" There is not a gallantigure on this earth,"
lalmed the Blind Girl, holding him in her emce, " that I would love so dearly, and would
rish so devotedly, as this I The greyer, and
re worn, the dearer, father Never let them
I am blind again. Tlioa not a furrow in
face, there's not a haiiupon his head, that
11 be forgotten in my prayers and thanks to
tven I"
daleb managed to articulate, " My Bertha I"
' And in my blindness, I believed him," said
girl, caressing him with tears of exquisite
ction, "to be so ciffecrnt! And having him
ide me, day by day, so mindful of me always,
ecr dreamed of this I "
" The fresh smart father in the blue coat, Bers," aid poor Caleb. "He's gone I"
Nothing is gone," she answered. "Dearest
ier, no I Everything is here-in you. The fa

ther that I loved so well; the father that I never
loved enough, and never knew; the benefactor
whom I first began to reverence and love, because
he had such sympathy for me; All are here in
you. Nothing is dead to me. The soul of all that
was most dear to me is here-here, with the worn
face, and the grey head. And I am NOT blind, father, any longer!"
Dot's whole attention had been concentrated,
during this discourse, upon the father and daughter; but looking, now, towards the little Haymaker in the Moorish meadow, she saw that the
clock was within a few minutes of striking, and
fell, immediately, into a nervous and excited
state.
"Father," said Bertha, hesitating. " Mary."
"Yes. my dear," returned Caleb. " Here she
is."
"There is no change in her. You never told
me anything of her that was not true?"
" I should have done it, my dear, I am afraid,"
returned Caleb, " if I could have made her better
than she was. But I must have changed her for
the worse, if I had changed her at all. Nothing
could improve her, Bertha."
Confident as the Blind Girl had been when she
asked the question, her delight and pride in the
reply and her renewed embrace of Dot, were
charming to behold.
"More changes than you think for, may happen though, my dear," said Dot. "Changes for
the better, I mean; changes for great joy to some
oF us. You mustn't let them startle you too
much, if any such should ever happen, and affect
you I Are those wheels upon the road? You've
a quick ear, Bertha. Are they wheels?"
"Yes. Coming very fast."
"I-I-I know you have a quick ear," said
Dot, placing her hand upon her heart, and evidently talking on, as fast as she could, to hide its
palpitating state, "because I have noticed it
often, and because you were so quick to find out
that strange step last night. Though why you
should have said, as I very well recollect you did
say, Bertha, ' whose step is that! ' and why you
should have taken any greater observation of it
than of any other step, I don't know. Though,
as I said just now, there are great changes in the
world: great changes, and we can't do better
than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly
anything."
Caleb wondered what this meant; perceiving
that she spoke to him, no less than to his daughter. He saw her, with astonishment, so fluttered
and distressed that she could scarcely breathe;
and holding to a chair, to save herself from falling.
"They are wheels, indeed I" she panted,
"Coming nearer Nearer 1 Very close And
now you hear them stopping at the garden gate I
And now you hear a step outside the door-tho
same step, Bertha, is it not I-and now I -"
She uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable do'
light; and running up to Caleb, put her haind
L

CHRISTMAS OO0K.

upon nis eyes, as a young man rushed into the
room, and flinging away his hat into the air, came
sweeping down upon them.
"Is it over-? " cried Dot.
"Yes."
"Happily over?"
"Yes."
"Do you recollect the voice, dear Caleb?
Did you ever hear the like of it before?" cried
Dot.
" If my boy in the Golden South Americas was
alive "-said Caleb, trembling.
"He is alive l" shrieked Dot, removing her
hands from his eyes, and clapping them in ecstasy; " look at him I See where he stands before
you, healthy and strong I Your own dear son.
Your own dear living, loving brother, Bertha!"
All honor to the little creature for her transports I All honor to her tears and laughter, when
the three were locked in one another's arms 1 All
honor to the heartiness with which she met the
sunburnt sailor-fellow, with his dark streaming
hair, half way, and never turned her rosy little
mouth aside, but suffered him to kiss it freely,
and to press her to his bounding heart I
And honor to the Cuckoo, too-why not!-for
bursting out of the trap-door in the Moorish
Palace like a housebreaker, and hiccoughing
twelve times on the assembled company, as if he
had got drunk for joy 1
The Carrier, entering, started back. And
well he might, to find himself in such good company.
"Look, John 1" said Caleb, exultingly, "look
hereI My own boy, from the Golden South
Americas! My own son! Hiim that you fitted
out, and sent away yourself Him that you were
always such a friend to 1"
The Carrier advanced to seize him by the hand:
but, recoiling, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the Deaf Man in the Cart,
said:
"Edward I Was it you?"
"Now tell him all!" cried Dot. "Tell him
all, Edward; and don't spare me, for nothing
shall make me spare myself in his eyes, ever
again."
"I was the man," said Edward.
"And could you steal, disguised, into the
ionse of your old friend? " rejoined the Carrier.
" There was a frank boy once-how many years is
it, Caleb, since we heard that he was dead, and
had it proved, we thought?-who never would
have done that."
"There was a generous friend of mine, once;
more a father to me than a friend;" said Edward,
" who never would have judged me, or any other
man, unheard. You were he. So I am certain
you will hear me now."
The Carrier, with a troubled glance at Dot, who
still kept far away from him. replied, "Welll
tlat's but fair. I will."
"You must know that when 1 left here, a
bOy," said Edward, " I was in love, and my love

was returned. She was a very young girl, w;
perhaps (you may tell me) didn't know her d
mind. But I knew mine, and I had a passion
her."
"You had!" exclaimed the Carrier. "You
"Indeed I had," returned the other. "A
she returned it. I have ever since believed
did, and now I am sure she did."
"Heaven help me " said the Carrier. " T
is worse than all."
" Constant to her," said Edward, " and retu
ing, full of hope, after many hardships and per.
to redeem my part of our old contract, I hea
twenty miles away, that she was false to n
that she had forgotten me; and had bestow
herself upon another and a richer man. I had
mind to reproach her; but I wished to see h
and to prove beyond dispute that this was tr
I hoped she might have been forced into it, agai
her own desire and recollection. It would
small comfort, but it would be some, I thoug
and on I came. That I might have the truth,
real truth; observing freely for myself, and ju
ing for myself, without obstruction on the
hand, or presenting my own influence (if I I
any) before her, on the other; I dressed mys
unlike myself-you know how; and waited
the road-you know where. You had no sue
cion of me; neither had-had she," pointing
Dot, " until I whispered in her ear at that firesi
and she so nearly betrayed me."
" But when she knew that Edward was all
and had come back,'? sobbed Dot, now speak
for herself, as she had burned to do, all throi
this narrative; " and when she knew his purpc
she advised him by all means to keep his se(
close; for his old friend John Peerybingle ~
much too open in his nature, and too clumsy
all artifice-being a clumsy man in general," r
Dot, half laughing and half crying-" to kee
for him. And when she-that's me, John," sol5
the little woman-"told him all, and how
sweetheart had believed him to be dead;
how she had at last been over-persuaded by
mother into a marriage which the silly, dear
thing called advantageous; and when she-th:
me again, John-told him they were not yet n
ried (though close upon it), and that it would
nothing but a sacrifice if it went on, for th
was no love on her side; and when he w
nearly mad with joy to hear it; then she-th;
me again-said she would go between them
she had often done before in old times, Jo
and would sound his sweetheart and be sure t
what she-me again, John-said and thought t
right. And it wS right, John l And they w
brought together, John I And they were marri
John, an hour ago And here's the Bride I J
Gruff and Tackleton may die a bachelor I
I'm a happy little woman, May, God bless yor
She was an irresistible little woman, if thai
anything to the purpose; and never so complel
irresistible as in her present transports. Tt
never were congratulations so endearing and d

THE CZICKET ON THE 1EARTh.

ous, as those she lavished on herself and on the
ride.
Amid the tumult of emotions in his breast, the
)nest Carrier had stood confounded. Flying,
)w, towards her, Dot stretched out her hand to,op hinL, and retreated as before.
"No, John. nol HIear all! Don't love me
iy more, John, till you've heard every word I
ive to say. It was wrong to have a secret from
)n, John. I'm very sorry. I didn't think it any
irm, till I came and sat down by you on the;tle stool last night. But when I knew by what
as written in your face, that you had seen me
alking in the gallery with Edward, and when I
iew what you thought, I felt how giddy and
)w wrong it was. But oh, dear John, how could
ui, could you think so!"
Little woman, how she sobbed again I John?erybingle would have caught her in his arms.
it no; she wouldn't let him.
"Don't love me yet, please John! Not for a
ng time yetl When I was sad about this intded marriage, dear, it was because I rememred May and Edward such young lovers; and
tew that her heart was far away from Tackleten.
&gt;u believe that, now don't you, John?"
John was going to make another rush at this
peal; but she stopped him again.
"No; keep there, please John! When I laugh
you, as I sometimes do, John, and call you
imsy and a dear old goose, and names of that
rt, it's because I love you, John, so well, and
ke such pleasure in your ways, and wouldn't
a you altered in the least respect to have you
Wde a king to-morrow."
"Hooroar I" said Caleb, with unusual vigor.
by opinion I"
"And when I speak of people being middle3d, and steady, John, and pretend that we are a
rmdrum couple, going on in a jog-trot sort of
y, it's only because I'm such a silly little thing,
hn, that I like, sometimes, to act as a kind of
ty with Baby, and all that: and make believe."
She saw that he was coming; and stopped
Li again. But she was very nearly too late.
"No, don't love me for another minute or two,
you please John I What I want most to tell
a, I have kept to the last. My dear, good, genius John, when we were talking the other night
)ut the Cricket, I had it on my lips to say, that
first I did not love you quite so dearly as I do
w; when I first came home here, I was half
aid that I mightn't learn to love you every bit
well as I hoped and prayed I might-being so
y young, John I But, dear John, every day and
ir, I loved you more and more. And if I could
7e loved you better than I do, the noble words
ieard you say this morning would have made.But I can't. All the affection that I had (it
s a great deal John) I gave you, as you well
serve, long, long ago, and I have no moro left
give. Now, my dear husband, take me to your
irt again I That's my home, John; and never,
rer think of sending me to any other t "

You never will derive so much delight from
seeing a glorious little woman in the arms of a
third party, as you would have felt if you had seen
Dot run into the Carrier's embrace. It was the
most complete, unmitigated, soul-fraught little
piece of earnestness that ever you beheld in all
your days.
You may be sure the Carrier was in a state of
perfect rapture; and you may be sure Dot was
likewise; and you may be sure they all were,
inclusive of Miss Slowboy, who wept copiously
for joy, and, wishing to include her young charge
in the general interchange of congratulations,
handed round the Baby to everybody in succession,
as if it were something to drink.
But, now, the sound of wheels was heard again
outside the door; and somebody exclaimed that
Gruff and Tackleton was coming back. Speedily
that worthy gentleman appeared. looking warm
and flustered.
"Why, what the Devil's this, John Peerybingle!" said Tackleton. "There's some mistake. I appointed Mrs. Tackleton to meet me at
the church, and I'll swear I passed her on the road,
on her way here. Oh I here she is I I beg your
pardon, sir; I haven't the pleasure of knowing
you; but if you can do me the favor to spare this
young lady, she has rather a particular engagement
this morning."
"But I can't spare her," returned Edward.
"I couldn't think of it."
"What do you mean, you vagabond " said
Tackleton.
"I mean, that as I can make allowance for
your being vexed," returned the other with a
smile, " I am as deaf to harsh discourse this morning, as I was to all discourse last night."
The look that Tackleton bestowed upon him,
and the start he gave I
"I am sorry sir," said Edward, holding out
May's left hand, and especially the third finger,
"that the young lady can't accompany you to
church; but as she has been there once, this morning, perhaps you'll excuse her."
Tackleton looked hard at the third finger, and
took a little piece of silver paper, apparently containing a ring, from his waistcoat pocket.
"Miss Slowboy," said Tackleton. "Will you
have the kindness to throw that in the fire?
Thank'ee."
"It was a previous engagement, quite an old
engagement, that prevented my wife from keeping
her appointment with you, I assure you," said
Edward.
"Mr. Tackleton will do me the justice to acknowledge that I revealed it to him faithfully; and
that I told him, many times, I never could forget
it," said May, blushing.
" Oh certainly!" said Tackleton. "Oh to be
sure. Oh, it's all right, it's quite correct. Mrs.
Edward Plummer, I infer?"
"That's the name," returned the brdegroom.
"Ah I I shouldn't have kaown you, ltr," sa4l

CHRISTZ'AS B0OOKS.

Tackleton, scrutinizing his face narrowly, and
making a low bow. "I give you joy sir I"
" Thank'ee."
"Mrs. Peerybingle," said Tackleton, turning
suddenly to where she stood with her husband;
"I'm sorry. You haven't done me a very great
kindness, but, upon my life I am sorry. You are
better than I thought you. John Pecrybingle, I
am sorry. You understand me; that's enough.
It's quite correct, ladies and gentlemen all, and
perfectly satisfactory. Good morning I"
With these words he carried it off, and carried
himself off too: merely stopping at the door, to
take the flowers and favors from his horse's head,
and to kick that animal once, in the ribs, as a
means of informing him that there was a screw
loose in his arrangements.
Of course, it became a sericus duty now, to
make such a day of it, as should mark these events
for a high Feast and Festival in the Peerybingle
Calendar for evermore. Accordingly, Dot went
to work to produce such an entertainment, as
should reflect undying honor on the house and on
every one concerned; and in a very short space
of time, she was up to her dimpled elbows in flour,
and whitening the Carrier's coat, every time he
came near her, by stopping him to give him a kiss.
That good fellow washed the greens, and peeled
the turnips, and broke the plates, and upset iron
pots full of cold water on the fire, and made himself useful in all sorts of ways: while a couple of
professional assistants, hastily called in from
somewhere in the neighborhood, as on a point of
life or death, ran against each other in all the
doorways and round all the corners, and everybody tumbled over Tilly Slowboy and the Baby,
everywhere. Tilly never came out in such force
before. Her ubiquity was the theme of general
admiration. She was a stumbling-block in the
passage at five and twenty minutes past two; a
man-trap in the kitchen at half-past two precisely;
and a pit-fall in the garret at five and twenty minutes to three. The Baby's head was, as it were,
a test and touchstone for every description of
matter, animal, vegetable, and mineral. Nothing
was in use that day that didn't come, at some
time or other, into close acquaintance with it.
Then there was a great Expedition set on foot
to go and find out Mrs. Fielding; and to be dismally penitent to that excellent gentlewoman;
and to bring her back, by force, if needful, to be
happy and forgiving. And when the Expedition
first discovered her, she would listen to no terms
at all, but' said, an unspeakable number of times,
that ever she should have lived to see the day I
and couldn't be got to say anything else, except
"Now carry me to the grave:" which seemed
absurd, on account of her not beirg dead, or anything at all like it. After a time she lapsed into
L state of dreadful calmness, and observed that
When that unfortunate train of circumstances had
cecurred in the Indigo Trade, she had foreseen
that she would be exposed, during her whole life,
to every species of insult and contumely; and

that she was glad to find it was the ease; an,
begged they wouldn't trouble themselves abou
her-for what was she?-oh, dear I a nobody Ibut would forget that such a being lived, an,
would take their course in life without hei
From this bitterly sarcastic mood, she passe
into an angry one, in which she gave vent to th
remarkable expression that the worm would tur
if trodden on; and, after that, she yielded to
soft regret, and said, if they had only given he
their confidence, what might she not have had
in her power to suggest I Taking advantage (
this crisis in her feelings, the Expedition en
braced her; and she very soon had her gloves oi
and was on her way to John Peerybingle's in
state of unimpeachable gentility; with a pap(
parcel at her side containing a cap of state, almno
as tall, and quite as stiff, as a mitre.
Then, there were Dot's father and mother i
come, in another little chaise; and they were b
hind their time; and fears were entertained; ar
there was much looking out for them down tl
road; and Mrs. Fielding always would look i
the wrong and morally impossible direction; ar
being apprised thereof, hoped she might take tl
liberty of looking where she pleased. At la
they came; a chubby little couple, jogging aloi
in a snug and comfortable little way that qui
belonged to the Dot family; and Dot and h
mother, side by side, were wonderful to se
They were so like each other.
Then, Dot's mother had to renew her acquaix
ance with May's mother; and May's mother i
ways stood on her gentility: and Dot's moth
never stood on anything but her active little fee
And old Dot, so to call Dot's father, I forgot
wasn't his right name, but never mind-took 11
erties, and shook hands at first sight, and seem
to think a cap but so much starch and musl
and didn't defer himself at all to the Indigo Trai
but said there was no help for it now; and,
Mrs. Fielding's summing up, was a good-natur
kind of man-but coarse, my dear.
I wouldn't have missed Dot, doing the hone
in her wedding-gown, my benison on her brig
face I for any money. No! nor the good Carri
so jovial and so ruddy, at the bottom of the tat
Nor the brown, fresh sailor-fellow, and his hai
some wife. Nor any one among them. To he
missed the dinner would have been to miss
jolly and as stout a meal as man need eat; and
have missed the overflowing cups in which ti
drank The Wedding Day, would have been I
greatest miss of all.
After dinner, Caleb sang the song about 1
Sparkling Bowl. As I'm a living man, hoping
keep so, for a year or two, he sang it through.
And, by-the-bye, a most unlooked-for ir
dent occurred, just as he finished the 1
verse.
There was a tap at the door; and a n
came staggering in, without saying with ye
leave, or by your leave, with something heavy
his head. Setting this down in the middle of

THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH.

Lble, symmetrically in the centre of the nuts and?ples, he said:
"Mr. Tackleton's compliments, and as he
isn't got no use for the cake himself, p'raps
u'll eat it."
And with those words he walked off.
There was some surprise among the company,
you may imagine. Mrs. Fielding, being a lady
infinite discernment, suggested that the cake
as poisoned, and related a narrative of a cake,
hich, within her knowledge, had turned a semiiry for young ladies, blue. But she was overtled by acclamation; and the cake was cut by
ay, with much ceremony and rejoicing.
I don't think any one had tasted 't, when
lere came another tap at the door, and the same
an appeared again, having under his arm a vast
'own paper parcel.
" Mr. Tackleton's compliments, and he's sent
few toys for the Babby. They ain't ugly."
After the delivery of which expressions, he re'ed again.
The whole party would have experienced
eat difficulty in finding words for their astonishent, even if they had had ample time to seek
em. But they had none at all; for, the mesnger had scarcely shut the door behind him,
hen there came another tap, and Tackleton himIf walked in.
" Mrs. Peerybingle I " said the Toy Merchant,
tin hand. " I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than I
is this morning. I have had time to think of it.
hn Peerybingle I I am sour by disposition;
t I can't help being sweetened, more or less, by
ming face to face with such a man as you.
leb I This unconscious little nurse gave me a
oken hint last night, of which I have found the
-ead. I blush to think how easily I might have
und you and your daughter to me, and what a
serable idiot I was, when I took her for one I
lends, one and all, my house is very lonely torht. I have not so much as a Cricket on my
earth. I have scared them all away. Be graius to me; let me join this happy party I"
He was at home in five minutes. You never
v such a fellow. What had he been doingwith
nself all his life, never to have known, before,
i great capacity of being jovial I Or what had
3 Fairies been doing with him, to have effected
3h a change I
"John I you won't send me home this even-:, will you " whispered Dot.
He had been very near it though.
There wanted but one living creature to make
3 party complete; and,in the twinkling of an
3, there he was, very thirsty with hard running,
cd engaged in hopeless endeavors to squeeze his
ad into a narrow' pitcher. He had gone with
3 cart to its journey's end, very much disgusted
i th the absence of his master, and stupendously
5

rebellious to the Deputy. After lingering about
the stable for some little time, vainly attempting
to incite the old horse to the mutinous act of returning on his own account, he had walked into
the tap-room and laid himself down before the
fire. But suddenly yielding to the conviction that
the Deputy was a humbug, and must be abandoned, he had got up again, turned tail, and come
home.
There was a dance in the evening. With
which general mention of that recreation, I should
have left it alone, if I had not some reason to suppose that it was quite an original dance, and one
of a most uncommon figure. It was formed in an
odd way; in this way.
Edward, that sailor-fellow-a good free dashing
sort of fellow he was-had been telling them various marvels concerning parrots and mines, and
Mexicans, and gold dust, when all at once he took
it in his head to jump up from his seat and propose a dance; for Bertha's harp was there, and
she had such a hand upon it as you seldom hear.
Dot (sly little piece of affectation when she chose)
said her dancing days were over; Ithink because
the Carrier was smoking his pipe, and she liked
sitting by him, best. Mrs. Fielding had no choice,
of course, but to say her dancing days were over,
after that; and everybody said the same, except
May; May was ready.
So, May and Edward get up, amid great applause, to dance alone; and Bertha plays her
liveliest tune.
Well! if you'll believe me, they have not
been dancing five minutes, when suddenly the
Carrier flings his pipe away, takes Dot round the
waist, dashes out into the room, and starts off
with her, toe and heel, quite wonderfully. Tackleton no sooner sees this, than he skims across to
Mrs. Fielding, takes her round the waist, and follows suit. Old Dot no sooner sees this, than up
he is, all alive, whisks off Mrs. Dot into the middle of the dance, and is the foremost there. Caleb
no sooner sees this, than he clutches Tilly Slowboy
by both hands and goes off at score; Miss Slowboy, firm in the belief that diving hotly in among
the other couples, and effecting any number of
concussions with them, is your only principle of
footing it.
Hark I how the Cricket joins the music with
its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp; and how the kett;l
hums I

* * *

But what is this Even as I listen to them,
blithely, and turn towards Dot, for one last
glimpse of a little figure very pleasant to me, she
and the rest have vanished into air, and I am
left alone. A Cricket sings upon the Hearth; a
broken child's-toy lies upon the ground; and
r.thing else remains.

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.
9 offJs Sfm.

PART THE FIRST.
ONcE upon a time, it matters little when, and
in stalwart England, it matters little where, a
fierce battle was fought. It was fought upon a
long summer day when the waving grass was
green. Many a wild flower formed by the Almighty Hand to be a perfumed goblet for the dew,
felt its enamelled cup filled high with blood that
day, and shrinking dropped. Many an insect
deriving its delicate color from harmless leaves
and herbs, was stained anew that day by dying
men, and marked its frightened way with an unnatural track. The painted butterfly took blood
into the air upon the edges of its wings. The
stream ran red. The trodden ground became a
quagmire, whence, from sullen pools collected in
the prints of human feet and horses' hoofs, the
one prevailing hue still lowered and glimmered
at the sun.
Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the sights
the moon beheld upon that field, when, coming
up above the black line of distant rising-ground,
softened and blurred at the edge by trees, she rose
into the sky and looked upon the plain, strewn
with upturned faces that had once at mothers'
breasts sought mothers' eyes, or slumbered happily. Heaven keep us from a knowledge of the
secrets whispered afterwards upon the tainted
wind that blew across the scene of that day's
work and that night's death and suffering I Many
a lonely moon was bright upon the battle-ground,
and many a star kept mournful watch upon it,
and many a wind from every quarter of the earth
blew over it, before the traces of the fight were
worn away.
They lurked and lingered for a long time, but
survived in little things; for, Nature, far above
the evil passions of inen, soon recovered Her
serenity, and smiled upon the guilty battle-ground
as she had done before, when it was innocent.
The larks sang high above it; the swallows
skimmed and dipped and flitted to and fro; the
shadows of the flying clouds pursued each other
swiftly, over grass and corn and turnip-field and,wood, and over roof and church-spire in the nestling town among the trees, away into the bright
distance on the borders of the sky and earth,
where the red sunsets faded. Crops were sown,
ind grew up, and were gathered in* the stream

that had been crimsoned, turned a water-ml
men whistled at the plough; gleaners and ha:
makers were seen in quiet groups at work; she(
and oxen pastured; boys whooped and called, J
fields, to scare away the birds; smoke rose fro
cottage chimneys; sabbath bells rang peacefullh
old people lived and died; the timid creatures
the field, and simple flowers of the bush and ga
den, grew and withered in their destined term:
and all upon the fierce and bloody battle-groun
where thousands upon thousands had been killh
in the great fight.
But there were deep green patches in the groi
ing corn at first, that people looked at awfull
Year after year they reappeared; and it w.
known that underneath those fertile spots, heal
of men and horses lay buried, indiscriminatel
enriching the ground. The husbandmen wl
ploughed those places, shrunk from the gre
worms abounding there; and the sheaves th(
yielded, were, for many a long year, called tl
Battle Sheaves, and set apart; and no one ev
knew a Battle Sheaf to be among the last load
a Harvest Home. For a long time, every furrc
that was turned, revealed some fragments of t]
fight. For a long time, there were wounded tre
upon the battle-ground; and scraps of hacked aJ
broken fence and wall, where deadly struggl
had been made; and trampled parts where nol
leaf or blade would grow. For a long time,
village girl would dress her hair or bosom wi
the sweetest flower from that field of death: a:
after many a year had come and gone, the berri
growing there, were still believed to leave t.
deep a stain upon the hand that plucked them.
The Seasons in their course, however, thoue
they passed as lightly as the summer clou
themselves, obliterated, in the lapse of time, ev
these remains of the old conflict; and wore aw
such legendary traces of it as the neighbori:
people carried in their minds, until they dwindl
into old wives' tales, dimly remembered round t
winter fire, and waning every year. Where t
wild flowers and berries had so long remain
upon the stem untouched, gardens arose, a:
houses were built, and children played at batt'
on the turf. The wounded trees had long a
made Christmas logs, and blazed and roared aws
The deep green patches were no greener now th
the memory of those who lay in dust below. T

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

plotghlsltare still turned up from time to time
1omel rusty bits of metal, but it was hard to say
what use they had ever served, and those who
found them wondered and disputed. An old
dinted corslet, and a helmet, had been hanginn in
thle church so long, that the same weak half-blind
old man who tried in vain to make them out
above the whitewashed arch, had marvelled at
them as a baby. If the host slain upon the field,
could have been for a moment reanimated in the
forms in which they fell, each upon the spot that
was the bed of his untimely death, gashed and
ghastly soldiers would have stared in, hundreds
deep, at household door and window; and would
have risen on the hearths of quiet homes; and
would have been the garnered store of barns and
granaries; and would have started up between
the cradled infant and its nurse; and would have
floated with the stream, and whirled round on the
mill, and crowded the orchard, and burdened the
meadow, and piled the rickyard high with dying
men. So altered was the battle-ground, where
thousands upon thousands had been killed in the
great fight., Nowhere more altered, perhaps, about a hundred years ago, than in one little orchard attached
to an old stone house with a honeysuckle porch;
where on a bright autumn morning, there were
sounds of music and laughter, and where two
girls danced merrily together on the grass, while
some half-dozen peasant women standing on laddters, gathering the apples from the trees, stopped
in their work to look down, and share their enjoyment. It was a pleasant, lively, natural scene;
i beautiful day, a retired spot; and the two girls,
lyite unconstrained and careless, danced in the
freedom and gaiety of their hearts.
If there were no such thing as display in the
ivorld, my private opinion is, and I hope you
mgree with me, that we might get on a great deal
letter than we do, and might be infinitely more
tgreeable company than we are. It was charming
o see how these girls danced. They had no specators but the apple-pickers on the ladders. They
vere very glad to please them, but they danced to
)lease themselves (or at least you would have
supposed so); and you could no more help admiriug, than they could help dancing. How they did
lance 1
Not like opera-dancers. Not at all. And not
ike Madame Anybody's finished pupils. Not the
east. It was not quadrille dancing, nor minuet
lancing, nor even country-dance dancing. It was
leither in the old style, nor the new style, nor the
French style, nor the English style; though it
nay have been, by accident, a trifle in the Spanish
tyle, which is a free and joyous one, I am told,
ieriving a delightful air of oft-hand inspiration,
rom the chirping little castanets. As they danced! mong the orchard trees, and down the groves of
tems and back again, andl twirled each other
ightly round and round, the influence of their
iry motion seemed to spread and spread, in the
nn-lighted scene, like an expanding circle in the

water. Their streaming hair and fluttering skirts,
the elastic grass beneath their feet, the boughs
that rustled in the morning air-the flashing
leaves, the speckled shadows on the soft green
ground-the balmy wind that swept along the
landscape, glad to turn the distant windmill,
cheerily-everything between the two girls, ana
the man and team at plough upon the ridge of
land, where they showed against the sky as if
they were the last things in the world-seemed
dancing too.
At last, the younger of the dancing sistersout
of breath, and laughing gaily, threw herself upon
a bench to rest. The other leaned against a tree
hard by. The music, a wandering harp and fiddle,
left off with a flourish, as if it boasted of its
freshness; though, the truth is, it had gone at
such a pace, and worked itself to such a pitch of
competition with the dancing, that it never could
have held on, half a minute longer. The applepickers on the ladders raised a hum and murmur
of applause, and then, in keeping with the sound,
bestirred themselves to work again like bees.
The more actively, perhaps, because an elderly
gentleman, who was no other than Doctor Jeddler
himself-it was Doctor Jeddler's house and orchard, you should know, and these were Doctor
Jeddler's daughters-came bustling out to see
what was the matter, and who the deuce played
music on his property, before breakfast. For he
was a great philosopher, Doctor Jeddler, and not
very musical.
" Music and dancing to-day!" said the Doctor,
stopping short, and speaking to himself, "I
thought they dreaded to-day. But it's a world of
contradictions. Why, Grace, why, Marion I 1 he
added aloud, " is the world more mad than usual
this morning? "
"Miake some allowance for it, father, if it be,"
replied his younger daughter, Marion, going close
to him, and looking into his face, " for it's somebody's birth-day."
"Somebody's birth-day, Puss," replied the
Doctor. "Don't you know it's always somebody's birth-day? Did you never hear how
many new performers enter on this-ha I ha I ha!
-it's impossible to speak gravely of it-on this
preposterous and ridiculous business called Life,
every minute?"
"No, father!"
"No, not you, of course; you're a womanalmost," said the Doctor. "By the by," and he
looked into the pretty face, still close to his, "I
suppose it's your birth-day."
"NoI Do you really, father?" cried his pet
daughter, pursing up her red lips to be kissed.
"There! Take my love with it," said the
Doctor, imprinting his upon them; "and many
happy returns of the-the idea I-of the day. The
notion of wishing happy returns in such a fare
as this," said the Doctor to himself, " is go l I
Ha! ha! ha!"
Doctor Jeddler was, as I have said, a grt
philosopher, and the heart and mysetry f Oil

CHRISTIAS BOOKS.

philosophy was, to.ook upon the world as a
gigantic practical joke; as something too absurd
to be considered seriously, by any rational man.
His system of belief had been, in the beginning,
part and parcel of the battle-ground on which he
lived, as you shall presently understand.
"Welll But how did you get the music?"
asked the Doctor. " Poultry-steaers, of course!
Where did the minstrels come from?"
" Alfred sent the music," said his daughter
Grace, adjusting a few simple flowers in her sister's hair, with which, in her admiration of that
youthful beauty, she had herself adorned it halfan-hour before, and which the dancing had disarranged.
"Oh! Alfred sent the music, did he?" returned the Doctor.
"Yes. He met it coming out of the town as
he was entering early. The men are travelling on
foot, and rested there last night; and as it was
Marion's birth-day, and he thought it would
please her, he sent them on, with a pencilled note
to me, saying that if I thought so too, they had
come to serenade her."
"Ay, ay," said the Doctor, carelessly, "he
always takes your opinion."
"And my opinion being favorable," said
Grace, good-humoredly; and pausing for a moment to admire the prpt-.y head she decorated,
with her own thrown back "and Marion being
in high spirits, and beginning ti, Sance, I joined
her. And so we danced to Alfred's music till we
were out of breath. And we thought the music
all the gayer for being sent by Alfred. Didn't we,
dear Marion?"
" Oh, I don't know, Grace. How you tease me
about Alfred."
"Tease you by mentioning your lover?" said
her sister.
"I am sure I don't much care to have him
mentioned," said the wilful beauty, stripping the
petals from some flowers she held, and scattering
them on the ground. "I am almost tired of hearing of him; and as to his being my lover â "
"Hush I Don't speak lightly of a true heart,
which is all your own, Marion," cried her sister,
"even in jest. There is not a truer heart than
Alfred's in the world "
"No-no," said Marion, raising her eyebrows
with a pleasant air of careless consideration,
"perhaps not. But I don't know that there's
any great merit in that. I-I don't want him to
be so very true. I never asked him. If he expects that I-. But, dear Grace, wvhy need we
talk of him at all, just now!"
It was agreeable to see the graceful figures of
the blooming sisters, twined together, lingering
among the trees, conversing thus with earnestness opposed to lightness, yet, with love responding tenderly to love. And it was very
curious indeed to see the younger sister's eyes
suffhsed with tears, and something fervently and
deeply felt, breaking through the wilfulness of
hahq 'said, and striving with it painfully..D f+....

The difference between them, in respect of
age, could not exceed four years at most; but,
Grace, as often happens in such cases, when no
mother watches over both (the Doctor's wife was
dead), seemed, in her gentle care of her young
sister, and in the steadiness of her devotion to
her, older than she was; and more removed, in
course of nature, from all competition with her,
or participation, otherwise than through her
sympathy and true affection, in her wayward
fancies, than their ages seemed to warrant.
Great character of mother, that, even in this
shadow and faint reflection of it, purifies the
heart, and raises the exalted nature nearer to the
angels I
The Doctor's reflections, as he looked after
them, and heard the purport of their discourse,
were limited at first to certain merry meditations
on the folly of all loves and likings, and the idle
imposition practised on themselves by young
people, who believed for a moment, that there
could be anything serious in such bubbles, aud
were always undeceived-always I
But the home-adorning, self-denying qualities
of Grace, and her sweet temper, so gentle and retiring, yet including so much constancy and
bravery of spirit, seemed all expressed to him in
the contrast between her quiet household figure
and that of his younger and more beautiful child;
and he was sorry for her sake-sorry for them
both-that life should be such a very ridiculous
business as it was.
The Doctor never dreamed of inquiring whether
his children, or either of them, helped in any way
to make the scheme a serious one. But then he
was a Philosopher.
A kind and generous man by nature, he had
stumbled, by chance, over that common Philosopher's stone (much more easily discovered that
the object of the alchemist's researches), whict
sometimes trips up kind and generous men, anm
has the fatal property of turning gold to dross
and every precious thing to poor account.
" Britain I" cried the Doctor. "Britain
Halloa I"
A small man, with an uncommonly sour an(
discontented face, emerged from the house, anm
returned to this call the unceremonious acknowl
edgment of " Now then I "
"Where's the breakfast table?" said the
Doctor.
"In the house," returned Britain.
Are you going to spread it out here, as yot
were told last night? " said the Doctor. "Don'
you know that there are gentlemen coming'
That there's business to be done this morning
before the coach comes by? That this is a veri
particular occasion?"
"I couldn't do anything, Doctor Jeddler, til
the women had done getting in the apples, coul(
I?" said Britain, his voice rising with his-reason
ing, so that it was very loud at last.
"Well, have they done now? " returned th&lt;
Doctor, looking at his watch, and clapping hiL

TE BA TTLE OF LIFfE.

101

bhnds. "Come! make hastel where's Clemency?"
" Here am I, Mister," said a voice from one of
the ladders, which a pair of clumsy feet descended
briskly. "It's all done now. Clear away, gals.
Everything shall be ready for you in half a minute,
Mister."
With that she began to bustle about most
vigorously; presenting, as she did so, an appearance sufficiently peculiar to justify a word of
introduction.
She was about thirty years old, and had a sufficiently plump and cheerful face, though it was
twisted up into an odd expression of tightness
that made it comical. But, the extraordinary
homeliness of her gait and manner, would
have superseded any face in the world. To say
that she had two left legs, and somebody else's
arms, and that all four limbs seemed to be out of
joint, and to start from perfectly wrong places
when they were set in motion, is to offer the
mildest outline of the reality. To say that she
was perfectly content and satisfied with these arrangements, and regarded them as being no business of hers, and that she took her arms and legs
as they came, and allowed them to dispose of
themselves just as it happened, is to render faint
justice to her equanimity. Her dress was a prodigious pair of self-willed shoes, that never
wanted to go where her feet went; blue stockings; a printed gown of many colors and the
most hideous pattern procurable for money; and
a white apron. She always wore short sleeves,
and always had, by some accident, grazed elbows,
in which she took so lively an interest, that she
was continually trying to turn them round and
get impossible views of them. In general, a little
cap perched somewhere on her head; though it
was rarely to be met with in the place usually
occupied in other subjects, by that article of dress;
but, from head to foot she was scrupulously clean,
and maintained a kind of dislocated tidiness. Indeed, her laudable anxiety to be tidy and compact
in her own conscience as well as in the public
eye, gave rise to one of her most startling evolutions, which was to grasp herself sometimes by a
sort of wooden handle (part of her clothing, and
familiarly called a busk), and wrestle as it were
with her garments, until they fell into a symmetrical arrangement.
Such, in outward form and garb, was Clemency
Newcome; who was supposed to have unconsciously originated a corruption of her own christian
name, from Clementina (but nobody knew,,for the
deaf old mother, a very phenomenon of age, whom
she had supported almost from a child, was dead,
and she had no other relation); who now busied
herself in preparing the table, and who stood, at
intervals, with her bare red arms crossed, rubbing
her grazed elbows with opposite hands, and staring at it very composedly, until she suddenly remembered something else it wanted, and jogged
off to fetch it.
"Here are them two lawyers a-coming, Mis

ter I" said Clemency, in a tone of no very great
good-will.
" Aha I" cried the Doctor, advancing to the
gate to meet them. " Good morning, good morning I Grace, my dear I Marion I Here are Messrs.
Snitchey and Craggs. Where's Alfred?"
"He'll be back directly, father, no doubt," said
Grace. "He had so much to do this morning in
his preparations for departure, that he was up ana
out by daybreak. Good morning, gentlemen."
"Ladies I" said Mr. Snitchey, "for Self and
Craggs," who bowed, "good morning I Miss," to
Marion, " I kiss your hand." Which he did.
" And I wish you "-which he might or might not,
for he didn't look, at first sight, like a gentleman
troubled with many warm outpourings of soul, in
behalf of other people, " a hundred happy returns
of this auspicious day."
" Ha, ha, ha " laughed the Doctor thoughtfully,
with his hands in his pockets. " The great farce
in a hundred acts "
" You wouldn't, I am sure," said Mr. Snitchey,
standing a small professional blue bag against one
leg of the table, " cut the great farce short for this
actress, at all events, Doctor Jeddler."
"No," returned the Doctor. "God forbid
May she live to laugh at it, as long as she can
laugh, and then say, with the French wit, 'The
farce is ended; draw the curtain.' "
" The French wit," said Mr. Snitchey, peeping
sharply into his blue bag, "was wrong, Doctor
Jeddler, and your philosophy is altogether wrong,
depend upon it, as I have often told you. Nothing
serious in life I What do you call law?"
" A joke," replied the Doctor.
"Did you ever go to law? " asked Mr. Snitchey,
looking out of the blue bag.
"Never," returned the Doctor.
" If you ever do," said Mr. Snitchey, "perhaps
you'll alter that opinion."
Craggs, who seemed to be represented by
Snitchey, and to be conscious of little or no separate existence of personal individuality, offered a
remark of his own in this place. It involved the
only idea of which he did not stand seised and
possessed in equal moieties with Snitchey; but,
he had some partners in it among the wise men of
the world.
"It's made a great deal too easy," said Mr.
Craggs.
"Law is?" asked the Doctor.
"Yes," said Mr. Craggs, "everything is.
Everything appears to me to be made too easy,
now-a-days. It's the vice of these times. If the
world is a joke (I am not prepared to say it isn't),
it ought to be made a very difficult joke to crack.
It ought to be as hard a struggle, sir, as possible.
That's the intention. But, it's being made far too
easy. We are oiling the gates of life. They ought
to be rusty. We shall have them beginning to
turn, soon, with a smooth sound. Whereas they
ought to grate upon their hinges, sir."
Mr. Craggs seemed positively to grate upon his
own hinges, as he delivered this opinion; to whick

CHRISTMAS BOOR'S.

he communicated immense effect-being a cold,
hard, dry, man, dressed in grey and white, like a
flint; with small twinkles in his eyes, as if something struck sparks out of them. The three natural kingdoms, indeed, had each a fanciful representative among this brotherhood of disputants:
for Snitchey was like a magpie or a raven (only not
so sleek), and the Doctor had a streaked face like
a winter-pippin, with here and there a dimple to
express the peckings of the birds, and a very little
bit of pigtail behind that stood for the stalk.
As the active figure bf a handsome young man,
dressed for a journey, and followed by a porter
bearing several packages and baskets, entered the
orchard at a brisk pace, and with an air of gaiety
and hope that accorded well with the morning,
these three drew together, like the brothers of the
sister Fates, or like the Graces more effectually
disguised, or like the three weird prophets on the
heath, and greeted him.
"Happy returns, Alf!" said the Doctor lightly.
"A hundred happy returns of this auspicious
day, Mr. Heathfield I " said Snitchey, bowing low.
" Returns I " Craggs murmured in a deep voice,
all alone.
"Why, what a battery! " exclaimed Alfred,
stopping short, "and one-two-three-all foreboders of no good, in the great sea before me. I
am glad you are not the first I have met this
morning: I should have taken it for a bad omen.
But, Grace was the first-sweet, pleasant Graceso I defy you all I"
"If you please, Mister, I was the first you
know," said Clemency Newcome. "She was
walking out here, before sunrise, you remember.
I was in the house."
"That's true t Clemency was the frst," said
Alfred. "So I defy you with Clemency."
"Ha, ha, ha!-for Self and Craggs," said
Snitchey. " What a defiance I "
"Not so bad a one as it appears, may be,"
said Alfred, shaking hands heartily with the Doctor, and also with Snitchey and Craggs, and then
looking round. "Where are the-Good Heavens 1"
With a start, productive for the moment of a
closer partnership between Jonathan Snitchey
and Thomas Craggs than the subsisting articles
of agreement in that wise contemplated, he hastily
betook himself to where the sisters stood together, and-however, I needn't more particularly explain his manner of saluting Marion first,
and Grace afterwards than by hinting that MA.
Craggs may possibly have considered it "too
easy."
Perhaps to change the subject Doctor Jeddler
made a hasty move towards the breakfast, and
they all sat down at table. 'Grace presided; but
so discreetly stationed herself, as to cut off her
sister and ALfred from the rest of the company.
Snitchey and Craggs sat at opposite corners, with
the blue bag between them for safety; the Doctor took his usual position, opposite to Grace.
Clemency hovered galvanically about the table as

waitress; and the melancholy Britain, at anothel
and a smaller board, acted as Grand Carver of a
round of beef and a ham.
"Meat " said Britain, approachin Mir. Snitch.
ey, with the carving knife and fork in his hands,
and throwing the question at him like a missile.
"Certainly," returned the lawyer.
"Do you want any? " to Craggs.
"Lean and well done," replied that gentleman.
liaving executed these orders, and moderately
supplied the Doctor (he seemed to know that nobody else wanted anything to eat), he lingered as
near the firm as he decently could, watching with
an austere eye their disposition of the viands, and
but once relaxing the severe expression of his
face. This was on the occasion of Mr. Craggs,
whose teeth were not of the best, partially choking, when he cried out with great animation, " I
thought he was gone!"
"Now Alfred," said the Doctor, "for a word
or two of business, while we are yet at breakfast."
" While we are yet at breakfast," said Snitchey
and Craggs, who seemed to have no present idea
of leaving off.
Although Alfred had not been breakfasting,
and seemed to have quite enough business on his
hands as it was, he respectfully answered:
" If you please, sir."
"If anything could be serious," the Doctor be
gan, "in such a-"
"Farce as this, sir," hinted Alfred.
"In such a farce as this," observed the Doctor, "it might be this recurrence, on the eve of
separation, of a double birth-day, which is connected with many associations pleasant to us four,
and with the recollection of a long and amicable
intercourse. That's not to the purpose."
"Ah I yes, yes, Dr. Jeddler," said the young
man. " It is to the purpose..Much to the purpose, as my heart bears witness this morning;
and as yours does too, I know, if you would let it
speak. I leave your house to-day; I cease to be
your ward to-day: we part with tender relations
stretching far behind us, that never can be exactly renewed, and with others dawning yet before us," he looked down at Marion beside him,
"friaught with such considerations as I must itot
trust myself to speak of now. Come, come I" he
added, rallying his spirits and the Doctor at once,
" there's a serious grain in this large foolish dustheap, Doctor. Let us allow to-day, that there is
One."
"To-day I" cried the Doctor. "Hear him
Ha, ha, ha I Of all days in the foolish year. Why,
on this day, the great battle was fought on this
ground. On this ground where We now sit, where
I saw my two girls dance this morning, where
the ftuit has just been gathered for our eating
from these trees, the roots of which are struck in
Men, not earth,-so many lives were lost, that
within my recollection, generations afterwards, a
churchyard full of bones, and dust of bones, and
chips of cloven skulls, has been dug up from un

THE RA TTLE OF LIFF.

lea
13

lerneath our feet here. Yet not a hundred peo)le in that battle knew for what they fought, or
vhy; not a hundred of the inconsiderate rejoi.:ers in the victory, why they rejoiced. Not half a
rundred people were the better for thle gain or
oss. Not half-a-dozen men agree to this hour on
he cause or merits; and nobody, in short, ever:new anything distinct about it, but the niournrs of the slain. Serious, too!" said the Doctor,
anghing. " Such a system! "
"But, all this seemns to me,' said Alfred, "to
te very serious."
"Serious I " cried the Doctor. "If you al-,)wed such things to be serious, you must go
sad, or die, or climb up to the top of a monitain,
nd turn hermit."
"Besides-so long ago," said Alfred.
"Long ago! " returned the Doctor. "Do you
now what the world has been doing, ever since?
)o you know what else it has been doing? I
on't I "
"It has gone to law a little," observed 1Mr.
nitchey, stirring his tea.
"Althouo'h the way out has been always imiade
so easy," said his partner.
"And you'll excuse my saying, Doctor," purled Mr. Snitchey, " having been already put a
lousand times in possession of my opinion, in
ie course of our discussions, that, in its having
one to law, and in its legal system altogether, I
o observe a serious side-now, really, a someling tangible, and with a purpose and intention
i it-"
Clemency Newcome made an angry tumble
Yainst the table, occasioning a' sounding clatter.nong the cups and saucers.
"IHeydayl what's the matter there?" ex-.aimed the Doctor.
"It's this evil-inclined blue bag," said Clernicy, " always tripping up somebody!"
"With a purpose and intention ii it, I was
lying," resumed Snitchey, "that commands re)ect. Life a farce, Doctor Jeddler? With law
l it?"
The Doctor laughed, and looked at Alfred.
"Granted, if you please, that war is foolish,"
rid Snitchey. " There we agree. For example.
ere's a smiling country," pointing it out with
is fork, "once overrun by soldiers-trespassers;7ery man of 'em-and laid waste by fire and
vord. He, he, he! The idea of any nan exposig himself, voluntarily, to fire and sword I Stuid, wasteful, positively ridiculous; you laugh; your fellow-creatures, you know, when you
link of it I But take this smiling country as it:ands. Think of the laws appertaining to real
roperty; to the bequest and devise of real propIty; to the mortgage and redemption of real
roperty; to leasehold, freehold, and copyhold:tate; think," said Mr. Snitchey, with such
reat emotion that he actually smacked his lips,
of the complicated laws relating to title and
roof of title, with all the contradictory prece3nts and numerous acts of parliament connected
20 -

with them; think of the infinite number of Inge.
nious and interminable chancery suits, to which
this pleasant prospect may give rise; and ac
knowledge, Doctor Jeddler, that there is a green
spot in the scheme about us! I believe," said Mr.
Snitehey, looking at his partner, "that I speak
for Self and Cragygs?"
Mr. Craggs having sig-nified assent, Mr.
Snitchlcy, somewhat freshened by his recent
eloquence, observed that he would take a littl
nmore beef and another cup of tea.
"I don't stand up for life in general," he
added, rubbing his hands and chuckling, "it's
fill of folly; full of something worse. Professions of trust, and confidence, and unselfishness,
and all that I Bah, ball, bah I We see what
they're worth. But you mustn't laugh at life;
you've got a game to play; a very serious game
indeed! Everybody's playing against you, you
know, and you're playing against them. Oh! it's
a very interesting thing. There are deep moves
upon the board. You must only laugh, Doctor
Jeddler, when you win-and then not much. IHe,
lie, he! And then not much," repeated Snitchey,
rolling his head and winking his eye, as if he
would have added, " you may do this instead "
"Well, Alfred! " cried the Doctor, "what do
you say now?"
" I say, sir," replied Alfred, "that the greatest
favor you could do me, and yourself too I am inclined to think, would be to try sometimes to forget this battle-field and others like it in that
broader battle-field of Life, on which the sun looks
every day."
"Really, I'm afraid that wouldn't soften his
opinions, gMr. Alfred," said Snitchey. ' The combatants are very eager and very bitter in that same
battle of Life. There's a great deal of cutting and
slashing, and firing into people's heads from be.
hind. There is terrible treading down, and
trampling on. It is rather a bad business."
"I believe, Mr. Snitellhey," said Alfred, " there
are quiet victories and struggles., great sacrifices
of self, and noble acts of heroism, in it-even in
many of its apparent lightnesses and contradictions-not the less difficult to achieve, because
they have no earthly chronicle or audience-done
every day in nooks and corners, and in little house.
Lolds, and in men's and wvomen's hearts-any one
of which might reconcile the sternest man to such
a world, and fill him with belief and hope in it,
though two-fourths of its people were at war, and
another fourth at law; and that's a bold word."
Both the sisters listened keenly.
"Well, well I" said the Doctor, " I am too old
to be converted, even by my friend Snitchey here,
or my good spinster sister, Martha Jeddler; who
had what she calls her domestic trials ages ago,
and has led a sympathising life with all sorts of
people ever since; and who is so much of your
opinion (only she's less reasonable and more obstinate, being a- woman), that we can't agree, and
seldom meet. I was born upon this battle-field.
I began, as a boy, to have my thoughts directed tc

104

CHERISTMA81 BOXS.

the real history of a battle-field. Sixty years have
gone over my head, and I have never seen the
Christian world, including Ieaven knows how
many loving mothers and good enough girls like
mine here, anything but mad for a battle-field.
The same contradictions prevail in everything.
One must either laugh or cry at such stupendous
inconsistencies; and I prefer to laugh."
Britain, who had been paying the profoundest
hnd most melancholy attention to each speaker in
his turn, seemed suddenly to decide in favor of
the same preference, if a deep sepulchral sound
that escaped him might be construed into a demonstration of risibility. His face, however, was
so perfectly unaffected by it, both before and afterwards, that although one or two of the breakfast
party looked round as being startled by a mysterious noise, nobody connected the offender with it.
Except his partner in attendance, Clemency
Newcome; who, rousing him with one of those
favorite joints, her elbows, inquired, in a reproachful whisper, what he laughed at.
" Not you I" said Britain.
"Who then? "
"Humanity," said Britain. "That's the joke!"
"What between master and them lawyers,
he's getting more and more addle-headed every
day " cried Clemency, giving him a lunge with
the other elbow, as a mental stimulant. "Do you
know where you are? Do you want to get warning?"
"I don't know anything," said Britain, with a
leaden eye and an immoveable visage. "I don't
care for anything. I don't make out anything.
I don't believe anything. And I don't want anything."
Although this forlorn summary of his general
condition may have been overcharged in an access
of despondency, Benjamin Britain-sometimes
called Little Britain, to distinguish him from
Great; as we might say Young England, to express Old England with a decided difference-had
defined his real state more accurately than might
be supposed. For, serving as a sort of man Miles
to the Doctor's Friar Bacon, and listening day
after day to innumerable orations addressed by
the Doctor to various people, all tending to show
that his very existence was at best a mistake and
an absurdity, this unfortunate servitor had fallen,
by d6grees, into such an abyss of confused and
ontradictory suggestions from within and without, that Truth at the bottom of her well, was on
the level surface as compared with Britain in the
depths of his mystification. The only point he
clearly comprehended, was, that the new element
usually brought into these discussions by Snitchey
and Craggs, never served to make them clearer,
and always seemed to give the. Doctor a species
of advantage and confirmation. Therefore, he
looked upon the Firm as one of the proximate
causes of his state of mind, and held them in abhorrence accordingly.
"But this is not our business, Alfred," said
the Doctor. " Ceasing to be my ward (as you

have said) to-day; and leaving us full to the brin
of such learning as the Grammar School dowi
here was able to give you, and your studies ii
London could add to that, and such practice
knowledge as a dull old country Doctor like my
self could graft upon both; you are away, now
into the world. The first term of probation al
pointed by your poor father, being over, away yo
go now, your own master, to fulfil his second de
sire. And long before your three years' tou
among the foreign schools of medicine is finished
you'll have forgotten us. Lord, you'll forget u
easily in six months! "
"If I do-But, you know better; why shoul
I speak to you I " said Alfred, laughing.
" I don't know anything of the sort," returne
the Doctor. " What do you say, Marion?"
Marion, trifling with her teacup, seemed to sa
-but she didn't say it-that he was welcome t
forget them, if he could. Grace pressed the bloon
ing face against her cheek, and smiled.
"I haven't been, I hope, a very unjust stewar
in the execution of my trust," pursued the Doi
tor; "but I am to be, at any rate, formally di.
charged, and released, and what not this mon
ing; and here are our good friends Snitchey an
Craggs, with a bagful of papers, and accounts, an
documents, for the transfer of the balance of tl
trust fund to you (I wish it was a more difficu
one to dispose of, Alfred, but you must get to 1
a great man, and make it so), and other drolleri(
of that sort, which are to be signed, sealed, an
delivered."
"And duly witnessed as by law required,
said Snitchey, pushing away his plate, and tal
ing out the papers, which his partner proceeds
to spread upon the table; "and Self and Cragj
having been co-trustees with you, Doctor, in E
far as the funds was concerned, we shall wai
your two servants to attest the signatures âc
you read, Mrs. Newcome? "
"I a'n't married, Mister," said Clemency.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I should think not.
chuckled Snitchey, casting his eyes over her e:
traordinary figure. "You can read?"
"A little," answered Clemency.
"The marriage service, night ar.d mornin
eh? " observed the lawyer, jocosely.
"No," said Clemency. "Too hard. I on
reads a thimble."
" Bead a thimble I " echoed Snitchey. " W1h
are you talking about, young woman? "
Clemency nodded. " And a nutmeg-grater."
"Why, this is a lunatic I a subject for the Loi
High Chancellor I" said Suitchey, staring at her
-"If possessed of any property," stipulate
Craggs.
Grace, however, interposing, explained th;
each of the articles in question bore an engrave
motto, and so formed the pocket library of Cler
ency Newcome, who was not much given to tl
study of books.
Oh, that's it, is it? Miss Grace," said Snitct
ey.

TLIE BA TTLi OF LIFE.

1VJ
10. Yea, yes. Ha, ha, ha I thought our friend
R as an idiot. She looks uncommonly like it," he
muttered, with a supercilious glance. "And
what does the thimble say, Mrs. Newcome?"
"I a'n't married, Mister," observed Clemency.
"Well, Newcome. Will that do?" said the
lawyer. " What does the thimble say, Newcome?"
How Clemency, before replying to this question, held one pocket open, and looked down into
its yawning depths for the thimble which wasn't
there,-and how she then held an opposite pocket
'open, and seeming to descry it, like a pearl of
great price, at the bottom, cleared away such intervening obstacles as a handkerchief, an end of
wax candle, a flushed apple, an orange, a lucky
penny, a cramp bone, a padlock, a pair of scissors in a sheath more expressly describable as
promising young shears, a handful or so of loose
beads, several balls of cotton, a needle-case, a cabinet collection of curl-papers, and a biscuit, all of
which articles she entrusted individually and
severally to Britain to hold,-is of no consequence.
Nor how, in her determination to grasp this
pocket by the throat and keep it prisoner (for it
had a tendency to swing, and twist itself round
the nearest corner), she assumed and calmly maintained, an attitude apparently inconsistent with
the human anatomy and the laws of gravity. It
is enough that at last she triumphantly produced
the thimble on her finger, and rattled the nutmeggrater: the literature of both of these trinkets
being obviously in course of wearing out and
wasting away, through excessive friction.
' That's the thimble, is it, young woman?"
said Mr. Snitchey, diverting himself at her expense. "And what does the thimble say? ".; "It says," replied Clemency, reading slowly
round as if it were a tower, "For-get and forgive."
Snitchey and Craggs laughed heartily. "So
new I" said Snitchey. "So easy I " said Craggs.
"Such a knowledge of human nature in it I" said
Snitchey. " So applicable to the affairs of life I"
said Craggs.
" And the nutmeg-grater? " inquired the head
of the Firm.
"The grater says," returned Clemency, "Do
as you-wold-be-done by."
"Do, or you'll be done brown, you mean,"
said Mr. Snitchey.
"I don't understand," retorted Clemency,: haking her head vaguely. "I a'n't no lawyer."
"I am afraid that if she was, Doctor," said
' Mr. Snitchey, turning to him suddenly, as if to
anticipate any effect that might otherwise be conI sequent on this retort, " she'd find it to be the
golden rule of half her clients. They are serious
enough in that-whimsical as your world is-and
lay the blame on us afterwards. We, in our profession, are little else than mirrors after all, Mr.
Alfred; but, we are generally consulted by angry
ald quarrelsome people who are not in their bes,

looks, and it's rather hard to quarrel with us if
we reflect unpleasant aspects. I think," said Mr.
Snitchey, " that I speak for Self and Craggs "
"Decidedly," said Craggs.
"And so, if Mr. Britain will oblige us with a
mouthful of ink," said Mr. Snitchey, returning to
the papers, "we'll sign, seal, and deliver as soon
as possible, or the coach will be coming past before we know where we are."
If one might judge from his appearance, there
was every probability of the coach coming past
before Mr. Britain knew where he was; for he
stood in a state of abstraction, mentally balancing
the Doctor against the lawyers, and the lawyers
against the Doctor, and their clients against both,
and enaged in feeble attempts to make the
thimble and nutmeg-grater (a new idea to him)
square with anybody's system of philosophy; and,
in short, bewildering himself as much as ever his
great namesake has done with theories and
schools. But Clemency, who was his good Genius-though he had the meanest possible opinion
of her understanding, by reason of her seldom
troubling herself with abstract speculations, and
being always at hand to do the right thing at the
right time-having produced the ink in a twinkling, tendered him the further service of recalling him to himself by the application of her el
bows; with which gentle flappers she so jogged his
memory, in a more literal construction of that
phrase than usual, that he soon became quite
fresh and brisk.
How he labored under an apprehension not
uncommon to persons in his degree, to whom the
use of pen and ink is an event, that he couldn't
append his name to a document, not of his own
writing, without committing himself in some
shadowy manner, or somehow signing away vague
and enormous sums of money; and how he approached the deeds under protest, and by dint of
the Doctor's coercion, and insisted on pausing to
look at them before writing (the cramped hand, to
say nothing of the phraseology, being so much
Chinese to him), and also on turning them round
to see whether there was anything fraudulent underneath; and how, having signed his name, he
became desolate as one who had parted with his
property and rights; I want the time to tell.
Also, how the blue bag containing his signature,
afterwards had a mysterious interest for him, and
he couldn't leave it; also, how Clemency New.
come, in an ecstasy of laughter at the idea of her
own importance and dignity, brooded over the
whole table with her two elbows, like a spread
eagle, and reposed her head upon her left arm as
a preliminary to the formation of certain cabalis- |
tic characters, which required a deal of ink, and
imaginary countdrparts whereof she executed at
the same time with her tongue. Also, how, having once tasted ink, she became thirsty in that
regard, as tame tigers are said to be after tasting
another sort of fluid, and wanted to sign every
thing, and put her name in all kinds of places. Il
brief, the Doctor was discharged of his tnust and

106

CHJRIS TMA S BOO KS.

all its responsibilities; and Alfred, taking it on
himself, was fairly started on the journey of life.
"Britain I" said the Doctor. "Run to the
gate, and watch for the coach. Time flies, Alfred! "
"Yes, sir, yes," returned the young man, hurriedly. "Dear Grace! a moment! Marion-so
young and beautiful, so winning and so much admired, dear to my heart as nothing else in life is
-remember I I leave Marion to you!"
"She has always been a sacred charge to me,
Alfred. She is doubly so, now. I will be faithful to my trust, believe me."
" I do believe it, Grace. I know it well. Who
could look upon your face, and hear your voice,
and not know it Ah, GraceI If I had your wellgoverned heart, and tranquil mind, how bravely
I Would leave this place to-day I "
"Would you?" she answered with a quiet
smile.
"And yet, Grace-Sister, seems the natural
word."
"Use it " she said quickly. "I am glad to
hear it. Call me nothing else."
"And yet, sister, then," said Alfred, " Marion
and I had better have your true and steadfast qualities serving us here, and making us both happier
and better. I wouldn't carry them away, to sustain myself, if I could!"
' Coach upon the hill-top I " exclaimed Britain.
"Time flies, Alfred," said the Doctor.
Marion had stood apart, with her eyes fixed
upon the ground; but, this warning being given,
her young lover brought her tenderly to where
her sister stood, and gave her into her embrace.
" I have been telling Grace, dear Marion," he
said, " that you are her charge; my precious trust
at parting. And when I come back and reclaim
you, dearest, and the bright prospect of our married life lies stretched before us, it shall be one of
our chief pleasures to consult how we can make
Grace happy; how we can anticipate her wishes;
how we can show our gratitude and love to her;
how we can return her something of the debt she
will have heaped upon us."
The younger sister had one hand in his hand;
the other rested on her sister's neck. She looked
into that sister's eyes, so calm, serene, and cheerful, with a gaze in which affection, admiration,
sorrow, wonder, almost veneration, were blended.
She looked into that sister's face, as if it were the
fce of some bright angel. Calm, serene, and
cheerful, the face looked back on her and on her
lover.
"And when the time comes, as it must one
day,4' said Alfred,-" I wonder it has never come
yet, but Grace knows best, for Grace is always
right,-when she will want a friend to open her
whole heart to, and to be to-her something of
what she has been to us-then, Marion, how faith'*l we will prove, and what delight to us to know
that she, our dear good sister, loves and is loved
again, as we would have her I"
8till the younger sister looked into nar eyes,
end trned not-even towards him. And still

those honest eyes looked back, so calm, serene,
and cheerful, on herself and on her lover.
"And when all that is past, and we are old,
and living (as we must!) together-close togethel
-talking often of old times," said Alfred-" these
shall be our favorite times among them-this day
most of all; and, telling each other what we
thought and felt, and hoped and feared at parting;
and how we couldn't bear to say good bye-"
"Coach coming through the woodl" cried
Britain.
"YesI I am ready-and how we met again.
so happily, in spite of all; we'll make this day
the happiest in all the year, and keep it as a trebcl
birth-day. Shall we, dear?"
"YesI" interposed the elder sister, eagerly,
and with a radiant smile. "Yes I Alfred, don't
linger. There's no time. Say good bye to M:arion.
And Heaven be with you!"
IHe pressed the younger sister to his heart.
Released from his embrace, she again clung to hel
sister; and her eyes, with the same blended look,
again sought those Fo calm, serene, and cheerful.
"Farewell, my boy 1" said the Doctor. "Tc
talk about any serious correspondence or serious
affections, and engagements and so forth, in such
a-ha ha ha -you know what I mean-why that,
of course would be sheer nonsense. All I can say
is, that if you and Marion should continue in the
same foolish minds, I shall not object to have yol
for a son-in-law one of these days."
"Over the bridge!" cried Britain.
"Let it come I" said Alfred, wringing the Doctor's hand stoutly. " Think of me sometimes, my
old friend and guardian, as seriously as you can!
Adieu, Mr. Snitchey I Farewell, Mr. Craggs I"
" Coming down the road!" cried Britain.
"A kiss of Clemency Newcone, for long acquaintance' sake! Shake hands, Britain! Marion, dearest heart, good bye! Sister Grace! remember "
The quiet household figure, and the face so
beautiful in its serenity, were turned towards him
in reply; but, 3Marion's look and attitude remained
unchanged.
The coach was at the gate. There was a bustle
with the luggage. The coach drove away. Marion
never moved.
"Ile waves his hat to you, my love," said
Grace. "Your chosen husband, darling. Look 1"
The younger sistr raised her head, and, for a
moment, turned it. Then, turning back again,
and fully meeting, for the first time, those calm
eyes, fell sobbing on her neck.
"Oh, Grace. God bless you! But I cannot
bear to see it, Grace! It breaks my heart."
PART THE SECOND.
SNITCHEY and CRAGos had a snug little office
on the old Battle Ground, where they drove a
snug little business, and fought a great many
small pitched battles for a great many contendin

'l U.] D.Z 1. Jlli V.a' JL/'L k.

AVi

parties. Though it could hardly be said of these
conflicts that they were running fights-for in
truth they generally proceeded at a snail's pacethe part the Firm had in them came so far
within the general denomination, that now they
took a shot at this Plaintiff, and now aimed a
chop at that Defendant, now made a heavy charge
at an estate in Chancery, and now had some
light skirmishing among an irregular body of
small debtors, just as the occasion served, and
the enemy happened to present himself. The
Gazette was an important and profitable feature
in some of their fields, as in fields of greater renown: and in most of the Actions wherein they
'showed their generalship, it was afterwards observed by the combatants that they had had great
difficulty in making each other out, or in knowing
with any degree of distinctness what they were
about, in consequence of the vast amount of
smoke by which they were surrounded.
The offices of Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs
stood convenient, with an open door down two
smooth steps, in the market-place; so that any
angry farmer inclininng towards hot water, might
tumble into it at once. Their special council
chamber and hall of conference was an old back
room up-stairs, With a low dark ceiling, which
seemed to be knitting its brows gloomily in the
consideration of tangled points of law. It was furnished with some high-hacked leathern chairs,
garnished with great goggle-eyed brass nails, of
which, every here and there, two or three had fallen out-or had been picked out, perhaps by the
wandering thumbs and fore-fingers of bewildered
clients. There was a framed print of a great judge
in it, every curl in whose dreadful wig had made
a man's hair stand on end. Bales of papers filled
the dusty closets, shelves, and tables; and round
the wainscot there were tiers of boxes, padlocked
and fireproof, with people's names painted outside
which anxious visitors felt themselves, by a cruel
enchantment, obliged to spell backwards and forwards, and to make anagrams of, while they sat
seeming to listen to Snitchey and Crags, without
comprehending one word of what they said.
Snitchey and Craggs had each, in private life: s in professional existence, a partner of his own.
Sltchey and Craggs were the best friends in the
world, and had a real confidence in one another;
but, Mrs. Snitchey, by a dispensation not uncomt on in the affairs of life, was on principle suspieious of Mr. Craggs; and Mrs. Craggs was on
principle suspicious of Mr. Snitchey. " Your
Snitcheys indeed," the latter lady would observe,
sometimes, to Mr. Craggs; using that imaginative
plural as if in disparagement of an objectionable
pair of pantaloons, or other articles not possessed
of a singular number; "I don't see what you
want with your Snitcheys, for my part. You trust
a great deal too much to your Snitcheys, Ithink,
a ind I hope you may never find my words come
true." While Mrs. Snitchey would observe to Mr.
1 Snitchey, of Craggs, " that if everhe was led away
1b maa he waas led away by that man, and that if

ever she read a double purpose in a mortal eye.
she read that purpose in Craggs's eye." Notwithstanding this, however, they were all very good
friends in general: and Mrs. Snitchey and Mrs.
Craggs maintained a close bond of alliance against
" the office," which they both considered tht
Blue chamber, and common enemy, full of danger'
ous (because unknown) machinations.
In this office, nevertheless, Snitchey and
Craggs made honey for their several hives. Iere,
sometimes, they would linger of a fine evening, at
the window of their council-chamber, overlooking
the old battle-ground, and wonder (but that was
generally at assize time, when much business had
made them sentimental) at the folly of mankind,
who couldn't always be at peace with one another
and go to law comfortably. Here, days, and
weeks, and months, and years, passed over them;
their calendar, the gradually diminishing number
of brass nails in the leathern chairs, and the increasing bulk of papers on the tables. Here,
nearly three years' flight had thinned the one and
swelled the other, since the breakfast in the
orchard; wllen they sat together in consultation
at night.
Not alolne; but with a man of thirty, or aboutt
that time of life, negligently dressed, and somewhat hallgard in the face, but well-made, wellattired, and well-looking; who sat in the armchair of state, with one hand in his breast, and
the other in his dishevelled hair, pondering
moodily. Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs sat opposite each other at a neighboring desk. One of
the fire-proof boxes, unpadlocked and opened,
was upon it; a part of its contents lay strewn
upon the table, and the rest was then in course of
passing through the hands of Mr. Snitchey; who
brought it to the candle, document by document;
looked at every paper singly, as he produced it;
shook his head, and handed it to Mr. Craggs; who
looked it over also, shook his head, and laid it
down. Sometimes, they would stop, and shaking
their heads in concert, look towards the abstracted
client. And the name on the box being Michael
Warden, Esquire, we may conclude from these
premises that the name ard the box were both
his, and that the affairs of Michael Warden
Esquire, were in a bad way.
"That's all," said Mr. Snitchey, turning up
the last paper. " Really there's no other resource
No other resource."
"All lost, spent, wasted, pawned, borrowed
and sold, eh?" said the client, looking up.
"All," returned Mr. Snitchey.
" Nothing else to be done, you say?"
"Nothing at all."
The client bit his nails, and pondered agman.
"And I am not even personally safe in Eng
land? You hold to that, do you?"
"In no part of the United Kingdom of Great
Britain and Ireland," replied Mr. Snitchey.
' A mere prodigal son with no father to go
back to, no swine to keep and no husks to share
with them? Eh?" pursued the client, roking

CHRISI'TAS BOOKS.

one leg over the other, and searching the ground
with his eyes.
Mr. Snitchey coughed as if to deprecate the
being supposed to participate in any figurative
illustration of a legal position. Mr. Craggs, as if
to express that it was a partnership view of the
subject, also coughed.
"Ruined at thirty I" said the client.
"Humph I"
"Not ruined, Mr. Warden," returned Snitchey. "Not so bad as that. You have done a
good deal towards it, I must say, but you are not
ruined. A little nursing-"
"A little Devil," said the client.
"Mr. Craggs," said Snitchey, "will you oblige
me with a pinch of snuff? Thank you, sir."
As the imperturbable lawyer applied it to his
'lose, with great apparent relish and a perfect absorption of his attention in the proceeding, the
client gradually broke into a smile, and, looking
up, said:
"You talk of nursing. How long nursing? "
"Ilow long nursing?" repeated Snitchey,
dusting the snuff from his fingers, and making a
slow calculation in his mind. "For your involved
estate, sir? In good hands? S. and C.'s, say?
Six or seven years."
" To starve for six or seven years I" said the
client with a fretful laugh, and an!mpatient
change of his position.
" To starve for six or seven years, Mr. Warden," said Snitchey, "would be very uncommon
indeed. You might get another estate by showing yourself, the while. But, we don't think you
could do it-speaking for Self and Craggs âand
consequently don't advise it."
"What do you advise? "
Nursing, I say," repeated Snitchey. " Some
few years of nursing by Self and Craggs would
bring it round. But to enable us to make terms,
and hold terms, and you to keep terms, you must
go away; you must live abroad. As to starvation,
we could ensure you some hundreds a-year to
starve upon, even in the beginning-I dare say, Mr.
Warden."
"Hundreds," said the client. "And I have
Bspgnt thousands I!
"That," retorted Mr. Snitchey, putting the
papers slowly into the cast-iron box, " there is no
doubt about. No doubt a-bout," he repeated to
himself, as he thoughtfully pursued his occupation.
The lawyer very likely knew his man; at any
rate his dry, shrewd, whimsical manner, had a
favorable influence on the client's moody state,
and disposed him to be more free and unreserved.
Or, perhaps the client knew his man, and had
elicited such encouragement as he had received,
to render some purpose he was about to disclose
the more defensible in appearance. Gradually
raising his head, he sat looking at his immoveable
adviser with a smile, which presently broke into
a laugh.
"After all," he said, "my iron-headed
friend-"

Mr. Snitchey pointed out his partner. "Sell
and-excuse me-Craggs."
"I beg Mr. Craggs's pardon," said the c-ient.
"After all, my iron-headed friends," he leaned forward in his chair, and dropped his voice a little,
"you don't know half my ruin yet."
Mr. Snitchey stopped and stared at him. Mr.
Craggs also stared.
"I am not only deep in debt," said the client,
" but I am deep in-"
" Not in love! " cried Snitchey.
"Yes I" said the client, falling back in his
chair, and surveying the Firm with his hands in
his pockets. "Deep in love."
"And not with an heiress, sir?" said
Snitchey.
" Not with an heiress."
"Nor a rich lady?"
"Nor a rich lady that I know of-except in
beauty and merit."
" A single lady, I trust? " said Mr. Snitchey,
with great expression.
"Certainly."
"It's not one of Dr. Jeddler's daughters?"
said Snitchey, suddenly squaring his elbows on
his knees, and advancing his face a t least a yard.
"Yes I" returned the client.
"Not his younger daughter?" said Snitchey.
"Yes," returned the client.
"Mr. Craggs," said Snitchey, much relieved,
' will you oblige me with another pinch of snuff?
Thank you I I am happy to say it don't signify,
3Mr. Warden; she's engaged, sir, she's bespoke.
My partner can corroborate me. We know the
fact."
"We know the fact," repeated Craggs.
"Why, so do I perhaps," returned the client
quietly. "What of that I Are you men of the
world, and did you never hear of a woman changing her mind?"
"There certainly have been actions for
breach," said Mr. Snitchey, " brought against
both spinsters and widows, but, in the majority
of cases -"
"Cases I" interposed the client, impatiently.
" Don't talk to me of cases. The general precedent is in a much larger volume than any of your
law books. Besides, do you think I have lived
six weeks in the Doctor's house for nothing?"
" I think, sir," observed Mr. Snitchey, gravely
addressing himself to his partner, "that of all
the scrapes Mr. Warden's horses have brought
him into at one time and another-and they have
been pretty numerous, and pretty expensive, as
none know better than himself, and you, and Ithe worst scrape may turn out to be, if he talks in
this way, his having been ever left by one of
them at the Doctor's garden wall, with three
broken ribs, a snapped collar-bone, and the Lord
knows how many bruises. We didn't think so
much of it, at the time when we knewhe was
going on well under the Doctor's hands and roof;
but it looks bad now, sir. Bad? It looks very
bad. Doctor Jeddler too-our client, Mr. Craggs."'

THE BA TTLE OF LIFE.

" Mr. Alfred Heathfield too-a sort of tlient,
Mr. Snitchey," said Craggs.
"Mr. Michael Warden too, a kind of client,"
said the careless visitor, " and no bad one either:
having played the fool for ten or twelve years.
However; Mr. Michael Warden has sown his wild
Dats now-there's their crop, in that box; and he
means to repent and be wise. And in proof of it,
Mr. Michael Warden means, if he can, to marry
Marion, the Doctor's lovely daughter, and to carry
her away with him."
Really, Mr. Craggs," Snitchey began.
"Really, Mr. Snitchey, and Mr. Craggs, partners both," said the client, interrupting him;
'you know your duty to your clients, and you.now well enough, I am sure, that it is no part of
It to interfere in a mere love affair, which I am
Ibligcd to confide to you. I am not going to carry;he young lady off, without her own consent.
rhere's nothing illegal in it. I never was Mr.
Eleathfield's bosom friend. I violate no confilence of his. I love where he loves, and I mean;o win where he would win, if I can."
"HIe can't, Mr. Craggs," said Snitchey, cvilently anxious and discomfited. "He can't do
t, sir. She dotes on Mr. Alfred."
"Does she? " returned the client.
"Mr. Craggs, she dotes on him, sir," persisted
initchey.
"I didn't live six weeks, some few months
tgo, in the Doctor's house for nothing; and I
loubted that soon," observed the client. " She
vould have doted on him, if her sister could have
)rought it about; but 1 watched them. Marion,voided his name, avoided the subject: shrunk
rom the least allusion to it, with evident disress."
"Why should she, Mr. Craggs, you know
VYhy should she, sir? " inquired Snitchey.
"I don't know why she should, though there,re many likely reasons," said the client, smiling,t the attention and perplexity expressed in Mr.
initchey's shining eye, and at his cautious way
)f carrying on the conversation, and making himelf informed upon the subject; " but I know she
loes. She was very young when she made the
ngagement-if it may be called one, I am not
ven sure of that-and has repented of it, perhaps.
'erhaps-it seems a foppish thing to say, but
ipon my soul I don't mean it in that light-she
nay have fallen in love with me, as I have fallen
a love with her."
"He, he I Mr. Alfred, her old playfellow too, you
oeember, Mr. Craggs," said Snitchey, with a disoncerted laugh; "knew her almost from a baby I"
"Which makes it the more probable that she
nay be tired of his idea," calmly pursued the
lient, "and not indisposed to exchange it for
he newer one of another lover, who presents
timself (or is presented by his horse) under roaantic circumstances; has the not unfavorable
eputation-with a country girl-of having lived
houghtlessly and gaily, without doing much
arm to anybody; and who, for his youth and

figure, and so forth-this may seem foppish again,
but upon my soul I don't mean it in that lightmight perhaps pass muster in a crowd with Mr.
Alfred himself."
There was no gainsaying the last clause, certainly; and Mr. Snitchey, glancing at him, thought
so. There was something naturally graceful and
pleasant in the very carelessness of his air. It
seemed to suggest, of his comely face and wellknit figure, that they might be greatly better if he
chose: and that, once roused and made earnest
(but he never had been earnest yet), he could be
full of fire and purpose. "A dangerous sort of
libertine," thought the shrewd lawyer, "to seem
to catch the spark he wants, from a young lady's
eyes."
"Now, observe, Snitchey," he continued, rising and taking him by the button, " and Craggs,"
taking him by the button also, and placing one
partner on either side of him, so that neither
might evade him. "I don't ask you for any advice. You are right to keep quite aloof from all
parties in such a matter, which is not one in
which grave men like you, could interfere, on any
side. I am briefly going to review in half-a-dozen
words, my position and intention, and then I
shall leave it to you to do the best for me, in
money matters, that you can: seeing, that, if I
run away with the Doctor's beautiful daughter (as
I hope to do, and to become another man under
her bright influence), it will be, for the moment,
more chargeable than running away alone. But
I shall soon make all that up in an altered life."
" I think it will be better not to hear this, Mr.
Crags? " said Snitchey, looking at him across
the client.
" I think not," said Craggs.-Both listening attentively.
"Well! Yon needn't hear it," replied their
client. "I'll mention it however. I don't mean
to ask the Doctor's consent, because he wouldn't
give it me. But I mean to do the Doctor no
wrong or harm, because (besides there being nothing serious in such trifles, as he says) I hope to
rescue his child, my Marion, from what I see-I
know-she dreads, and contemplates with misery:
that is, the return of this old lover. If anything
in the world is true, it is true that she dreads his
return. Nobody is injured so far. I am so harried and worried here, just now, that I lead the
life of a flying-fish. I skulk about in the dark, I
am shut out of my own house, and warned off my
own grounds; but, that house, and those grounds,
and many an acre besides, will come back to me
one day, as you know and say; and Marion will
probably be richer-on your showing, who are
never sanguine-ten years hence as my wife, than
as the wife of Alfred Heathfield, whose return
she dreads (remember that), and in whom or in
any man, my passion is not surpassed. Who is
injured yet? It is a fair case throughout. My
right is as good as his, if she decide in my favor;
and I will try my right by her alone. You will
like to know no more after this, and I wil tel.

L10

(7HRISTZAS BOOKS.

you no more. Now you know my purpose, and
wants. When must I leave here?"
"In a week," said Snitchey. "Mr. Craggs?"
"In something less, I should say," responded
Craggs.
"In a month,' said the client, after attentively
watching the two faces. "This day month. Today is Thursday. Succeed or fail, on this day
month I go."
"It's too long a delay," said unitchey;
"much too long. But let it be so. I thought
he'd have stipulated for three," he murmured to
himself. "Are you going? Good night, sir!"
Good night l" returned the client, shaking
hands with the Firm. "You'll live to see me
making a good use of rchbcs yet. Henceforth the
star of my destiny is, MBari.jn!"
"Take care of the stairs, sir," replied
Snitchey; "for she doni't shine there. Good
night "
" Good night I"
So they both stood at the stair-head with a pair
of office candles, watching him down. When he
had gone away, they stood looking at each other.
What do you ticink of all this, 5Mr. Cracggs?
said Snitchey.
Mr. Craggs shook his head.
"It was our opinion, on the day when that release was executed, that there was something curious in the parting of that pair, I recollect," said
Snitchey.
"It was," said Mr. Craggs.
"Perhaps he deceives himself altogether,"
pursued Mr. Snitchey, locking up the fire-proof
box, and putting it away; "or, if he don't, a little bit of fickleness and perfidy is not a miracle,
Mr. Craggs. And yet I thought that pretty face
was very true. I thought," said Mr. Snitchey,
putting on his great-coat (for the weather was
very cold), drawing on his gloves, and snuffing out
one candle, "that I had even seen her character
becoming stronger and more resolved of late.
More like her sister's."
"Mrs. Craggs was of the same opinion," returned Craggs.
"I'd really give a trifle to-night," observed Mr.
Snitchey, who was a good-natured man, "if I
could believe that Mr. Warden was reckoning
without his host; but, light-headed, capricious,
and unballasted as he is, he knows something of
the world and its people (he ought to, for he has
bought what he does know, dear enough); and I
can't quite think that. We had better not interfere: we can do nothing, Mr. Craggs, but keep
quiet."
"Nothing," returned Craggs.
" Our friend the Doctor makes light of such
-things," said Mr. Snitchey, shaking his head.
"I hope he mayn't stand in need of his philosophy. Our friend Alfred talks of the battle of
life," he shook his head again, " I hope he mayn't
be cut down early in the day. Have you got your
hat, 3lr. 'Craggs? I am going to put the other
candle out."

Mr. Craggs replying i: the affirmative, Mi
Snitchey suited the action to the word, and the:
groped their way out of the council-chamber
now as dark as the subject, or the law in gen
eral.
My story passes to a quiet little study, where
on that same night, the sisters and the hale ol
Doctor sat by a cheerful fire-side. Grace wa
working at her needle. Marion read aloud fror
a book before her. The Doctor in his dressing
gown and slippers, with his feet spread out upo
the warnm rtg, leaned back in his easy chaii
and listened to the book, and looked upon hi
daughters.
They were very beautiful to look upon. Tw
better faces for a fire-side, never made a fire-sid
bright and sacred. Something of the differenc
bet-veen them had been softened down in thre
years' time; and enthroned upon the clear bro,
of the younger sister, looking through her eyes
and thrilling in her voice, was the same earnef
nature that her own motherless youth had ripene
in the elder sister long ago. But she still appeare
at once the lovelier and weaker of the two: sti
seemed to rest her head upon her sister's breas
and put her trust in her, and look into her eye
for counsel and reliance. Those loving eyes,
calm, serene, and cheerful, as of old.
" And being in her own home,'" read Marim
from the book; "' her home made exquisitely de.
by these remembrances, she now began to kno
that the great trial of her heart must soon con
on, and could not be delayed. O Home, our con
forter and friend when others fall away, to pa
with whom, at any step between the cradle ar
tile grave '-"
" Marion, my love! " said Grace.
" Why, Puss I" exclaimed her father, " what
the matter?"
She put her hand upon the hand her sisto
stretched towards her, and read on; her voli
still faltering and trembling, though she made t
effort to command it when thus interrupted.
"'To part with whom, at any step betwe(
the cradle and the grave, is always sorrowful.
Home, so true to us, so often slighted in retur
be lenient to them that turn away from thee, al
do not haunt their erring footsteps too reproac
fully I Let no kind looks, no well-remember(
smiles, be seen upon thy phantom face. Let i
ray of affection, welcome, gentleness, forbearane
cordiality, shine from thy white head. Let no o
loving word, or tone, rise up in judgment again
thy deserter; but if thou canst look harshly ai
severely, do, in mercy to the Penitent ' "
"Dear Marion, read no more to-night," sa
Grace-for she was weeping.
" I cannot," she replied, and closed the boo.
"The words seem all on fire I"
The Doctor was amused at this; and lauglu
as he patted her on the head.
"What I overcome by a story-book l" sa:
DoctorJeddler. "Print and paper Well, we!
it's all one. It's as rational to make a serio,

TIE BATTLE- OF LIFE.

111

matter of print and paper as of anything else.
But, dry your eyes, love, dry your eyes. I dare
say the heroine has got home again long ago, and
made it up all round-and if she hasn't, a real
home is only four walls; and a fictitious one,
mere rags and ink. What's the matter now?"
" Its only me, Mister," said Clemency, putting
in her head at the door.
" And what's the matter with youe " said the
Doctor.
"Oh, bless you, nothing ain't the matter with
me," returned Clemency-and truly too, to judge
from her well-soaped face, in which there gleamed
as usual the very soul of good-humor, which, ungainly as she was, made her quite engaging.
Abrasions on the elbows are not generally understood, it is true, to range within that class of
personal charms called beauty-spots. But, it is
better, going through the world, to have the arms
chafed in that narrow passage, than the temper:
and Clemency's was sound, and whole as any
'ecauty's in the land.
*Nothim l ain't the matter with me," said
Clemency, Cltcribsg, "' ut-conme a little closer,
Mister."
The Doctor, in some astonishlment, complied
wlith this invitation.
"You said I wasn't to give you one before
them, you know," said Clemency.
A novice in the family might have supposed,
5'rmi her extraordinary ogling as she said it, as
vwell as from a singular rapture or ecstasy which
wervaded her elbows, as if she were embracing
serself, that "one," in its most favorable interpretation, meant a chaste salute. Indeed the
o)ector himself seemed alarmed, for the moment;
)ut quickly regained his composure, as Clemency,
saving had recourse to both her pockets-beginling with the right one, going away to the wrong
ume, and afterwards coming back to the right one,gain-produced a letter from the Post-offlce.
"Britain was riding by on an errand," she
lhuckled, handing it to the Doctor, " and see the
nail come in, and waited for it. There's A. H.
in the corner. Mr. Alfred's on his journey home,
'bet. We shall have a wedding in the housethere was two spoons in my saucer this morniig.
)h Luck, how slow he opens it I "
All this she delivered by way of soliloquy,:radually rising higher and higher on tiptoe, in
ser impatience to hear the news, and making a:orkscrew of her apron, and a bottle of her mouth.
At last, arriving at a climax of suspense, and
eeing the Doctor still engaged in the perusal of
he letter, she came down flat upon the soles of
er feet again, and cast her apron, as a veil over
er head, in a mute despair, and inability to bear
* t any longer.
"Here I Girls 1" cried the Doctor. "I can't
elp it: I never could keep a secret in my life.
'here are not many secrets, indeed, worth being
a:ept in such a-well I never mind that. Alfred's
ominig home, my dears, directly."
" Directly I" exclaimed Marion.

" What I The story-bocK.s soon forgotten l "
said the Doctor, pinching her cheek. "I thought
the news would dry those tears. Yes. ' Let it be '
a surprise,' he says, here. But I can't let it be a
surprise. Ile must have a welcome."
"Directly! " repeated Marion.
"Why, perhaps, not what your impatience
calls 'directly,'" returned the Doctor; "but
pretty soon too. Let-us see. Let us see. Today is Thursday, is it not? Then he promises
to be here, this day month."
"This day month! " repeated Marion, softly.
"A gay day and a holiday for us," said the
cheerful voice of her sister Grace, kissing her in
congratulation. "Long looked forward to, dearest, and come at last."
She answered with a smile, a mournful smile,
but full of sisterly affection. As she looked in
her sister's face, and listened to the quiet music
of her voice, picturing the happiness of this return,
her own face glowed with hope and joy.
And with a something else; a something shining more and more through all the rest of its expression; for which I have no name. It was not
exultation, triumph, proud enthusiasm. They
are not so calmly shown. It was not love and
gratitude alone, though love and gratitude were
part of it. It emanated from no sordid thought,
for sordid thoughts do not light up the brow, and
hover on the lips, and move the spirit like a flut-;
tered light, until the sympathetic figure trembles.
Doctor Jeddler, in spite of his system of phi- I
losophy-which he was continually contradicting
and denying in practice, but more famous philosophers have done that-could not help having
as mnuch interest in the return of his old ward
and pupil, as if it had been a serious event. So, i
lie sat himself down in his easy-chair again,;
stretched out his slippered feet once more upon
the rug, read the letter over and over a great many
times, and talked it over more times still.
"Ah I The day was," said the Doctor, looking
at the fire, "when you and he, Grace, used to
trot about arm-in-arm, in his holiday time, like a
couple of walking dolls. You remember?"
"I remember," she answered, with her pleas- I
ant laugh, and plying her needle busily.
"This day month, indeed I" mused the Doctor. "That hardly seems a twelvemonth ago.
And where was my little Marion then I"
"Never far from her sister," said Marion,
cheerily, " however little. Grace was everything
to me, even when she was a young child herself."
"True, Puss, true," returned the Doctor.
"She was a staid little woman, was Grace, and
a wise housekeeper, and a busy, quiet, pleasant
body; bearing with our humors, and anticipating
our wishes, and always ready to forget her own,
even in those times. I never knew you positive
or obstinate, Grace, my darling, even then, on
any subject but one."
"I am afraid I have changed sadly for the
worse, since," laughed Grace, still busy at her
work. " What was that one, father "

112

1TCRJISTJ~AS BOOKS.

" Alfred, of course," said the Doctor. ",Nothig would serve you but you must be called Alfred's wife; so we called you Alfred's wife; and
you liked it better, I believe (odd as it seems
now), than being called a Duchess, if we could
have made you one."
" Indeed? " said Grace, placidly.
"Why, don't you remember " inquired the
Doctor.
"I think I remember something of it," she returned, "but not much. It's so long ago." And
as she sat at work, she hummed the burden of an
old song, which the Doctor liked.
"Alfred will find a real wife soon," she said,
breaking off; "and that will be a happy time indeed for all of us. My three years' trust is nearly at an end, Marion. It has been a very easy
one. I shall tell Alfred, when I give you back to
him, that you have loved him dearly all the time,
and that he has never once needed my good services. May I tell him so, love?"
"Tell him, dear Grace," replied Marion, "that
there never was a trust so generously, nobly,
steadfastly discharged; and that I have loved you,
all the time, dearer and dearer every day; and O I
how dearly now I"
"Nay," said her cheerful sister, returning her
embrace, " I can scarcely tell him that; we will
leave my deserts to Alfred's imagination. It
will be liberal enough, dear Marion; like your
own."
With that, she resumed the work she had for
a moment laid down, when her sister spoke so
fervently: and with it the old song the Doctor
liked to hear. And the Doctor, still reposing in
his easy chair, with his slippered feet stretched
out before him on the rug, listened to the tune,
and beat time on his knee with Alfred's letter,
and looked at his two daughters, and thought that
among the many trifles of the trifling world, these
trifles were agreeable enough.
Clemency Newcome, in the meantime, having
accomplished her mission and lingered in the
room until she had made herself a party to the
news, descended to the kitchen, where her coadjutor, Mr. Britain, was regaling after supper, surrounded by such a plentiful collection of bright
pot-lids, well-scoured saucepans, burnished dinner covers, gleaming kettles, and other tokens of
her industrious habits, arranged upon the walls
and shelves, that he sat as in the centre of a hall
of mirrors. The majority did not give forth very
flattering portraits of him, certainly; nor were
they by any means unanimous in their reflections;
as some made him very long-faced, others very
broad-faced, some tolerably well-looking, others
vastly ill-looking, according to their several manners of reflecting: which were as various, in reepect of one fact, as those of so many kinds of
men. But they all agreed that in the midst of
them sat, quite at his ease, an individual with a
pipo in his mouth, and a jug of beer at his elbow,
who nodded; condescendingly to Clemency, when
She stationed herself at the same table.

" Well, Clemmy," said Britain, "how are you
by this time, and what's the news? "
Clemency told him the news, which he receivec
very graciously. A gracious change had com(
over Benjamin from head to foot. He was much
broader, much redder, much more cheerful, an(
much jollier in all respects. It seemed as if hi
face had been tied up in a knot before, and wa
now untwisted and smoothed out.
"There'll be another job for Snitchey an(
Craggs, I suppose," he observed, puffing slowl;
at his pipe. "More witnessing for you and me
perhaps, Clemmy I"
"Lor " replied his fair companion, with lie
favorite twist of her favorite joints. "I wish i
was me, Britain 1"
"Wish what was you?"
"A going to be married," said Clemency.
Benjamin took his pipe out of his mouth an
laughed heartily. "Yes! you're a likely subje(
for that1!" he said. "Poor Cleml" Clemenc
for her part laughed as heartily as he, and seeme
as much amused by the idea. "Yes," she assen
ed, "I'm a likely subject for that; an't I?"
"You'll never be married, you know," sai
Mr. Britain, resuming his pipe.
"Don't you think I ever shall though?" sai
Clemency, in perfect good faith.
Mr. Britain shook his head. "Not a chan{
of it!"
"Only think!" said Clemency. "Well!suppose you mean to, Britain, one of these day,
don't you?"
A question so abrupt, upon a subject so m
mentous, required consideration. After blowim
out a great cloud of smoke, and looking at it wi
his head now on this side and now on that, as
it were actually the question, and he were surve
ing it in various aspects, Mr. Britain replied tli
he wasn't altogether clear about it, but-ye-es â
thought he might come to that at last.
"I wish her joy, whoever she may be I " crii
Clemency.
"Oh she'll have that," said Benjamin, " sa
enough."
"But she wouldn't have led quite such a joyl
life as she will lead, and wouldn't have had qui
such a sociable sort of husband as she will have
said Clemency, spreading herself half over t
table, and staring retrospectively at the cand"if it hadn't been for-not that I went to do
for it was accidental, I am sure-if it hadn't bet
for me; now would she, Britain?"
" Certainly not," returned Mr. Britain, by tl
time in that high state of appreciation of his pit
when a man can open his mouth but a very litt
way for speaking purposes; and sitting luxu
ously immovable in his chair, can afford to tu
only his eyes towards a companion, and that ve
passively and gravely. "Oh! I'm greatly I
holden to you, you know, Clem."
"Lor, how nice that is to think ofl" sa
Clemency.
At the same time bringing her thoughts as w

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

113

us her sight to bear upon the candle grease, and
1becoming abruptly reminiscent of its healing
tqualities as a balsam, she anointed her left elbow
with a plentiful application of that remedy.
"You see I've made a good many investigations of one sort and another in my time," pursued Mr. Britain, with the profundity of a sage;
("having been always of an inquiring turn of!mind; and I've read a good many books about
'tke general Rights of things and Wrongs of things,
for I went into the literary line myself when I be'gan life."
" Did you though I" cried the admiring Clemtency.
"Yes," said Mr. Britain: "I was hid for the
'best part of two years behind a bookstall, ready
'to fly out if anybody pocketed a volume; and after
that, I was light porter to a stay and mantua'maker, in which capacity I was employed to carry
about, in oilskin baskets, nothing but deceptions
-which soured my spirits and disturbed my confidence in human nature; and after that, I heard a
world of discussions in this house, which soured
'my spirits fresh; and my opinion after all is, that,
'as a safe and comfortable sweetener of the same,
and as a pleasant guide through life, there's nothing like a nutmeg-grater."
Clemency was about to offer a suggestion, but
'he stopped her by anticipating it.
"Com-bined," he added gravely, " with a
thimble."
" Do as you wold, you know, And cetrer, eh "
observed Clemency, folding her arms comfortably
in her delight at this avowal, and patting her
elbows. " Such a short cut, an't it? "
"I'm not sure," said Mr. Britain, "that it's
what would be considered good philosophy. I've
my doubts about that; but it were as well, and
saves a quantity of snarling, which the genuine
article don't always."
" See how you used to go on once, yourself,
you know 1" said Clemency.
" Ah I " said Mr. Britain. " But, the most extraordinary thing, Clemmy, is that I should live
to be brought round, through you. That's the
strange part of it. Through you I Why, I suppose you haven't so much as half an idea in your
head."
Clemency, without taking the least offence,
shook it, and laughed, and hugged herself, and
said, "No, she didn't suppose she had."
"I'm pretty sure of it," said Mr. Britain.
"Oh I dare say you're right," said Clemency. "I don't pretend to none, I don't want
any."
Benjamin took his pipe from his lips, and
laughed till the tears ran down his face. " What
a natural you are, Clemmy I" he said, shaking his
head, with an infinite relish of the joke, and wiping his eyes. Clemency, without the smallest inclination to dispute it, did the like, and laughed
as heartily as he.
"I can't help liking you," said Mr. Britain;
you're a regular good creature in your way, so

shake hands, Clem. Whatever happens, I'll always take notice of you, and be a friend ta
you."
"Will you?" returned Clemency. "Well
that's very good of you."
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Britain, giving her hi:
pipe to knock the ashes out of it; " I'll stand by
you. Hark! That's a curious noise I"
' Noise I " repeated Clemency.
"A footstep outside. Somebody dropping
from the wall, it sounded like," said Britain.
"Are they all abed up-stairs? "
" Yes, all abed by this time," she replied.
" Didn't you hear anything? "
"No."
They both listened, but heard nothing.
"I tell you what," said Benjamin, taking
down a lantern, " I'll have a look round, before I
go to bed myself, for satisfaction's sake. Undo
the door while I light this, Clemmy "
Clemency complied briskly; but observed as
she did so, that he would only have his walk for
his pains, that it was all his fancy, and so forth.
Mr. Britain said "very likely;" but sallied out,
nevertheless, armed with the poker, and casting
the light of the lantern far and near in all directions.
"It's as quiet as a churchyard," said Clemency, looking after him; " and almost as ghostly
too I"
Glancing back into the kitchen, she cried fearfully, as a light figure stole into her view. "What's
that!"
"Hush I" said Marion, in an agitated whisper. "You have always loved me, have you
not!"
"Loved you, child I You may be sure I
have I"
" I am sure. And I may trust you, may I not?
There is no one else just now, in whom I can
trust."
"Yes," said Clemency, with all her heart.
"There is some one out there," pointing to the
door, "whom I must see, and speak with, tonight. Michael Warden, for God's sake retire
Not now "
Clemency started with surprise and trouble as,
following the direction of the speakefs eyes, she
saw a dark figure standing in the doorway.
"In another moment you may be discovered,"
said Marion. "Not now I Wait, if you can, in
some concealment. I will come presently."
iHe waved his hand to her, and was gone.
"Don't go to bed. Wait here for me I" said
Marion, hurriedly. "I have been seeking to
speak to you for an hour past. Oh, be true to
me I"
Eagerly seizing her bewildered hand, and press,
ing it with both her own to her breast-an action
more expressive, in its passion of entreaty, thav
the most eloquent appeal in words,-Marion witlh.
drew; as the light of the returninglantern flashed
into the room.
"All still and peaceable. Nobody there,

CIHRISTMAS BOOKS.

Fancy, I suppose," said Mlr. Britain, as he locked
and barred the door. " One of the effects of having a lively imagination. Halloa I Why, what's
the matter?"
Clemency, who could not conceal the effects of
her surprise and concern, was sitting' in a chair:
pale, and trembling from head to foot.
"Matter!" she repeated, chafing her hands
and elbows, nervously, and looking anywhere
but at him. "That's good in you, Britain, that
s I After going and frightening one out of one's
-ife with noises, and lanterns. and I don't know
what all. Matter I Oh, yes!"
" If you're frightened out of your life by a lantern, Clemnay," said Mr. Britain, composedly
blowing it out and hanging it up again, " that apparition's very soon got rid of. But you're as
bold as brass in general," he said, stopping to observe her; "' and were, after the noise of the lantern too. What have you taken into S-our head?
Not an idea, eh? "
But, as Clemency bade him good night very
much after her usual fashion, and began to bustle
about with a show of going to bed herself immediately; Little Britain, after giving utterance to
the original remark that it was impossible to account or a woman's whims, bade her good night
in return, and taking up his candle strolled drowsily away to bed.
When all was quiet, Marion returned.
" Open the door," she said; "and stand thero
close beside me, while I speak to him, outside."
Timid as her manner was, it still evinced a resolute and settled purpose, such as Clemency could
not resist. She softly unbarred the door: but
before turning the key, looked round on the young
creature waiting to issue forth when she should
open it.
The face was not averted or cast down, ibut
looking full upon her, in its pride of youth and
beauty. Some simple sense of the slightness of
the barrier that interposed itself between the
happy home and honored love of the fair girl,
and what might be the desolation of that home,
and shipwreck of its dearest treasure, smote so
keenly on the tender heart of Clemency, and so
filled it to overflowing with sorrow and compassion, that, bursting into tears, she threw her
arms around Marion's neck.
"It's little that I know, my dear," cried Clemency, "very little; but I know that this should
not be. Think of what you do I"
"I have thought of it many times," said
Marion gently.
"Once more," urged Clemency. "'Till to-morrow." Marion shook her head.
"For Mr. Alfred's sake," said Clemency, with
homely earnestness. 't Him that you used o love
so dearly, once "
She hid her face, upon the instant, in her
ttnds, repeating " Oncel " as if it rent her heart.
' Let Me go out," said Clemency, soothing her.
"I'll tell him what you like. Don't cross the
door-step tonight. I'm sure no goodwill come

of it. Oh, it was an unhappy day when Mr,
Warden was ever brought here I Think of yout
good father, darling-of your sister."
"I have," said Maarion, hastily raising hei
head. " You don't know what I do. You don't
know what I do. I muzst speak to him. You arc
the best and truest friend in all the world for what
you have said to me, but I must take this step,
Will you go with me, Clemency," she kissed hei
on her friendly face, ' or shall I go alone? "
Sorrowing and wondering, Clemency turned
the key, and opened the door. Into the dark and
doubtful night that lay beyond the threshold,
Mlarion passed quickly, lin holding by her hand.
In the dark night he joined her, and they spoke
together earnestly and long; and the hand that
held so fast by Clemency's, now trembled, now
turned deadly cold, now clasped and closed on
hers, in the strong feeling of the speech it empha.
sized unconsciously. When they returned, he followed to the door, and pausing there a moment,
seized the other hand, and pressed it to his lips.
Then, stealthily withdrew.
The door was barred and locked again, and
once again she stood beneath her father's roof.
Not bowed down by the secret that she brought
there, though so young; but with that same expression on her face for which I had no name before, and shining through her tears.
Again she thanked and thanked her humble
friend, and trusted to her, as she said, with confidence, implicitly. Her chamber safely reached,
she fell upon her knees; and with her secret
weighing on heart, could pray.
Could rise up from her prayers, so tranquil and
serene, and bending over her fond sister in her
slumber, look upon her face and smile-though
Fadly: Imurmuring as she kissed her forehead,
how that Grace had been a mother to her, ever,
and she loved her as a child I
Could draw the passive arm about her neck
when lying down to rest-it seemed to cling there,
of its own will, protectingly and tenderly even in
sleep âand breathe upon the parted lips, God bless
her I
Could sink into a peaceful sleep, herself; but
for one dream, in which she cried out, in her innocent and touching voice, that she was quite alone,
and they had all forgotten hler.
A month soon passes, even at its tardiest pace.
The nmoth appointed to elapse between that
night and the return, was quick of foot, and went
by, like a vapor.
The day arrived. A raging winter day, that
shook the old house, sometimes, as if it shivered
in the blast. A day to make home doubly home.
To give the chimney-corner new delights. To
shed a ruddier glow upon the faces gathered
round the hearth, and draw each fireside group
into a closer and more social league, against the
roaring elements without. Such a wild winter
day as best prepares the way for shut-out night;
for curtained rooms, and cheerful looks; for

TH.E A TTLE OF LIFE.

116

isic, laughter, dancing, light, and jovial- cnterlnment I
i All these the Doctor had in store to welcome Alci back. They knew that he could not arrive till
tht; and they would make the night air ring,
said, as he approached. All his old friends
ould congregate about him. Hle should not miss
face that he had known and liked. No I They
ould every one be there I
So, guests were bidden, and musicians were
gaged, and tables spread, and floors prepared
active feet, and bountiful provision made of
cry hospitable kind. Because it was the ChristIs season, and his eyes were all unused to Engh holly and its sturdy green, the dancing-room
is garlanded and hung with it; and the red beris gleamed an English welcome to him, peeping
)m among the leaves.
It was a busy day for all of them; a busier day
none of them than Grace, who noiselessly preled everywhere, and was the cheerful mind of
the preparations. tMany a time that day (as
11 as many a time within the fleeting month
Vceding it), did Clemency glance anxiously, alnd
nost fearfully, at Marion. She saw her paler,
rhaps, than usual; but there was a sweet cornsure on her face that made it lovelier than
er.
At night when she was dressed, and wore
on her head a wreath that Grace had proudly
ined about it-its mimic flowers were Alfred's
rorites, as Grace remembered when she chose
3m-that old expression, pensive, almost sorwful, and yet so spiritual, high, and stirring, sat
ain upon her brow, enhanced a hundred fold.
"The next wreath I adjust on this fair head,
11 be a marriage wreath," said Grace; " or I am
true prophet, dear."
HIer sister smiled, and held her in her armls.
"A moment, Grace. Don't leave me yet. Are
1 sure that I want nothing more? "
Her care was not for that, It was her sister's:e she thought of, and her eyes were fixed upon
tenderly.
"My art," said Grace, "can go no farther,
ar girl; nor your beauty. I never saw you look
beautiful as now."
" I never was so happy," she returned.
" Ay, but there is a greater happiness in store.
such another home, as cheerful and as bright
this looks now," said Grace, "Alfred and his,ung wife will soon be living."
She smiled again. "It is a happy home,,ace, in your fancy. I can see it in your eyes.
saow it wriU be happy, dear. How glad I am to
low it.", "Well," cried the Doctor, bustling in. "Here
are, all ready for Alfred, eh? He can't be here,itil pretty late-an hour or so before midnight-: there'll be plenty of time for making merry bere he comes. He'll not find us with the ice untoken. Pile up the fire here, Britain I Let it
line upon the holly till it winks again. It's a
oild of nonsense, Puss; true lovers and all the

rest of it-all nonsense; but we'll be nonsensical
with the rest of 'em and give our true lover a mad
welcome. Upon my word! " said the old Doctor,
looking at his daughters proudly, "I'm not clear
to-night, amlong other absurdities, but that I'm
the father of two handsome girls."
"All that one of them has ever done, or may
do âmay do, dearest father-to cause you pain or
grief, forgive her," said Marion, "forgive her
now, when her heart is flll. Say that you forgive
her. That you will forgive her. That she shall
always share your love, and-," and the rest was
not said, for her face was hidden on the old man's
shoulder.
"Tut, tnt, tnt," said the Doctor gently. "Forgive! What have I to forgive? Heydey, if our
true lovers come back to flurry us like this, we
must hold them at a distance; we must send expresses out to stop 'cm short upon the road, and
bring 'em on a mile or two a day, until we're
properly prepared to meet 'cm. Kiss me, Puss.
Forgive! Wthy, what a silly child you are I If
you had vexed and crossed me fifty times a day,
instead of not at all, I'd forgive you everything,
but such a supplication. Kiss me again, Puss.
There I Prospective and retrospective-a clear
score between us. Pile up the fire here I Would
you freeze the people on this bleak December
night! Let us be light, and warm, and merry, or
I'll not forgive some of you 1"
So gaily the old Doctor carried it! And the
fire was piled up. and the lights were bright, and
company arrived, and a murmuring of lively
tongues began, and already there was a pleasant
air of cheerful excitement stirring through all the
house.
More and more company canme flocking in.
Bright eyes sparkled upon lMarion; smiling lips
gave her joy of his return; sage mothers fanned
themselves, and hoped she mightn't be too youthful and inconstant for the quiet round of home;
impetuous fathers fell into disgrace, for too much
exaltation of her beauty; daughters envied her;
sons envied him; innumerable pairs of lovers
profited by the occasion; all were interested,
animated, and expectant.
Mr. and Mrs. Craggs came arm in arm, but
Mrs. Snitchey came alone. "Why, what's become of him? " inquired the Doctor.
The feather of a Bird of Paradise in Mrs. Snitchey's turban, trembled as if the Bird of Paradise
were alive again, when she said that doubtless
MIr. Craggs knew. She was never told.
" That nasty office," said Mrs. Craggs.
"I wish it was burnt down," said Mrs. Snitchey.
" He's-he's-there's a little matter of business
that keeps my partner rather late," said Mr.
Craggs, looking uneasily about him.
"Oh-hI Business. Don't tell me " said
Mrs. Snitchey.
"We know what business means," said Mrs.
Craggs.
But their not knowing what it meant, was per

116

CI1RIST3~AS BOOKS.

haps the reason why Mrs. Snitchey's Bird of Para- him, or his partner but, looked over her sho;
dise feather quivered so portentously, and why all der towards her sister in the distance, as s
the pendant bits on Mrs. Craggs's ear-rings shook slowly made her way into the crowd, and pass
like little bells. out of their view.
"I wonder you could come away, Mr. Craggs," "You see I All safe and well," said IV
said his wife. Craggs. "Ie didn't recur to that subject, I sn
" Mr. Craggs is fortunate, I'm sure " said Mis. pose? "
Snitchey. " Not a word."
"That office so engrosses 'em," said Mrs. "And is he really gone? Is he safe away? '
Craggs. "He keeps to his word. He drops down t
"A person with an office has no business to river with the tide in that shell of a boat of h
be married at all," said Mrs. Snitchey. and so goes out to sea on this dark night IThen, Mrs. Snitchey said, within herself, that dare-devil he is-before the wind. There's
that look of hers had pierced to Craggs's soul, and such lonely road anywhere else. That's one thir
he knew it; and Mrs. Craggs observed, to Craggs, The tide flows, he says, an hour before midnig
that "his Snitcheys" were deceiving him behind -about this time. I'm glad it's over." 3
his back, and he would find it out when it was Snitchey wiped his forehead, which looked h
too late. and anxious.
Still, Mr. Craggs, without much heeding these "What do you think," said Mr. Crags
remarks, looked uneasily about him until his eye "about-"
rested on Grace, to whom he immediately pre- "Hush " replied his cautious partner, looki
sented himself. straight before him. "I understand you. Doi
"Good evening, ma'am," said Craggs. " You mention names, and don't let us seem to be tal
look charmingly. Your-Miss-your sister, Miss ing secrets. I don't know what to think; and
Marion, is she â" tell you the truth, I don't care now. It's a gre
"Oh she's quite well, Mr. Craggs." relief. His self-love deceived him, I suppo,
"Yes-I-is she here? " asked Craggs. Perhaps the young lady coquetted a little. T
"Herel Don't you see her yonder? Going to evidence would seem to point that way. Alfr
dance? " said Grace. not arrived? "
Mr. Craggs put on his spectacles to see the "Not yet," said Mr. Craggs. "Expect
better; looked at her through them, for some every minute."
time; coughed; and put them, with an air of sat- "Good." Mr. Snitchey wiped his forehe
isfaction, in their sheath again, and in his pocket. again. "It's a great relief. I haven't been
Now the music struck up, and the dance com- nervous since we've been in partnership. I inte
menced. The bright fire crackled and sparkled, to spend the evening now, Mr. Craggs."
rose and fell, as though it joined the dance itself, Mrs. Craggs and Mrs. Snitchey joined them
in right good fellowship. Sometimes, it roared he announced this intention. The Bird of Pa:
as if it would make music too. Sometimes, it dise was in a state of extreme vibration, and t
flashed and beamed as if it were the eye of the little bells were ringing quite audibly.
old room: it winked, too, sometimes, like a "It has been the theme of general commei
knowing Patriarch, upon the youthful whisperers Mr. Snichey," said Mrs. Snitchey. " I hope t
in corners. Sometimes, it sported with the holly- office is satisfied."
boughs; and, shining on the leaves by fits and "Satisfied with what, my dear?" asked 3
starts, made them look as if they were in the cold Snitchey.
winter night again, and fluttering in the wind. "With the exposure of a defenceless wor
Sometimes its genial humor grew obstreperous, to ridicule and remark," returned his wi
and passed all bounds; and then it cast into the " That is quite in the way of the office, that is.'
room, among the twinkling feet, with a loud "I really, myself," said Mrs. Craggs, "ha
burst, a shower of harmless little sparks, and in been so long accustomed to connect the offi
its exultation, leaped and bounded like a mad with everything opposed to domesticity, that
thing, up the broad old chimney. am glad to know it as the avowed enemy of r
Another dance was near its close, when Mr. peace. There is somethiug honest in that, at;
Snitchey touched his partner, who was looking events."
on, upon the arm. "My dear," urged Mr. Craggs, "your got
Mr. Craggs started, as if his familiar had been opinion is invaluable, but I never avowed th
a spectre. the office was the enemy of your peace."
Is he gone? " he asked. " No," said Mrs. Craggs, ringing a perfect p
"Hush I He has been with me," said Snjtchey, upon the little bells. "Not you, indeed. Y(
"for three hours and more. He went over every- wouldn't be worthy of the office, if you had tl
thing. He looked into all our arrangements for candor to."
him, and was very particular indeed. He â "As to my having been away to-night, n
Humph I" dear," said Mr. Snitchey, giving her his an
The dance was finished. Marion passed close "' the deprivation has been mine, I'm sure; bt
before him, as he spoke. She did not observe as Mr. Craggs knows-"

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

III

Mrs. Snitchey cut this reference very short by
Ltching her husband to a distance, and asking
im to look at that man. To do her the favor to,ok at him I
"At which man, my dear?" said Mr. Snitchey.
"Your chosen companion; t'm no companion
you, Mr. Snitchey."
"Yes, yes, you are, my dear," he interposed.
"No, no, I'm not," said Mrs. Snitchey with a
uajestic smile. " I know my station. Will you,ok at your chosen companion, Mr. Snitchey; at
)ur referee, at the keeper of your secrets, at the,an you trust; at your other self, in short."
The habitual association of Self with Craggs,:casioned Mr. Snitchey to look in that direction.
"If you can look that man in the eye this
ight," said Mrs. Snitchey, "and not know that
)n are deluded, practised upon, made the victim
L his arts, and bent down prostrate to his will
y some unaccountable fascination which it is
npossible to explain and against which no warnig of mine is of the least avail, all I can say ispity you 1"
At the very same moment Mrs. Craggs was
cacular on the cross subject. Was it possible,
ie said, that Craggs could so blind himself to his
nitcheys, as not to feel his true position? Did
e mean to say that he had seen his Snitcheys
3me into that room, and didn't plainly see that
iere was reservation, cunning, treachery in the
ian? Would he tell her that his very action,
~hen he wiped his forehead and looked so stealthy about him, didn't show that there was someling weighing on the conscience of his precious
nitcheys (if he had a conscience), that wouldn't
ear the light? Did anybody but his Snitcheys
3me to festive entertainments like a burglar?,hich, by the way, was hardly a clear illustration
f the case, as he had walked in very mildly at
ie door. And would he still assert to her at
oon-day (it being nearly midnight), that his
nitcheys were to be justified through thick and
Ain, against all facts, and reason, and expee.nce?
Neither Snitchey nor Craggs openly attempted
stem the current which had thus set in, but,
oth were content to be carried gently along it,
util its force abated. This happened at about
le same time as a general movement for a county dance; when Mr. Snitchey proposed himself
s a partner to Mrs. Craggs, and Mr. Craggs galmntly offered himself to Mrs. Snitchey; and after
onme such slight evasions as "why don't you
sk somebody else?" and "you'll be glad, I:now, if I decline," and "I wonder you can
ance out of the office " (but this jocosely now),,ach lady graciously accepted, and took her place.
| It was an old custom among them, indeed, to
Lo so, and to pair off, in like manner, at dinners
nd suppers; for they were excellent friends, and
in a footing of easy familiarity. Perhaps the
lse Craggs and the wicked Snitchey were a rec~gnised fiction with the two wives, as Doe and
"toe, incessantly running up and down bailiwicks,

were with the two husbands; or, perhaps the
ladies had instituted, and taken upon themselves,
these two shares in the business, rather than be
left out of it altogether. But, certain it is, that
each wife went as gravely and steadily to work in
her vocation as her husband did in his, and would
have considered it almost impossible for the Firm
to maintain a successful anfd respectable existence, without her laudable exertions.
But, now, the Bird of Paradise was seen to
flutter down the middle; and the little bells began to bounce and jingle in poussette; and the
Doctor's rosy face spun round and round, like an
expressive pegtop highly varnished; and, breathless Mr. Craggs began to doubt already, whether
country dancing had been made " too easy," like
the rest of life; and Mr. Snitchey, with his nimble cuts and capers, footed it for Self, and Craggs,
and half a dozen more.
Now, too, the fire took fresh courage, favored
by the lively wind the dance awakened, and burnt
clear and high. It was the Genius of the room,
and present everywhere. It shone in people's
eyes, it sparkled in the jewels on the snowy
necks of girls, it twinkled at their ears as if it
whispered to them slyly, it flashed about their
waists, it flickered on the ground and made it
rosy for their feet, it bloomed upon the ceiling
that its glow might set off their bright faces, and
it kindled up a general illumination in Mrs.
Craggs's little belfry.
Now, too, the lively air that fanned it, grew
less gentle as the music quickened and the dance
proceeded with new spirit; and a breeze arose
that made the leaves and berries dance upon the
wall, as they had often done upon the trees; and
the breeze rustled in the room as if an invisible
company of fairies, treading in the footsteps of
the good substantial revellers, were whirling after
them. Now, too, no feature of the Doctor's face
could be distinguished as he spun and spun; and
now there seemed a dozen Birds of Paradise in
fitful flight; and now there were a thousand little
bells at work; and now a fleet of flying skirts was
ruffled by a little tempest, when the music gave
in, and the dance was over.
Hot and breathless as the Doctor was, it only
made him the more impatient for Alfred's coming.
"Anything been seen, Britain I Anything been
heard?"
" Too dark to see far, sir. Too much noise inside the house to hear."
"That's right I The gayer welcome for him.
How goes the time? "
" Just twelve, sir. He can't be long; sir."
" Stir up the fire, and throw another log upon
it," said the Doctor. " Let him see his welcome
blazing out upon the night-good boy I-as he
comes along I"
He saw it-Yes I From the chaise he caught
the light, as he turned the corner by the old church.
He knew the room from which it shone. He saw
the wintry branches of the old trees between the
light and him. He knew that one of those treeo
- M

118

CHRISTMiA S BOOS.

rustled musically in the summer time at the window of Marion's chamber.
The tears were in his eyes. His heart throbbed
so violently that he could hardly bear his happiness. How often he had thought of this timepictured it under all circumstances-feared that it
might never come-yearned, and wearied for itfaraway!
Again the light I Distinct and ruddy; kindled,
he knew, to give him welcome, and to speed him
home. lie beckoned with his hand, and waved
his hat, and cheered out, loud, as if the light were
they, and they could see and hear him, as he
dashed towards them through the mud and mire,
triumphantly.
Stop! iHe knew the Doctor, and understood
what he had done. lie would not let it be a surprise to them. But he could make it one, yet, by
going forward on foot. If the orchard gate were
open, he could enter there; if not, the wall was
easily climbed, as he knew of old; and he would
be among them in an instant.
He dismounted from the chaise, and telling the
driver-even that was not easy in his agitationto remain behind for a few minutes, and then to
follow slowly, ran on with exceeding swiftness,
tried the gate, scaled the wall, jumped down on the
other side. and stood panting in the old orchard.
There was a frosty rime upon the trees, which,
in the faint light of the clouded moon, hung upon
the smaller branches like dead garlands. Withered leaves crackled and snapped beneath his
feet, as he crept softly on towards the house. The
desolation of a winter night sat brooding on the
earth, and in the sky. But, the red light came
cheerily towards him from the windows; figures
passed and re-passed there; and the hum and
murmur of voices greeted his ear, sweetly.
Listening for hers: attempting, as he crept on,
to detach it from the rest, and half-believing that
he heard it: he had nearly reached the door, when
It was abruptly opened, and a figure coming out
encountered his. It instantly recoiled with a halfsuppressed cry.
" Clemency," he said, " don't you know me?"
" Don't come in I" she answered, pushing him
back. "Go away. Don't ask me why. Don't
come in."
" What is the matter I" he exclaimed.
"I don't know. I-I am afraid to think. Go
back. Hark I"
There was a sudden tumult in the house. She
put her hands upon her ears. A wild.scream,
such as no hands could shut out, was heard; and
Grace-distraction in her looks and mannerrushed out at the door.
Grace I" He caught her in his arms. " What
Is it I Is she dead I"
She disengaged herself, as if to recognise his
face, and fell down at his feet.
A crowd of figures came about them from the
house. Among them was her father, with a paper
tu his hand.
"Wha it it " cried Alfred, grasping his hair

- with his hands, and looking in an agony fro;
face to face, as he bent upon his knee beside tl
insensible girl. "Will no one look at me? Wi
no one speak to me? Does no one know me? ]
there no voice among you all, to tell me what
is!"
There was a murmur amono them. " She
gone."
Gone " he echoed.
"Fled, my dear Alfred! " said the Doctor in
broken voice, and with his hands before his fac
" Gone from her home and us. To-night! SI
writes that she has made her innocent and blam
less choice-entreats that we will forgive herprays that we will not forget her-and is gone."
" With whom? Where?"
He started up, as if to follow in pursuit; bt
when they gave way to let him pass, lookwildly round upon them, staggered back, ar
sank down in his former attitude, clasping one
Grace's cold hands in his own.
There was a hurried running to and fro, coi
fusion, noise, disorder, and no purpose. Son
proceeded to disperse themselves about the road
and some took horse, and some got lights, ar
some conversed together, urging that there w;
no trace or track to follow. Some approach(
him kindly, with the view of offering consol
tion; some admonished him that Grace must 1
removed into the house, and that he prevented i
He never heard them, and he never moved.
The snow fell fast and thick. He looked up for
moment in the air, and thought that those whi
ashes strewn upon his hopes and misery, we.
suited to them well. He looked round on tl
whitening ground, and thought how Marion
foot-prints would be hushed and covered up, i
soon as made, and even that remembrance of hi
blotted out. But he never felt the weather, and I
never stirred.
PART THE THIRD.
THE world had grown six years older sine
that night of the return. It was a warm autum
afternoon, and there had been heavy rain. TI
sun burst suddenly from among the clouds; an
the old battle-ground, sparkling brilliantly an
cheerfully at sight of it in one green place, flasehc
a responsive welcome there, which spread alon
the country side as if a joyful beacon had bee
lighted up, and answered from a thousand statiom
IHow beautiful the landscape kindling in th
light, and that luxuriant influence passing o
like a celestial presence, brightening everything
The wood, -a sombre mass before, revealed it
varied tints of yellow, green, brown, red: its di:
ferent forms of trees, with raindrops glittering or
their leaves and twinkling as they fell. The ver
dant meadow-land, bright and glowing, seemed a
if it had been blind, a minute since, and now ha,
found a sense of sight wherewith to look up a
the shning sky. Cornfields, hedge-rows, fencee

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

119

tomesteads, the clustered roofs, the steeple or the
hurch, the stream, the watermill, all sprang out
if the gloomy darkness smiling. Birds sang
weetly, flowers raised their drooping heads, fresh
(cents arose from the invigorated ground; the
)lue expanse above extended and diffused itself;
tlready the sun's slanting rays pierced mortally
he sullen bank of cloud that lingered in its
light; and a rainbow, spirit of all the colors that
Adorned the earth and sky, spanned the whole
trch with its triumphant glory.
i At such a time, one little roadside Inn, snugly
*heltered behind a great elm-tree with a rare seat
or idlers encircling its capacious bole, addressed
cheerful front towards the traveller, as a house,f entertainment ought, and tempted him with
nany mute but significant assurances of a comfortble welcome. The ruddy sign-board perched up in
'he tree, with its golden letters winking in the
lun, ogled the passer-by, from amoln the green
eaves, like a jolly face, and promised good cheer.
'he horse-trough, full of clear fresh water, and
he ground below it sprinkled with droppings of
ragrant hay, made every horse that passed, prick
ip his ears. The crimson curtains in the lower
ooms, and the pure white hangings in the little
ted-chambers above, beckoned, Come in I with:very breath of air. Upon the bright green shuters, there were golden legends about beer and
le, and neat wines, and good beds; and an affectng picture of a brown jug frothing over at the
op. Upon the window-sills were flowering,lants in bright red pots, which made a lively
how against the white front of the house; and in
he darkness of the doorway there were streaks of
ight, which glanced off from the surfaces of botles and tankards.
On the door-step, appeared the proper figure of
landlord, too; for, though he was a short man,.e was round and broad, and stood with his hands
a his pockets, and his legs just wide enough apart
o express a mind at rest upon the subject of the
ellar, and an easy confidence-too calm and viruous to become a swagger-in the general reources of the Inn. The superabundant moisture,
rickling from everything after the late rain, set
tim off well. Nothing near him was thirsty.?ertain top-heavy dahlias, looking over the paings of his neat well-ordered garden, had swilled
s much as they could carry-perhaps a trifle
nore-and may have been the worse for liquor;
mut, the sweet-briar, roses, wall-flowers, the plants,t the windows, and the leaves on the old tree,
vere in the beaming state of moderate company
hat had taken no more than was wholesome for
hem, and had served to develop their best qualiies. Sprinkling dewy drops about them on the
round, they seemed profuse of innocent and
parkling mirth, that did good where it lighted,.oftening neglected corners which the steady rain:ould seldom reach, and hurting nothing.
This village Inn had assumed, on being estabIshed, an uncommon sign. It was called The
intnmeg Grater. And underneath that household

word, was inscribed, up in the tree, on the same
flaming board, and in the like golden characters,
By Benjamin Britain.
At a second glance, and on a more minute ex
amination of his face, you might have known that
it was no other than Benjamin Britain himself
who stood in the doorway-reasonably changed
by time, but for the better; a very comfortable
host indeed.
" Mrs. B.," said Mr. Britain,?ooking down the
road, "is rather late. It's tea time."
As there was no Mrs. Britain coming, he stroiled leisurely out into the road and looked up at the
house, very much to his satisfaction. "It's just
the sort of house,' said Benjamin, "I should wish
to stop at, if I didn't keep it."
Then, he strolled towards the garden paling,
and took a look at the dahlias. They looked over
at him, with a helpless drowsy hanging of their
heads: which bobbed again, as the heavy drops
of wet dripped off them.
"You must be looked after," said Benjamin.
"M emorandum, not to forget to tell her so. She's
a lonlf time coming."
Mr. Britain's better half seemed to be by so
very much his better half, that his own moiety of
himself was utterly cast away and helpless without
her.
"She hadn't much to do, I think," said Ben.
"There were a few little matters of business after
market, but not many. Oh I here we are at last I"
A chaise-cart, driven by a boy, came clattering
along the road: and seated in it, in a chair, with
a large well-saturated umbrella spread out to dry
behind her, was the plump figure of a matronly
woman, with her bare arms folded across a basket
which she carried on her knee, several other baskets and parcels lying crowded about her, and a
certain bright good-nature in her face and contented awkwardness in her manner, as she jogged
to and fro with the motion of her carriage, which
smacked of old times, even in the distance. Upon
her nearer approach, this relish of bygone days
was not diminished; and when the cart stopped
at the Nutmeg Grater door, a pair of shoes, alighting from it, slipped nimbly through Mr. Britain's
open arms, and came down with a substantial
weight upon the pathway, which shoes could
hardly have belonged to any one but Clemency
Newcome.
In fact they did belong to her, and she stood in
them, and a rosy comfortable-looking soul she
was: with as much soap on her glossy face as in
times of yore, but with whole elbows now, that
had grown quite dimpled in her improved condition.
" You're late, Clemmy!" said Mr. Britain.
" Why, you see, Ben, I've had a deal to do I "
she replied, looking busily after the safe removal
into the house of all the packages and baskets;
"eight, nine, ten-where's eleven? Oh! my basket's eleven! It's all right. Put the horse up,
Harry, and if he coughs aain give him a warm
mash to-night. Eight, nine, ten. Why, wlhere't

CHRISTfMAS BOOKS.

eleven? Oh I forgot, it's all right. How's the
children, Ben? "
"Hearty, Clemmy, hearty."
"Bless their precious faces!" said Mrs. Britain, unbonneting her own round countenance (for
she and her husband were by this time in the
bar), and smoothing her hair with her open hands.
"Give us a kiss, old man! "
Mr. Britain promptly complied.
"I think," said Mrs. Britain, applying herself
to her pockets and drawing forth an immense
bulk of thin books and crumpled papers: a very
kennel of dog's ears: "I've clone everything.
Bills all settled-turnips sold-brewer's account
looked into and paid- 'bacco pipes orderedseventeen pound four, paid into the Bank-Doctor
Heathfield's charge for little Clem-you'll guess
what that is-Doctor Heathfield won't take nothing again, Tim."
"I thought he wouldn't," returned Britain.
"No. He says whatever family you was to
have, Tim, he'd never put you to the cost of
a halfpenny. Not if you was to have twenty."
Mr. Britain's face assumed a serious expression, and he looked hard at the wall.
"An't it kind of him? " said Clemency,
"Very," returned Mr. Britain. "It's the sort
of kindness that I wouldn't presume upon, on any
account."
"No," retorted Clemency. "'Of course not.
Then there's the pony-he fetched eight pound
two; and that an't bad, is it? "
" It's very good," said Ben.
"I'm glad you're pleased!" exclaimed his
wife. "I thought you would be: and I think
that's all, and so no more at present from yours
and cetrer, C. Britain. Ha ha ha I There I Take
all the papers, and lock 'em up. Oh I Wait a
minute. Here's a printed bill to stick on the
wall. Wet from the printer's. How nice it
smells I"
"What's this?" said Tim, looking over the
document.
"I don't know," replied his wife. "I haven't
read a word of it."
"' To be sold by Auction,' " read the host of
the Nutmeg Grater," ' unless previously disposed
of by private contract.'"
"They always put that," said Clemency.
"Yes, but they don't always put this," he returned. "Look here, 'Mansion,' &amp;c.-' offices,'
&amp;c., ' shrubberies,' &amp;c., 'ring fence,' &amp;c.
' Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs,' &amp;c., 'ornamental
portion of the unencumbered freehold property of
Michael Warden, Esquire, intending to continue
to reside abroad' I"
" Intending to continue to reside abroad I" repeated Clemency.
" Here it is," said Mr. Britain. " Look "
"And it was only this very day that I heard it
whispered at the old house, that better and plainer
news had been half promised of her, soon I" said
Clemency, shaking her head sorrowfully, and patting her elbowss if the recollection of old times

unconsciously awakened her old habits. " Dear
dear, dear I There'll be heavy hearts, Ben, yonder.'
Mr. Britain heaved a sigh, and shook his head
and said he couldn't make it out: he had left of
trying long ago. With that remark, he appliec
himself to putting up the bill just inside the bat
window. Clemency, after meditating in silence
for a few moments, roused herself, cleared he;
thoughtful brow, and bustled off to look after the
children.
Though the host of the Nutmeg Grater had t
lively regard for his good-wife, it was of the ol(
patronising kind, and she amused him mightily
Nothing would have astonished him so much, at
to have known for certain from any third party
that it was she who managed the whole house an(
made him by her plain, straightforward thrift
good-humor, honesty, and industry, a thriving
man. So easy it is, in any degree of life (as tht
world very often finds it), to take those cheerfu
natures that never assert their merit, at thei:
own modest valuation; and to conceive a flippan
liking of people for their outward oddities and ec
centricities, whose innate worth, if we would lool
so far, might make us blush in the comparison I
It was comfortable to Mr. Britain, to think ol
his own condescension in having married Clem
ency. She was a perpetual testimony to him o:
the goodness of his heart, and the kindness of hif
disposition; and he felt that her being an excel
lent wife was an illustration of the old precept tha
virtue is its own reward.
He had finished wafering up the bill, and hac
locked the vouchers for her day's proceedings it
the cupboard-chuckling all the time, over he:
capacity for business âwhen, returning with th(
news that the two Master Britains were playing
in the coach-house under the superintendence oj
one Betsey, and that little Clem was sleepinm
"like a picture," she sat down to tea, which ha&lt;
awaited her arrival, on a little table. It was t
very neat little bar, with the usual display ol
bottles and glasses; a sedate clock, right to the
minute (it was half-past five); everything in its
place, and everything furbished and polished up
to the very utmost.
"It's the first time I've sat down quietly to
day, I declare," said Mrs. Britain, taking a long
breath, as if she had sat down for the night; bu
getting up again immediately to hand her husbant
his tea, and cut him his bread-and-butter; "hom
that bill does set me thinking of old times I"
"Ah I " said Mr. Britain, handling his saucel
like an oyster, and disposing of its contents or
the same principle.
"That same Mr. Michael Warden," said (Clem
ency, shaking her head at the notice of sale.
"lost me my old place."
"And got you your husband," said Mr. Britain
"Well I So he did," retorted Clemency, "ani
many thanks to him."
"Man's the creature of habit," said Mr. Brit,
ain, surveying her, over his saucer. "I had
somehow got used to you, Clem; and I found 1

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

121

Couldn't be able to get on without you. So we
rent and got made man and wt%. Ha! ha I We I
Vho 'd have thought it 1"
"Who indeed!" cried Clemency. "It was
ery good of you, Ben."
"No, no, no," replied Mr. Britain, with an air
f self-denial. "Nothing worth mentioning."
" Oh, yes it was, Ben," said his wife, with
reat simplicity; "I'm sure I think so, and am
cry much obliged to you. Ah I " looking again
t the bill; "when she was known to be gone,
nd-out of reach, dear girl, I couldn't help telling
-for her sake quite as much as theirs-what I
new, could I?"
"You told it, anyhow," observed her husband.
"And Doctor Jeddler," pursued Clemency,
utting down her tea-cup, and looking thoughtilly at the bill, " in his grief and passion turned
le out of house and home I I never have been so
lad of anything in all my life, as that I didn't say
n angry word to him, and hadn't an angry feeling
awards him, even then; for he repented that.uly, afterwards. How often he has sat in this
)om, and told me over and over again he was
arry for it I-the last time, only yesterday, when
on were out. How often he has sat in this
tom, and talked to me, hour after hour, about
ne thing and another, in which he made believe
3 be interested I-but only for the sake of the
ays that are gone by, and because he knows she
sed to like me, Ben 1"
"Why, how did you ever come to catch a
limpse of that, Clem?" asked her husband:
stonished that she should have a distinct percption of a truth which had only dimly suggestd itself to his inquiring mind.
"I don't know, I'm sure," said Clemency.
lowing her tea, to cool it. ' Bless you, I
ouldn't tell you, if you was to offer me a reward
f a hundred pound."
He might have pursued this metaphysical sub-,ct but for her catching a glimpse of a substantial
tct behind him, in the shape of a gentleman
ttired in mourning, and cloaked and booted like
rider on horseback, who stood at the bar-door.
[e seemed attentive to their conversation, and
iot at all impatient to interrupt it.
Clemency hastily rose at this sight. Mr. Britin also rose and saluted the guest. " Will you
lease to walk up-stairs, sir? There's a very nice
omn up-stairs, sir."
"Thank you," said the stranger, looking
arnestly at Mr. Britain's wife. " May I come in
ore?"
"Oh, surely, if you like, sir," returned Clemncy, admitting him. " What would you please
o want, sir?"
The bill had caught his eye, and he was readng it.
"Excellent property that, sir," observed Mr.
Iritain.
He made no answer; but. turning round, when
ie had finished reading, looked-mt Clemency with
he same observant curiosity as before. "You
6

were asking me," -he said, still looking at
her,"What you would please to take sir," an.
swered Clemency, stealing a glance at him in
return.
" If you will let me have a draught of ale," he
said, moving to a table by the window, "and Will
let me have it here, without being any interruption to your meal, I shall be much obliged to
you."
He sat down as he spoke without any further
parley, and looked out at the prospect. He was
an easy, well-knit figure of a man in the prime of
life. Iis face, much browhed by the sun, was
shaded by a quantity of dark hair; and he wore a
moustache. His beer being set before him, he
filled out a glass, and drank, good-humoredly,
to the house; adding, as he put the tumbler down
again:
"It's a new house, is it not?"
" Not particularly new, sir," replied Mr.
Britain.
" Between five and six years old," said Clemency: speaking very distinctly.
"I think I heard you mention Doctor Jeddler's
name, as I came in," inquired the stranger.
"That bill reminds me of him; for I happen to
know something of that story, by hearsay, and
through certain connections of mine.-Is the old
man living? "
"Yes, he's living, sir," said Clemency.
" Much changed?"
" Since when, sir?" returned Clemency, with
remarkable emphasis and expression.
" Since his daughter-went away."
'" Yes I he's greatly changed since then," said
Clemency. "He's grey and old, and hasn't the
same way with him at all; but, I think he's
happy now. He has taken on with his sister
since then, and goes to see her very often. That
did him good, directly. At first, he was sadly
broken down; and it was enough to make one's
heart bleed, to see him wandering about, railing
at the world; but a great change for the better
came over him after a year or two, and then he
began to like to talk about his lost daughter, and
to praise her, ay and the world tool and was
never tired of saying, with the tears in his poor
eyes, how beautiful and good she was. He had
forgiven her then. That was about the same
time as Miss Grace's marriage. Britain, you remember?"
Mr. Britain remembered very well.
"The sister is married then," returned the
stranger. He paused for some time before he
asked, "To whom?"
Clemency narrowly escaped oversetting the
tea-board, in her emotion at this question.
" Did you never hear? " she said.
" I should like to hear," he replied, as he filled
his glass again, and raised it to his lips.
"Ahl It would be a long story, if it was
properly told," said Clemency, resting her chin
on the palm of her left hand, and supporting that

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

elbow on her right hand, as she shook her head,
and looked back through the intervening years,
as if she were looking at a fire. "It Would be a
long story, I am sure."
"But told as a short one," suggested the
stranger.
"Told as a short one," repeated Clemency in
the same thoughtful tone, and without any apparent reference to him, or consciousness of having auditors, "what would there be to tell?
That they grieved together, and remembered her
together, like a person dead; that they were so
tender of her, never would reproach her, called her
back to one another as she used to be, and found
excuses for her Every one knows that. I'm
Sure Ido. No one better," added Clemency, wiping her eyes with her hand.
"And so," suggested the stranger.
"And so," said Clemency, taking him up mechanically, and without any change in her attitude or manner, " they at last were married.
They were married on her birth-day-it comes
round again to-morrow-very quiet, very humble
like, but very happy. Mr. Alfred said, one night
when they were walking in the orchard, ' Grace,
shall our wedding-day be Marion's birth-day?'
And it was."
" And they have lived happily together?" said
the stranger.
"Ay," said Clemency. "No two people ever
more so. They have had no sorrow but this."
She raised her head as with a sudden attention
to the circumstances utder which she was recalling these events, and looked quickly at the stranger. Seeing that his face was turned towards the
window, and that he seemed intent upon the
prospect, she made some eager signs to her husband, and pointed to the bill, and moved her
mouth as if she were repeating with great energy,
one word or phrase to him over and over again.
As she uttered no sound, and as her dumb motions like most of her gestures were of a very extraordinary kind, this unintelligible conduct reduced Mr. Britain to the confines of despair. He
stared at the table, at the stranger, at the spoons,
at his wife-followed her pantomime with looks
of deep amazement and perplexity-asked in the
Same language, was it property in danger, was it
he in danger, was It she-answered her signals
with other signals expressive of the deepest distress and confusion-followed the motions of her
lips-guessed half aloud "milk and water,"
"monthly warning," "mice and walnuts"-and
Couc da't approach her meaning.
Clemehcy gave it up at last, as a hopeless attempt; and moving her chair by very slow degrees a little nearer to the stranger, sat with her
eyes apparently cast down but glancing sharply at
him now and then, waiting until he should ask
some other question. She had not to wait long;
for he said, presently:
" And what ts the after history of the ydtnmg
ily who went away? They know it, I supt:tC?" ',

Clemency shook her head. " I've heard," Bh&lt;
said, "that Doctor Jeddler is thought to knov
more of it than he tells. Miss Grace has had let
ters from her sister, saying that she was well am
happy, and made much happier by her being mar
ried to Mr. Alfred: and has written letters back
But there's a mystery about her life and fortunes
altogether, which nothing has cleared up to thi;
hour, and which-"
She faltered here, and stopped.
" And which "-repeated the stranger.
"Which only one other person, I believe
could explain," said Clemency, drawing he
breath quickly.
"Who may that be? " asked the stranger.
"Mr. Michael Warden I" answered Clemency
almost in a'shriek: at once conveying to her hue
band what she would have had him understan(
before, and letting Michael Warden know that hi
was recognised.
"You remember me, sir?" said Clemency
trembling with emotion; " I saw just now yoi
did I You remember me, that night in the garden
I was with her I"
" Yes. You were," he said.
"Yes, sir," returned Clemency. "Yes, to b,
sure. This is my husband, if you please. Ber
my dear Ben, run to Miss Grace-run to Mr. Al
fred-run somewhere, Ben I Bring somebbd;
here, directly 1 "
" Stay I" said Michael Warden, quietly Iiitei
posing himself between the door and Britain
"What would you do?"
"Let them know that you are here, sir," ar
swered Clemency, clapping her hands in shee
agitation. "Let them know that they may hen
of her, from your own lips; let them know tha
she is not quite lost to them, but that she wi
come home again yet, to bless her father and he
loving sister-even her old servant, even me," sh
struck herself upon the breast with both hands
"with a sight of her sweet face. RTn; Ber
run l" And still she pressed him on toward
the door, and still Mr. Warden stood before it
with his hand stretched out, not angrily, but soi
rowfully.
"Or, perhaps," said Clemency, runing pas
her husband, and catching in her emotion at Mi
Warden's cloak, "perhaps she's here now; pet
haps she's close by. I think from your manne
she is. Let me see her, sir, if you please.
waited on her when she was a little child. I sav
her grow to be the pride of all this place. I knev
her when she was Mr. Alfred's promised wife.
tried to warn her when you tempted her away.
know what her old home was when she was lik,
the soul of it, and how it changed when she wa
gone and lost. Let me speak to her, if yoi
please 1"
He gazed at her with compassion, not un
mixed with wonder: but he made no gesture ol
assent.
" I don't think she can know," pursaeadoClm
ency, "how truly thej forgive her; how they lov

TEE BATTLE OF LIFE.

123

her; what joy it would be to them to see her.
once more. She maybe timorous of going home.
Perhaps if she sees me it may give her new
heart. Only tell me truly, Mr. Warden, is she
with you?"
" She is not," he answered, shaking his head.
This answer, and his manner, and his black
dress, and his coming back so quietly, and his announced intention of continuing to live abroad,
explained it all. Marion was dead.
He didn't contradict her; yes, she was dead I
Clemency sat down, hid her face upon the table,
and cried.
At that moment, a grey-headed old gentleman
came running in: quite out of breath, and panting so muchthat his voice was scarcely to be recognised as the voice of Mr. Snitchey.
Good Heaven, Mr. Warden I " said the lawyer, taking, him aside, "what wind has blown
-." He was so blown himself, that he couldn't
get on any further until after a pause, when he
added, feebly, "you here?"
" An ill wind, I am afraid," he answered. "If
you could have heard what has just passed-how
I have been besought and entreated to perform
impossibilities-what confusion and affliction I,carry with me I"
"I can guess it all. But why did you ever
come here, my good sir?" retorted Snitchey.
" Come! How should I know who kept the
house? When I sent my servant on to you, I
strolled in here because the place was new to me;
and I had a natural curiosity in everything new
and old in these old scenes; and it was outside
the town I wanted to communicate with you,
first, before appearing there. I wanted to know
what people would say to me. I see by your
manner that you can tell me. If it were not for
your confounded caution, I should have been possessed of everything long ago."
" Our caution I " returned the lawyer, " speaking for Self and Craggs-d-eceased," here Mr.
Snitchey, glanced at his hat-band, shook his head,
" how can you reasonably blame us, Mr. Warden?
It was understood between us that the subject
was never to be renewed, and that it wasn't a
subject on which grave and sober men like us (I
made a note of your observations at the time)
could interfere? Our caution too When Mr.
Craggs, sir, went down to his respected grave in
the full belief-"
"I had given a solemn promise of silence until
I should return, whenever that might be," interrapted Mr. Warden; "and I have kept it."
"Well, sir, and I repeat it," returned Mr.
Snitchey, "we were bound to silence you. We
were bound to silence in our duty towards ourselves, and in our duty towards a variety of
clients, you among them, who were as close as
wax. It was not our place to make inquiries of
lyou on such a delicate subject. I had my suspicions, sir; but, it is not six months since I have
znown the truth, and been assured that you lost
her."

"By whom? " inquired his client,
"By Doctor Jeddler, himself, sir, who at last
reposed that confidence in me voluntarily. He,
and only he, has known the whole truth, years
and years."
"And you know it? " said his client.
"I do, sir!" replied Snitchey; "and I have
also reason to know that it will be broken to her
sister to-morrow evening. They have given her
that promise. In the meantime, perhaps you'll
give me the honor of your company at my house;
being unexpected at your own. But, not to run
the chance of any more such difficulties as yon
have had here, in case you should be recognised
â though you're a good deal changed; I think I
might have passed you myself, Mr. Warden-we
had better dine here, and walk on in the evening.
It's a very good place to dine at, Mr. Warden:
your own property, by-the-by. Self and Craggs
(deceased) took a chop here sometimes, and had
it very comfortably served. Mr. Craggs, sir,"
said Snitchey, shutting his eyes tight for an instant, and opening them again, " was struck off
the roll of life too soon."
"Heaven forgive me for not condoling with
you," returned Michael Warden, pressing his
hand across his forehead, "but I'm like a man
in a dream at present. I seem to want my wits.
Mr. Craggs-yes-I am very sorry we have lost
Mr. Craggs." But he looked at Clemency as he
said it, and seemed to sympathize with Ben, consoling her.
"Mr. Craggs, sir," observed Snitchey, "didn't 1
find life, I regret to say, as easy to have and to
hold as his theory made it out, or he would have
been among us now. It's a great loss to me.
He was my right arm, my right leg, my right ear,
my right eye, was Mr. Craggs. I am paralytic
without him. He bequeathed his share of the S
business to Mrs. Craggs, her executors, administrators, and assigns. His name remains in the
Firm to this hour. I try, in a childish sort of
way, to make believe, sometimes, that he's alive.
You may observe that I speak for Self and Craggs |
-deceased sir-deceased," said the tender-hearted
attorney, waving his pocket-handkerchief.
Michael Warden, who had still been observant
of Clemency, turned to Mr. Snitchey when he
ceased to speak, and whispered in his ear.
"Ah, poor thing " said Snitchey, shaking his
head. "Yes. She was always very faithful to
Marion. She was always very fond of her. Pretty Marion! Poor Marion! Cheer up, Mistress
-you are married now, you know, Clemency."
Clemency only sighed, and shook her head.
"Well, well Wait till to-morrow," said the
lawyer, kindly.
"To-morrow can't bring back the dead to life,
Mister," said Clemency, sobbing.
"No. It can't do that, or it would bring
back Mr. Craggs, deceased," returned the lawyer
"But it may bring some soothing circumstances I
it may bring some confort. Wait till to-morrow I"
So Clemency, shaking his proffered hand said

CJIRISTfAS BOOK&amp;

the would; and Britain, who haa been terribly
cast down at sight of his despondent wife (which
was like the business hanging its head), said that
was right; and Mr. Snitchey and Michael Warden
went up-stairs; and there they were soon engaged in a conversation so cautiously conducted,
that no murmur of it was audible above the clatter of plates and dishes, the hissing of the fryingpan, the bubbling of saucepans, the low, monotonous waltzing of the jack-with a dreadful click
every now and then as if it had met with some
mortal accident to its head, in a fit of giddinessand all the other preparations in the kitchen for
their dinner.
To-morrow was a bright and peaceful day; and
nowhere were the autumn tints more beautifully
seen, than from the quiet orchard of the Doctor's
house. The snows of many winter nights had
melted from that ground, the withered leaves of
many summer times had rustled there, since she
had fled. The honey-suckle porch was green
again, the trees cast bountiful and changing shadows on the grass, the landscape was as tranquil
and serene as it had ever been; but where was
she!
Not there. Not there. She would have been
a stranger sight in her old home now, even than
that home had been at first, without her. But, a
lady sat in the familiar place, from whose heart
she had never passed away; in whose true memory she lived, unchanging, youthful, radiant with
all promise and all hope; in whose affection-and
it was a mother's now, there was a cherished
little daughter playing by her side-she had no
rival, no successor: upon whose gentle lips her
name was trembling then.
The spirit of the lost girl looked out of those
eyes. Those eyes of Grace, her sister, sitting with her husband in the orchard, on their
wedding-day, and his and Marion's birth-day.
He had not become a great man; he had not
grown rich; he had not forgotten the scenes and
friends of his youth; he had not fulfilled any one
of the Doctor's old predictions. But, in his useful, patient, unknown visiting of poor men's
homes; and in his watching of sick beds; and in
his daily knowledge of the gentleness and goodness flowering the by-paths of this world, not to
be trodden down beneath the heavy foot of poverty, but springng up, elastic, in its track, and
making its way beautiful; he had better learned
and proved, in each succeeding year, the truth of
his old faith. The manner of his life, though
quiet and remote, had shown him how often men
still entertained angels, unawares, as in the olden
time; and how the most unlikely forms-even
some that were mean and ugly to the view, and
poorly clad-became irradiated by the couch
of sorrow, want, and pain, and changed to
ministering spirits with a glory round their
heads.
He lived to better purpose on the altered battie-groad perhaps, thai if:he had contended rest

lessly in more ambitious lists; and he was happy
with his wife, dear Grace.
And Marion. Had he forgotten her?
" The time has flown, dear Grace," he said,
"since then;" they had been talking of that
night; "and yet it seems a long while ago.
We count by changes and events within us. Not
by years."
"Yet we have years to count by, too, since
Marion was with us," returned Grace. "Six
times, dear husband, counting to-night as one,
we have sat here on her birth-day, and spoken
together of that happy return, so eagerly expected
and so long deferred. Ah when will it be I When
will it be "
Her husband attentively observed her, as
the tears collected in her eyes; and drawing
nearer, said:
"But, Marion told you, in that farewell letter
which she left for you upon your table, love, and
which you read so often, that years must pass
away before it could be. Did she not? "
She took a letter from her breast, and kissed
it, and said "Yes."
" That through those intervening years, however happy she might be, she would look forward
to the time when you would meet again, and all
would be made clear; and that she prayed you,
trustfully and hopefully to do the same. The letter runs so, does it not, my dear?"
"Yes, Alfred."
"And every other letter she has written
since? "
" Except the last-some months ago-in which
she spoke of you, and what you then knew, and
what I was to learn to-night."
He looked towards the sun, then fast declining, and said that the appointed time was
sunset.
" Alfred I" said Grace, laying her hand upon
his shoulder earnestly, "there is something in
this letter-this old letter, which you say I read
so often-that I have never told you. But, tonight, dear husband, with that sunset drawing
near and all our life seeming to soften and become hushed with the departing day, I cannot
keep it secret."
"What is it, love?"
"When Marion went away she wrote me.
here, that you had once left her a sacred trust to
me, and that now she left you, Alfred, such a trust
in my hands: praying and beseeching me, as I
loved her, and as I loved you, not to reject the
affection she believed (she knew, she said) you
would transfer to me when the new wound was
healed, but to encourage and return it."
"-And make me a proud, and happy man
again, Grace. Did she say so?"
" She meant, to make myself so bleat and honored in your love," was his wife's answer, as h3
held her in his arms.
"Hear me, my dear " he said.-" No. Hear
me so l "-and as he spoke, he gently laid the
head she had raised, again upon his shoulder. " 1

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

125

know why I have never heard this passage in the
letter, until now. I know why no trace of it ever
showed itself in any word or look of yours at that
time. I know why Grace, although so true a
friend to me, was hard to win to be my wife. And
knowing it, my own I I know the priceless value
of the heart I gird within my arms, and thank
GOD for the rich possession! "
She wept, but not for sorrow, as he pressed
her to his heart. After a brief space, he looked
down at the child who was sitting at their feet
playing with a little basket of flowers, and bade
her look how golden and how red the sun was.
"Alfred," said Grace, raising her head quickly
at these words. "The sun is going down. You
have not forgotten what I am to know before it
sets."
" You are to know the truth of Marion's history, my love," he answered.
" All the truth," she said imploringly. " Nothing veiled from me any more. That was the promise. Was it not?"
"It was," he answered.
" Before the sun went down on Marion's birthday. And you see it, Alfred? It is sinking fast."
He put his arms about her waist, and looking
steadily into her eyes, rejoined:
"The truth is not reserved so long for me to
tell, dear Grace. It is to come from other lips."
"From other lips I " she faintly echoed.
"Yes. I know your constant heart, I know
how brave you are, I know that to you a word of
preparation is enough. You have said, truly, that
the time is come. It is. Tell me that you have
present fortitude to bear a trial-a surprise-a
shock: and the messenger is waiting at the gate."
"What messenger?" she said. "And what
intelligence does he bring? "
"I am pledged," he answered her, preserving
his steady look, " to say no more. Do you think
you understand me?"
"' I am afraid to think," she said.
There was that emotion in his face, despite its
steady gaze, which frightened her. Again she
hid her own face on his shoulder, trembling, and
entreated him to pause-a moment.
"Courage, my wifeI When you have firmness to receive the messenger, the messenger is
waiting at the gate. The sun is setting on Marion's birth-day. Courage, courage, Grace I"
She raised her head, and, looking at him, told
him she was ready. As she stood, and looked
upon him going away, her face was so like Marion's as it had been in her later days at home, that
it was wonderful to see. He took the child with
him. She called her back-she bore the lost
girl's name-and pressed her to her bosom. The.ittle creature, being released again, sped after
him, and Grace was left alone.
She knew not what she dreaded, or what
hoped; but remained there, motionless, looking
at the porch by which they had disappeared.
Ah t what was that, emerging from its shadow; standing on its threshold I That figure, with

its white garments rustling in the evening air; its
head laid down upon her father's breast, and
pressed against it to his loving heart 1 0 God
was it a vision that came bursting from the old
man's arms, and, with a cry, and with a waiving of
its hands, and with a wild precipitation of itself
upon her in its boundless love, sank down in her
embrace I
"Oh, Mon, MarionMarion Oh, my sister I Oh,
my heart s dear love I Oh, joy and happines unutterable, so to meet again "
It was no dream, no phantom conjured up by
hope and fear, but Marion, sweet Marion So
beautiful, so happy, so unalloyed by care and trial,
so elevated and exalted in her loveliness, that, as
the setting sun shone brightly on her upturned
face, she might have been a spirit visiting the
earth upon some healing mission.
Clinging to her sister, who had dropped upon
her seat and bent down over her-and smiling
through her tears-and kneeling, close before her,
with both arms twining round her, and never
turning for an instant from her face-and with
the glory of the setting sun upon her brow, and
with the soft tranquillity of evening gathering
around them-Marion at length broke silence;
her voice, so calm, low, clear, and pleasant, welltuned to the time.
"When this was my dear home, Grace, as it
will be now again-"
"Stay, my sweet love! A moment I 0 Marion,
to hear you speak again."
She could not bear the voice she loved, sc
well, at first.
"When this was my dear home, Grace, as it
will be now again, I loved him from my soul. I
loved him most devotedly. I would have died
for him, though I was so young. I never slightec
his affection in my secret breast, for one brief
instant. It was far beyond all price to me. Al.
though it is so long ago, and past and gone, an'
everything is wholly changed, I could not bear tc
think that you, who loved so well, should think 3
did not truly love him once. I never loved hin
better, Grace, than when he left this very scene
upon this very day. I never loved him better
dear one, than I did that night when Ileft here."
Her sister, bending over her, could look int
her face, and hold her fast.
"But he had gained, unconsciously," sail
Marion, with a gentle smile, "another heart, be
fore I knew that I had one to give him. Tha'
heart-yours, my sister I-was so yielded up, ii
all its other tenderness, to me; was so devoted
and so noble; that it plucked its love away, an(
kept its secret from all eyes but mine-Ah! wha'
other eyes were quickened by such tenderness
and gratitude I-and was content to sacrifice it
self to me. But, I knew something of it}
depths. I knew the struggle it had made. 3
knew its high, inestimable worth to him, and hit
appreciation of it, let him love me as he would
I knew the debt I owed it. I had its great e
amp.l every day before me, What you had dona

CHR IS T3AS BOOKS.

for me, I knew that I could do, Grace, if I would,
for yu. I never laid my head down on my pillow, but prayed with tears to do it. I never
laid my head down on my pillow, but I thought
of Alfred's own words, on the day of his departure, and how truly he had said (for I knew
that, knowing you) that there were victories
gained every day, in struggling hearts, to which
these fields of battle were as nothing. Thinking
more and more upon the great endurance cheerfully sustained, and never known or cared for,
that there must be, every day and hour, in that
great strife of which he spoke, my trial seemed to
grow light and easy. And He who knows our
hearts, my dearest, at this moment, and who
knows there is no drop of bitterness or grief-of
anything but unmixed happiness-in mine, enabled me to make the resolution that I never
would be Alfred's wife. That he should be my
brother, and your husband, if the course I took
could bring that happy end to pass; but that I
never would (Grace, I then loved him dearly,
dearly I) be his wife I"
" 0 Marion O 0 Marion I"
"I had tried to seem indifferent to him;" and
she pressed her sister's face against her own;
"but that was hard, and you were always his
true advocate. I had tried to tell you of my resolution, but you would never hear me; you would
never understand me. The timer-was drawing
near for his return. I felt that I must act, before
the daily intercourse between us was renewed.
I knew that one great pang, undergone at that
time, would save a lengthened agony to all of us.
I knew that if I went away then, that end must
follow which has followed, and which has made
us both so happy, Grace I I wrote to good Aunt
Martha, for a refuge in her house: I did not then
tell her all, but something of my story, and she
freely promised it. While I was contesting that
step with myself, and with my love of you, and
home, Mr. Warden, brought here by an accident,
became, for some time, our companion."
"I have sometimes feared of late years, that
this might have been," exclaimed her sister; and
'ier countenance was ashy-pale. "You never
loved him-and you married him in your selfsacrifice to me I"
"He was then," said Marion, drawing her sis~er closer to her, "on the eve of going secretly
%way for a long time. He wrote to me, after
eaving here; told me what his condition and
prospects really were; and offered me his hand.
[e told me he had seen I was not happy in the?rospect o Alfred's return. I believe he thought
ny heart had no part in that contract; perhaps;hught I might have loved him once, and did
lot then; perhaps thought that when I tried to
eem indfferent, t tried to hide indifference-I
tnnot tell. lut I wished that you should feel
ne wholly lostto Alfred-hopeless to himp-dead.
o yoS0 understand me, love?
Her sister looked into her face, attentively.;he eemed in dAubt.

"I saw Mr. Warden, and confided in his
honor; charged him with my secret, on the eve
of his and my departure. He kept it. Do you
understand me, dear?"
Grace looked confusedly upon her. She
scarcely seemed to hear.
"My love, my sister " said Marion, "recall
your thoughts a moment; listen to me. Do not
look so strangely on me. There are countries,
dearest, where those who would abjure a misplaced passion, or would strive against some
cherished feeling of their hearts and conquer it,
retire into a hopeless solitude, and close the world
against themselves and worldly loves and hopes
for ever. When women do so, they assume that
name which is so dear to you and me, and call
each other Sisters. But, there may be sisters,
Grace, who, in the broad world out of doors, and
underneath its free sky, and in its crowded places
and among its busy life, and trying to assist and
cheer it and to do some good,-learn the same
less on; and who, with hearts still fresh and
young, and open to all happiness and means of
happiness, can say the battle is long past, the
victory long won. And such a one am II You
understand me now?"
Still she looked fixedly upon her, and made no
reply.
"Oh Grace, dear Grace," said Marion, clinging
yet more tenderly and fondly to that breast from
which she had been so long exiled, " if you were
not a happy wife and mother-if I had no little
namesake here-if Alfred, my kind brother, were
not your own fond husband-from whence could I
derive the ecstasy I feel to-night I But, as I left
here, so I have returned. My heart has known no
other love, my hand has never been bestowed
apart from it. I am still your maiden sister, unmarried, unbetrothed: your own old loving Marion, in whose affection you exist alone and have
no partner, Grace I "
She understood her now. Her face relaxed;
sobs came to her relief; and falling on her neck,
she wept and wept, and fondled her as if she
were a-child again.
When they were more composed, they found
that the Doctor and his sister, good Aunt Martha,
were standing near at hand, with Alfred.
"This is a weary day for me," said good Aunt
Martha, smiling through her tears, as she em
braced her nieces; "for I lose my dear com
panion in making you all happy; and what can
you give me, in return for my Marion?"
"A converted brother," said the Doctor.
"That's something, to be sure," retorted Aunt
Martha, "in such a farce as-"
"No, pray don't," said the Doctor, penitently.
"Well, I won't," replied Aunt Martha. "But,
I consider myself ill-used. I don't know what's
to become of me without my Marion, after we
have lived together half-a-dQzen years."
"You must come and live here, I suppose,"
replied the Doctor. "We shan't quarrel now
Martha."

TS BRATTLE OF LITF. 12
"Or you must get married, Aunt," said Al- too easy perhaps; that, taken altogether, it wil
Id. bear any little smoothing we can give it; but Mr,
"Indeed," returned the old lady. "I think it Craggs was a man who could endure to be connight be a good speculation if I were to Pet my vinced, sir. He was always open to conviction.:ap at Michael Warden, who, I hear, is come If he were open to conviction, now, I-this is
lome much the better for his absence in all re- weakness. Mrs. Snitchey, my dear,"-at his sumtpects. But as I knew him when he was a boy, mons that lady appeared from behind the door,
md I was not a very young woman then, perhaps "you are among old friends."
le mightn't respond. So I'll make up my mind Mrs. Snitchey having delivered her congratulao go and live with Marion, when she marries, tions, took her husband aside.
md until then (it will not be very long, I dare say) "One moment, Mr. Snitchey," said that lady.
o live alone. What do you say, Brother? "It is not in my nature to rake up the ashes of the
"I've a great mind to say it's a ridiculous departed."
vorld altogether, and there's nothing serious in "No, my dear," returned her husband.
t," observed the poor old Doctor. "Mr. Craggs is-"
"You might take twenty affidavits of it if you "Yes, my dear, he is deceased," said Mr.:hose, Anthony," said his sister; "but nobody Snitchey.
vould believe you with such eyes as those." "But I ask you if you recollect," pursued his
"It's a world full of hearts," said the Doctor, wife, "that evening of the ball? I only ask you
tugging his youngerdaughter, and bending across that. If you do; and if your memory has not enter to hug Grace-for he couldn't separate the tirely failed you, Mr. Snitchey: and if you are not
isters; " and a serious world, with all its folly â absolutely in your dotage; I ask you to connect
yven with mine, which was enough to have this time with that-to remember how I begged
wamped the whole globe; and it is a world on and prayed you, on my knees-"
rhich the sun never rises, but it looks upon a "Upon your knees, my dear 1" said Mr.
housand bloodless battles that are some set-off Snitchey.
gainst the miseries and wickedness of Battle- "Yes," said Mrs. Snitchey, confidently, " and
"ields; and it is a world we need be careful how you know it-to beware of that man-to observe
ve libel, Heaven forgive us, for it is a world of his eye-and now to tell me whether I was right,
acred mysteries, and its Creator only knows what and whether at that moment he knew secrets
ies beneath the surface of His lightest image I" which he didn't choose to tell."
" Mrs. Snitchey," returned her husband, in her
You would not be the better pleased with my ear, " Madam. Did you ever observe anything in
ude pen, if it dissected and laid open to your my eye? "
iew the transports of this family, long severed "No," said Mrs. Snitchey, sharply. "Don't
nd now reunited. Therefore, I will not follow flatter yourself."
he poor Doctor through his humbled recollection " Because, ma'am, that night," he continued,
~f the sorrow he had had, when Marion was lost twitching her by the sleeve, "it happens that we
o him; nor, will I tell how serious he had found both knew secrets which we didn't choose to tell,
hat world to be in which some love, deep-an- and both knew just the same professionally. And
hored, is the portion of all human creatures; nor, so the less you say about such things the better, i
Low such a trifle as the absence of one little unit Mrs. Snitchey; and take this as a warning to have
a the great absurd account, had stricken him to wiser and more charitable eyes another time. i
he ground. Nor, how, in compassion for his dis- Miss Marion, I brought a friend of yours along
ress, his sister had, long ago, revealed the truth with me. Here I Mistress I"
o him by slow degrees, and brought him to the Poor Clemency, with her apron to her eyes,
Knowledge of the heart of his self-banished daugh- came slowly in, escorted by her husband; the
er, and to that daughter's side. latter doleful with the presentiment, that if she
Nor, how Alfred Heathfield had been told the abandoned herself to grief, the Nutmeg Grater
ruth, too, in the course of that then current year; was done for.
ed Marion had seen him, and had promised him, "Now, Mistress," said the lawyer, checking
*s her brother, that on her birth-day, in the even- Marion as she ran towards her, and interposing I
ng, Grace should know it from her lips at himselfbetween them, "what's the matter with
ast. you"
"I beg your pardon, Doctor," said Mr. Snitch- "The matter," cried poor Clemency.-When,
y, looking into the orchard, "but have I liberty lo*ing up in wonder, and in indignant remonI o come in?" strance, and in the added emotion of a great roar
Without waiting for permission, he came from Mr. Britain, and seeing that sweet face so well
traight to Marion, and kissed her hand, quite remembered close before her, she started, sobbed,
I oyfully. laughed, cried, screamed, embraced her, held her
"If Mr. Craggs had been alive, my dear Miss fast, released her, fell on Mr. Snitchey and emiarion," said Mr. Snitchey, "he would have braced him (much to Mrs. Snitchey's indignation),
tad great interest in this occasion. It might have fell on the Doctor and embraced him, fell on Mr.
uggested to him, Mr. Alfred, that our life is not Britain and embraced him, and concluded by emr
21 â

i28

CHREISTi2aS BOOKS,

bracing herself, throwing her apron over her head,
and going into hysterics behind it.
A stranger had come into the orchard, after
Mr. Snitchey, and had remained apart, near the
gate, without being observed by any of the group;
for they had little spare attention to bestow, and
that had been monopolised by the ecstasies of
Clemency. He did not appear to wish to be observed, but stood alone, with downcast eyes; and
there was an air of dejection about him (though
he was a gentleman of a gallant appearance) which
the general happiness rendered more remarkable.
None but the quick eyes of Aunt Martha, however, remarked him at all: but, almost as soon as
she espied him, she was in conversation with him.
Presently, going to where Marion stood with
Grace and her little namesake, she whispered
something in Marion's ear, at which she started,
and appeared surprised; but soon recovering
from her confusion, she timidly approached the
stranger, in Aunt Martha's company, and engaged
in conversation with him too.
"Mr. Britain," said the lawyer, putting his
hand in his pocket, and bringing out a legal-looking document while this was going on, "I congratulate you. You are now the whole and sole
proprietor of that freehold tenement, at present
occupied and held by yourself as a licensed tavern,
or house of public entertainment, and commonly
called or known by the sign of the Nutmeg Grater.
Your wife lost one house, through my client, Mr.
Michael Warden: and now gains another. I shall
have the pleasure of canvassing you for the county, one of these fine mornings."
" Would it make any difference in the vote if
the sign was altered, sir?" asked Britain.

"Not in the least," replied the lawyer.
"Then," said Mr. Britain, handing himback th
conveyance, "just clap in the words, ' and Thin
ble,' will you be so good; and I'll have the tw
mottoes painted up in the parlor, instead of m
wife's portrait."
"And let me," said a voice behind them;
was the stranger's-Michael Warden's; "let m
claim the benefit of those inscriptions. M31
Heathfield and Dr. Jeddler, I might have deep]
wronged you both. That I did not, is no virtu
of my own. I will not say that I am six yeai
wiser than I was, or better. But I have knowl
at any rate, that term of self-reproach. I can urg
no reason why you should deal gently with me
I abused the hospitality of this house; and learn
my own demerits, with a shame I never have foi
gotten, yet with some profit too I would fain hope
from one," he glanced at Marion, " to whom
made my humble supplication for forgiveness
when I knew her merit and my deep unworth
ness. In a few days I shall quit this place fc
ever. I entreat your pardon. Do as you woul,
be done by I Forget and forgive I"
TiME-from whom I had the latter portion o
this story, and with whom I have the pleasure o
a personal acquaintance of some five and thirt
years' duration-informed me, leaning easily upo
his scythe, that Michael Warden never went awa
again, and never sold his house, but opened:
afresh, maintained a golden mean of hospitality
and had a wife, the pride and honor of that coui
try-side, whose name was Marion. But, as I hav
observed that Time confuses facts occasionally,
hardly kLow what weight to give to his authoritj

THE HAUNTED MIAN,
aWd the (6110'# ^Nuavit.

CHAPTER I.
THE GIFT BESTOWED.
EVERYBODY said so.
Far be it from me to assert that what everybody says must be true. Everybody is, often, as
likely to be wrong as right. In the general experience, everybody has been wrong so often, and
it has taken in most instances such a weary while
to find out how wrong, that that authority is
proved to be fallible. Everybody may sometimes
be right; "but that's no rule," as the ghost of
Giles Scroggins says in the ballad.
The dread word, GHOST, recals me.
Everybody said he looked like a haunted man.
The extent of my present claim for everybody is,
that they were so far right. He did.
Who could have seen his hollow cheek, his
sunken brilliant eye; his black-attired figure, indefinably grim, although well-knit and well-proportioned; his grizzled hair hanging, like tangled
sea-weed, about his face,-as if he had been,
through his whole life, a lonely mark for the chafing and beating of the great deep of humanity,but might have said he looked like a haunted
man?
Who could have observed his manner, taciturn,
thoughtful, gloomy, shadowed by habitual reserve,
retiring always and jocund ne'er, with a distraught air of reverting to a bygone place and
time, or of listening to some old echoes' in his
mind, but might have said it was the manner of a
haunted man?
Who could have heard his voice, slow-speaking, deep, and grave, with a natural fulness and
melody in it which he seemed to set himself
against and stop, but might have said it was the
voice of a haunted man?
4 Who that had seen him in his inner chamber,
part library and part laboratory,-for he was, as
the world knew, far and wide, a learned man in
chemistry, and a teacher on whose lips and hands
a crowd of aspiring ears and eyes hung daily,who that had seen him there, upon a winter night,
alone, surrounded by his drugs and instruments
and books; the shadow of his shaded lamp a
monstrous beetle on the wall, motionless among
acrowd of spectral shapes raised there by the

flickering of the fire upon the quaint objects
around him; some of those phantoms (the reflec-t
tion of glass vessels that held liquids), trembling
at heart like things that knew his power to un-i
combine them, and to give back their componentS
parts to fire and vapor;-who that had seen him"
then, his work done, and he pondering in his
chair before the rusted grate and red flame, moving his thin mouth as if in speech, but silent as~
the dead, would not have said that the man
seemed haunted and the chamber too?
Who might not, by a very easy flight of fancy,|
have believed that everything about him took
this haunted tone, and that he lived on haunted:
ground?
His dwelling was so solitary and vault-like,an old, retired part of an ancient endowment for
students, once a brave edifice planted in an open,
place, but now the obsolete whim of forgotten
architects; smoke - age- and - weather- darkened,
squeezed on every side by the overgrowing of the
great city, and choked, like an old well, with
stones and bricks; its small quadrangles, lying
down in very pits formed by the streets and build-*
ings, which, in course of time, had been con.
structed above its heavy chimney stacks; its old
trees, insulted by the neighboring smoke, which
deigned to droop so low when it was very feeble
and the weather very moody; its grass-plots,
struggling with the mildewed earth to be grass,
or to win any show of compromise; its silent
pavement, unaccustomed to the tread of feet, and
even to the observation of eyes, except when sa
stray face looked down from the upper world,|
wondering what nook it was; its sun-dial in i
little bricked-up corner, where no sun had straggled for a hundred years, but where, in compensation for the sun's neglect, the snow would lie for
weeks when it lay nowhere else, and the black
east wind would spin like a huge humming-top,
when in all other places it was silent and still.
His dwelling, at its heart and core-withini
doors-at his fireside-was so lowering and old,.
so crazy, yet so strong, with its worm-eaten
beams of wood in the ceiling and its sturdy floor
shelving downward to the great oak chimney1
piece; so environed and hemmed in by the pres
sure of the town, yet so remote in fashion, age
and custom; so quiet, yet so thundering witi

CHRISTHAS BOOKS

echoes when a distant voice was raised or a door
was shut,-echoes not confined to the many low
passages and empty rooms, but rumbling and
grumbling till they were stifled in the heavy air
of the forgotten Crypt where the Norman arches
wcre half buried in the earth.
You should have seen him in his dwelling
about twilight, in the dead winter timhe.
When the wind was blowing, shrill and shrewd,
with the going down of the blurred sun. When
it was just so dark, as that the forms of things
were indistinct and big-but not wholly lost.
When sitters by the fire began to see wild faces
and figures, mountains and abysses, ambuscades
and armies, in the coals. When people in the
streets bent down their heads and ran before the
weather. When those who were obliged to meet
it, were stopped at angry corners, stung by wandering snow-flakes alighting on the lashes of
their eyes,-which fell too sparingly, and were
blown away too quickly, to leave a trace upon the
frozen ground. When windows of private houses
closed up tight and warn. When lighted gas
began to burst forth in the busy and the quiet
streets, fast blackening otherwise. When stray
pedestrians, shivering along the latter, looked
down at the glowing fires in kitchens, and sharpened their sharp appetites by sniffing up the
fragrance of whole miles of dinners.
When travellers by land were bitter cold, and
looked wearily on gloomy landscapes, rustling
md shuddering in the blast. When mariners at
Sea, outlying upon icy yards, were tossed and
swung above the howling ocean dreadfully. When
ight-houses, on rocks and headlands, showed
solitary and watchful; and benighted sea-birds
breasted on against their pdnderous lanterns, and
ell dead.
When little readers of story-books, by the fireight, trembled to think of Cassim Baba cut into
luarters, hanging in the Robbers' Cave, or had
tome small misgivings that the fierce little old
aVoman, with the crutch, who used to start out of;he box in the merchant Abudah's bed-room,
night, one of these nights, be found upon the
stairs, in the long, cold, dusky journey up to bed.
When, in rustic places, the last glimmering of
laylight died away from the ends of avenues; and;he trees, arching overhead, were sullen and black.
NVhen, in parks and woods, the high wet fern and,odden moss and beds of fallen leaves, and trunks
)f trees, were lost to view, in masses of impene-:xable shade. When mists arose from dyke, and
en, and river. When lights in old halls and in
cottage windows were a cheerful sight. When
be mill stopped, the wheelwright and the blackimith shut their workshops, the turnpike-gate
losed, the plough and harrow were left lonely in.te fields, the laborer and team went home, and;he striking of the church Clock had a deeper
sound thbn at noon, and the church-yard wicket
vIoud be swung no more that night.
When twilight everywhere released the
bAtdows, prisoned up all day, that now closed in

and gathered like mustering swarms of ghosts,
When they stood lowering in corners of rooms
and frowned out from behind half-opened doors.
When they had full possession of unoccupied
apartments. When they danced upon the floors,
and walls, and ceilings of inhabited chambers
while the fire was low, and withdrew like ebbing
waters when it sprung into a blaze. When they fantastically mocked the shapes of household objects.
making the nurse an ogress, the rocking-horse a
monster, the wondering child, half-scared and
half-amused, a stranger to itself,-the very tongs
upon the hearth a straddling giant with his arms
a-kimbo, evidently smelling the blood of Englishmen, and wanting to grind people's bones to
make his bread.
When these shadows brought into the minds
of older people other thoughts, and showed them
different images. When they stole from their
retreats, in the likenesses of forms and faces from
the past, from the grave, from the deep, deep
gulf, where the things that might have been, and
never were, are always wandering.
When he sat, as already mentioned, gazing at
the fire. When, as it rose and fell, the shadows
went and came. When he took no heed of them,
with his bodily'eyes; but, let them come or let
them go, looked fixedly at the fire. You should
have seen him, then.
When the sounds that had arisen with the
shadows, and come out of their lurking-places at
the twilight summons, seemed to make a deeper
stillness all about him. When the wind was
rumbling in the chimney, and sometimes crooning, sometimes howling, in the house. When the
old trees outward were so shaken and beaten, that
one querulous old rook, unable to sleep, protested
now and then, in a feeble, dozy, high-up " Caw! "
When, at intervals, the window trembled, the
rusty vane upon the turret-top complained, the
clock beneath it recorded that another quarter of
an hour was gone, or the fire collapsed and fell in
with a rattle.
-When a knock came at his door, in short, as
he was sitting so, and roused him.
"Who's that? " said he, "Come in!"
Surely there had been no figure leaning on the
back of his chair; no face looking over it. It is
certain that no gliding footstep touched the floor,
as he lifted up his head with a start, and spoke.
And yet there was no mirror in the room on
whose surface his own form could have cast its
shadow for a moment: and Something had passed
darkly and gone!
"I'm humbly fearful, sir," said a fresh-colored
busy man, holding the door open with his foot for
the admission of, himself and a wooden tray he
carried, and letting it go again by very gentle and
careful degrees, when he and the tray had got in,
lest it should close noisily, "that it's a good bit
past the time to-night. But Mirs. William has
been taken off her legs so often-A"
"By the wind? Ay I have heard it rising.
t -By the wind, sir- that it's a mercy she got

TiS A UNITEMD ZA X.

181

home at all. Oh, dear, yes. Yes. It was by the
wind, Mr. Redlaw. By the wind."
lie had, by this time, put down the tray for
Sinner, and was employed in lighting the lamp,
and spreading a cloth on the table. From this
employment he desisted in a hurry, to stir and
feed the fire, and then resumed it; the lamp he
had lighted, and the blaze that rose under his
hand, so quickly changing the appearance of the
room, that it seemed as if the mere coming in of
his fresh red face and active manner had made
tbe pleasant alteration.
"Mrs. William is of course subject at any
time, sir, to be taken off her balance by the elemnents. She is not formed superior to that."
"No," returned Mr. Redlaw good-naturedly,
though abruptly.
' No, sir. Mrs. William may be taken off her
balance by Earth; as, for example, last Sunday
week, when sloppy and greasy, and she going out
to tea with her newest sister-in-law, and having a
pride in herself, and wishing to appear perfectly
spotless though pedestrian. Mrs. William may
be taken off her balance by Air; as being once
over-persuaded by a friend to try a swing at Peckham Fair, which acted on her constitution instantly like a steam-boat. Mrs. William may be
taken off her balance by Fire; as on a false alarm
of engines at her mother's, when she went two
mile in her night-cap. Mrs. William may be
taken off her balance by Water; as at Battersea,
when rowed into the piers by her young nephew,
Charley Swidger, junior, aged twelve, which had
no idea of boats whatever. But these are elements. Mrs. William must be taken out of elements for the strength of her character to come
into play."
As he stopped for a reply, the reply was " Yes,"
in the same tone as before.
"Yes, sir. Oh dear, yes!" said Mr. Swidger,
still proceeding with his preparations, and checking them off as he made them. "That's where it
is, sir. That's what I always say myself, sir.
Such a many of us Swidgers I-Pepper. Why
there's my father, sir, superannuated keeper and
custodian of this Institution, eigh-ty-seven year
old. He's a Swidger I-Spoon."
"True, William," was the patient and abstracted answer, when he stopped again.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Swidger. "That's what
I always say, sir. You may call him the trunk
of the tree -Bread. Then you come to his successor, my unworthy self-Salt-and Mrs. William, Swidgers both.-Knife and fork. Then you
come to all my brothers and their families, Swidgers, man and woman, boy and girl. Why, what
with cousins, uncles, aunts, and relationships of
this, that, and t'other degree, and what-not degree, and marriages, and lyings-in, the Swidgers
-Tumbler-might take hold of hands, and make
a ring round England I"
Receiving no reply at all here, from the
noughtful man whom he addressed, Mr. William
approached him nearer, and made a feint of acci

dentally knocking the table with a decanter to
rouse him. The moment he succeeded, he went
on, as if in great alacrity of acquiescence.
"Yes, sirl That's just what I say myself, sir.
Mrs. William and me have often said so. ' There's
Swidgers enough,' we say, ' without our voluntary
contributions,'-Butter. In fact, sir, my father is
a family in himself-Castors-to take care of;
and it happens all for the best that we have no
child of our own, though it's made Mrs. William
rather quiet-like, too. Quite ready for the fowl
and mashed potatoes, sir? Mrs. William said
she'd dish in ten minutes when I left the
Lodge?"
"I am quite ready," said the other, waking as
from a dream, and walking slowly to and fro.
" Mrs. William has been at it again, sir I " said
the keeper, as he stood warming a plate at the
fire, and pleasantly shading his face with it. Mr.
Redlaw stopped in his walking, and an expression
of interest appeared in him.
' What I always say myself, sir. She will do
it! There's a motherly feeling in Mrs. William's
breast that must and will have went."
"What has she done?"
"Why, sir, not satisfied with being a sort of
mother to all the young gentlemen that come up
from a wariety of parts, to attend your courses of
lectures at this ancient foundation-it's surprising
how stone-chaney catches the heat, this frosty
weather, to be sure 1" Here he turned the plates,
and cooled his fingers.
" Well?" said Mr. Redlaw.
"That's just what I say myself, sir," returned
Mr. William, speaking over his shoulder, as if in
ready and delighted assent. "That's exactly
where it is, sir I There ain't one of our students
but appears to regard Mrs. William in that light.
Every day, right through the course, they put
their heads into the Lodge, one after another, and
have all got something to tell her, or something
to ask her. 'Swidge' is the appellation by which
they speak of Mrs. William in general, among
themselves, I'm told; but that's what I say, sir.
Better be called ever so far out of your name, if
it's done in real liking, than have it made ever so
much of, and not cared about I What's a name
for? To know a person by. If Mrs. William is
known by something better than her name-I al.
lude to Mrs. William's qualities and disposition
-never mind her name, though it is Swidger, by
rights. Let 'em call her Swidge, Widge, Bridge
-Lord London Bridge, Blackfriars, Chelsea,
Putney, Waterloo, or Hammersmith Suspension
-if they like I"
The close of this triumphant oration brought
him and the plate to the table, upon which he
half laid and half dropped it, with a lively sense
of its being thoroughly heated, just as the subject
of his praises entered the room, bearing anothef
tray and a lantern, and followed by a venerable
old man with long grey hair.
Mrs. William, like Mr. William, was a simple,
innocent-looking person in whose Smooth cheekr

CirISITM ASS 0UutS.

the cheerful red of her husband's official waistcoat was vei f pleasantly repeated. But whereas
Mr. William's light hair stood on end all over his
head, and seemed to draw his eyes up with it in
an excess of bustling readiness for anything, the
dark brown hair of Mrs. William was carefully
smoothed down, and waved away under a trim
tidy cap, in the most exact and quiet manner
imaginable. Whereas Mr. William's very trousers
hitched themselves up at the ankles, as if it were
not in their irongrey nature to rest without looking about them, Mrs. William's neatly-flowered
skirts-red and white, like her own pretty facewere as composed and orderly, as if the very wind
that blew so hard out of doors could not disturb
one of their folds. Whereas his coat had something of a fly-away and half-off appearance about
the collar and breast, her little bodice was so
placid and neat, that there should have been protection for her, in it, had she needed any, with
the roughest people. Who could have had the
heart to make so calm a bosom swell with grief,
or throb with fear, or flutter with a thought of
shamel To whom would its repose and peace
have not appealed against disturbance, like the
innocent slumber of a child I
"'Punctual, of course, Milly," said her husband, relieving her of the tray, " or it wouldn't be
you. Here's Mrs. William, sir I-He looks lonelier than ever to-night," whispering to his wife,
as he was taking the tray, "and ghostlier altogether."
Without any show of hurry or noise, or any
show of herself even, she was so calm and quiet,
Milly set the dishes she had brought upon the
table,-Mr. William, after much clattering and
running about, having only gained possession of
a butter-boat of gravy, which he stood ready to
serve.
" What is that the old man has in his arms "
asked Mr. Redlaw, as he sat down to his solitary
meal.
"Holly, sir," replied the quiet voice of Milly.
"That's what I say myself, sir," interposed
Mr. William, striking in with the butter-boat.
"Berries is so seasonable to the time of year IBrown gravy I"
" Another Christmas come, another year
gone " murmured the Chemist with a gloomy
sigh. "More figures in the lengthening sum of
recollection that we work and work at to our torment till Death idly jumbles all together, and rubs
all out. So, Philip l" breaking off, and raising
his voice as he addressed the old man standing
apart, with his glistening burden in his arms,
from which the quiet Mrs. William took small
branches, which she nclseiessly trimmed with her
scissors, and decorated the room with, while her
aged father-in-law looked on much interested in
the ceremony.
"My duty to yen, sbr," returned the old man.
"Should have spoke before, sir, but know your
ways, Mr. Redlaw-proud to say-and wait till
ppoke to I Merry Christmas, sir, and hapay New

Year, and many of 'em. Have had a pretty many
of 'em myself-ha, ha I-and may take the liberty
of wishing 'em. I'm eighty-seven I"
"Have you had so many that were merry and
happy? " asked the other.
"Ay, sir, ever-so many," returned the old man.
"Is his memory impaired with age? It is to
be expected now," said Mr. Redlaw, turning to
the son, and speaking lower.
"Not a morsel of it, sir," replied Mr. William
"That's exactly what I say myself, sir. There
never was such a memory as my father's. He'e
the most wonderful man in the world. He don'l
know what forgetting means. It's the very ob.
servation I'm always making to Mrs. William, sir
if you'll believe me I"
Mr. Swidger, in his polite desire to seem t(
acquiesce at all events, delivered this as if there
were no iota of contradiction in it, and it were al
said in unbounded and unqualified assent.
The Chemist pushed his plate away, and, ris
ing from the table, walked across the room t(
where the old man stood looking at a little sprig
of holly in his hand.
"It recals the time when many of those yearf
were old and new, then? " he said, observing hin
attentively, and touching him on the shoulder
"Does it?"
"Oh many, many I" said Philip, half awakinc
from his reverie. " I'm eighty-seven I"
"Merry and happy, was it?" asked the Chem
ist, in a low voice. "Merry and happy, ol(
man?"
"May be as high as that, no higher," said thi
old man, holding out his hand a little way above
the level of his knee, and looking retrospectively
at his questioner, "when I first remember 'em
Cold, sunshiny day it was, out a-walking, whei
some one-it was my mother as sure as you stan(
there, though I don't know what her blessed fact
was like, for she took ill and died that Christmas
time-told me they were food for birds. Tih
pretty little fellow thought-that's me, you under
stand-that birds' eyes were so bright, perhaps
because the berries that they lived on in the win
ter were so bright. I recollect that. And I'n
eighty-seven 1"
"Merry and happy 1" mused the other, bend
ing his dark eyes upon the stooping figure, witl
a smile of compassion. "Merry and happy-ani
remember well?"
"Ay, ay, ay l" resumed the old man, catchint
the last words. "I remember 'em well in mn
school time, year after year, and all the merry
making that used to come along with them. ]
was a strong chap then, Mr. Redlaw; and, 11
you'll believe me, hadn't my match at foot-bal
within ten mile. Where's my son William;
Hadn't my match at foot-ball, William, withir
ten mile I"
"That's what I always say, father I" returnee
the son promptly, and with great respect. " Yot
ARE a Swidger, if ever there was one of the fami
ly "

THE HA UNTED MAN.

13s

"Dear!" said the old man, shaking his head
as he again looked at the holly. "His mothermy son William's my youngest son-and I have
set among 'em all, boys and girls, little children
and babies, many a year, when the berries like
*hese were not shining half so bright all round us,
's their bright faces. Many of 'em are gone;
fshe's gone; and my son George (our eldest, who
was her pride more than all the rest!) is fallen
very low: but I can see them when I look here,
alive and healthy, as they used to be in those
days; and I can see him, thank God, in his innocence. It's a blessed thing to me, at eightyseven."
The keen look that had been fixed upon him
with so much earnestness, had gradually sought
the ground.
"When my circumstances got to be not so
good as formerly, through not being honestly
dealt by, and I first come here to be custodian,"
said the old man, " âwhich was upwards of fifty
years ago-where's my son William? More than
half a century ago, William "
" That's what I say, father," replied the son, as
promptly and dutifully as before, " that's exactly
where it is. Two times ought's an ought, and
twice five ten, and there's a hundred of 'em."
" It was quite a pleasure to know that one of
our founders-or more correctly speaking," said
the old man, with a great glory in his subject and
his knowledge of it, "one of the learned gentlemen that helped endow us in Queen Elizabeth's
time, for we were founded afore her day-left in
his will, among the other bequests he made us, so
much to buy holly, for garnishing the walls and
windows, come Christmas. There was something homely and friendly in it. Being but
strange here, then, and coming at Christmas
time, we took a liking for his very picter that
hangs in what used to be, anciently, afore our
ten poor gentlemen commuted for an annual
stipend in money, our great Dinner Hall.-A
sedate gentleman in a peaked beard, with a ruff
round his neck, and a scroll below him in old
English letters, 'Lord I keep my memory green I'
You know all about him, Mr. Redlaw?"
"I know the portrait hangs there, Philip."
"Yes, sure, it's the second on the right, above
the panelling. I was going to say-he has helped
to keep my memory green, I thank him; for,
going round the building every year, as I'm
a-doing now, and freshening up the bare rooms
with these -branches and berries, freshens up my
bare old brain. One year brings back another,
and that year another, and those others numbers I
At last, it seems to me as if the birth-time of our
Lord was the birth-time of all I have ever had
affection for, or mourned for, or delighted in,
-and they're a pretty many, for I'm eightyseven I."
"Merry and happy," murmured Redlaw to
himself.
The room began to darken strangely.
" So you see, sir," pursued old Philip, whose

hale wintry cheek had warmed into a ruddier
glow, and whose blue eyes had brightened while
he spoke, " I have plenty to keep, when I keep
this present season. Now where's. my quiet
Mouse? Chattering's the sin of m time of life,
and there's half the building to do yet, if the cold
don't freeze us first, or the wind don't blow us
away, or the darkness don't swallow us up."
The quiet Mouse had brought her calm face
to his side, and silently taken his arm, before he
finished speaking.
"Come away, my dear," said the old man.
"Mr. Redlaw won't settle to his dinner, otherwise, till it's cold as the winter. I hope you'll
excuse me rambling on, sir, and I wish you goodnight, and, once again, a merry-"
"Stay I " said Mr. Redlaw, resuming his place
at the table, more, it would have seemed from his
manner, to re-assure the old keeper, than in any
remembrance of his own appetite. "Spare me
another moment, Philip. William, you were going to tell me something to your excellent wife's
honor. It wil. not be disagreeable to her to hear
you praise her. What was it?"
"Why, that's where it is, you see, sir," returned Mr. William Swidger, looking towards his
wife in considerable embarrassment. " Mrs. Willam's got her eye upon me."
" But you're not afraid of Mrs. William's
eye?"
"Why, no, sir," returned Mr. Swidger, "that's
what I say myself. It wasn't made to be afraid of.
It wouldn't have been so mild, if that was the intention. But I wouldn't like to-Milly I-him,
you know. Down in the Buildings."
Mr. William, standing behind the table, and
rummaging disconcertedly among the objects upon
it, directed persuasive glances at Mrs. William,
and secret jerks of his head and thumb at Mr.
Iedlaw, as alluring her towards him.
"Him, you know, my love," said Mr. William.
"Down in the Buildings. Tell, my dear I You're
ihe works of Shakspeare in comparison with
myself. Down in the Buildings, you know, my
love.-Student."
"Student I" repeated Mr. Redlaw, raising his
head.
" That's what I say, sir I" cried Mr. William,
in the utmost animation of assent. "If it wasn't
the poor student down in'the Buildings, why
should you wish to hear it from Mrs. William's
lips? Mrs. William, my dear-Buildings."
"I didn't know," said Milly, with a quiet
frankness, free from any haste or confusion,
"that William had said anything about it, or I
wouldn't have come. I asked him not to. It's
a sick young gentleman, sir-and very poor, I am
afraid-who is too ill to go home this holidaytime, and lives, unknown to any one, in but a
common kind of lodging for a gentleman, down
in Jerusalem Buildings. That's all, sir."
"Why have I never heard of him? " said the
Chemist, rising hurriedly. "Why has he not
made his situation!nown to me? Sick!-give

CfRPISTM4S JQ00KS.

me my hat and cloak, Poor -what house?what number "
" Oh, you mustn't go there, sir," said Milly,
leaving her father-in-law, and calmly confronting
him with her collected little face and folded hands.
" Not go there "
"Oh dear, no I" said Milly, shaking her head
as at a most manifest and self-evident impossibility. "It couldn't be thought of!"
"What do you mean? Why not?"
" Why, you see, sir," said Mr.William Swidger,
persuasively and confidentially, "that's what I
say. Depend upon it, the young gentleman would
never have made his situation known to one of
his own sex. Mrs. William has got into his confidence, but that's quite different. They all confide in Mrs. William; they all trust her. A man,
sir, couldn't have got a whisper out of him; but
woman, sir, and Mrs. William combined- I"
" There is good sense and delicacy in what you
say, William," returned Mr. Redlaw, observant
of the gentle and composed face at his shoulder.
And laying his finger on his lip, he secretly put
his purse into her hand.
Oh dear no, sir!" cried Milly, giving it back
again. "W d wo and worse I Couldn't be dreamed of!"
Such a staid matter-of-fact housewife she was,
and so unruffled by the momentary haste of this
rejection, that, an instant afterwards, she was
tidily picking up a few leaves which had strayed
from between her scissors and her apron, when
she had arranged the holly.
Finding, when she rose from her stooping posture, that Mr. Redlaw was still regarding her
with doubt and astonishment, she quietly repeated-looking about, the while, for any other
fragments that might have escaped her observation:
" Oh dear no, sir I He said that of all the world
he would not be known to you, or receive help
from you-though he is a student in your class.
I have made no terms of secresy with you, but I
trust to your honor completely."
"Why did he say so?"."Indeed, I can't tell, sir," said Milly, after
thinking a little, "because I am not at all clever,
you know; and I wanted to be useful to him in
making things neat and comfortable about him,
and employed myself that way. But I know he
is poor, and lonely, and I think he is somehow
neglected too.-How dark it is "
The room had darkened more and more. There
was a very heavy gloom and shadow gathering
behind the Chemist's chair.
" What more about him? " he asked.
"He is engaged to be married when he can
afford it," aid Milly, "and is studying, I think,
to qualify 4hself to ea a living. I have seen, a
long tme, that he has studied hard and denied
himself m4.h.-ow very dark it is I"
"It's tta e colder, too," said the old man,
'%bbJg 4hs 4ads "There's a chill and dismal
eeing i the room. Where's my son William?

William, my boy, turn the lamp, and rouse the
fire I"
Milly's voice resumed, like quiet music very
softly played:
"He muttered in his broken sleep yesterday
afternoon, after talking to me" (this was to herself) " about some one dead, and some great wrong
done that could never be forgotten; but whether
to him or to another person, I don't klow. Not
by him, I am sure."
"And, in short, Nirs. William, you see-which
she wouldn't say lHrself, Mr. Redlaw, if She was
to stop here till the new year after this next one-"
said Mr. William, coming up to him to speak in
his ear, " has done him worlds of good I Bless you,
worlds of good I All at home just the same as
ever-my father made as snug and comfortablenot a crumb of litter to be found in the house, it
you were to offer fifty pound ready money for itMrs. William apparently never out of the wayyet Mrs. William backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, up and down, up and down,
a mother'to him!"
The room turned darker and colder, and the
gloom and shadow gathering behind the chair was
heavier.
" Not content with this, sir, Mrs. William goes
and finds, this very night, when she was coming
home (why it's not above a couple of hours ago),
a creature more like a young wild beast than a
young child, shivering upon a door-step. What
does Mrs. William do, but brings it home to dry
it, and feed it, and keep it till our old Bounty of
food and flannel is given away on Christmas morning I If it ever felt a fire before, it's as much as it
ever did; for it's sitting in the old Lodge chimney, staring at ours as'if its ravenous eyes would
never shut again. It's sitting there, at least,"
said Mr. William, correcting himself, on reflection, "unless it's bolted I"
"Heaven keep her happy I " said the Chemist
aloud. "and you too, Philip I and you, William!
I must consider what to do in this. I may desire
to see this student, I'll not detain you longer now.
Good night I"
"I thankee, sir, I thankee I " said the old man,
"for Mouse, and for my son William, and for myself. Where's my son William? William, you
take the lantern and go on first, through them
long dark passages, as you did last year and the
year afore. Ha, hal I remember âthough I'm
eighty-seven I ' Lord keep my memory green I'
It's a very good prayer, Mr. Iedlaw, that of the
learned gentleman in the peaked beard, with a
ruff round his neck-hangs up, second on the
right above the panelling, in what used to be,
afore our ten poor gentlemen commuted, our
great Dinner Hall. 'Lord keep my memory
green I' t's very good and pious, sir. AmenI
Amen!"
As they passed out and shut the heavy door,
which, however carefully withheld, fired a long
train of thundering reverberations when it shut
at last, the room turned darker.

THE HA LTTED tA hN.

As he fell a-musing in his chair alone, the
althy holly withered on the wall, and dropped
dead branches.
As the gloom and shadow thickened behind
L, in that place where it had been gathering so
rkly, it took, by slow degrees,-or out of it
3re came, by some unreal, unsubstantial pro3s-not to be traced by any human sense, an
Tful likeness of himself.
Ghastly and cold, colorless in its leaden face
d hands, but with his features, and his bright?s, and his grizzled hair, and dressed in the
iomy shadow of his dress, it came into its terle appearance of existence, motionless, witha sound. As he leaned his arm upon the elw of his chair, ruminating before the fire, it
ned upon the chair-back, close above him, with
appalling copy of his face looking where his
e looked, and bearing the expression his face
re.
This, then, was the Something that had passed
I gone already. This was the dread companion
the haunted man I
It took, for some moments, no more apparent
d of him, then he of it. The Christmas Waits
re playing somewhere in the distance, and
ough his thoughtfulness, he seemed to listen,he music. It seemed to listen too.
At length he spoke; without moving or lifting
his face.
" Here again I" he said.
"Here again I" replied the Phantom.
" I see you in the fire," said the haunted man;
hear you in music, in the wind. in the dead
Iness of the night."
The Phantom moved his head, assenting.
' Why do you come, to haunt me thus?"
I come as I am called," replied the Ghost.;No. Unbidden," exclaimed the Cheim'Unbidden be it," said the Spectre. "It is
ugh. I am here."
Hitherto the light of the fire had shone on the
faces-if the dread lineaments behind the
ir might be called a face-both addressed tow3 it, as at first, and neither looking at the
er. But, now, the haunted man turned, sudly, and stared upon the Ghost. The Ghost,
sudden in its motion, passed to before the
ir, and stared upon him.
rho living man, and the animated image of
iself dead, might so have looked, the one upon
other. An awful survey, in a lonely and re-:e part of an empty old pile of building, on a
tter night, with the loud wind going by upon
journey of mystery-whence, or whither, no
1 knowing since the world began-and the:s, in unimaginable millions, glittering through
rom eternal space, where the world's bulk is
l grain, and its hoary age is infancy.
' Look tpon me I" said the Spectre. "I am
neglected in my youth, and miserably poor,
) strove and suffered, and still strove and
ered, until I hewed put knowledge from the

mine where it was buried, and made rugged steps
thereof, for my worn feet to rest and rise on."
"I am that man," returned the Chemist.
"No mother's self-denying love," pursued the
Phantom, "no father's counsel, aided me. A
stranger came into my father's place when I was
but a child, and I was easily an alien from my
mother's heart. My parents, at the best, were of
that sort whose care soon ends, and whose duty
is soon done; who cast their offspring loose,
early, as birds do theirs; and, if they do well,
claim the merit; and, if ill, the pity."
It paused, and seemed to tempt and goad him
with its look, and with the manner of its speech.
and with its smile.
"I am he," pursued the Phantom, "who, in
this struggle upward, found a friend. I made him
-won him-bound him to me! We worked
together, side by side. All the love and confidence that in my earlier youth had had no outlet,
and found no expression, I bestowed on him."
" Not all," said Redlaw, hoarsely.
"No, not all," returned the Phantom. "I had
a sister."
The haunted man, with his head resting on his
hands, replied, " I had I" The Phantom, with an
evil smile, drew closer to the chair, and resting
its chin upon its folded hands, its folded hands
upon the back, and looking down into his face
with searching eyes, that seemed instinct with
fire, went on:
"Such glimpses of the light of home as I had
ever known, had streamed from her. How young
she was, how fair, how loving I I took her to the
first poor roof that I was master of, and made it
rich. She came into the darkness of my life, and
made it bright.-She is before me I"
"I saw her, in the fire, but now. I hear her in
music, in the wind, in the dead stillness of the
night," returned the haunted man.
" Did he love her?" said the Phantom, echoing his contemplative tone, "I think he did
once. I am sure he did. Better had she loved
him less-less secretly, less dearly, from the shallower depths of a more divided heart I"
" Let me forget it," said the Chemist, with an
angry motion of his hand. " Let me blot it from
my memory I"
The Spectre, without stirring, and with its
mnwinking, cruel eyes still fixed upon his face,
went on:
"A dream, like hers, stole upon my own life."
" It did," said Redlaw.
" A love, as like hers," pursued the Phantom,
" as my inferior nature might cherish, arose in
my own heart, I was too poor to bind its object
to my fortune then, by any thread of promise or
entreaty. I loved her far too well, to seek to do
it. But, more than ever I had striven in my life,
I strove to climb I Only an inch gained, brought
me something nearer to the height. 1 toiled up.
In the late pauses of my labor at tat time,-my
sister (sweet companion!) still sharing with ma
the expiring embers and the cooling hearth,

CHRISTMAS Boo0s.

when day was breaking what pictures of the future did I see I "
"I saw them in the fire, but now," he murmured. " They come back to me in music, in the
wind, in the dead stillness of the night, in the revolving years."
" âPictures of my own domestic life, in aftertime, with her who was the inspiration of my
toil. Pictures of my sister, made the wife of my
dear friend, on equal terms-for he had some inheritance, we none-pictures of our sobered age
and mellowed happiness, and of the golden links,
extending back so far, that should bind us and
our children, in a radiant garland," said the Phantom.
" Pictures," said the haunted man, " that were
delusions. Why is it my doom to remember them
too well I"
"Delusions," echoed the Phantom in its
changeless voice, and glaring on him with its
changeless eyes. "For my friend (in whose
breast my confidence was locked as in my own),
passing between me and the centre of the system
of my hopes and struggles, won her to himself,
and shattered my frail universe. My sister,
doubly dear, doubly devoted, doubly cheerful in
my home, lived on. to see me famous, and my old
ambition so rewarded when its spring was broken,
and then-"
"Then died," he interposed. "Died, gentle
as ever, happy, and with no concern but for her
brother. Peace!"
The Phantom watched him silently.
"Remembered!" said the haunted man, after
a pause. " Yes. So well remembered, that even
now, when years are passed, and nothing is more
idle or more visionary to me than the boyish love
so long outlived, I think of it with sympathy, as
if it were a younger brother's or a son's. Sometimes I even wonder when her heart first inclined to him, and how it had been affected towards me.-Not lightly, once, I think.-But that
is nothing. Early unhappiness, a wound from a
hand I loved and trusted, and a loss that nothing
can replace, outlive such fancies."
"Thus," said the Phantom, "I bear within me
a Sorrow and a Wrong. Thus I prey upon myself. Thus, memory is my curse; and, if I could
forget my sorrow andr my wrong, I would I "
" Mocker! " said the Chemist, leaping up, and
making, with a wrathful hand, at the throat of
his other self. " Why have ralways that taunt in
my ears?"
"Forbear!" exclaimed the Spectre in an awful
voice. "Lay a hand on me, and die I"
He stopped midway, as if its words had paralysed him, and stood looking on it. It had glided
from him; it had its arm raised high in warning;
anda smile passed over its unearthly features, as
It reared its dark figure in triumph.
"If I could forget my sorrow and wrong, I
would," the Ghost repeated. " If I could forget
aLy sorrow and my wrong, I would "
Evil spirit of myself," returnedthe haunted

man, in a low, trembling tone, "my life is d,
ened by that incessant whisper."
"It is an echo," said the Phantom.
"If it be an echo of my thoughts-as now,
deed, I know it is," rejoined the haunted n
" why should I, therefore, be tormented? I
not a selfish thought. I suffer it to range bey
myself. All men and women have their sorrc
-most of them their wrongs; ingratitude,
sordid jealousy, and interest, besetting all deg
of life. Who would not forget their sorrows
their wrongs? "
"Who would not, truly, and be the hapand better for it?" said the Phantom.
" These revolutions of years, which we c
memorate," proceeded Redlaw, "what do
recal! Are there any minds in which they do
re-awaken some sorrow, or some trouble? M
is the remembrance of the old man who
here to-night? A tissue of sorrow and troubl
"But common natures," said the Phant
with its evil smile upon its glassy face, " u
lightened minds and ordinary spirits, do not
or reason on these things like men of higher
tivation and profounder thought."
"Tempter," answered Redlaw, "whose
low look and voice I dread more than words
express, and from whom some dim foreshad
ing of greater fear is stealing over me wh.
speak, I hear again an echo of my own mind."
"Receive it as a proof that I am powerf
returned the Ghost. "Hear what I offer!
get the sorrow, wrong, and trouble you 1
known "
"Forget them!" he repeated.
"I have the power to cancel their rem
brance-to leave but very faint, confused trace
them, that will die out soon," returned the S
tre. "Say I Is it done?"
" Stay I" cried the haunted man, arrestin,
a terrified gesture the uplifted hand. "I tren
with distrust and doubt of you; and the dim
you cast upon me deepens into a nameless ho
I can hardly bear,-I would not deprive myse,
any kindly recollection, or any sympathy the
good for me, or others. What shall I lose,
assent to this? What else will pass from my
membrance?"
" No knowledge; no result of study; notl
but the intertwisted chain of feelings and asso
tions, each in its turn dependent on, and n&lt;
ished by, the banished recollections. Those
go."
" Are they so many? " said the haunted n
reflecting in alarm.
" They have been wont to show themselves
the fire, in music, in the wind, in the dead s
ness of the night, in the revolving years,"
turned the Phantom scornfully.
"In nothing else?"
The Phantom held its peace.
But, having stood before him, silent, for a
tie while, t moved towards the fire; then si
ped.

THIE HA LTTED MAX.

13m

"Decide 1" it raid, " before the opportunity is
ost I "
"A moment I I call Heaven to witness," said
the agitated man, " that I have never been a hater
of my kind,-never morose, indifferent, or hard, to
anything around me. If, living here alone, I have
made too much of all that was and might have
been, and too little of what is, the evil, I believe,
has fallen on me, and not on others. But, if there
were poison in my body, should I not, possessed
of antidotes and knowledge how to use them,
use them? If there be poison in my mind, and
through this fearful shadow I can cast it out, shall
I not cast it out? "
" Say," said the Spectre, " is it done?"
"A moment longer I " he answered hurriedly.
"I would forget it if I could! Have I thought
that, alone, or has it been the thought of thousands upon thousands, generation after generation? All human memory is fraught with sorrow
and trouble. My memory is as the memory of
other men, but other men have not this choice.
Yes, I close the bargain, Yes I I WILL forget my
sorrow, wrong, and trouble!"
" Say," said the Spectre, " is it done?"
"It is!"
"IT is. And take this with you, man whom
I here renounce! The gift that I have given, you
shall give again go where you will. Without recovering yourself the power that you have yielded
up, you shall henceforth destroy its like in all
whom you approach. Your wisdom has discovered that the memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble is the lot of all mankind, and that mankind
would be the happier, in its other memories, without it. Go I Be its benefactor I Freed from
such remembrance, from this hour, carry involuntarily the blessing of such freedom with you. Its
diffusion is inseparable and inalienable from you.
Go I Be happy in the good you have won, and in
the good you do I"
The Phantom, which had held its bloodless
hand above him while it spoke, as if in some unholy invocation, or some ban; and which had
gradually advanced its eyes so close to his, that
he could see how they did not participate in the
terrible smile upon its face, but were a fixed, unalterable, steady horror; melted from before him,
and was gone.
As he stood rooted to the spot, possessed by
fear and wonder, and imagining he heard repeated
in melancholy echoes, dying away fainter and
fainter, the words, " Desttoy its like in all whom
you approach I" a shrill cry reached his ears. It
came, not from the passages beyond the door, but
from another part of the old building, and sounded like the cry of some one in the dark who had
oat the way.
He looked confusedly upon his hands and limbs,
as if to be assured of his identity, and then
shouted in reply, loudly and wildly; for there was
a strangeness and terror upon him, as if he too
were lost.
The cry responding, and being nearer, he

caught up the lamp, and raised a heavy curtain in
the wall, by which he was accustomed to pass
into and out of the theatre where he lectured,which adjoined his room. Associated with youth
and animation, and a high amphitheatre of faces
which his entrance charmed to interest in a moment, it was a ghostly place when all this life was
faded out of it, and stared upon him like an emblem of Death.
"Halloa I!" he cried. "Halloa This way!
Come to the light! " When, at he held the curtain
with one hand, and with the other raised the lamp
and tried to pierce the gloom that filled the place,
something pushed past him into the room like a
wild-cat, and crouched down in a corner.
' What is it?" he said hastily. *
He might have asked " What is it? " even had
he seen it well, as presently he did when he stood
looking at it gathered up in its corner.
A bundle of tatters, held together by a hand,
in size and form almost an infant's, but, in its
greedy, desperate little clutch, a bad old man's.
A face rounded and smoothed by some half-dozen
years, but pinched and twisted by the experiences
of a life. Bright eyes, but not youthful. Naked
feet, beautiful in their childish delicacy.-ugly in
the blood and dirt that cracked upon them. A
baby savage, a young monster, a child who had
never been a child, a creature who might live to
take the outward form of man, but who, within,
would live and perish a mere beast.
Used, already, to be worried and hunted like a
beast, the boy crouched down as he was looked
at, and looked back again, and interposed his arm
to ward off the expected blow.
" I'll bite," he said, " if you hit me I"
The time had been, and not many minutes
since, when such a sight as this would have wrung
the Chemist's heart. He looked upon it now,
coldly; but, with a heavy effort to remember
something-he did not know what-he asked the
boy what he did there, and whence he came.
"Where's the woman?" he replied. "I want
to find the woman."
"Who?"
" The woman. Her that brought me here, and
set me by the large fire. She was so long gone,
that I went to look for her, and lost myself. I
don't want you. I want the woman."
He made a spring, so suddenly, to get away,
that the dull sound of his naked feet upon the
floor was near the curtain, when Redlaw caught
him by his rags.
" Come I you let me go I" muttered the boy,
struggling, and clenching his teeth. " I've done
nothing to you. Let me go, will you, to the
woman I "
" That is not the way. There is a nearer one,"
said Redlaw, detaining him, in the same blank
effort to remember some association that ought,
of right, to bear upon this monstrous object
"What is your name?"
" Got none."
"Where do you live?"

188

CHRITMAS QBOQIS

"Live! What's that?"
The boy shook his hair from his eyes to look
at him for a moment, and then, twisting round
his legs and wrestling with him, broke again into
his repetition of "You let me go, will you? I
want to find the woman."
The Chemist led him tc the door. "This
way," he said, looking at him still confusedly,
but with repugnance and avoidance, growing out
of his coldness. "I'll take you to her."
The sharp eyes in the child's head, wandering
round the room, lighted on the table where the
remnants of the dinner were.
"Give me some of thatl" he said, covetously.
Has she not fed you?
"I shall be hungry again to-morrow, sha'n't I?
Ain't I hungry every day?
Finding himself released, he bounded at the
table like some small animal of prey, and hugging
to his breast bread and meat, and his own rags,
all together, said:
" Thore I Now take me to the woman 1"
As the Chemist, with a new-born dislike to
touch him, sternly motioned him to follow, and
was going out of the door, he trembled and
stopped.
" The gift that I have given, you shall give
again, go where you will I"
The Phantom's words were blowing in the
wind, and the wind blew chill upon him.
"I'll not go there, to-night," he murmured
faintly.
"I'll go nowhere to-night. Boy straight
down this long-arched passage, and past the
great dark door into the yard,-you will see the
fire shining on a window there."
"The woman's fire?" inquired the boy.
lie nodded, and the naked feet had sprung
away. IHe came back with his lamp, locked his
door hastily, and sat down in his chair, covering his face like one who was frightened at himIef.
For now he was, indeed, alone. Alone,
alone.
CHAPTER II.
THE GIFT DIFrUSED.
4 8Al4LL man sat in a small parlor, partitioned
off fom a small shop by a small screen, pasted
all over with small scraps of newspapers. In
company with the small man, was almost any
amount Qf small children you may please to name
l-t least, it seemed so; they made, in that very
limited sphere of action, such an imposing effect,
in point of numbers.
%f thes small fry, toy had, by some strong ma4ney, been got into bed in a corner, where they
migt have reposed snugly enough in the sleep
of innocence, but for a constitutional propensity
to keep awake, and also to scufle in and out of
bed. The immediate occagiotf of these predatory

dashes at the waking world, was the construction
of an oyster-shell wall in a corner, by two other
youths of tender age; on which fortification the
two in bed made harassing descents (like those
accursed Picts and Scots who beleaguer the early
historical studies of most young Britons), and
then withdrew to their own territory.
In addition to the stir attendant on these inroads, and the retorts of the invaded, who pursued
hotly, and made lunges at the bed-clothes, under
which the marauders took refuge, another little
boy, in another little bed, contributed his mite ol
confusion to the family stock, by casting his boots
upon the waters; in other words, by launching
these and several small objects, inoffensive in
themselves, though of a hard substance con.
sidered as missiles, at the disturbers of his repose,-who were not slow to return these compliments.
Besides which, another little boy-the biggest
there, but still little-was tottering to and fro,
bent on one side, and considerably affected in his
knees by the weight of a large baby, which he
was supposed, by a fiction that obtains sometimes in sanguine families, to be hushing to
sleep. But oh I the inexhaustible regions of contemplation and watchfulness into which this
baby's eyes were then only beginning to compose themselves to stare, over his unconscious
shoulder I
It was a very Moloch of a baby, on whose insatiate altar the whole existence of this particular
young brother was offered up a daily sacrifice.
Its personality may be said to have consisted in
its never being quiet, in any one place, for five
consecutive minutes, and never going to sleep
when required. " Tetterby's baby," was as well
known in the neighborhood as the postman or the
pot-boy. It roved from door-step to door-step, in
the arms of little Johnny Tetterby, and lagged
heavily at the rear of troops of juveniles who followed the Tumblers or the Monkey, and came up,
all on one side, a little too late for everything that
was attractive, from Monday morning until Saturday night. Wherever childhood congregated to
play, there was little Moloch making Johnny fag
and toil. Wherever Johnny desired to stay, little
Moloch became fractious, and would not remain.
Whenever Johnny wanted to go out, Moloch was
asleep, and must be watched. Whenever Johnny
wanted to stay at home, Moloch was awake, and
must be taken out. Yet Johnny was verily persuaded that it was a faultless baby, without its
peer in the realm of England; and was quite content to catch meek glimpses of things in general
from behind its skirts, or over its limp flapping
bonnet, and to go staggering aboht with it like a
very little porter with a very large parcel, whfih
was not directed to anybody, and could never be
delivered anywhere.
The small man who sat in the small parlor,
making fruitless attempts to read his newspape!
peaceably in the midst of this disturbance, was
the father of the family, and the chief of the firm

THE HA UTTED MA VN.

18a

cribed in the inscription over the little shop
it, by the name and title of A. TETTENBY AND, NEWSMEN. Indeed, strictly speaking, he was
only personage answering to that designation;
7o. was a mere poetical abstraction, altogether
eless and impersonal.
retterby's was the corner shop in Jerusalem
Idings. There was a good show of literature
the window, chiefly consisting of pictureespapers out of date, and serial pirates, and;pads. Walking-sticks, likewise, and mar3, were included in the stock in trade. It had
e extended into the light confectionery line;
it would seem that those elegancies of life
'e not in demand about Jerusalem Buildings,
nothing connected with that branch of com*ce remained in the window, except a sort of
11 glass lantern containing a languishing mass
ull's-eyes, which had melted in the summer
congealed in the winter until all hope of ever;ing them out, or of eating them without eatthe lantern too, was gone for ever. Tetterby's
tried its hand at several things. It had once
Le a feeble little dart at the toy business; for,
mother lantern, there was a heap of minute:dolls, all sticking together upside down, in
direst confusion, with their feet on one anothheads, and a precipitate of broken arms and
at the bottom. It had made a move in the
inery direction, which a few dry, wirybonnet)es remained in a corner of the window to atIt had fancied that a living might lie hidin the tobacco trade, and had stuck up a repntation of a native of each of the three in1l portions of the British empire, in the act
1nsuming that fragrant weed; with a poetic
ad attached, importing that united in one
o they sat and joked, one chewed tobacco, one
snuff, one smoked: but nothing seemed to
come of it-except flies. Time had been
a it had put a forlorn trust in imitative jewy, for in one pane of glass there was a card
leap seals, and another of pencil-cases, and a
terious black amulet of inscrutable intention
led ninepence. But, to that hour, Jerusalem
flings had bought none of them. In short,
erby's had tried so hard to get a livelihood
)f Jerusalem Buildings in one way or other,
appeared to have done so indifferently in all,
the best position in the firm was too evily Co.'s; Co., as a bodiless creation, being;ubled with the vulgar inconveniences of,er and thirst, being chargeable neither to the
's-rates nor the assessed taxes, and having no
lg family to provide for.
etterby himself, however, in his little parlor,
Iready mentioned, having the presence of a
g family impressed upon his mind in a man0o clamorous to be disregarded, or to comport
the quiet perusal of a newspaper, laid down,aper, wheeled in his distraction, a feW times
Id the parlor, ike an Undecided carrierIn, made an ineffectual rush at one or two
g little figures in bed-gowns that skimmed

past him, and then, bearing suddenly down upon
the only unoffending member of the family, boxed
the ears of little Moloch's nurse.
I' You bad boy I" said Mr. Tetterby, " haven't
you any feeling for your poor father after the fatigues and anxieties of a hard winter's day, since
five o'clock in the morning, but must you wither
his rest, and corrode his latest intelligence, with
your wicious tricks? Isn't it enough, sir, that
your brother 'Dolphus is toiling and moiling in the
fog and cold, and you rolling in the lap of luxury
with a-with a baby, and everything you can wish
for," said Mr. Tetterby, heaping this up as a
great climax of blessings, "but must you make
a wilderness of home, and maniacs of your parents? Must you, Johnny? Hey?" At each in.
terrogation, Mr. Tetterby made a feint of boxing
his ears again, but thought better of it, and held
his hand.
"Oh, father I" whimpered Johnny, "when I
wasn't doing anything, I'm sure, but taking such
care of Sally, and getting her to sleep. Oh, father I"
" I wish my little woman would come home 1"
said Mr. Tetterby, relenting and repenting, "I
only wish my little woman would come home! I
ain't fit to deal with 'em. They make my head
go round, and get the better of me. Oh, Johnny I
Isn't it enough that your dear mother has provided you with that sweet sister?" indicating
Moloch; isn't it enough that you were seven
boys before, without a ray of gal, and that your
dear mother went through what she did go
through, on purpose that you might all of you
have a little sister, but must you so behave yourself as to make mly hed swim? "
Softeningl more and iuore, as his own tender
feelings and those of his injured son were worked
on, Mr. Tetterby concluded by embracing him,
and immediately breaking away to catch one of
the real delinquents. A reasonably good start
occurring, he succeeded, after a short but smart
run, and some rather severe cross-country work
under and over the bedsteads, and in and out
among the intricacies of the chairs, in capturing
this infant, whom lhe condignly pupished, and
bore to bed. This example had a powerful, and
apparently mesmeric influence on him of the
boots, who instantly fell into a deep sleep, though
he had been, but a moment before, broad awake,
and in the highest possible feather. Nor was it
lost upon the two young architects, who retired to
bed, in an adjoining closet, with great privacy and
speed. The comrade of the Intercepted One also
shrinking into his nest with similar discretion,
Mr. Tetterby, when he paused for breath, found
himself unexpectedly in a scene of peace.
"My little woman herself," said Mr. Tettby
wiping his flushed face, " could hardly have done
it better I Ionly wish my little woman had had
it to do, I do indeed "
Mr. Tetterby sought upon hbi scraen for a passage appropriate to bo impressed ipon his Chil,
dren's minds on she occasio, and read the fol
lowing

140

CARIST~fAS BOO00.

"'It is an undoubted fact that all remarkable
men have had remarkable mothers, and have respected them in after life as their best friends.'
Think of your own remarkable mother, my boys,"
said Mr. Tetterby, " and know her value while
she is still among you!"
He sat down again in his chair by the fire, and
composed himself, cross-legged, over his newspaper.
"Let anybody, I don't care who it is, get out
of bed again," said Tetterby, as a general proclamation, delivered in a very soft-hearted manner,
"and astonishment will be the portion of that
respected contemporary " - which expression
Mr. Tetterby selected from his screen. " Johnny,
my child, take care of your only sister, Sally; for
she's the brightest gem that ever sparkled on your
early brow."
Johnny sat down on a little stool, and devotedly crushed himself beneath the weight of Moloch.
"Ah, what a gift that baby is to you, Johnny "
said his father, "and how thankful you ought to
be 'It is not generally known,' Johnny," he
was now referring to the screen again, " 'but it
is a fact ascertained, by accurate calculations, that
the following immense per-centage of babies never
attain to two years old; that is to say'-"
"Oh, don't father, please!" cried Johnny. "I
can't bear it, when I think of Sally."
Mr. Tetterby desisting, Johnny, with a profounder sense of his trust, wiped his eyes, and
hushed his sister.
"Your brother 'Dolphus," said his father,
poking the fire, "is late to-night, Johnny, and
will come home like a lump of ice. What's got
your precious mother?"
"Here's mother, and 'Dolphus too, father!"
exclaimed Johnny, "I think."
"You're 'right I" returned his father, listening. " Yes, that's the,footstep of my little woman."
The process of induction, by which Mr. Tetterby had come to the conclusion that his wife
was a little woman, was his own secret. She
would have made two editions of himself, very
easily. Considered as an individual, she was
rather remarkable for being robust and portly;
but considered with reference to her husband, her
dimensions became magnificent. Nor did they
assume a less imposing proportion, when studied
with reference to the size of her seven sons, who
were but diminutive. In the case of Sally, however, Mrs. Tetterby had asserted herself at last; as
nobody knew better than the victim Johnny, who
weighed and measured that exacting idol every
hour in the day.
Mrs. Tetterby, who had been marketing, and
carried a basket, threw back her bonnet and shawl,
and sitting down, fatigued, commanded Johnny
to bring his sweet charge to her straightway, for: kiss. Johnny having complied, and gone back
to his stool, and again crushed himself, Master
Adolphus Tetterby, who had by this time unwolud his Torso out of a prismatic comforter, ap

parently interminable, requested the same fa,
Johnny having again complied, and again g
back to his stool, and again crushed himself,
Tetterby, struck by a sudden thought, prefei
the same claim on his own parental part.
satisfaction of this third desire completely
hausted the sacrifice, who had hardly brc
enough left to get back to his stool, crush him
again, and pant at his relations.
" Whatever you do, Johnny," said Mrs. r
terby, shaking her head, " take care of her
never look your mother in the face again."
"Nor your brother," said Adolphus.
"Nor your father, Johnny," added Mr. '
terby.
Johnny, much affected by this conditional
nunciation of him, looked down at Moloch's (
to see that they were all right, so far, and f
fully patted her back (which was uppermost),
rocked her with his foot.
" Are you wet, 'Dolphus, my boy?" said
father. " Come and take my chair, and dry y
self."
" No, father, thankee," said Adolphus, smo
ing himself down with his hands. " I an't
wet, I don't think. Does my face shine m
father?"
" Well, it does look waxy, my boy," retuo
Mr. Tetterby.
"It's the weather, father,'' said Adolp
polishing his cheeks on the worn sleeve ol
jacket. "What with rain, and sleet, and w
and snow, and fog, my face gets quite bro'
out into a rash sometimes. And shines, it do
oh, don't it, though I "
Master Adolphus was also in the newsp
line of life, being employed, by a more thri
firm than his father and Co., to vend newspa
at a railway station, where his chubby little
son, like a shabbily disguised Cupid, and
shrill little voice (he was not much more thaT
years old), were as well known as tle he
panting of the locomotive, running in and
His juvenility might have been at some loss
harmless outlet, in this early application to tr;
but for a fortunate discovery he made of a m
of entertaining himself, and of dividing the
day into stages of interest, without neglec
business. This ingenious invention, remark;
like many great discoveries, for its simpli
consisted in varying the first vowel in the E
"paper," and substituting in its stead, at dperiods of the day, all the other vowels in g
matical succession. Thus, before daylight iT
winter-time, he went to and fro, in his little
skin cap and cape, and his big comforter, piei
the heavy air with his cry of " Mor-ing Pa-p,
which, about an hour before noon, change
Morn-ing Pep-per I" which, at about
changed to ' Morn-ing Pip-per;" which, i
couple of hours, changed to "Mor-ing Pop-pi
and so declined with the sun into "EvePup-per I" to the great relief and comfort of
young gentleman's spirits.

THE HA UNTED MA J.

~ An
141t

Ars. Tetterby, his lady-mother, who had been
ing with her bonnet and shawl thrown back,
tAforesaid, thoughtfully turning her wedding
r round and round upon her finger, now rose,
divesting herself of her out-of-door attire, beto lay the cloth for supper.
j'Ah, dear me, dear me, dear me I" said Mrs.
terby. "That's the way the world goes! "
' Which is the way the world goes, my dear?"
Med Mr. Tetterby, looking round.
' Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Tetterby.
Mr. Tetterby elevated his eyebrows, folded his
vspaper afresh, and carried his eyes up it, and
Vn it, and across it, but was wandering in his
nntion, and not reading it.
Mrs. Tetterby, at the same time, laid the cloth,
rather as if she were punishing the table than
paring the family supper; hitting it unnecesily hard with the knives and forks, slapping it
h the plates, dinting it with the salt-cellars,
l coming heavily down upon it with the loaf.
A'Ah, dear me, dear me, dear me! " said Mrs.:terby. " That's the way the world goes I "."My duck," returned her husband, looking
nd again, "you said that before. Which is the, the world goes?"
" Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Tetterby.
" Sophia I" remonstrated her husband, "you
I fltat before, too."
"Well, I'll say it again if you like," returned
3. Tetterby. "Oh nothing-there And again
'ou like, oh nothing-there I And again if you
~, oh nothing-now then I"
Mr. Tetterby brought his eye to bear upon the
tner of his bosom, and said, in mild astonishnt:
" My little woman, what has put you out?"
'I'm sure I don't know," she retorted.,on't ask me. Who said I was put out at all?
ever did."
Mr. Tetterby gave up the perusal of his news)er as a bad job, and taking a slow walk across
room, with his hands behind him, and his
ulders raised-his gait according perfectly with
resignation of his manner-addressed himself
his two eldest offspring.
" Your supper will be ready in a minute, 'Dolas," said Mr. Tetterby. "Your mother has
mn out in the wet, to the cook's shop, to buy it.
was very good of your mother so to do. You
ill get some supper too, very soon, Johnny.
ur mother's pleased with you, my man, for be-; so attentive to your precious sister."
| Mrs. Tetterby, without any remark, but with
lecided subsidence of her animosity towards
table, finished her preparations, and took,, m her ample basket, a substantial slab of hot
ase pudding, wrapped in paper, and a basin
v ered with a saucer, which, on being uncovered,
at forth an odor so agreeable, that the three pair
eyes in the two beds opened wide and fixed
eamselves upon the banquet. Mr. Tetterby, with-.t regarding this tacit invi'tion to be seated,
x)od repeating slowly, "Yes, yes, your supper

will be ready in a minute, 'Dolphus-your mother
went out in the wet, to the cook's shop to bay it.
It was very good of your mother so to do"-untL
Mrs. Tetterby, who had been exhibiting sundry
tokens of contrition behind him, caught him
round the neck, and wept.
"Oh, 'Dolphus I" said Mrs. Tetterby, "how
could I go and behave so! "
This reconciliation affected Adolphus the
younger and Johnny to that degree, that they
both, as with one accord, raised a dismal cry,
which had the effect of immediately shutting up
the round eyes in the beds, and utterly routing
the two remaining little Tetterbys, just then
stealing in from the adjoining closet to see what
was going on in the eating way.
"I am sure, 'Dolphus," sobbed Mrs. Tetterby,
"coming home, I had no more idea than a child
unborn "
Mr. Tetterby seemed to dislike this figure of
speech, and observed, "Say than the baby, my
dear."
"-Had no more idea than the baby," said Mrs.
Tetterby. â" Johnny, don't look at me, but look
at her, or she'll fall out of your lap and be killed,
and then you'll die in agonies of a broken heart,
and serve you right.-No more idea I hadn't than
that darling, of being cross when I came home;
but somehow, 'Dolphus- " IMrs. Tetterby
paused, and again turned her wedding-ring round
and round upon her finger.
" I see I" said Mr. Tetterby. " I understand I
My little woman was put out. Hard times, and
hard weather, and hard work, make it trying now
and then. I see, bless your soull No wonder!
'Dolf, my man," continued Mr. Tetterby, explor
ing the basin with a fork, " here's your mother
been and bought, at the cook's shop, besides
pease pudding, a whole knuckle of a lovely roast
leg of pork, with lots of crackling left upon it, and
with seasoning gravy and mustard quite unlimited. Hand in your plate, my boy, and begin
while it's simmering."
Master Adolphus, needing no second summons,
received his portion with eyes rendered moist by
appetite, and withdrawing to his particular stool,
fell upon his supper tooth and nail. Johnny was
not forgotten, but received his rations on bread,
lest he should, in a flush of gravy, trickle any on
the baby. He was required, for similar reasons,
to keep his pudding, when not on active service,
in his pocket.
There might have been more pork on the
knucklebone,-which knucklebone the carver at
the cook's shop had assuredly not forgotten in
carving for previous customers,-but there was
no stint of seasoning, and that is an accessory
dreamily suggesting pork, and pleasantly cheating
the sense of taste. The pease pudding, too, the
gravy and mustard, like the Eastern rose in respect of the nightingale, if they were not absolutely pork, had lived near it; so, upon the whole,
there was the flavor of a middle-sized pig. It was
irresistible to the Tetterhys in bed, who, though!
N

t42

CIHISTMAS BOOKS.

professing to slumber peacefully, crawled out
when -unseei by their patents, and silently appealed to their brothers for any gastronomic token
of fraternal affection. They, not hard of heart,
presenting scraps in return, it resulted that a party of light skirmishers in night-gowns were careering about the parlor all through supper, which
harassed Mr. Tetterby exceedingly, and once or
twice imposed upon him the necessity of a charge,
before which these guerilla troops retired in all
directions, and in great confusion.
Mrs. Tetterby did not enjoy her supper. There
eeimed to be something on Mrs. Tetterby's mind.
At bne time she laughed without reason, and at
another time She cried without reason, and at last
she laughed and cried together in a manner so
very unreasonable that her husband was confounded.
"My little woman," said Mr. Tetterby, "If the
world goes that way, it appears to go the wrong
way, and to choke you."
" Give me a drop of water," said Mrs. Tetterby, struggling with herself, "'and don't speak to
me tor the present, or take any notice of me.
Don't do it!"
Mr. Tetterby having administered the water,
turned suddenly on the unlucky Johnny (who was
full of sympathy), and demanded why he was
wallowing there, in gluttony and idleness, instead of coming forward with the baby, that the
sight of her might revive his mother. Johnny
immediately approached, borne down by its
weight; but Mrs. Tetterby holding out her hand
to signify that she was not in a condition to bear
that trying appeal to her feelings, he was interdicted from advancing another inch, on pain of
perpetual hatred from all his dearest connections;
and accordingly retired to his stool again, and
crushed himself as before.
After a pause, Mrs. Tetterby said she was
better now, and began to laugh.
"My little woman," said her husband, dubiously, "are you quite sure you're better? Or
are you, Sophia, about to break out in a fresh
direction?"
"No, 'Dolphis, ho," replied his wife. "I'm
quite myself." With that, settling her hair, and
pressing the palms of her hands upon her eyes,
the laughed again.
"What a wicked fool I was, to think so for a
moment I" said Mrs. Tetterby. " Come nearer,
'Dolphus, and let me ease my mind, and tell
yot what I mean. Let me tell yDu all about
It."
Mr. Tetterby bringing his chair closer, Mrs.
Tetterby laughed again, gave him a hug, and
wiped her eyes.
"You know, 'Dolphus, my dear," said Mrs.
Tetterby, "that when I was single, I might have
given myself away in several directions. At one
time, four after me at once; two of them were
ins of Mars."
"We're all sons of Ma's, my dear," said Mr.
Tetterby, "jointly with Pa'S."

"I don't mean that," replied his wife, " I ml
soldiers-serjeant s."
"Oh I" said Mr. Tetterby.
"Well, 'Dolphus, I'm sure I never think
such things now, to regret them; and I'm s:
I've got as good a husband, and would do
much to prove that I was fond of him, as-"
"As any little woman in the world," said ]
Tetterby. "Very good. Very good."
If iMr. Tetterby had been ten feet high,
could not have expressed a gentler considerate
for Mrs. Tetterby's fairy-like stature; and if M
Tetterby had been two feet high, she could
have felt it more appropriately her due.
"But you see, 'Dolphus," said Mrs. Tetter
"this being Christmas-time, when all people N
can, make holiday, and when all people w
have got money, like to spend some, I did, son
how, get a little out of sorts when I was in i
streets just now. There were so many things
be sold-such delicious things to eat, such fi
things to look at, such delightful things to hav(
and there was so much calculating and calculati
necessary, before I durst lay out a sixpence:
the commonest thing; and the basket was
large, and wanted so much in it; and my stock
money was so small, and would go such a lit
way;-you hate me, don't you, 'Dolphus?"
"Not quite," said Mr. Tetterby, " as yet."
" Well I I'll tell you the whole truth," purso
his wife, penitently, "and then perhaps you w
I felt all this, so much, when I was trudging abc
in the cold, and when I saw a lot of other calcul
ing faces and large baskets trudging about t('
that I began to think whether I mightn't ha
done better, and been happier, if-I-hadn't-" t
wedding ring went round again, and Mrs. T&lt;
terby shook her downcast head as she turned it.
"I see," said her husband quietly; "if a
hadn't married at all, or if you had married soln
body else?"
"Yes," sobbed Mrs. Tetterby. "That's re:
ly what I thought. Do you hate me no
'Dolphus?"
"Why no," said Mr. Tetterby, "I don't fil
that I do as yet."
Mrs. Tetterby gave him a thankful kiss, a:
went on.
"I begin to hope you won't, now, 'Dolpho
though I am afraid I haven't told you the worf
I can't think what came over me. I don't kno
whether I was ill, or mad, or what I was, but
couldn't call up anything that seemed to bind i
to each other, or to reconcile me to my fortun
All the pleasures and enjoyments we had ev
had-they seemed so poor and insignificant,
hated them. I could have trodden on them. AT
I could think of nothing else except our beli
poor, and the number of months there were
home."
"Well, well, my dear," said Mr. Tetterb;
shaking her hand encouragingly, " that's truti
after all. We are poor, and there are a numb&lt;
of mouths at home bett."

THE HA UNTED MAN.

143

' Ah I but, 'Dolf, 'Dolf l" cried his wife, laying
er hands upon his neck, "my good, kind, paent fellow, when I had been at home a very
ttle while-how different I Oh, 'Dolf, dear, how
ifferent it was I I felt as if there was a rush of,collection on me, all at once, that softened my
ard heart, and filled it up till it was bursting..11 our struggles for a livelihood, all our cares
nd wants since we have been married, all the
mes of sickness, all the hours of watching, we
ave ever had, by one another, or by the children,
aemed to speak to me, and say that they had
lade us one, and that I never might have been,
r could have been, or would have been, any other
ian the wife and mother I am. Then, the cheap
ajoyments that I could have trodden on so cruly, got to be so precious to me-Oh so priceless,
ad dear 1-that I couldn't bear to think how much
had wronged them; and I said, and say again a
andred times, how could I ever behave so, 'Dolhus, how could I ever have the heart to do it!"
The good woman, quite carried away by her
onest tenderness and remorse, was weeping
ith all her heart, when she started up with a,ream, and ran behind her husband. Her cry
as so terrified, that the children started from
ieir sleep and from their beds, and clung about
3r. Nor did her gaze belie her voice, as she
)inted to a pale man in a black cloak who had
&gt;me into the room.
"Look at that manI Look there! What does
3 want?"
"My dear," returned her husband, "I'll ask
im if you'll let me go. What's the matter? How
in shake 1"
"I saw him in the street when I was out just
aw. He looked at me, and stood near me. I
la afraid of him."
" Afraid of him I Why?"
"I don't know why-I-stop I husband!" for
a was going towards the stranger.
She had one hand pressed upon her forehead,
ld one upon her breast; and there was a pecuar fluttering all over her, and a hurried unsteady
Lotion of her eyes, as if she had lost something.
"Are you ill, my dear?"
"What is it that is going from me again?"
ie muttered, in a low voice. "What is this that
i going away?"
Then she abrnptly answered: "Ill? No, I
m quite well," and stood looking vacantly at the
oor.
Her husband, who had not been altogether
ee from the infection of her fear at first, and, hom the present strangeness of her manner did
ot tend to reassure, addressed himself to the
ale visitor in the black cloak, who stood still,
d whose eyes were bent upon the ground.
" What may be your pleasure, sir," he asked,
with us?"
"I fear that my coming in unperceived," reirned the visitor, "has alarmed you; but you
rere.talking and did not hear me."
"My little woman says-perhaps you heard

her say it," returned Mr. Tetterby, " that it's not
the first time you have alarmed her to-night"
"I am sorry for it. I remember to have ob
served her, for a few moments only, in the street
I had no intention of frightening her."
As he raised his eyes in speaking, she raised
hers. It was extraordinary to see what dread she
had of him, and with what dread he observed it
-and yet how narrowly and closely.
"My name," he said, "is Redlaw. I come
from the old college hard by. A young gentleman
who is a student there, lodges in your house, does
he not?"
"Mr. Denham? " said Tetterby.
"Yes."
It was a natural action, and so slight as to be
hardly noticeable; but the little man, before
speaking again, passed his hand across his forehead, and looked quickly round the room, as
though he were sensible of some change in its
atmosphere. The Chemist, instantly transferring
to him the look of dread he had directed towards
the wife, stepped back, and his face tutned paler.
"The gentleman's room," said Tetterby, "is
up-stairs, sir. There's a more convenient private
entrance; but as you have come in here, it will
save your going out into the cold, if you'll take
this little staircase," showing one cormmunicating
directly with the parlor, " and go up to him that
way, if you wish to see him."
"Yes, I wish to see him," said the Chemist.
"Can you spare a light? "
The watchfulness of his haggard look, and the
inexplicable distrust that darkened it, seemed to
trouble Mr. Tetterby. He paused; and looking
fixedly at him in return, stood for a minute or 6o,
like a man stupefied, or fascinated.
At length.he said, "I'll liglt you, sir, if you'll
follow me."
"No," replied the Chemistf "I don't wish to
be attended, or announced to him. He does not
expect me. I would rather go alone. Please to
give me the light, if you can spare it, and I'll find
the way."
In the quickness of his expression of this desire, and in taking the candle from the newsman,
he touched him on the breast. Withdrawing his
hand hastily, almost as though he had wounded
him by accident (for he did not know in what part
of himself his new power resided, or how it was
communicated, or how the manner of its reception varied in different persons), he turned and
ascended the stair.
But when he reached the top, he stopped and
looked down. The wife was standig in the same
place, twisting her ring round and round upon her
finger. The husband, with his head bent forward
on his breast, was musing heavily and sullenly.
The children, still clustering about the mother,
gazed timidly after the visitor, and nestled together when the saw him looking down.
" Come I "said the father, roughly. "There's
enough of this. Get to bed here "I
" The place is inconvenient and small enough,"

144

CHR ISTMfAS BOOES.

the mother added, "without you. Get to
bed "
The whole brood, scared and sad, crept away;
little Johnny and the baby lagging last. The
mother, glancing contemptuously round the sordid room, and tossing from her the fragments of
their meal, stopped on the threshhold of her task
of clearing the table, and sat down, pondering
idly and dejectedly. The father betook himself
to the chimney-corner, and impatiently raking the
small fire together, bent over it as if he would
monopolise it all. They did not interchange a
word.
The Chemist, paler than before, stole upward
like a thief; looking back upon the change below,
and dreading equally to go on or return.
"What have I donel" he said, confusedly.
"What am I going to do I"
"To be the benefactor of mankind," he thought
he heard a voice reply.
ie looked round, but there was nothing there;
and a passage now shutting out the little parlor
from his view, he went on, directing his eyes before him at the way he went.
"It is only since last night," he muttered
gloomily, " that I have remained shut up, and yet
all things are strange to me. I am strange to myself. I am here, as in a dream. What interest
have I in this place, or in any place that I can
bring to my remembrance? My mind is going
blind I"
There was a door before him, and he knocked
at it. Being invitei, by a voice within, to enter,
he complied.
"Is that my kind nurse?" said the voice.
"But I need not ask her. There is no one else to
come here."
It spoke cheerfully, though in a languid tone,
and attracted his attention to a young man lying
on a couch, drawn before the chimney-piece, with
the back towards the door. A meagre scanty stove,
pinched and hollowed like a sick man's cheeks,
and bricked into the centre of a hearth that it
could scarcely warm, contained the fire, to which
nis face was turned. Being so near the windy
hluse-top, it wasted quickly, and with a busy
sound, and the burning ashes dropped down fast.
" They chink when they shoot out here," said
the student, smiling, " so, according to the gossips,
they are not coffins, but purses. I shall be well
and rich yet, some day, if it pleases God, and
shall live perhaps to love a daughter Milly, in remembrance of the kindest nature and the gentlest
heart in the world."
He put up his hand as if expecting her to take
it, but, being weakened, he lay still, with his
face resting on his other band, and did not turn
round.
The Chemist glanced about the room;-at the
student's books and papers, piled upon a table in
a corner, where they, and his extinguished reading-lamp, now prohibited and put away, told of
the attentive hours that had gone before his illess, and perhaps caused it;-at such signs of his

old health and freedom, as the out-of-door attir
that hung idle on the wall;-at those remem
brances of other and less solitary scenes, the lit
tie miniatures upon the chimney-piece, and tht
drawing of home;-at that token of his emula
tion, perhaps, in some sort, of his personal attaci
ment too, the framed engraving of himself, thi
looker-on. The time had been, only yesterday
when not one of these objects, in its remotes
association of interest with the living figure be
fore him, would have been lost on Redlaw. Now
they were but objects; or, if any gleam of suc]
connection shot upon him, it.perplexed, and no
enlightened him, as he stood looking round witi
a dull wonder.
The student, recalling the thin hand which ha!
remained so long untouched, raised himself o0
the couch, and turned his head.
" Mr. Redlaw! " he exclaimed, and started up
Redlaw put out his arm.
"Don't come near to me. I will sit her,
Remain you, where you are I"
Ie sat down on a chair near the door, and has
ing glanced at the young man standing leanin
with his hand upon the couch, spoke with hi
eyes averted towards the ground.
" I heard, by an accident, by what accident i
no matter, that one of my class was ill and sol
tary. I received no other description of himn
than that he lived in this street. Beginning m
inquiries at the first house in it, I have foun,
him."
"I have been ill, sir," returned the student
not merely with a modest hesitation, but with
kind of awe of him, " but am greatly better. A'
attack of fever-of the brain, I believe-has wenl
ened me, but I am much better. I cannot say
have been solitary in my illness, or I should foi
get the ministering hand that has been near me.
" You are speaking of the keeper's wife," sail
Redlaw.
"Yes." The student bent his head, as if h
rendered her some silent homage.
The Chemist, in whom there was a cold, me
notonous apathy, which rendered him more like
marble image on the tomb of the man who ha
started from his dinner yesterday at the first mer
tion of this student's case, than the breathin,
man himself, glanced again at the student leanin
with his hand upon the couch, and looked upo'
the ground, and in the air, as if for light for hi
blinded mind.
" I remembered your name," he said, "whe.
it was mentioned to me down-stairs, just now
and I recollect your face. We have held but ver
little personal communication together? "
"Very little."
"You have retired and withdrawn from me
more than any of the rest, I think?"
The student signified assent.
"And why? " said the Chemist: not with the
least expression of interest, but with a moody
wayward kind of curiosity. "Why? How come
it that you have sought to keep especially fron

TBE HA UNTED MAN.

145

ae, the knowledge of your remaining here, at this
eason, when all the rest have dispersed, and
f your being ill? I want to know why this is?"
The young man, who had heard him with inreasing agitation, raised his downcast eyes to his
ice, and clasping his hands together, cried with
adden earnestness, and with trembling lips:
"Mr. Redlaw! You have discovered me. You
now my secret! "
"Secret?" said the Chemist, harshly. "I
now?
" Yes! Your manner, so different from the
iterest and sympathy which endear you to so
lany hearts, your altered voice, the constraint
lere is in everything you say, and in your
woks," replied the student, " warn me that you
now me. That you would conceal it, even now,;but a proof to me (God knows I need none!)
f your natural kindness, and of the bar there is
otween us."
A vacant and contemptuous laugh, w;as all his
aswer.
"But, Mr. Redlaw," said the student, "as a:st man, and a good man, think how innocent I
n, except in name and descent, of participation
any wrong inflicted on you, or in any sorrow
)u have borne."
"Sorrow! " said Redlaw, laughing. " Wrong I
that are those to me?"
"For Heaven's sake," entreated the shrinking
udent, "'do not let the mere interchange of a
w words with me change you like this, sir I
3t me pass again from your knowledge and noze. Let me occupy my old reserved and distant
ace among those whom you instruct. Know
e only by the name I have assumed, and not by.at of Longford-"
"Longford! " exclaimed the other.
He clasped his head with both his hands, and
r a moment turned upon the young man his
vn intelligent and thoughtful face. But the,ht passed from it, like the sunbeam of an inant, and it clouded as before.
"The name my mother bears, sir," faltered
e young man, "the name she took, when she
ight, perhaps, have taken one more honored.
r. Redlaw," hesitating, "I believe I know that
story. Where my information halts, my guesses
what is wanting may supply something not
mote from the truth. I am the child of a marage that has not proved itself a well assorted or
happy one. From infancy, I have heard you
token of with honor and respect-with someing that was almost reverence. I have heard of
"cl devotion, of such fortitude and tenderness,
such rising up against the obstacles which
ess men down, that my fancy, since I learnt
y little lesson from my mother, has shed a
stre on your name. At last, a poor student
yself, from whom could I learn but you?"
Redlaw, unmoved, unchanged, and looking at
m with a staring frown, answered by no word
sign.
"I cannot say," pursued the other, "I should
*.

try in vain to say, how much it has impressed me,
and affected me, to find the gracious traces of the
past, in that certain power of winning gratitude
and confidence which is associated among us
students (among the humblest of us, most) with
Mr. Redlaw's generous name. Our ages and
positions are so different, sir, and I am so accustomed to regard you from a distance, that I wonder at my own presumption when I touch, however lightly, on that theme. But to one who âI
may say, who felt no common interest in my
mother once-it may be something to hear, now
that is all past, with what indescribable feelings
of affection I have, in my obscurity, regarded
him; with what pain and reluctance I have kept
aloof from his encouragement, when a word of it
would have made me rich; yet how I have felt it
fit that I should hold my course, content to know
him, and to be unknown. Mr. Redlaw," said the
sutdcnt, faintly, " what I would have said, I have
said ill, for my strength is strange to me as yet;
but for anything unworthy in this fraud of
mine, forgive me, and for all the rest forget me I "
The staring frown remained on Redlaw's face,
and yielded to no other expression until the
student, with these words, advanced towards him,
as if to touch his hand, when he drew back and
cried to him:
" Don't come nearer to me "
The young man stopped, shocked by the eager.
ness of his recoil, and by the sternness of his repulsion; and he passed his hand, thoughtfully,
across his forehead.
"The past is past," said the Chemist. "It
dies like the brutes. Who talks to me of its
traces in my life? He raves or lies What have
I to do with your distempered dreams? If you
want money, here it is. I came to offer it; and
that is all I came for. There can be nothing else
that brings me here," he muttered, holding 'his
head again, with both his hands. " There can be
nothing else, and yet â"
He had tossed his purse upon the table. As
he fell into this dim cogitation with himself, the
student took it up, and held it out to him.
"Take it back, sir," he said proudly, though
not angrily. "I wish you could take from me,
with it, the remembrance of your words and
offer."
"You do? " he retorted, with a wild light in
his eyes. "You do?"
"I dol" ^
The Chemist went cose to him, for the first
time, and took the purse, and turned him by the
arm, and looked him in the face.
" There is sorrow and trouble. in sickness, is
there not? " he demanded with a laugh.
The wondering student answered, " Yes."
" In its unrest, in its anxiety, in its suspense,
in all its train of physical and mental miseries? "
said the Chemist, with a wild unearthly exultation. "All best forgotten, are they not?"
The student did not answer, but again passed
his hand, confusedly, across his forehead. Red

CHRISTMAS BOOKS..aw still held him by the sleeve, when Milly's voice
was heard outside.
" I can see very well now," she said, "thank
you, 'Dolf. Don't cry, dear. Father and mother
will be comfortable again, to-morrow, and home
will be comfortable too. A gentleman with him,
is there I"
Redlaw released his hold, as he listened.
"I have feared, from the first moment," he
murmured to himself, "to meet her. There is a
steady quality of goodness in her, that I dread to
influence. I may be the murderer of what is tenderest and best within her bosom."
She was knocking at the door.
"Shall I dismiss it as an idle foreboding, or
still avoid her?" he muttered, looking uneasily
around.
She was knocking at the door again.
" Of all the visitors who could come here," he
said, in a hoarse alarmed voice, turning to his
companion, "this is the one I should desire most
to avoid. Hide me "
The student opened a frail door in the wall,
communicating, where the garret-roof began to
slope towards the floor, with a small inner room.
Redlaw passed in hastily, and shut it after him.
The student then resumed his place upon the
couch, and called to her to enter.
"Dear Mr. Edmund," said Milly, looking
round, "they told me there was a gentleman
here."
" There is no one here but I."
"There has been some one? "
"Yes, yes, there has been some one."
She put her little basket on the table, and went
up to the back of the couch, as if to take the extended hand-but it was not there. A little sur-.
prised, in her quiet way, she leaned over to
look at his face, and gently touched him on the
brow.
"Are you quite as well to-night? Your head
is not so cool as in the afternoon."
"Tut 1" said the student, petulantly, "very
little ails me."
A little more surprise, but no reproach, was
expressed in her face, as she withdrew to the
other side of the table and took a small packet of
needlework from her basket. But she laid it
down again, on second thoughts, and goingnoiselessly about the room, set everything exactly in
Its place, and in the neatest order; even to the
cushions on the couchvhich she touched with
so light a hand, that he hardly seemed to know it,
as he lay looking at the fire. When all this was
done, and she had swept the hearth, she sat down,
In her modest little bonnet, to her work, and was
quietly busy on it directly.
"It's the new muslin curtain for the window,
Mlr. Edmund," said Milly, stitching away as she
tlked. "It will lcok very clean and nice, though
t costs very little, and will save your eyes, too,
fopsa the light. My William says the room should
f]ti too light just now, when you are recoverIt1M well, or the glare might make you giddy."

He said notning; but there was something sB
fretful and impatient in his change of position.
that her quick fingers stopped, and she looked a,
him anxiously.
" The pillows are not comfortable," she said
laying down her work and rising. "I will sooi
put them right."
"They are very well," he answered. "Leavw
them alone, pray. You make so much of every
thing."
I-e raised his head to say this, and looked a
her so thanklessly, that, after he had thrown him
self down again, she stood timidly pausing
However, she resumed her seat, and her needle
without having directed even a murmuring loo'
towards him, and was soon as busy as be
fore.
"I have been thinking, Mr. Edmund, that yo
have been often thinking of late, when I have bee
sitting by, how true the saying is, that adversit
is a good teacher. Health will be more preciou
to you, after this illness, than it has ever beer
And years hence, when this time of year come
round, and you remember the days when you la
here sick, alone, that the knowledge of your il
ness might not afflict those who are dearest t
you, your home will be doubly dear and doub!
blest. Now, isn't that a good, true thing?"
She was too intent upon her work, and tc
earnest in what she said, and too composed ar
quiet altogether, to be on the watch for any loc
he might direct towards her in reply; so the shr
of his ungrateful glance fell harmless, and did n.
wound her.
"Ahl" said Milly, with her pretty head i
clining thoughtfully on one side, as she lookc
down, following her busy fingers with her eye
"Even on me-and I am very different from yo
Mr. Edmund, for I have no learning, and don
know how to think properly-this view of su,
things has made a great impression, since ye
have been lying ill. When I have seen you
touched by the kindness and attention of the po
people down-stairs, I have felt that you thoug
even that experience some repayment for the lo
of health, and I have read in your face, as plain
if it was a book, that but for some trouble al
sorrow we should never know half the good the
is about us."
His getting up from the couch, interrupt,
her, or she was going on to say more.
"We needn't magnify the merit, Mrs. W
liam," he rejoined slightingly. "The peol
down-stairs will be paid in good time I dare so
for any little extra service they may have re
dered me; and perhaps they anticipate no les
I am much obliged to you, too."
Her fingers stopped, and she looked at him.
"I can't be made to feel the more obliged 1
your exaggerating the case," he said. "I a
sensible that you have been interested in me, ai
I say I am much obliged to you. What mo
would you have?"
Her work fell on her lap, as she still looked

THE HA UNTED MAN.

him walking to and fro with an intolerant air,
and stopping now and then.
"I say again, I am much obliged to you. Why
weaken my sense of what is your due in obligation, by preferring enormous claims upon me?
Trouble, sorrow, affliction, adversity I One might
suppose I had bee~l dying a score of deaths
here I"
"Do you believe, Mr. Edmund," she asked,
rising and going nearer to him, "that I spoke of
the poor people of the house, with any reference
to myself? To me? " laying her hand upon her
bosom with a simple and innocent smile of
astonishment.
" Oh I I think nothing about it, my good creature," he returned. "I have had an indisposition, which your solicitude-observeI I say solicitude-makes a great deal more of, than it
merits; and it's over, and we can't perpetuate
It."
He coldly took a book, and sat down at the
table.
She watched him for a little while, until her
smile was quite gone, and then, returning to
where her basket was, said gently:
"Mr. Edmund, would you rather be alone?"
" There is no reason why I should detain you
here," he replied.
"Except-" said Milly, hesitating, and showlug her work.
"Oh! the curtain," he answered, with a supercilious laugh. " That's not worth staying for."
She made up the little packet again, and put
it in her basket. Then, standing before him with
such an air of patient entreaty that he could not
choose but look at her, she said:
"If you should want me, I will come back
willingly. When you did want me, I was quite
happy to come; there was no merit in it. I think
you must be afraid, that, now you are getting
well, I may be troublesome to you; but I should
not have been, indeed. I should have come no
longer than your weakness and confinement lasted. You owe me nothing; but it is rightthat you
should deal as justly by me as if I was a ladyeven the very lady that you love; and if you suspect me of meanly making much of the little I
have tried to do to.comfort your sick room, you
do yourself more wrong than ever you can do me.
That is why I am sorry. That is why I am very
i'rry."
If she had been as passionate as she was quiet,,s indignant as she was calm, as angry in her
took as she was gentle, as loud of tone as she was
ow and clear, she might have left no sense of her
leparture in the room, compared with that which.ell upon the lonely student when she went away.
He was gazing drearily upon the place where
the had been, when Redlaw came out of his consealment, and came to the door.
"When sickness lays its hand on ypu again,"
te said, looking fiercely back at him, "-may
t be soon I-Die here I Rot here I"
"What have you done? " returned the other,

catching at his cloak. "What chafinge have yot
wrought in me? What curse have you broughl
upon me? Give me back myself! "
" Give me back myself" 1 exclaimed Redlaw
like a madman. "I am infected I am infectious I I am charged with poison for my own
mind, and the minds of all mankind. Where 1
felt interest, compassion, sympathy, I am turning
into stone. Selfishness and ingratitude spring up
in my blighting footsteps. I am only so much
less base than the wretches whom I make so, that
in the moment of their transformation I can hatu
them."
As he spoke-the young man still holding to
his cloak-he cast him off, and struck him: then,
wildly hurried out into the night air where the
wind was blowing, the snow falling, the clouddrift sweeping on, the moon dimly shining; and
where, blowing in the wind, falling with the snow,
drifting with the clouds, shining in the moonlight,
and heavily looming in the darkness, were the
Phantom's words, "The gift that I have given
you shall give again, go where you will I"
Whither he went, he neither knew nor cared,
so that he avoided company. The change he felt
within him made the busy streets a desert, and
himself a desert, and the multitude around him,
in their manifold endurances and ways of life, a
mighty waste of sand, which the winds tossed
into unintelligible heaps and made a ruinous
confusion of. Those traces in his breast which
the Phantom had told him would " die out soon,"
were not, as yet, so far upon their way to death,
but that he understood enough of what he was,
and what he made of others, to desire to be
alone.
This put it in his mind-he suddenly bethought
himself, as he was going along, of the boy who
had rushed into his room. And then he recollected, that of those with whom he had communicated since the Phantom's disappearance, that boy
alone had shown no sign of being changed.
Monstrous and odious as the wild thing was
to him, he determined to seek it out, and prove if
this were really so; and also to seek it with
another intention, which came into his thoughts
at the same time.
So, resolving with some difficulty where he
was, he directed his steps back to the old college,
and to that part of it where the general porch was,
and where, alone, the pavement was worn by the
tread of the students' feet.
The keeper's house stood just within the iron
gates, forming a part of the chief quadrangle.
There was a little cloister outside, and from that
sheltered place he knew le could look in at the
window of their ordinary room, and see who was
within. The iron gates were shut, but his hand
was familiar with the fastening, and drawing it
back by thrusting in his wrist between the bars,
he passed through softly; shut it again and crept
up to the window, crumbling the thin crust of
Bnow with hi$ feet.
The fire, to which he had directed the bav luaa

148

CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

night, shining brightly through the glass, made an
illuminated place upon the ground. Instinctively
avoiding this, and going round it, he looked in at
the window. At first, he thought that there was
no one there, and that the blaze was reddening
only the old beams in the ceiling and the dark
walls; but peering in more narrowly, he saw the
object of his search coiled asleep before it on the
floor. lIe passed quickly to the door, opened it,
and went in.
The creature lay in such a fiery heat, that, as
the Chemist stooped to rouse him, it scorched his
head. So soon as he was touched, the boy, not
half awake, clutched his rags together with the
instinct of flight upon him, half rolled and half
ran into a distant corner of the room, where,
heaped upon the ground, he struck his foot out
to defend himself.
"Get up I" said the Chemist. "You have
not forgotten me?"
"You let me alone!" returned the boy.
"This is the woman's house-not yours."
The Chemist's steady eye controlled him somewhat, or inspired him with enough submission to
be raised upon his feet, and looked at.
"Who washed them, and put those bandages
where they were bruised and cracked? " asked
the Chemist, pointing to their altered state.
"The woman did."
"And is it she who has made you cleaner in
the face, too?",
"Yes, the woman."
Redlaw asked these questions to attract his
eyes towards himself, and with the same intent
now held him by the chin, and threw his wild
hair back, though he loathed to touch him. The
boy watched his eyes keenly, as if he thought it
needful to his own defence, not knowing what
he might do next; and Redlaw could see well,
that no change came over him.
" Where are they? " he inquired.
" The woman's out."
" I know she is. Where is the old man with
the white hair, and his son? "
"The woman's husband, d'ye mean?" inquired the boy.
"Aye. Where are those two?"
"Out. Something's the matter, somewhere.
They were fetched out in a hurry, and told me to
stop here."
" Come with me," said the Chemist, " and I'll
give you money."
"C ome where? and how much will you
"I'll give you more shillings than you ever
saw, and bring you back soon. Do you know
your way to where you came from? "
" You let me go," returned the boy, suddenly
twisting out of his grasp. " I'm notgoing to take
you there. Let me be, or I'll heave some fire at
you I"
He was down before it, and ready, with his
savage little hand, to pluck the burning coals
( t.

What the Chemist had felt, in observing the
effect of his charmed influence stealing over those
with whom he came in contact, was not nearly
equal to the cold vague terror with which he saw
this baby-monster put it at defiance. It chilled his
blood to look on the immoveable impenetrable
thing, in the likeness of a child, with its sharp
malignant face turned up to his, and its almost
infant hand, ready at the bars.
" Listen, boy!" he said. "L Ybu shall take me
where you please, so that you take me where the
people are very miserable or very wicked. I want
to do them good, and not to harm them. You
shall have money, as I Vave told you, and I will
bring you back. Get up! Come quickly I" He
made a hasty step towards the door, afraid of her
returning.
" Will you let me walk by myself, and never
hold me. nor yet touch me?" said the boy, slowly
withdrawing the hand with which he threatened,
and beginning to get up.
"I will "
"And let me go before, behind, or anyways ]
like?"
"I will I"
"Give me some money first then, and I'1
go."
The Chemist laid a few shillings, one by one
in his extended hand. To count them was beyond the boy's knowledge, but he said "one,"
every time, and avariciously looked at each as it
was given, and at the donor. HIe had nowhere to
put them, out of his hand, but in his mouth; and
he put them there.
Redlaw then wrote with his pencil on a leaf ol
his pocket-book, that the boy was with him; and
laying it on the table, signed to him to follow,
Keeping his rags together, as usual, the bo.
complied, and went out with his bare head anc
his naked feet into the winter night.
Preferring not to depart by the iron gate bn
which he had entered, where they were in dange3
of meeting herwhom he so anxiously avoided, th'
Chemist led the way, through some of those pas
sages among which the boy had lost himself, anc
by that portion of the building where he lived, t(
a small door of which he had the key. When the,
got into the street, he stopped to ask his guidcwho instantly retreated from him-if he kney
where they were.
The savage thing looked here and there, and a
length, nodding his head, pointed in the directiol
he designed to take. Redlaw going on at once
he followed, somewhat less suspiciously; shift
ing his money from his mouth into his hand, an,
back again into his mouth, and stealthily rubbin,
it bright upon his shreds of dress, as he wen
along.
Three times, in their progress, they were sid
by side. Three times they stopped, being sid
by side. Three times the Chemist glanced dow
at his face, and shuddered as it forced upon hit
one reflection.
The first occasion was when thsy were croes

tPE HA LUNTED MA'N.

14i

ltg an old churchyard, and Redlaw stopped
among the graves, utterly at a loss how to connect them with any tender, softening, or consolatory thought.
The second was, when the breaking forth of
the moon induced him to look up at the Heavens,
where he saw her in her glory, surrounded by a
host of stars he still knew by their names and
histories which human science has appended to
them; but where he saw nothing else he had
been wont to see, felt nothing he had been wont
to feel, in looking up there, on a bright night.
The third was when he stopped to listen to a
plaintive strain of music, but could only hear a
tune, made manifest to him by the dry mechanism of the instruments and his own ears, with no
address to any mystery within him, without a
whisper in it of the past, or of the future, powerless upon him as the sound of last year's running
water, or the rushing of last year's wind.
At each of these three times, he saw with horror that in spite of the vast intellectual distance
between them, and their being unlike each other
in all physical respects, the expression on the boy's
face was the expression on his own.
They journeyed on for some time-now through
such crowded places, that he often looked over his
shoulder, thinking he had lost his guide, but generally finding him within his shadow on his other
side; now by ways so quiet, that he could have
counted his short, quick, naked footsteps coming
on behind-until they arrived at a ruinous collection of houses, and the boy touched him and
stopped.
"In there " he said, pointing out one house
where there were scattered lights in the windows,
and a dim lantern in the doorway, with "Lodgings for Travellers " painted on it.
Redlaw looked about him; from the houses, to
the waste piece of ground on which the houses
stood, or rather did not altogether tumble down,.-nfenced, undrained, unlighted, and bordered by
a sluggish ditch: from that, to the sloping line of
arches, part of some neighboring viaduct or bridge
with which it was surrounded, and which lessened
gradually, towards them, until the last but one
was a mere kennel for a dog, the last a plundered
little heap of bricks; from that, to the child, close
to him, cowering and trembling with the cold, and
limping on one little foot, while he coiled the
other round his leg to warm it, yet staring at all
these things with that frightful likeness of expression so apparent in his face, that Redlaw
started from him.
"In there I" said the boy, pointing out the
house again. "I'll wait."
"Will they let me in?" asked Redlaw.
"Say you're a doctor," he answered with a
nod. "There's plenty ill here."
Looking back on his way to the house-door,
Redlaw saw him trail himself upon. the dust and
crawl within the shelter of the smallest arch, as
if he were a rat. He had no pity for the thing,
tut he was afraid Qf it; and when it looked out of

its den at him, he hurried to the house as a re.
treat.
" Sorrow, wrong, and trouble," said the Chemist, with a painful effort at some more distinct remembrance, "at least haunt this place, darkly.
He can do no harm, who brings forgetfulness of
such things here! "
With these words, he pushed the yielding door,
and went in.
There was a woman sitting on the stairs, either
asleep or forlorn, whose head was bent down on
her hands and knees. As it was not easy to pass
without treading on her, and as she was perfectly
regardless of his near approach, he stopped, and
touched her on the shoulder. Looking up, she
showed him quite a young face, but one whose
bloom and promise were all swept away, as if the
haggard winter should unnaturally kill the spring.
With little or no show of concern on his account, she moved nearer to the wall to leave him
a wider passage.
"What are you? " said Redlaw, pausing, with
his hand upon the broken stair-rail.
"What do you think I am?" she answered,
showing him her face again.
He looked upon the ruined temple of God, so
lately made, so soon disfigured; and something,
which was not compassion-for the springs in
which a true compassion for such miseries has its
rise, were dried up in his breast-but which was
nearer to it, for the moment, than any feeling that
had lately struggled into the darkening, but not
yet wholly darkened, night of his mind-mingled
a touch of softness with his next words.
"I am come here to give relief if I can," he
said. " Are you thinking of any wrong?"
She frowned at him, and then laughed; and
then her laugh prolonged itself into a shivering
sigh, as she dropped her head again, and hid her
fingers in her hair.
"Are you thinking of a wrong?" he asked,
once more.
"I am thinking of my life," she said, with a
momentary look at him.
He had a perception that she was one of many,
and that he saw the type of thousands when he
saw her, drooping at his feet.
" What are your parents?" he demanded.
"I had a good home once. My father was a
gardener, far away, in the country."
"Is he dead I"
" He's dead to me. All such things are dead to
me. You a gentleman and not know that I" She
raised her eyes again, and laughed at him.
"Girl I" said Redlaw sternly, "before this
death, of all such things, was brought about, was
there no wrong done to you? In spite of all
that you can do, does no remembrance of wrong
cleave to you? Are there not times upon times
when it is misery to you?"
So little of what was womanly was left In het
appearance, that now, when she burst into tears,
he stood amazed. But he was more amazed, and
much disquieted, to note that in her awakened

CIRISTRTi s BOOSfS.

recollecton of this wrong, the first trace of het
old humanity and frozen tenderness appeared to
show itself.
He drew a little off, and, in doing so, observed
that her arms were black, her face cut, and her
bosom bruised.
"What brutal hand has hurt you so?" he
asked.
"My own. I did it myself," she answered
luickly.
"It is impossible."
"I'll swear I did I He didn't touch me. I did
it to myself in a passion, and threw myself down
here. He wasn't near me. He never laid a hand
upon me I"
In the white determination of her face, confronting him with this untruth, he saw enough of
the last perversion and distortion of good surviving in that miserable breast, to be stricken
with remorse that he had ever come near her.
" Sorrow, wrong, and trouble!" he muttered,
turning his fearful gaze away. "All that connects her with the state from which she has fallen
has those roots I In the name of God, let me go
by l"
Afraid to look at her again, afraid to touch her,
afraid to think of having sundered the last thread
by which she held upon the mercy of Heaven, he
gathered his cloak about him, and glided swiftly
up the stairs.
Opposite to him, on the landing, was a door,
which stood partly open, and which, as he ascended, a man with a candle in his hand came forward from within to shut. But this man, on seeing him, drew back, with much emotion in his
manner, and, as if by a sudden impulse, mentioned his name aloud.
In the surprise of such a recognition there, he
stopped, endeavoring to recollect the wan and
startled face. He had no time to consider it, for,
to his yet greater amazement, old Philip came out
of the room, and took him by the hand.
"Mr. Redlaw," said the old man, "this is like
you, this is like you, sir I you have heard of it,
and have come after us to reder any help you
can. Ah, too late, too late i"
Redlaw, with a bewildered look, submitted to
be led into the room. A man lay there, on a
trckle-bed, and William Swidger stood at the
bedside.
"Too late I" murmured the old man, looking.
Wistfully into the Chemist's face; and the tears
stole down his cheeks.
"That's what 1 say, father," interposed his
Son in a low voice. "That's where it is, exactly.
To keep as quiet as ever we can while he's a
dozing, is the only thing to do. You're right,
father!"
Redlaw paused at the bedside, and looked
down on the figure that was stretched upon the
mattrss. It was that of a man who Ahould have
bean jin te vigor of his life, but ofi Whom it was
not likel that the sun would ever shine again.
lae ices of his f or ffty years' career had so,00.*^ ai ':.. \0 at /ai f f 1:......:*:

branded him, that, in comparison with thein
effects upon his face, the heavy hand of time upon
the old man's face who watched him had been
merciful and beautifying.
"Who is this?" asked the Chemist, looking
round.
" y son, George, Mr. Redlaw," said the old
man, wringing his hands. " My eldest son,
George, who was more his mother's pride than
all the rest I"
Redlaw's eyes wandered from the old man's
grey head, as he laid it down upon the bed, to the
person who had recognised him, and who had
kept aloof, in the remotest corner of the room.
He seemed to be about his own age; and although
he knew no such hopeless decay and broken man
as he appeared to be, there was something in the
turn of his figure, as he stood with his back towards him, and now went out at the door, that
made him pass his hand uneasily across his brow.
"William," he said in a gloomy whisper,
" who is that man?"
"Why you see, sir," returned Mr. William,
" that's what I say, myself. Why should a man
ever go and gamble, and the like of that, and let
himself down inch by inch till he can't let himself down any lower I"
" Has he done so?" asked Redlaw, glancing
after him with the same uneasy action as before.
"Just exactly that, sir," returned William
Swidger, "as I'm told. He knows a little about
medicine, sir, it seems; and having been wayfaring towards Londqn with my unhappy brother
that you see here,"-Mr. William passed his coatsleeve across his eyes-"and being lodging upstairs for the night-what I say, you see, is that
strange companions come together here sometimes-he looked in to attend upon him, and came
for us at his request. What a mournful spectacle,
sir I But that's where it is. It's enough to ki'
my father!"
Redlaw looked up, at these words, and iecalling where he was and with whom, and the spell
he carried with him-which his surprise had obScured-retired a little, hurriedly, debating with
himself whether to shun the house that moment,
or remain.
Yielding to a certain sullen doggedness, which
it seemed to be part of his condition to struggle
with, he argued for remaining.
" Was it only yesterday," he said, " when I observed the memory of this old man to be a tissue
of sorrow and trouble, and shall I be afraid, tonight, to shake it? Are such remembrances as
I can drive away, so precious to this dying
man that I need fear for int? No, I'll stay
here."
But he stayed, in fear and trembling none the
less for these words; and, shrouded in his black
cloak with his face turned from thet, stood away
from the bedside, listening to what they said, as
If he felt himself a demon in the place.
"Father I" murmured the sick man, rallying a
little from his stupor.

T&amp;I HA UNTED fA AN.

11l

"My boy! My son George I" said old Philip.
"You spoke, just now, of my being mother's
'avorite, long ago. It's a dreadful thing to think
low, of long ago I"
"No, no, no; " returned the old man. " Think
)f it. Don't say it's dreadful. It's not dreadful
o me, my son."
"It cuts yoa to the heart, father." For the
)ld man's tears were falling on him.
"Yes, yes," said Philip, "so it does; but it
loes me good. It's a heavy sorrow to think of
hat time, but it does me good, George. Oh,
hink of it too, think of it too, and your heart
vill be softened more and more! Where's my;on William? William, my boy, your mother
oved him dearly to the last, and with her latest
)reath said, ' Tell him I forgive him, blessed him,:nd prayed for him.' Those were her words to
ae. I have never forgotten them, and I'ml eightyeven I"
"Father " said the man upon the bed, "I
m dying, I know. I am so far gone, that I can
Lardly speak, even of what my mind most runs,n. Is there any hope for me beyond this
~ed? "
" There is hope," returned the old man, " for
11 who are softened and penitent. There is hope
3r all such. Oh 1" he exclaimed, clasping his
ands and looking up, " I was thankful, only yes3rday, that I could remember this unhappy son,,hen he was an innocent child. But what a com)rt is it, now, to think that even God himself has
iat remembrance of him! "
Redlaw spread his hands upon his face, and
hrnnk like a murderer.
"Ah I " feebly moaned the man upon the bed.
The waste since then, the waste of life, since
tel I "
" But he was a child once," said the old man.
Ie played with children. Before he lay down
n his bed at night, and fell into his guiltless rest,
e said his prayers at his poor mother's knee. I
ave seen him do it, many a time; and seen her
hy his head upon her breast, and kiss him. SorWvtfil as it was to her, and to me, to think of
lis, when he went so wrong, and when our hopes
ad plans for him were all broken, this gave him
ill a hold upon us, that nothing else could have
v[en. Oh, Father, so much better than the faaers upon earth Oh, Father, so much more
31icted by the errors of thy children! take this
-andertr back! Not as he is, but as he was
ien, let him cry to thee, as he has so often seemed
) cry to us I"
As the old man lifted lup his trembling hands,
ie son, for whom he made fhe supplication, laid
is sinking head against him for support and come ft, as if he were indeed the child of whom he
joke.
When did man ever tremble, as Redlaw tremled, in the silence that ensued He knew it
mist come upon them, knew that it was coming
"3- at.
" lIX time is very short, mybreath is shortsr,"
an

said the sick mall, supporting himself on one
arm, and with the other groping in the air, "and
I remember there is something on my mind concerning the man who was here just now. Father
and William-wait!-is there really anything in
black, out there? "
"Yes, yes, it is real," said his aged father.
"Is it a man?"
"What I say myself, George," interposed his
brother, bending kindly over him. "It's Mr.
Redlaw."
" I thought I had dreamed of him. Ask him
to come here."
The Chemist, whiter than the dying man, appeared before him. Obedient to the motion of
his hand, he sat upon the bed.
"It has been so ripped up to-night, sir," said
the sick man, laying his hand upon his heart,
with a look in which the mute, imploring agony
of his condition was concentrated, "by the sight
of my poor old father, and the thought of all the
trouble I have been the cause of, and all the wrong
and sorrow lying at my door, that-"
Was it the extremity to which he had come, or
was it the dawning of another change, that made
him stop?
"-that what I can do right, with my mind
running on so much, so fast, I'll try to do. There
was another man here. Did you see him?"
RIedlaw could not reply by any word; for when
he saw that fatal sign he knew so well now, of the
wandering hand upon the forehead, his voice died
at his lips. But he made some indicatien of assent.
"He is penniless, hungry, and destitute. He
is completely beaten down, and has no resource
at all. Look after him! Lose no time I know
he has it in his mind to kill himself."
It was working. It was on his face. His face
was changing, hardening, deepnining in all its
shades, and losing all its sorrow.
"Don't you remember! Don't you know
him?" he pursued.
He shut his face out for a moment, with the
hand that again wancered over his forehead, and
then it lowered on Redlaw, reckless, ruffianly, and
callous.
"Why, d-n you!" he said, scowling round,
" what have you, been doing to me here I I have
lived bold, and I mean to die bold. To the Devil
with' you!"
And so lay down, upon his bed, and put his
arms up, over his head and ears, as resolute from
that time to keep out all access, and to die in hie
indifference.
If Redlaw had been struck by lightning, it
could not have struck him from the bedside with
a more tremendous shock. But the old man, who
had left the bed while his son was speaking to
him, now returning, avoided it quickly likewise,
and with abhorrence.
" Where's my boy William? " 6aid the ol!an,
hurriedly. " William, come away from heit
We'll go home."

1m2

CfRIS ThAS BOOKS.

"Home, father " returned William. "Are
yon going to leave your own son?"
" Where's my own son? " replied the old man.
" Where? why there I"
"That's no son of mine," said Philip, trembling with resentment. "No such wretch as that,
has any claim on me. My children are pleasant
to look at, and they wait upon me, and get my
meat and drink ready, and are useful to me. I've
a right to it I'm eighty-seven!"
"You're old enough to be no older," muttered
William, looking at him grudgingly, with his
hands in his pockets. " I don't know what good
you are, myself. We could have a deal more
pleasure without you."
"Mij son, Mr. Redlaw!" said the old man.
" My son, too! The boy talking to me of my son!
Why, what has he ever done to give me any
pleasures I should like to know?"
"I don't know what you have ever done to
give me any pleasure," said William sulkily.
" Let me think," said the old man. "For how
many Christmas times running, have I sat in my
warm place, and never had to come out in the
cold night air; and have made good cheer, without being disturbed by any such uncomfortable,
wretched sight as him there? Is it twenty, William?"
"Nigher forty, it seems," he muttered. " Why,
when I look at my father, sir, and come to think
of it," addressing Redlaw, with an impatience
and irritation that were quite new, "I'm whipped
if I can see anything in him, but a calendar of
ever so many years of eating, and drinking, and
making himself comfortable, over and over
again."
"I-I'm eighty-seven," said the old man,
rambling on, childishly, and weakly, " and I don't
know as I ever was much put out by anything.
I'm not a going to begin now, because of what he
calls my son. He's not my son. I've had a power
of pleasant times. I recollect once-no I don'tno, it's broken off. It was something about a
game of cricket and a friend of mine, but it's
somehow broken off. I wonder who he was-I
suppose I liked him? And I wonder what became of him-I suppose he died? But I don't
know. And I don't care, neither; I don't care a
bit."
In his drowsy chuckling, and the shaking of
his head, he put his hands into his waistcoat
pockets. In one of them he found a bit of holly
(left there, probably last night), which he now
took out, and looked at.
"Berries, eh?" said the old man. "Alh It's
t pity thefre not good to eat. I recollect when I
was a little chap about as high as that, and out a
walking with-let me see-who was I out a walking with?-no, I don't remember how that was.
I don't remember as I ever walked with any one
larticular, or cared for any one, or any one for me.
Berries, eh? There's good cheer when there's
berries. Well; I ought to have my share of it,
fad to be waited on, and kept warm and comfort

able; for I'm eighty-seven, and a poor old man
I'm eigh-ty-seven. Eigh-ty-seven "
The drivelling, pitiable manner in which, as h(
repeated this, he nibbled at the leaves, and spal
the morsels out; the cold, uninterested eye with
which his youngest son (so changed) regarded
him; the determined apathy with which his eldesi
son lay hardened in his sin;-impressed them
selves no more on Redlaw's observation; for hi
broke his way from the spot to which his feet
seemed to have been fixed, and ran out of the
house.
His guide came crawling forth from his place
of refuge, and was ready for him before he reacheM
the arches.
"Back to the woman's? " he inquired.
"Back, quickly I" answered Rcdlaw. " Stol
nowhere on the way "
For a short distance the boy went on before
but their return was more like a flight than a walk
and it was as much as his bare feet could do, t(
keep pace with the Chemist's rapid strides
Shrinking from all who passed, shrouded in hit
cloak, and keeping it drawn closely about him
as though there were mortal contagion in an.
fluttering touch of his garments, he made no pause
until they reached the door by which they ha(
come out. IIe unlocked it with his key, went in
accompanied by the boy, and hastened through the
dark passages to his own chamber.
The boy watched him as he made the door fast
and withdrew behind the table when he looke(
around.
"Come!" he said. " Don't you touch me
You've not brought me here to take my mone:
away."
Redlaw threw some more upon the ground
He flung his body on it immediately, as if to hid!
it from him, lest the sight of it should tempt hin
to reclaim it; and not until he saw him seated b:
his lamp, with his face hidden in his hands, begar
furtively to pick it up. When he had done so, hi
crept near the fire, and sitting down in a grea
chair before it, took from his breast some brokes
scraps of food, and fell to munching, and to stal
ing at the blaze, and now and then to glancing a
his shillings, which he kept clenched up in a bunch.
in one hand.
" And this," said Redlaw, gazing on him witt
increasing repugnance and fear, "is the only on(
companion I have left on earth I"
How long it was before he was aroused fron
his contemplation of this creature whom hi
dreaded so-whether half an hour, or half tht
night-he knew not. But the stillness of the roon
was broken by the boy (whom he had seen listen
ing) starting up, and running towards the door.
" Here's the woman coming I" he exclaimed.
The Chemist stopped him on his way, at tht
moment when she knocked.
" Let me go to her, will you?" said the boy.
"Not now," returned the Chemist. " Stay
here. Nobody must pass in or out of the room
now. Who's that t "

THE HA UNTED JfAAY.

155

'It's I, sir," crIed Milly. "Pray, sir, let me
"No I not for the world 1" he said.
"Mr. Redlaw, Mr. Redlaw, pray, sir, let me
in."
"What is the matter?" he said, holding the
boy.
" The miserable man you saw, is worse, and
nothing I can say will wake him from his terrible
Infatuation. William's father has turned childish
in a moment. William himself his changed. The
shock has been too sudden for him; I cannot
understand him: he is not like himself. Oh, Mr.
Redlaw, pray advise me, help me I"
"No! No I No!" he answered.
"Mr. Redlaw! Dear sir I George has been
muttering in his doze, about the man you saw
there, who, he fears, will kill himself."
"Better he should do it, than come near me! "
"He says, in his wandering, that you know
him; that he was your friend once, long ago; that
he is the ruined father of a student here-my mind
misgives me, of the young gentleman who has
been ill. What is to be done? How is he to be
followed? How is he to be saved? Mr. Redlaw,
pray, oh, pray advise me! Help me I "
All this time he held. the boy, who was halfmad to pass him, and let her in.
"Phantoms I Punishers of impious thoughts!"
cried Redlaw, gazing round in anguish, "Look
upon me I From the darkness of my mind, let
the glimmering of contrition that I know is there,
shine up, and show my misery I In the material
world, as I have long taught, nothing can be
spared; no step or atom in the wondrous structure could be lost, without a blank being made in
the great universe. I know, now, that it is the
same with good and evil, happiness and sorrow,
in the memories of men. Pity me I Relieve me!"
There was no response, but her "Help me,
help me, let me in 1" and the boy's struggling to
get to her.
"Shadow of myself! Spirit of my darker
hours I" cried Redlaw, in distraction, "Come
back, and haunt me day and night, but take this
gift away I Or, if it must still rest with me, deprive me of the dreadful power of giving it to
others. Undo what I have done. Leave me benighted, but restore the day to those whom I have
cursed. As I have spared this woman from the
ff.At, and as I never will go forth again, but will
die here, with no hand to tend me, save this creature's who is proof against me,-hear me!"
The only reply still was, the boy struggling to
I get to her, while he held him back; and the cry
Increasing in its energy, " Help let me in. He
t was your friend once, how shall he be followed,
how shall he be saved? They are all changed,
there is no one else to help me, pray, pray, let me
i hlt'"

CHAPTER HI.
THE GIFT REVERSED.
NIGHT was still heavy in the sky. On opefi
plains, from hill-tops and from the decks of solitary ships at sea, a distant low-lying line, that
promised by-and-by to change to light, was visible
in the dim horizon; but its promise was remote
and doubtful, and the moon was striving with the
night-clouds busily.
The shadows upon Redlaw's mind succeeded
thick and fast to one another, and obscured its
light as the night-clouds hovered between the
moon and earth, and kept the latter veiled in
darkness. Fitful and uncertain as the shadows
which the night-clouds cast, were their concealments from him, and imperfect revelations to
him; and, like the night-clouds still, if the clear
light broke forth for a moment, it was only that
they might sweep over it, and make the darkness
deeper than before.
Without, there was a profound and solemn
hush upon the ancient pile of building, and its
buttresses and angles made dark shapes of mystery upon the ground, which now seemed to retire
into the smooth white snow and now seemed to
come out of it, as the moon's path was more or
less beset. Within, the Chemist's room was indistinct and murky, by the light of the expiring
lamp; a ghostly silence had succeeded to the
knocking and the voice outside; nothing was
audible but, now and then, a lowv sound among
the whitened ashes of the fire, as of its yielding
up its last breath. Before it on the ground the
boy lay fast asleep. In his chair, the Chemist
sat, as he had sat there since the calling at his
door had ceased-like a man turned to stone.
At such a time, the Christmas mfisic he had
heard before, began to play. He listened to it at
first, as he had listened in the churchyard; but
presently-it playing still, and being borne towards him on the night-air, in a low, sweet, melancholy strain-he rose, and stood stretching his
hands about him, as if there were some friend
approaching within his reach, on whom his desolate touch might rest, yet do no harm. As he did
this, his face became less fixed and wondering;
a gentle trembling came upon him; and at last
his eyes filled with tears, and he put his hands
before them, and bowed down his head.
His memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble,
had not come back to him; he knew that it was
not restored; he had no passing belief or hope
that it was. But some dumb stir within him
made him capable, again, of being moved by what
was hidden, afar off. in the music., If it were
only that it told him sorrowfully the value of what
he had lost, he thanked Heaven for it with a fervent gratitude.
As the last chord died upon his ear, he raised
his head to listen to its lingering vibration. Beyond the boy, so that his sleeping figure lay at ita
feet, the Phantom stood, Immoveable and silent,
with its eyes upon him.

164

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Ghastly it was, as it had ever been, but not so
nruel and relentless in its aspect-or he thought
or hoped so, as he looked upon it, trembling. It
was not alone, but in its shadowy hand it held
another hand.
And whose was that? Was the form that
stood beside it indeed Milly's, or but her shade
and picture? The quiet head was bent a little,
as her manner was, and her eyes were looking
down, as if in pity, on the sleeping child. A
radiant light fell on her face, but did not touch
the Phantom; for, though close beside her, it was
dark and colorless as ever.
" Spectre I" said the Chemist, newly troubled
as he looked, "I have not been stubborn or presumptluous in respect of her. Oh, do not bring
her here. Spare me that!"
"This is but a shadow," said the Phantom;
"when the morning shines, seek out the reality
whose image I present before you."
"Is it my inexorable doom to do so?" cried
the Chemist.
"It is," replied the Phantom.
"To destroy her peace, her goodness; to make
her what I am myself, and what I have made of
others I"
"I have said 'seek her out,'" returned the
Phantom. "t I have said no more."
" Oh, tell me," exclaimed Redlaw, catching at
the hope which he fancied might lie hidden In the
cwords. "Can I undo what I have done?"
"No," returned the Phantom.
"I do not ask for restoration to myself," said
Redlaw. "What I abandoned, I abandoned of
my own will, and have justly lost. But for those
to whom I have transferred the fatal gift; who
never sought it; who unknowingly received a
curse of which they had no warning, and which
they had no power to shun; can I do nothing?"
"Nothing," said the Phantom.
"If I cannot, can any one?"
The Phantom, standing like a statue, kept its
gaze upon him for a while; then turned its head
suddenly, and looked upon the shadow at its
side.
"Ah Can she?" crid Redlaw, still looking
upon the shade.
The Phantom released the hand it had retained
till now, and softly raised its own with a gesture
of dismissal. Upon that, her shadow, still prenerving the same attitude, began to move or melt
away.
" Stay," cried Redlaw, with an earnestness to
which he could not give enough expression.
"4 For a moment I As an act of mercy I I know
that some change fell upon me, when those
sounds were in the air just now. Tell me, have I
lost the power of harming her? May I go near
her witiout dread? Oh, let her give me any sign
of hope "
The PhantOm looked upon the shade as lie did
r ot at him-and gave no answer.
"At least, gay this-has she, henceforth, the

consciousness of any power to set right what I
have done?"
"She has not," the Phantom answered.
"Has she the power bestowed on her without
the consciousness?"
The Phantom answered: "Seek her out."
And her shadow slowly vanished.
They were face to face again, and looking on
each other as intently and awfully as at the time
of the bestowal of the gift, across the boy who
still lay on the ground between them, at the
Phantom's feet.
"Terrible instructor," said the Chemist, sinking on his knee before it, in an attitude of supplication, " by whom I was renounced, but by whom
I am revisited (in which, and in whose milder
aspect, I would fain believe I have a gleam of
hope), I will obey without inquiry, praying that
the cry I have sent up in the anguish of my soul
has been, or will be heard, in behalf of those
whom I have injured beyond human reparation.
But there is one thing-"
" You speak to me of what is lying here," the
Phantom interposed, and pointed with its finger
to the boy.
"I do," returned the Chemist. "You know
what I would ask. Why has this child alone been
proof against my infiuence, and why, why, have I
detected in its thoughts a terrible companionship
with mine?"
"This," said the Phantom, pointing to the
boy, " is the last, completest illustration of a human creature, utterly bereft of such remembrances
as you have yielded up. No softening memory of
sorrow, wrong, or trouble enters here, because
this wretched mortal from his birth has been
abandoned to a worse condition than the beasts,
and has, within his knowledge, no one contrast,
no humanising touch, to make a grain of such a
memory spring up in his hardened breast. All
within this desolate creature is barron wilderness.
All within the man bereft of what you have resigned, is the same barren wilderness. Woe to
such a man I Woe, tenfold, to the nation that
shall count its monsters such as thta, lying here
by hundreds and by thousands I "
Redlaw shrunk, appalled, from Phat he heard.
"There is not," said the Phantom, "one of
these-not one-but sows a harvest that mankind
MUST reap. From every seed of evil in this boy,
a field of ruin is grown that shall be gathered in,
and garnered up, and sown again in many places
in the world, until regions are overspread with
wickedness enough to raise the waters of another
Deluge. Open and unpunished Iaurder in a city's
streets would be less guilty in its daily toleration,
than one such spectacle as this.".
It seemed to look down upon the boy in his
sleep. Redlaw, too, looked down upon him with
a new emotion.
"There is not a father," said the Phantom,
"by whose side in his daily or his nightly walk,
these creaturespass; there is not a mother among
all the ranks of loving mothers in this land; there Lt

150

ClRIaISTMrAS B0rS.

" I wish I was in the army myself, if the child's
n the right," said Mrs. Tetterby, looking at her
husband, "for I have no peace of my life here.
I'm a slave-a Virginia slave;" some indistinct
association with their weak descent on the tobacco
trade perhaps suggested this aggravated expression to Mrs. Tetterby. "I never have a holiday,
or any pleasure at all, from year's end to year's
end I Why, Lord bless and save the child," said
Mrs. Tetterby, shaking the baby with an irritability hardly suited to so pious an aspiration, " what's
the matter with her now?"
Not being able to discover, and not rendering
the subject much clearer by shaking it, Mrs. Tetterby put the baby away in a cradle, and, folding
her arms, sat rocking it angrily with her
foot.
"How you stand there, 'lolphus," said Mrs.
Tetterby to her husband. "Why don't you do
something?"
"Because I don't care about doing anything,"
Mr. Tetterby replied.
"I'm sure Idon't," said Mrs. Tetterby.
"I'll take my oath Idon't," said Mir. Tetterby.
A diversion arose here among Johnny and his
five younger brothers, who, in preparing the family breakfast table, had fallen to skirmishing for
the temporary possession of the loaf, and were
buffeting one another with great heartiness; the
smallest boy of all, with precautions discretion,
hovering outside the knot of combatants, and
harassing their legs. Into the midst of this fray,
Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby both precipitated themselves with great ardor, as if such ground were
the only ground on which they could now agree;
and having, with no visible remains of their late
soft-heartedness, laid about them without any
lenity, and done much execution, resumed their
former relative positions.
"You had better read your paper than do
nothing at all," said Mrs. Tetterby.
"What's there to read in a paper?" returned
Mr. Tetterby, with excessive discontent.
"What?" said Mrs. Tetterby. "Police."
"It's nothing to me," said Tetterbv. " What
ao I care what people do, or are done to?"
Suicides," suggested Mrs. Tetterby.
"No business of mine," replied her husband.
"Births, deaths, and marriages, are those
nothing to you?" said Mrs. Tetterby.
"If the births were all over for good, and all today; and the deaths were all to begin to come off
to-morrow; I don't see why it should interest
me, till I thought it was a-coming to my turn,"
grumbled Tetterby. "As to marriages, I've done.t myself. I know quite enough about them."
To judge from the dissatisfied expression of
her face and manner, Mrs. Tetterby appeared to
entertain the same opinions as her husband; but
she opposed him, nevertheless, for the gratification of quarrelling with him.
" Oh, you're a consistent man," said Mrs. Tetterby, "an't you? You, with the screen of your
own making there, made of nothing else but bits

of newspapers, which you sit and read to tb#
children by the half-hour together 1"
"Say used to, if you please," returned her
husband. "You won't find me doing so any more.
I'm wiser now."
"Bah I wiser, indeed!" said Mrs. Tetterby.
"Are you better?"
The question sounded some discordant note in
Mr. Tetterby's breast. He ruminated dejectedly,
and passed his hand across and across his forehead.
" Better! " murmured Mr. Tetterby. " I don't
know as any of us are better, or happier either.
Better, is it?"
He turned to the screen, and traced about it
with his finger, until he found a certain paragraph
of which he was in quest.
" This used to be one of the-family favorites, I
recollect," said Tetterby, in a forlorn and stupid
way, "and used to draw tears from the children,
and make 'em good, if there was any little bickering or discontent among 'em, next to the story of
the robin redbreasts in the wood. ' Melancholy
case of destitution. Yesterday a small man,
with a baby in his arms, and surrounded by halfa-dozen ragged little ones, of various ages between ten and two, the whole of whom were
evidently in a famishing condition, appeared before the worthy magistrate, and made the follow.
ing recital:'-Hal I don't understand it, I'm
sure," said Tetterby; " I don't see what it has got
to do with us."
"Hlow old and shabby he looks," said Mrs.
Tetterby, watching him. "I never saw such a
change in a man. Ah! dear me, dear me, dear me,
it was a sacrifice I"
" What was a sacrifice?" her husband sourly
inquired.
M rs. Tetterby shook her head; and without replying in words, raised a complete sea-storm about.
the baby, by her violent agitation of the cradle.
"If you mean your marriage was a sacrifice,
my good woman-" said her husband.
"I do mean it," said his wife.
"Why, then I mean to say," pursued Mr. Tetterby, as sulkily and surlily as she, " that there
are two sides to that affair; and that I was the
sacrifice; and that I wish the sacrifice hadn't been
accepted."
" I wish it hadn't, Tetterby, with all my heart
and soul, I do assure you," said his wife. " You
can't wish it more than I do, Tetterby."
" I don't know what I saw in her," muttered
the newsman, " I'm sure;-certainly, if I saw anything, it's not there now. I was thinking so, last
night, after supper, by the fire. She's fat, she's
ageing, she won't bear comparison with most
other women."
"He's common-looking, he has no- air with
him, he's small, he's beginning to stoop, and he's
getting bald," muttered Mrs. Tetterby.
"I must have been half out of my mind when
I did it," muttered Mr. Tetterby.
"My eensee must have forsook me. That's

THE HA UNTED MA N.

155

10 one risen from the state of childlood, but shall
)e responsible in his or her degree for this enornity. There is not a country throughout the earth
m which it would not bring a curse. There is no
'eligion upon earth that it would not deny; there
s no people upon -earth it would not put to,hame."
The Chemist clasped his hands, and looked,
vith trembling fear and pity, from the sleeping
)oy to the Phantom, standing above him with its
inger pointing down.
"Behold, I say," pursued the Spectre, "tthe
terfect type of what it was your choice to be.
(our influence is powerless here, because from
his child's bosom you can banish nothing. His
houghts have been in 'terrible companionship'
vith yours, because you have gone down to his
innatural level. lie is the growth of man's indiference; you are the growth of man's presumpion. The beneficent design of Heaven is, in each
'ase, overthrown, and from the two poles of the
mmaterial world you come together."
The Chemist stooped upon the ground beside
he boy, and with the same kind of compassion
or him that he now felt for himself, covered him,s he slept, and no longer shrunk from him with.bhorrence or indifference.
Soon, now, the distant line on the horizon
trightened, the darkness faded, the sun rose red.nd glorious, and the chimney stacks and gables,f the ancient building gleamed in the clear air,
which turned the smoke and vapor of the city
nto a cloud of gold. The very sundial in his
hady corner, where the wind was used to spin:ith such un-windy constancy, shook off the
ner particles of snow that had accunulated on
is dull old face in the night, and looked out at
he little white wreaths eddying round and round
rim. Doubtless some blind groping of the mornrig made its way down into the forgotten crypt so
old and earthy, where the Norman arches were
talf buried in the ground, and stirred the dull sap
n the lazy vegetation hanging to the walls, and
sickened the slow principle of life within the
ittle world of wonderful and delicate creation
vhich existed there, with some faint knowledge
hat the sun was up.
The Tetterbys were up, and doing. Mr. Teterby took down the shutters of the shop, and,:trip ny strip, revealed the treasures of the winlow to the eyes, so proof against their seduc-,inr%, of Jerusalem Buildings. Adolphus had
een out so long already, that he was halfway on:) Morning Pepper. Five small Tetterbys, whose
en round eyes were much inflamed by soap and
riction, were in the tortures of a cool wash in
he back kitchen; Mrs. Tetterby presiding. John-.y, who.was pushed and hustled through his
oilet with. great rapidity when Moloch chanced,o be in an exacting frame of mind (which was
always the case), staggered up and down with
is charge before the shop door, under greater difIculties than usual; the weight of Moloch being
nuch increased by a complication of defences

against the cold, composed of knitted worstedwork, and forming a complete suit of chain-armor,
with a head-piece and blue gaiters.
It was a peculiarity of this baby to be always
cutting teeth. Whether they never came, or
whether they came and went away again, is not
in evidence; but it had certainly cut enough, on
the showing of Mrs. Tetterby, to make a handsome dental provision for the sign of the Bull and
Mouth. All sorts of objects were impressed for
the rubbing of its gums, notwithstanding that it
always carried, dangling at its waist (which was
immediately under its chin), a bone ring, large
enough to have represented the rosary of a young
nun. Knife-handles, umbrella-tops, the heads of
walking-sticks selected from the stock, the fingers
of the family in general, but especially of Johnny,
nutmeg-graters, crusts, the handles of doors, and
the cool knobs on the tops of pokers, were among
the commonest instruments indiscriminately applied for this baby's relief. The amount of electricity that must have been rubbed out of it in a
week, is not to be calculated. Still Mrs. Tetterby
always said " it was coming through, and then
the child would be herself; " and still it never did
come through, and the child continued to be somebody else.
The tempers of the little Tetterbys had sadly
changed with a few hours. Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby
themselves were not more altered than their offspring. Usually they were an unselfish, good-natured, yielding little race, sharing short-commons
when it happened (which was pretty often) contentedly and even generously, and taking a great
deal of enjoyment out of a very little meat. But
they were fighting now, not only for the soap and
water, but even for the breakfast which was yet
in perspective. The hand of every little Tetterby
was agaihst the other little Tetterbys; and even
Johnny's hand-the patient, much-enduring, and
devoted Johnny-rose against the baby I Yes.
Mrs. Tetterby, going to the door by a mere accident, saw him viciously pick out a weak place in
the suit of armor, where a slap Would tell, and
slap that blessed child.
Mrs. Tetterby had him in the parlor, by the
collar, in that same flash of time, and repaid him
the assault with usury thereto.
" You brute, you murdering little boy," said
Mrs. Tetterby. "Had you the heart to do it?"
" Why don't her teeth come through, then,"
retorted Johnny, in a loud rebellious voice, " instead of bothering me? How would you like it
yourself?"
Like it, sir I" said Mrs. Tetterby, relieving
him of his dishonored load.
"Yes, like it," said Johnny. "How would
you? Not at all. If you was me, you'd go for a
soldier. I will, too. There an't no babies in the
army."
Mr. Tetterby, who had arrived upon the scene
of action, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, instead of
correcting the rebel, and seemed rather struck hj
this view of a military lfe.

TIE HA U=NTED MAN.

the only way in which I can explain it to myself,"
said Mrs. Tetterby, with elaboratin.
In this mood they sat down to breakfast. The
little Tetterbys were not habituated to regard that
meal in the light of a sedentary occupation, but
discussed it as a dance or trot; rather resembling
a savage ceremony, in the occasional shrill whoops,
and brandishings of bread and butter, with which
it was accompanied, as well as in the intricate
filings off into the street and back again, and
the hoppings up and down the doorsteps, which
were incidental to the performance. In the present instance, the contentions between these Tetterby children for the milk-and-water jug, common to all, which stood upon the table, presented
so lamentable an instance of angry passions risen
very high indeed, that it was an outrage on the
memory of Dr. Watts. It was not until Mr. Tetterby had driven the whole herd out of the front
door, that a moment's peace was secured; and
even that was broken by the discovery that Johnny
had surreptitiously come back, and was at that instant choking in the jug like a ventriloquist, in
his indecent and rapacious haste.
"These children will be the death of me at
last!" said Mrs. Tettcrby, after banishing the
culprit. "And the sooner the better, I think."
"Poor people," said Mr. Tetterby, " ought not
to have children at all. They give us no pleasur&amp;'."
He was at that moment taking up the cup
which Mrs. Tetterby had rudely pushed towards
him, and Mrs. Tetterby was lifting her own cup
to her lips, when they both stopped, as if they
were transfixed.
"Herel Mother! Father!" cried Johnny,
running into the room. "Here's Mrs. William
coming down the street!"
And if ever, since tho world began, a young
boy took a baby from the cradle with the care of
an old nurse, and hushed and soothed it tenderly,
and tottered away with it cheerfully, Johnny was
that boy, and Moloch was that baby, as they went
out together.
Mr. Tetterby put down his cup; Mrs. Tetterby
put down her cup. Mr. Tetterby rubbed his forehead; Mrs. Tetterby rubbed hers. Mr. Tctterby's
face began to smooth and brighten; Mis. Tetterby's began to smooth and brighten.
" Why, Lord forgive me," said Mr. Tetterby to
himself, "what evil tempers have I been giving
way to? What has been the matter here 1"
" Ho7 could I ever treat him ill again, after all
I said an i felt last night!" sobbed Mrs. Tetterby,, with het apron to her eyes.
i "Am I a brute," said Mr. Tetterby, "or is
there any good in me at all? Sophia! My little
woman!"
"'Dolphus dear," returned his wife.
"I-I've been in a state of mind," said Mr.
Tetterby, " that I can't abear to think of, Sophy."
"Ohl It's nothing to what I've been in,
Dolf," cried his wife in a great burst of grief.
" My Sophia," said Mr. Tetterby, "don't take

on. I never shall forgive myself. 1 must have
nearly broke your heart I know."
" No, Dolf, no. It was me I Me I" cried Mrs
Tetterby.
" My little woman," said her husband, "don't.
You make me reproach myself dreadful, when
you show such a noble spirit. Sophia, my dear,
you don't know what I thought. I showed it bad
enough, no doubt; but what I thought, my little
woman!-"
"Oh, dear Dolf, don't! Don't I" cried his
wife.
"Sophia," said Mr. Tetterby, "I must reveal
it. I couldn't rest in my conscience unless I
mentioned it. My little woman â"
" Mrs. William's very nearly here I" screamed
Johnny at the door.
"My little woman, I wondered how," gasped
Mr. Tetterby, supporting himself by his chair, " I
wondered how I had ever admired you-I forgot
the precious children you have brought about me,
and thought you didn't look as slim as I could
wish. I-I never gave a recollection," said Mr.
Tetterby, with severe self-accusation, "to the
cares you've had as my wife, and along of me and
mine, when you might have had hardly any with
another man, who got on better and was luckier
than me (anybody might have found such a man
easily, I am sure); and I quarrelled with you for
having aged a little in the rough years you've
lightened for me. Can you believe it, my little
woman? I hardly can myself."
Mrs. Tetterby, in a whirlwind of laughing and
crying, caught his face within her hands, and
held it there.
"Oh, Dolf I" she cried. "I am so happy that
you thought so; I am so grateful that you thought
so I For I thought that you were common-looking, Dolf; and so you are, my dear, and may you
be the commonest of all sights in my eyes, till you
close them with your owngood hands. I thought
that you were small; and so you are, and I'll
make much of you because you are, and more of
you because I love my husband. I thought
that you began to stoop; and so you do, and you
shall lean on me, and I'll do all I can to keep you
up. I thought there was no air about you; but
there is, and it's the air of home, and that's the
purest and the best there is, and GOD bless home
once more, and all belonging to it, Dolf "
"Hurrah I Here's Mrs. William!" cried
Johnny.
So she was, and all the children with her; and
as she came in, they kissed her, and kissed one
another, and kissed the baby, and kissed their
father and mother, and then ran back and flocked
and danced about her, trooping on with her in
triumph.
Mr. and 'Mrs. Tetterby were not a bit behindhand in the warmth of their reception. They
were as much attracted to her as the children
were; they ran towards her, kissed her hands,
pressed round her, could not receive her ardently
or enthusiastically enough. She came among them

CfBRISTZAS BOOKS.

lke the spirit, of all goodness, affection, gentle consideration, love, and domesticity.
" What I are you all so glad to see me, too,
this bright Christmas morning?" said Milly,
clapping her hands in a pleasant wonder. " Oh
dear, how delightful this is I"
More shouting from the children, more kissing, more trooping round her, more happiness,
more love, more joy, more honor, on all sides,
than she could bear.
" Oh dear 1 " said MIilly, " what delicious tears
you make me shed I How can I ever have deserved
this I What have I done to be so loved I"
"Who can help it I" cried Mr. Tetterby.
"Who can help it I" cried Mrs. Tetterby.
"Who can help it I" echoed the children, in a
joyful chorus. And they danced and trooped
about her agaib, and clung to her, and laid their
rosy faces against her dress, and kissed and fondled it, and could not fondle it, or her, enough.
"I never was so moved," said Milly, drying her
eyes, "as I have been this morning. I must tell
you, as soon as I can speak.-Mr. Redlaw came to
me at sunrise, and with a tenderness in his manner, more as if I had been his darling daughter
than myself, implored me to go with him to where
William's brother George is lying ill. We Went
together, and all the way along he was so kind,
and so subdued, and seemed to put such trust and
hope in me, that I could not help crying with
pleasure. When we got to the house, we met a
woman at the door (somebody had bruised and
hurt her, I am afraid), who caught me by the
hand, and blessed me as I passed."
"She was right," said Mr. Tetterby. MArs.
VTetterby said she Was right. All the children
cried out she was right.
" Ah, but there's more than that," said Milly.
"When we got up-stairs, into the room, the sick
man who had lain for hours in a state from which
no effort could rouse him, rose up in his bed, and,
bursting into tears, stretched out his arms to me,
and said, that he had led a misspent life, but that
he was truly repentant now, in his sorrow for the
past, which was all as plain to him as a great
prospect from which a dense black cloud had
cleared away, and that he entreated me to ask his
poor old father for his pardon and his blessing,
and to say a prayer beside his bed. And when I
did so, Mr. Redlaw joined in it so fervently, and
then so thanked and thanked me, and thanked
Heaven, that my heart quite overflowed, and I
could have done nothing but sob and cry, if the
sick man had not begged me to sit down by him,
-which made me quiet of course. As I sat there,
he held my hand in his until he sunk in a doze;
and even then, when I withdrew my hand to leave
him to come here (which Mr. Redlaw was very
earnest indeed in wishing me to do), his hand felt
for mine, so that some one else, was obliged to
take my plane and make believe to give him my
hand- back. Oh dear, oh dear," said Milly, sobblng, "Hew thankful anf how happy I should
feel ad&amp; de feel, for al this I"

While she was speaking, Redlaw had come ln,
and, after pausing for a moment to observe the
group of which she was the centre, had silently
ascended the stairs. Upon thbse stairs he now
appeared again; remaining there, while the young
student passed him, and came running down.
"Kind nurse, gentlest, best of creatures," he
said, falling on his knee to her, and catching a,
her hand, "forgive my cruel ingratitude! "
"Oh dear, oh dear!" cried Milly innocently,
"here's another of them! I Oh dear, here's somebody else who likes me. What shall I ever do I"
The guileless, simple way in which she said it,
and in which she put her hands before her eyes
and wept for very happiness, was as touching as
it was delightful.
"I was not myself," he said. "I don't know
what it was-it was some consequence of my disorder perhaps-I was mad. But I am so, no
longer. Almost as I speak, I am restored. I
heard the children crying out your name, and the
shade passed from me at the very sound of it.
Oh don't weep I Dear Milly, if you could read
my heart, and only know with what affection and
what grateful homage it is glowing, you would
not let me see you weep. It is such deep reproach."
"No, no," said Milly, "it's not that. It's not
indeed. It's joy. It's wonder that you should
think it necessary to ask me to forgive so little,
and yet it's pleasure that you do."
" And will you come again? and will you finish
the little curtain?"
"No," said Milly, drying her eyes, and shaking her head. "You won't care for my needlework now."
"Is it forgiving me, to say that?"
She beckoned him aside, and whispered in his
ear.
"There is news from your home, Mr Ed
mund."
"News? How?"
"Either your not writing when you were very
ill, or the change in your handwriting when you
began to be better, created some suspicion of the
truth; however, that is-but you're sure you'll
not be the worse for any news, if it's not bad
news?"
"Sure."
"Then there's some one come I" said Milly.
"My mother?" asked the student, glancing
round involuntarily towards Redlaw, who had
come down from the stairs.
"Hush! No," said Milly.
" It can be no one else."
" Indeed? " said Milly, "are you sure?"
"It is not â." Before he could say more
she put her hand upon his mouth.
"Yes it is I" said Milly. "The young lady
(she is very like the miniature, Mr. Edmund, but
the is prettier) was too unhappy to rest without
satisfying her doubts, and Came up, last night,
with a little servant-maid. As you always dated
your letters from the college, she came there; and

t'HE HA UNTgD MAN.

sftte I saw Mr. Redlaw this morning, TI Oanter.
-Se likes me too I" said Milly. "Oh dear,
at's another I"
"This morning I Where is she now?"
"' Why, she is now," said Milly, advancing her
ps to his ear, " in my little parlor in the Lodge,
id waiting to see you."
He pressed her hand, and was darting off, but
ie detained him.
" Mr. Redlaw is much altered, and has told me
ds morning that his memory is impaired. Be
Dry considerate to him, Mr. Edmund; he needs,at from us all."
The young man assured her, by a look, that
3r caution was not ill-bestowed; and as he
asscd the Chemist on his way out, bent respectlly and with an obvious interest before him.
Redlaw returned the salutation courteously
id even humbly, and looked after him as he
issed on. He drooped his head upon his hand
0o, as trying to re-awaken something he had lost.
ut it was gone.
The abiding change that had come upon him
nee the influence of the music, and the Phan)m's reappearance, was, that he now truly felt
)w much he had lost, and could compassionate
is own condition, and contrast it, clearly, with
Le natural State of those who Were around him.
i this, an interest in those who were around
im was revived, and a meek, submissive sense
f his calamity was bred, resembling that which
)metimes obtains in age, When its mental pow-s are weakened, without insensibility or stllentss being added to the list of its infirmities.
He was conscious that, as he redeemed, through
illy, more and more of the evil he had done, and
a he was more and more with her, this change
pened itself within him. Therefore, and berlse of the attachment she inspired him with
lt without other hope), he felt that he was:ite dependent on her, and that she was his staff
i his affliction.
So, when she asked him whether they should
) home now, to where the old man and her husand were, and he readily replied "yes "-being
nxious in that regard-he put his arm through
ers, and walked beside her; not as if he were
te wise and learned man to whom the wonders
f nature were an open book, and hers were the
ninstructed mind, but as if their two positions
rere reversed, and he knew nothing, and she all.
He saw the children throng about her, and caess her, as he and she went away together thuis,
ut of the house; he heard the ringing of their
iughter, and their merry voices; he saw their
right faces, clustering round him like flowers;
e witnessed the renewed coatnteintmet and affecion of their parants; he breathid the simlple air
f their poot htAde, restored t Its t irquilllty;
e thought of the unWlhOlSlotn, bligit he had
lied upon It, Stid might, blti for her, haVe been
'iffuasln then; infi per-laps it is no wender that
'e *alikd Suibrisftvsey besie hier, and drew her
'entl bosom tlesaef to his own

When they arrived at the Lodge, the old man
was sitting in his chair in the chimney-corner,
with his eyes fixed on the ground, and his son
was leaning against the opposite side of the fire.
place, looking at him. As she came in at the door,
both started and turned round towards her, and a
radiant change came upon their faces.
" Oh dear, dear, dear, they are pleased to see
me like the rest I " cried Milly, clapping her hands
in an ecstasy, and stopping short. " Here are two
more I"
Pleased to see her I Pleasure was no word for
it. She ran into herhusband's arms, thrown wide
open to receive her, and he would have been glad
to have her there, with her head lying on his shoulder, through the short winter's day. But the old
man couldn't spare her. He had arms for her too,
and he locked her in them.
"Why, where has tmy quiet Mouse been all
this time?" said the old man. " She has been a
long while away. I find that it's impossible forme
to get on without Mouse. I-where's my son Wil
liam?-I fancy I have been dreaming, William."
"That's what I say myself, father," returned
his son. "I have been in an ugly sort of dream,
I think.-How are you, father? Are you pretty
well? "
"Strong and brave, my boy," returned the old
man.
It was quite a sight to see Mr. William shaking hands with his father, and patting him On the
back, and rubbing him gently down with his hand,
as if he could not possibly do enough to show an
interest in him.
" What a wonderful man you are, father I-How
are you, father? Are you really pretty heartyf
though? " said William, shaking hands With him
again, and patting him again, and rubbing him
gently down again.
" I never was fresher or stouter in my life, my
boy."
"What a wonderful man you are, father I But
that's exactly where it is," said Mr. William, with
enthusiasm. "When I think of all thatmyfather's
gone through, and all the chances and changes,
and sorrows and troubles, that have happenied to
him in the course of his long life, tnd under which
his head has grown grey, and years upon years
have gathered on it, I feel as if we ouldn't do
enough to honor the old gentleman, and make his
old age easy.-How are you, father? Are you
really pretty well, though?"
Mr. William might never have left off repeating this inquiry and shaking hands with him
again, and patting him again, and ribbing him
down again, if the old man had not espied the
Chemist, whom until now he had not seen.
"I ask your pardon, Mr. Hedlaw," said Philip,
'L but didn't know you were here, siar or. Should
have made less free. It reminds me, Mr, Rdela*4
seeing you here on a Christmas mornini, of the
time when you was a student yourself, and worl-d
so hard that you was backwards and bre, lrls in
our library even at Christmas time. Hta tB:i

160

CGRISTMAS BOOKS.

I'm old enough to remember that; and I remember it right well, I do, though I am eighty-seven.
It was after you left here, that my poor wife died.
You remember my poor wife, Mr. Redlaw?"
The Chemist answered yes.
"Yes," said the old man. "She was a dear
creetur.-I recollect you come here one Christmas
morning with a young lady-I ask your pardon,
Mr. Redlaw, but I think it was a sister you was
very much attached to?"
The Chemist looked at him, and shook his
head. "I had a sister," he said vacantly. lie
knew no more.
"One Christmas morning," pursued the old
man, " that you come here with her-and it began
to snow, and my wife invited the young lady to
walk in, and sit by the fire that is always a burning on Christmas day in what used to be, before
our ten poor gentleman commuted, our great Dinner Hall. I was there; and I recollect, as I was
stirring up the blaze for the young lady to warm
her pretty feet by, she read the scroll out loud,
that is underneath that picter. 'Lord, keep my
memory green I ' She and my poor wife fell a talking about it; and it's a strange thing to think of,
now, that they both said (both being so unlike to
die) that it was a good prayer, and that it was one
they would put up very earnestly, if they were called away young,with reference to those who were
dearest to them. 'My brother,' says the young
lady-' My husband,' says my poor wife-' Lord,
keep his memory of me, green, and do not let me
be forgotten I'"
Tears more painful, and more bitter than he
had ever shed in all his life, coursed down Redlaw's face. Philip, fully occupied in recalling his
story, had not observed him until now, nor Milly's anxiety that he should not proceed.
" Philip I" said Redlaw, laying his hand upon
his arm, "I am a stricken man, on whom the hand
of Providence has fallen heavily, although deservedly. You speak to me, my friend, of what I
cannot follow; my memory is gone."
" Merciful power I " cried the old man.
"I have lost my memory of sorrow, wrong,
and trouble," said the Chemist; " and with that I
have lost all man would remember 1"
To see old Philip's pity for him, to see him
wheel his own great chair for him to rest in, and
look-down upon him with a solemn sense of his
bereavement, was to know in some degree, how
precious to old age such recollections are.
The boy came running in, and ran to Milly.
"Here's the man," he said, "in the other
eoom. I don't want him."
" What man does he mean?" asked Mr. Wiljlam.
" Hush " Psaid Milly.
Obedient to a sign from her, he and his old
Iother softly withdrew. As they went out, unnoticed, Redlaw beckoned to the boy to come to
'I like the woman best," he answered, holdIng to her skirts.....

' You are right," said Redlaw, with a fail
smile. " But you needn't fear to come to me.
am gentler than I was. Of all the world, to yoi
poor child!"
The boy still held back at first; but yieldin
little by little to her urging, he consented to al
proach, and even to sit down at his feet. As Rer
law laid his hand upon the shoulder of the chil.
looking on him with compassion and a fellow-fee
ing, he put out his other hand to Milly. St
stooped down on that side of him, so that sl:
could look into his face; and after silence said:
"Mr. Redlaw, may I speak to you? "
" Yes," he answered, fixing his eyes upon he
"Your voice and music are the same to me."
"May I ask you something?"
"What you will."
"Do you remember what I said, when
knocked at your doorlast night? About one wt
was your friend once, and who stood on the verr
of destruction.
"Yes. I remember," he said, with some hee
tation.
" Do you understand it?"
He smoothed the boy's hair-looking at hi
fixedly the while, and shook his head.
"This person," said Milly, in her clear, so
voice, which her mild eyes, looking at him, mad
clearer and softer, "I found soon afterwards.
went back to the house, and with Heaven's hell
traced him. I was not too soon. A very littl
and I should have been too late."
l e took his hand from the boy, and laying
on the back of that hand of hers, whose timid an
yet earnest touch addressed him no less apper
ingly than her voice and eyes, looked more i
tently on her.
" He is the father of Mr. Edmund, the youn
gentleman we saw just now. His real name i
Longford.-You recollect the name?"
"I recollect the name."
"And the man?"
"No, not the man. Did he ever wrong me?'
"Yes I"
" Ah I Then it's hopeless-hopeless."
He shook his head, and softly beat upon th
hand he held, as though mutely asking her conmiseration.
" I did not go to Mr. Edmund last night," sai
Milly. â"You will listen to me just the same a
if you did remember all?"
"To every syllable you say."
"Both, because I did not know, then, that thi
really was his father, and because I was fearful o
the effect of such intelligence upon him, after hi
illness, if it should be. Since I have known wh
this person is, I have not gone either; but this i
for another reason. He has long been separate(
from his wife and son-has been a stranger to hi!
home almost from his son's infancy, I learn fron
him-and has abandoned and deserted what hi
should have held mostdear. In all that time, hi
has been falling from the state of a gentleman
more and more, until-" she rose up, hastily, an(

THE HA UINTED MAN.

161

noing out for a moment, returned, accompalied by the wreck that Redlaw had beheld last
light.
"Do you know me? " asked the Chemist.
"I should be glad," returned the other, " and
hat is an unwonted word for me to use, if I could
iswer no."
The Chemist looked at the man, standing in
ielf-abasement and degradation before him, and
wvould have looked longer, in an effectual struggle
for enlightenment, but that Milly resumed her
Late position by his side, and attracted his attenive gaze to her own face.
"See how low he is sunk, how lost he is!"
3he whispered, stretching out her arm towards
tim, without looking from the Chemist's face.
' If you could remember all that is connected with
im, do you not think it would move your pity to
~efect that one you ever loved (do not let us mind
tlow long ago, or in what belief that he has foreited), should come to this?"
"I hope it would," he answered. "I believe
[t would."
His eyes wandered to the figure standing near;he door, but came back speedily to her, on whom
he gazed intently, as if he strove to learn some
lesson from every tone of her voice, and every
beam of her eyes.
"I have no learning, and you have much," said
A.illy: " I am not used to think, and you are always thinking. May I tell you why it seems to
me a good thing for us, to remember wrong that
ias been done us?"
"Yes."
"That we may forgive it."
"Pardon me, great Heaven I" said Redlaw,
ifting up his eyes, " for having thrown away thine
)wn high attribute!"
"And if," said Milly, "if your memory should
ne day be restored, as we will hope and pray it
nay be, would it not be a blessing to you to recall
t once a wrong and its forgiveness?"
He looked at the figure by the door, and fastened his attentive eyes on her again; a ray of
Dlearer light appeared to him to shine into his
mind, from her bright face.
"He cannot go to his abandoned home. He
does not seek to go there. He knows that he
could only carry shame and trouble to those he
has so cruelly neglected; and that the best reparation he can make them now, is to avoid them. A
very little money carefully bestowed, would remove him to some distant place, where he might
live and do no wrong, and make such atonement
as is left within his power for the wrong he has
done. To the unfortunate lady who is his wife,
and to his son, this would be the best and kindest
boon that their best friend could give them-one
too that they need never know of; and to him,
shattered in reputation, mind, and body, it might
be salvation."
He took her head between his hands, and kissed
it, and said: " It shall be done. I trust to you to
dc it for me, now and secretly; and to tell him

that I would forgive him, if I were so happy as to
know for what."
As she rose, and turned her beaming face tow.
ard the fallen man, implying that her mediation
had been successful, he advanced a step, and
without raising his eyes, addressed himself tc
Redlaw.
"You are so generous," he said, "-you ever
were-that you will try to banish your rising sense
of retribution in the spectacle that is before you.
I do not try to banish it from myself, Redlaw. If
you can, believe me."
The Chemist entreated Milly, by a gesture, to
come nearer to him: and, as he listened, looked
in her face, as if to find in it the clue to what he
heard.
" I am too decayed a wretch to make professions; I recollect my own career too well, to array any such before you. But frbm the day on
which I made my first step downward, in dealing
falsely by you, I have gone down with a certain,
steady, doomed progression. That, I say."
Redlaw, keeping her close at his side, turned
his face towards the speaker, and there was sorrow in it. Something like mournful recognition
too.
"I might have been another man, my life
might have been another life, if I had avoided that
first fatal step. I don't know that it would have
been. I claim nothing for the possibility. Your
sister is at rest, and better than she could have
been with me, if I had continued even what you
thought me: even what I once supposed myself
to be."
Redlaw made a hasty motion with his hand,
as if he would have put that subject on one side.
"I speak," the other went on, "like a man
taken from the grave. I should have made my
own grave, last night, had it not been for this
blessed hand."
"Oh, dear, he likes me tool" sobbed Milly,
under her breath. " That's another."
" I could not have put myself in your way, last
night, even for bread. But, to-day, my recollection of what has been between us is so strongly
stirred, and is presented to me, I don't know
how, so vividly, that I have dared to come at her
suggestion, and to take your bounty, and to thank
you for it, and to beg you, Redlaw, in your dying
hour, to be as merciful to me in your thoughts, as
you are in your deeds."
He turned towards the door, and stopped a
moment on his way forth.
"I hope my son may interest you, for his
mother's sake. I hope he may deserve to do so,
Unless my life should be preserved a long time,
and I should know that I have not misused your
aid, I shall never look upon him more."
Going out, he raised his eyes to Redlaw for
the first time. Redlaw, whose steadfast gaze was
fixed upon him, dreamily held out his hand. He
returned and touched it-little more-with both
his own-and bending down his head, went slow*
ly out.

CHIRISTXAS BOOKS.

In the few moments that elapsed, while Milly
silently took him to the gate, the Chemist dropped
into his chair, and covered his face with his hands.
Seeing him thus, when She came back, accompanied by her husband and his father (who were
both greatly concerned for him), she avoided disturbing him, or permitting him to be disturbed;
and kneeled down near the chair, to put some
warm clothing on the boy.
"That's exactly where it is. That's what I
always say, father I" exclaimed her admiring husband. "There's a motherly feeling in Mrs. William's breast that must and will have went!"
" Ay, ay," said the old man; you're right. My
son William's right "
"It happens all for the best, Milly dear, no
doubt," said Mr. William, tenderly, "that we
have no children of our own; and yet I sometimes
wish you had one to love and cherish. Our little
dead child that you built such hopes upon, and
that never breathed the breath of life âit has made
you quiet-like, Milly."
"I am very happy in the recollection of it,
'William dear," she answered. "I think of it
every day."
" I was afraid you thought of it a good deal."
"Don't say afraid; it is a comfort to me; it
speaks to me in so many ways. The innocent
thing that never lived on earth, is like an angel
to me, William."
"You are like an angel to father and me,"
said Mr. William, softly. "I know that."
* "When I think of all those hopes I built upon
It, and the many times I sat and pictured to mySelf the little smiling face upon my bosom that
elter lay there, and the sweet eyes turned up to
mine that never opened to the light," said Milly,
aIt can feel a greater tenderness, I think, for all
e disappointed hopes in which there is no harm.
iWhen I see a beautiful child in its fond mother's,I love it all the better, thinking that my
d might have been like that, and might have
ide my heart as proud and happy.": daw raised his head, and looked towards
"'A All through life, it seems by me," she cond,: " to tell me something. For poor neglecthildren, my little child pleads as if it were
ll d had a voice I knew, with which to
se to0 mne. When I hear of youth in suffering
t m, I think that my child might have come
thl:a.perhaps, and that God took it from me in
M ey. Even in age and grey hair, such as
Ier5 i t Is present: saying that it too might
iid to be old, long and long after you and
one, and to have needed the respect and
ol loyouiger people."
er uiet voice was quieter than ever, as she
her-husband's arm, and laid her head against
S G leln love me so, that sometimes I half
I i lly hancy, William-they have some
Kn nw of, of feeling for my little child,
IUd me, and understanding why their love is pre

cious to me. If I have been quiet since, I hawi
been more happy, William, in a hundred ways.
Not least happy, dear, in this-that even when
my little child was born and dead but a few days,
and I was weak and sorrowful, and could not help
grieving a little, the thought arose, that if I tried
to lead a good life, I should meet in Heaven a
bright creature, who would call me, Mother I "
Redlaw fell upon his knees, with a loud cry.
" O Thou," he said, " who, through the teaching of pure love, hast graciously restored me to
the memory which was the memory of Christ
upon the cross, and of all the good who perished
in His cause, receive my thanks, and bless
her!"
Then he folded her to his heart; and Milly,
sobbing more than ever, cried, as she laughed,
"l e is come back to himself I He likes me very
much indeed, too? Oh, dear, dear, dear me,
here's another I"
Then, the student entered, leading by the hand
a lovely girl, who was afraid to come. And Redlaw so changed towards him, seeing in him and
in his youthful choice, the softened shadow of
that chastening passage in his own life, to which,
as to a shady tree, the dove so long imprisoned in
his solitary ark might fly for rest and company,
fell upon his neck, entreating them to be his
children.
Then, as Christmas is a time in which, of all
times in the year, the memory of every remediable
sorrow, wrong, and trouble in the world around
us, should be active with us, not less than our
own experiences, for all good, he laid his hand
upon the boy, and, silently calling Him to witnesf
who laid His hand on children in old time, re
buking, in the majesty of his prophetic knowl
edge, those who kept them from him, vowed to
protect him, teach him, and reclaim him.
Then, he gave his right hand cheerily t&lt;
Philip, and said that they would that day hold P
Christmas dinner in what used to be, before the
ten poor gentlemen commuted, their great Dinner Hall; and that they would bid to it as many
of that Swidger family, who his son had told
him, were so numerous that they might join hands
and make a ring round England, as could be
brought together on so short a notice.
And it was that day done. There were so
many Swidgers there, grown up and children,
that an attempt to state them in round numbers
might engender doubts, in the distrustful, of the
teracity of this history. Therefore the attempt
shall not be made. But there they were, by dozens and scores-and there was good news and
good hope there, ready for them, of George, who
had been visited again by his father and brother,
and by Milly, and again left in a quiet sleep.
There, present at the dinher, too, were the
Tetterbys, including young Adolphus, who arrived in his prismatic comforter, in good time
for the beef. Jorhny and the baby were too late,
of course, and came in all on one side, the oene
exhausted, the other in a supposed state of

Tf fA UYATED MAN.

Lble-tooth; but that was L.~,*mary, ad not
rming.
It was sad to see the child who had no name or,age, watching the other children as they played,
t knowing how to talk with them, or sport with
im, and more strange to the ways of childhood.n a rough dog. It was sad, though in a differway, to see what an instinctive knowledge
youngest children there had of his being difent from all the rest, and how they made timid
proaches to him with soft words and touches,
1 with little presents, that he might not be un-?py. But he kept by Milly, and began to love
â that was another, as she said I-and, as they
liked her dearly, they were glad of that, and
en they saw him peeping at them from behind
chair, they were pleased that he was so close
it.
All this, the Chemist, sitting with the student
I his bride that was to be, and Philip, and the
t, saw.
Some people have said since, that he only,ught what has been herein set down; others,
t he read it in the fire, one winter night about
twiight time; others that the Ghost was but

the representation of his gloomy thoughts, and
Milly the embodiment of his better wisdom. 1
say nothing.
-Except this. That as they were assembled
in the old Hall, by no other light than that of a
great fire (having dined early), the shadows once
more stole'out of their hiding-places, and danced
about the room, showing the children marvellous
shapes and faces on the walls, and gradually
changing what was real and familiar there, to
what was wild and magical. But that there was
one thing in the Hall, to which the eyes of Redlaw, and of Milly and her husband, and of tho
old man, and of the student, and his bride
that was to be, were often turned, which the
shadows did not obscure or change. Deepened
in its gravity by the firelight, and gazing from
the darkness of the panelled wall like life, the
sedate face in the portrait, with the beara and
ruff, looked down at them from under its verdant wreath of holly, as they looked up at it;
and, clear and plain below, as if a voice had ut
tered them, were the words,
" Loro, feep mn? _entor! C4ren.

TmI:END.

It I

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